Present Tense, page 23
I almost got fired two weeks ago because I was so stoned I couldn’t finish some documents I was working on. I stopped smoking that day. But the pot only kept her at bay. It’s like running from a storm. You know the darkness is coming, the turmoil and disruption to your day, but I kept running because, Christ, that storm is going to kill me.
I went to the only untainted Jillien place I could. Philly is haunted with memories, old and new, of her. Just like she talked about all the former neighborhoods she lived in around Chicago, they’re ghosts of places that all used to be something else. I can’t seem to make new memories out of old places. So, I’ll hide here. I’m safe here.
LIAM: There’s nothing left to say. It’s clear. Go home.
JILLIEN: No.
FLETCH: Jill. Please.
JILLIEN: NO.
Before, her cheeky determination made me want to smack her ass, tie her up and then fuck the hell out of her. I found it charming and attractive she could be so defiant to the world but submit to me. Dammit. My dick is now thinking about her, which is so complicated.
I push call. It will shred me to hear her voice, but maybe then she’ll leave me alone.
“Fletch. Oh. My. God. Thank you. Hi. Hi. Liam. It’s me. Jilly. I mean, you know that. Shit. You called me. Hi.” Her silly voice fills me with light.
“You have to go home.”
I can hear her sniffle. I can’t take the crying. It’s too much.
“I miss you so much. I have so many things I need to say to you. I want to apologize—”
I cut her off. I can’t hear this. She can’t throw a new wrinkle into my pain. This was an epically terrible idea. “What’s it going to take to get you out of the house?”
“You coming here.” Her voice is strong and confident, as if we’re a foregone conclusion. For my sanity, I need to let this woman go. She’s toxic to me.
“Jill. Go home.”
“Look, I have a week off, no luggage, and a shit ton of baggage to work through. You’ll have to blast me out of this house. So you better come here and kick me out. Oh, and Lisa was here. She was miserable. She’s the bitch who tried to fuck with destiny, and I told her we weren’t her puppets any longer. Fate is stronger than Lisa.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but as long as she’s gone in a week, I don’t care. I’ll have the cleaning man show up after she’s gone and remove all traces of her. All lingering scents of ginger and that light ripe berry smell. If she can find the sheets and curl up on the floor, she can have it. I’ll have him burn the sheets and shampoo the carpets. I’ll remove her again.
“Fine. Enjoy the week. Visit your dad, maybe he’ll be happy you’re in Philly.” Even as it came out of my mouth, I knew it was a low blow. Her breath sucked in. There’s a long pause as I stare out at the water. The birds are diving for their dinner, and I’m trying to find the same peace in the view that as I used to. She stole peace from me. Fuck Jill. Fuck me for sleeping with her. Fuck me for imagining there was a connection that went beyond comprehension. Nope. Not worth any of this agony.
Her voice is quiet. “How are you this angry at me?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I scrub my face with my free hand. It’s killing me to hurt her. I didn’t mean that.
“Then meet me at your home. I’m here to tell you how wrong I am. Then if you still want be cruel, I’ll accept it. Let me apologize.”
“That’s something you and I both know you suck at. No thanks. That’s enough. Take care of yourself. Send Ethan my best.”
“That’s it? Please, Fletch. Can you come home?” She’s at my house, calling it home. What a joke.
I can find a woman up here. I can find one who will fit into the mold I need her to. Because she didn’t just break that mold, she shattered me.
I end the call.
47
JILLIEN
I stomp my foot when I realize he hung up. This is unacceptable. I’m a woman possessed. No. This is not how we fucking end. We either go down in a fiery shitstorm or perhaps a tornado of pain. But this is not how we end. We don’t end with a phone call where he meekly tells me to leave his house. There are boxes everywhere. I need to know what this means.
Is he playing it cool and moving to Chicago? Is he having the place fumigated? Why the fuck is his house wholly buttoned up? I need him to know I’ll fight myself for him. I’ll go against my better instincts if it means I get to have him. I’ve spent way too much of my time denying myself things for everyone else’s greater good.
It remains to be seen if I can fix this. But what I do know after my talk with Ethan is that denying myself happiness punishes both of us. I want to fill my soul with rainbows and marshmallows and figure out how to create a life where I float on filthy orgasms, motherhood, and cat hair. I’ll make amends with Tuxedo Cat. I stomp around the room. I want to scream at him. I’m on the verge of being super stalker-y. I know he told me to go away. Nope.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in front of Bev’s condo. I buzz. Nothing. Shit. Is she gone, too? I slump onto a planter out front and toss my head. I cannot cry again. I don’t know how big Martha’s Vineyard is, but it’s an island. He can’t escape easily. I don’t know where the house is, but if I show up as a lunatic running through the towns screaming for him, I’ll either be arrested or I’ll find him. How crazed am I? I make a megaphone from my hands. “Universe! I surrender. Help.” I hate asking for help, but here I am, screaming at some imaginary entity to bestow help.
“Jillien?” My face shoots up, and I’m staring at Bev’s double knit slacks. I reach out and throw my arms around them. She puts her fingers through my hair. We stay like that for a minute or two. I don’t cry, but I feel as if I’ve given her the entire story without talking. I transferred it from my brain waves through the polyester elastic waistband pants. She knows. She always knows.
I look up at her.
“To your credit, you did tell me you’d love him. But it seems you’ve picked your son over mine. And mine, despite sanity, picked both of you over himself. You neglected to see that, dear. Come on. I have booze.” She walks toward her front door without looking back. She knows I’ll follow. I slump forward and find my balance. I stay behind her back.
“I’m here to pick him. I didn’t pick my son, either. It’s a long story. I apparently make bad choices. But he won’t listen.”
“Can you blame him? He’s never been chosen before. He doesn’t know how to react.” Then, with a woosh, she disappears into the building as I try to catch my breath and find my way through the revolving door she just commanded. I meet her at the elevator, and she turns to me. “I asked you once, do you know what you’re doing? I’m asking again.”
“Yes. I’m going to make him so happy. I’m asking you to let Ethan and I love him the way he deserves. Let me love him.”
She takes me in her arms. “You’re going to have to try and make up with Lisa.”
I don’t look at her. “Now you ask too much.” She laughs, and I pull out of her embrace. “But if it means I get to have him, I’ll braid her hair and make the damn dill dip for every party.”
She smiles. “I’ve always loved you, dear. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t.”
She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse and scratches an address on it.
“Bev. Thank you. Thanks for giving me a chance.”
“Always, dear. And if this works, I’m going to need to meet that kid, the one that’s going to be family.”
I throw my arms around her, then bolt out of the building.
I’m sure I’m going to fuck this up, but I used to be a person who didn’t care about any of that. I just leaped without looking and usually landed in a pretty fantastic place. I forgot who she was until Fletch reminded me life is better without looking.
48
JILLIEN
I’m four cups of coffee in, and they’ve got me sharp. I’m laser focused, so I can keep his car safe on the highways. I hope he’s not too angry. I just took it. The more coffee I have, the more off the fucking rails I realize I’m traveling. I’ve gone insane. Even though I’m showing up, I don’t think he’ll leave with me. I don’t think I’ll be invited to stay, but I’m too far gone.
My head is all over the place. I didn’t know there was a ferry. Thought there was a bridge. Completely threw me for a loop after six hours of driving. I look possessed. Like, The Exorcist possessed. My eyes are bloodshot, and I spilled Diet Coke all down the front of me. But I don’t have a change of clothing.
I showered two days ago in Chicago. This is going swimmingly. I’m pretty sure he’ll slam the door in my face. I want to try and fail, or maybe we’ll live happily ever after in my psychotic break. There is no reality left, only my quest to get to his doorstep.
Sadly, the only dragons I have to slay are my own, and I’m not strong enough to do that right now. Finally, the ferry docks and I jump back into his car. I pull off and over to a garbage can. I rake the crumbs and gather all the cups and napkins out of the car. I bolt into a closing gift shop and grab a Vineyard Haven T-shirt and a cute terry cloth skirt. I splash water on my face and remove the grime from under my eyes. I apply what makeup is in my purse. Lipstick, concealer, and mascara. The staples.
I reach his house and Tuxedo Cat stares at me from the window. Fuck, I hate that tiny hell beastie. It’s like she’s protecting him. Something I should have done.
I sit in the driveway. I turn off the lights. It’s dark. It’s late. Now after this entire quest, I’m not sure I can get out of the car. What if he has company? What if he’s asleep? What if there’s a nice simple woman inside setting up a horribly wobbly dessert that no one really likes, but he’s pleasant to her because it tastes ok? I can’t make wobbly desserts. No way. Sundaes and hot chocolate, that’s it. I put my head down on the steering wheel and try to collect myself.
I’m not sure how long I put my head down. I might have dozed. I’m an idiot. Don Quixote wouldn’t have dozed off on his quest. He would have continued until the windmills were down. I should have eaten something else. Because then I could be sure this nausea was due to Tastykakes and Slim Jims, not nerves. It’s raining. The beat of the raindrops on the roof of the car feels comforting. I slump down in my new T-shirt and cross my arms. I don’t want to fall asleep, but it feels like I don’t have a choice.
“Get the hell out of my car, Jill.”
I sit up. I haven’t been out here more than twenty minutes. I swear. I wipe the drool from my mouth and glance at my Apple Watch. It’s almost midnight. Shit. I did fall asleep. It’s still raining, and he’s standing there in a yellow fisherman slicker and a bright pink and green plaid umbrella.
I get out, and he covers me with the umbrella. I smell him before I can see him, and it knocks the breath out of my body. I can’t believe he’s this close to me. I want to hold him so badly, but I gave up that right.
I have no other opener than the obvious. “Hi.”
He exhales and squeezes his eyes tight. “Hi, Jillybear. Here. Take this.” He hands me the umbrella and walks on ahead. I follow the stadium mustard blob up the driveway, around the walkway to the side of the house. He opens the door and gestures for me to come inside. As I do, he takes the umbrella from me and puts it into a stand shaped like a coil of rope. It’s super cute. I make a note to tell him that.
I stand in his tiny mudroom and look around. There are baseball hats, coats, jackets of varying thicknesses and purposes neatly hung on the hooks on the far wall. The room opens wide into a living room that’s the most inviting and coziest thing I’ve ever seen. Navy tuck furniture with traditional white piping and mounds of brightly colored cushions. But oddly, none of it looks nautical.
I feel at home here, but not with him. He’s still standing at my back. The air around us is rigid. I turn around, and he cuts me off with a glare.
“Don’t. It’s late. We’ll talk in the morning.” He pushes past me. There are two hallways off the living room on opposite sides of the fireplace. He heads toward one and gestures toward the other doorway. “Guest room is that way. Do you need something to sleep in, or are you comfortable in your gas station Vineyard gear?”
“Fletch.” My voice is so much shakier than I intend. And my heart is so heavy with all things I wanted to say. But mostly, I want to hold him. He looks so sad. I did that to him, and I want to take it away.
He shakes his head and disappears down the hallway. I stand, not knowing what to do. He reappears. “Come into the house, Jill. Uninvited. Unexpected. But somehow completely expected. Despite how I feel about you at this moment, Bev would kill me if I was inhospitable to guests.”
My stomach flutters. Bev knew he’d let me stay. He turns to go down the hall where he came from.
“Fletch.” His head whips around. I can’t stop the stupid-ass tears from streaming down my cheeks. I swallow hard, purse my lips, and exhale. I’m trying to get it under control.
“What?”
“Despite my greeting, I want you to know how I’m feeling. I’ll just say this and then we can talk in the morning.”
“Jilly, just let me go back to sleep.”
“Bullshit. You were awake.” I put my hands on my hips.
He forces a smile. He doesn’t go to sleep until well after one. He likes to sleep in. And without a schedule or me, I assume he’s resumed old habits.
I start again. I don’t move from the spot I’m in. I don’t want him to run from me. “There’s lots to say, but I’m sorry. I’m so lost without you. I know I shouldn’t be here, but I don’t belong anywhere else.”
He holds onto the doorframe and stares at his slippered feet. I love that he’s such a fuddy-duddy that he has slippers. I don’t recognize these. They must be his Vineyard slippers, and that makes me love him deeper, somehow.
“That’s the problem, Jillien. You only want to be here when you have nowhere else to be. It’s Christmas all over. Good night.”
I crumple onto the closest chair. It’s like I’ve been smacked down by one of the powerful waves crashing just outside this door. He disappears again, and I curl my legs underneath me. I can’t do anything but cry myself to sleep. He’s right. But he doesn’t know I don’t want just Christmas. I want it all.
49
LIAM
I’m not smoking dope anymore. I can’t take any more melatonin. I hear her sniffling for close to an hour, then silence. I never heard her walk to the bedroom. I didn’t hear the creak of the bathroom floor. I didn’t hear her get out of the woven chair that groans when you sit in it. I’m cruel. I thought I was protecting myself, but that was cruel. I’m not cruel, but I can’t go to that place again with her. I won’t be cast out. It’s too painful. But I ran at the first moment of trouble. I didn’t discuss stuff with her, give it time to sink in, and evaluate it together. I ran far and fast. But I can’t help but want her. She’s here and stealing every breath I try and take.
I want her in every conceivable way. I swear I can smell her fresh and uniquely Jillien scent waft through my bedroom. And my dick will not retreat. Fuck. I rip the covers off. I make my way to the living room. I have no sense of right or wrong. I don’t know what we should be doing or how to fix all of this. I need her like I used to need peace and quiet. She’s the volume in my life, and everything’s become so damn muted. I don’t handle loud noises well, so it won’t work in the long run. We won’t work. But I could use a little noise tonight.
I see her all squished up in the chair. Her head is resting on one of my cat throw pillows. Her neck is in an awkward position. Mascara tracks have stained her face from crying. I’m an asshole. By protecting myself from pain, I caused more than I can fathom. I mean what I say, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Seeing her this destroyed is the end of my vanity and pride. I go to my bathroom and get a washcloth. I soak it in warm water and a little bit of soap. I throw a dry towel over my shoulder. When I reenter the room, she still hasn’t moved, but I’m incredibly moved.
She will always be my weakness that somehow gives me a backbone. I was able to leave her when I wasn’t able to leave Nina. I was able to stand up for myself and push back. I was able to debate without the worry of her fighting with me instead of discussing. I was able to joke and mock her, and she was never once offended. I’ve never censored or pretended to be anyone else with her. That’s both empowering and terrifying. This soft spot in my heart will always belong to her, even if I cannot.
I kneel down in front of her and gently put my hand on her cheek. I feel our spark on a low roar throughout every inch of me. It’s like touching a metal lamp in the winter after you’ve been walking on the rug. Just a quick jolt. Nothing that could hurt you but simply wake you up.
“Get out!” she screams as she jolts awake. I laugh. She sits up and stares at me. I uncrumple her legs—they have to be asleep—and put both hands on her knees. She stares at me. “Sorry. Lately, I think someone’s going to attack.”
“And shouting ‘Get out’ is your weapon of choice?” She chuckles softly.
I reach up with the washcloth and gently rub the mascara smears. She doesn’t move, and she doesn’t look away from me. I wipe away the tracks of her tears. The ones I caused. Or our situation did. I don’t know. I wipe what looks like a chocolate stain off her neck. Then I wipe the corners of her mouth. There’s some sort of crummy mess. She pulls the towel off my shoulder and gently dries her face.
We’re watching every slight movement we each make as if we’re suspended in a thick gel of some sort. Every flick of a finger or breath that makes our chests rise and fall is weighted. Our breathing increases as we pay attention to each other’s tiny actions. And now there’s a force field holding me back. Keeping me at bay from things my body wants so damn bad. Her lap is right in front of me, and I know what’s under that short terry cloth skirt. I can smell her from here, and my cock thickens. I don’t mean for it to, but there’s no choice. He’s a slave to Jillien and always has been. Her eyes get wider as she rubs her thighs together, searching for some sort of relief.
