Friday, July 4th, 2008
NOTHING FELT QUITE AS perfect as falling asleep in Casey's arms. I slept like I hadn't in weeks. But waking up to find the spot next to me empty sucked.
I found my phone and sent a quick message to Reggie.
Me: I'm fine. I'll see you later.
I didn't need him worrying. I was shocked at how okay he was with my behavior in the first place. Any rational person would chastise me for my actions.
It was true, Reggie never had anything too positive to say about Grant. He wasn't ever mean or rude or blatantly said he didn't like him or that I should leave him, but it was pretty clear he wasn't impressed, in the least, by my boyfriend.
Fiancé.
Getting up to see what kind of shape I was in, I saw that there was a note written on the hotels stationary sitting on the bathroom counter.
I climbed back into the jeans and T-shirt I'd worn over the night before and washed my face in the sink. He'd left his toothbrush there, and so I took the liberty of borrowing it. My hair was a fine disaster and between my legs was gloriously tender. I felt incredible.
When I got to the room, which was right next door, I heard Casey talking on the phone as he approached the door to answer my knock.
“...Audrey, calm down. You can always drop the class if you don't like it.” He opened the door and gave me a chaste kiss, and then held up a finger to tell me he would be another minute.
“Well, Dad can get over it. Take the classes you want. It's your life.” Then he listened for a few minutes and walked over to the window to finish his call. All he was wearing was cargo shorts and they were hanging so low I would bet money he didn't have underwear on beneath of them.
There were two trays on the table and I could smell the coffee from where I stood. My stomach growled. I looked under both covers and they were the same. A stack of pancakes with whipped topping, strawberries and blueberries made to look like a flag.
He watched as I discovered the breakfast and put his hand over the receiver and said in a hushed voice, “See? Patriotic,” as he pointed to himself. He then pretended to be serious as he whispered to me, “Blake, I eat those every morning.”
I put my hand over my mouth and giggled.
“I love you, too, Audrey. Don't stress out. Go have some fun. Tell Morgan to call me... Okay. ’Bye.” He ended the call and took a seat across from me at the table.
“I like these pancakes.”
He said, “I thought you would. I like when it when you smile like that.”
“Then keep making me.”
And then he did.
We left our phones off and walked for hours. We ate hot dogs and stopped to watch street performers in front of The Bean in Millennium Park. We talked about our families and jobs. He bought us ridiculous Uncle Sam hats and we wore them the rest of the day.
We ate at a bar on The Pier and watched fireworks over Lake Michigan. We drank and laughed and kissed.
He was freedom and throwing caution to the wind. He was no work and all play.
We held hands on the sidewalk and in the cab as we rode back to my brother's building. When the car pulled up outside, he got out with me, walking me to the glass doors of the entrance.
“Today was a very good day,” he told me. I agreed that it was.
“So now what?” After the day we'd had, I was even more confused and heavy-hearted parting with him. His face was tinted red from the sun and his eyes looked more like deep blue than I'd even seen.
His face changed from the easy-going, carefree Casey with the permanent grin, to a more mature-looking sober one.
“That's all up to you, honeybee. I'm free.” He wrapped his arms loosely around me, low on my back and we swayed back and forth on the sidewalk holding a stare that was loaded. Loaded with ‘should we's and ‘shouldn't we's. Loaded with pleasure and reality.
We lived far apart.
He traveled more than not.
I was engaged to someone else and no matter which way I looked at it, I couldn't keep him for myself. It was too selfish.
“I think you like being free. It suits you,” I told him.
“What suits you? What do you want?” Something in the timbre of his voice sounded like a truth. He really wanted to know where my head was. The trouble with that was I didn't have a clue.
“I don't know. I like talking to you and being with you, but—” Then he kissed me. His mouth cloaked mine with an unspoken urgency.
“Mmmm...No buts,” he said against my lips. “Just leave it like that. You like talking to me and being with me. That's all I need right now. Let's leave it right there. Okay? No pressure.”
Why was it when people said, “No pressure,” it added an ocean's worth to the situation?
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he said back. “It's settled. We're still friends.” He placed his lips on my forehead and made a low humming sound, I closed my eyes and savored it.
Then he let me go.
The next weeks were busy. I worked alongside Bridgett and followed her wherever she went. Since she ran the Seattle office, I was naturally paired up with her most of the time. I made friends with another new hire, Melanie, who worked out of the San Francisco branch. She and I were basically hired to do the same job.
Grant had contracted workers to do most of the major renovations, but he was adamant on doing what he could on his own at the house.
We set a date for the wedding, May 23rd of the next year. My mother proceeded to buy anything and everything that said the words “groom,” “bride,” or “wedding.” I was thankful, though, since I was busy working, she told me she would handle everything. Wedding plans barely registered on my radar. Of course, it wasn't like it was swept under the rug. It was in every conversation I had with my family or Grant.
The wedding. The house.
The house. The wedding.
I almost felt like two different people.
The wedding and the house Blake, the work and the Casey Blake. It was only sometimes when the two met that my brain dissolved onto itself. Like talking to Reggie or Micah.
“I can't believe you're getting married,” she said when I told her.
“I know, sometimes I don't even believe it myself.” That was true. Work and Casey Blake didn't really act very affected by the upcoming nuptials either. I don't think that half of my brain really accepted it was happening.
“Cory and I are pregnant,” she said, in the middle of our wedding conversation. She blurted it out like she'd being trying to hold it in for some time.
“Oh my God! When are you due?” I was shocked. I knew they were serious and that they’d moved in with each other, but I wasn't expecting a cart before a horse with them.
“I'm due at the end of April. With your wedding in May, I might still be fat, but you know I'll be up there with you. If that's what you want.” The last sentence sounded weird off her tongue.
We never spoke about Casey and me. I hadn't told her a thing. I assumed that Casey and his brother spoke, though. She always seemed to hint or mention him. Even though I think her question was made to sound like, if she wasn't too fat she'd be there for my wedding. But it sounded a lot more like she didn't expect there to actually be one.
It didn’t feel right hiding what was going on with Casey from Micah, but I wasn’t really sure what to say. We were friends…who sometimes f*cked?
We talked about how she was feeling and how it all came to be. She was in love with Cory and her, although nervous, excitement still sounded happy. When I spoke about my wedding and Grant, I tried to impersonate her enthusiasm, but I couldn't even convince myself.
Casey and I were in constant contact over those weeks and what led into months. I was starting to do shows on my own and he was traveling most of the time.
I'd missed him in at the beginning of August. He was in Seattle, but I’d been in San Francisco. It always seemed to work out like that. He came with Audrey and his dad to help her get situated at school. She'd chosen to go to Cornish, a great art focused college, against her father's best advice, but Casey said she was really happy to get away from California and that it would be good for her.
He told me one night he was glad she was in my city, because if she needed anything I could be there in a hurry for her. That made me feel pretty good.
We talked incessantly. I could tell you the local time in almost any stateside city by late September.
I knew that when I got married it would all have to stop, so I guess I was cramming as much Casey in as I could.
It didn’t sound or seem fair to either Grant or Casey, but I didn’t know how to stop. I couldn’t imagine a world without Casey in it, but felt I needed to stay in the world with Grant as my center.
When we got too intense during phone conversations, or when things got over-heated, I'd ask to switch back to texting. He always sounded annoyed with it, but did it anyway.
We were, for all intents and purposes, friends.
We debated everything and he pissed me off. He told me that I was a poser because I was a gourmet-trained chef who liked Cheetos and canned cheese. He let it go after I called him a poor man's Sam Adams. In fact, he hung up on me that night.
I welcomed those nights. The ones where I laid in my bed and he told me how sea horses mate, or about all the theories he'd read on the never ending controversy of which came first: the chicken or the egg? I'd fall asleep on those nights, wherever I was, and I felt like I was home.
The other nights were more difficult for me. My nights with Grant.
From the outside, everything looked like a best-case scenario for a young couple and their happy future. Things were typical, calm, and I painted on the face of a woman starting a future with a perfect man.
I faked every orgasm Grant thought he gave me. Though our sex life was still active, it was just that. Active. Activated. Choreographed. I knew what he liked. I did it. He knew what I liked. He did it. It wasn't torture, and for him it was genuine. Grant was always sincere.
It was me.
After every fake climax, I'd pull myself into the bathroom and run water over my pale face and look at myself. I'd breathe and try to put all my thoughts back into their separate corners. Until, one especially overwhelming, or underwhelming, depending on how you looked at it, night I decided to bring my phone into the bathroom with me.
I texted Casey.
Me: Tell me what you had for lunch.
Casey: I'm glad you asked, actually. I was going to tell you about it. I had haggis. It was totally disgusting and I'll never eat it again.
I was happy that he replied quickly. All of the jumbled feelings and emotions I had rolling around in my head and stomach quieted and calmed. Things went back to the way they were. He still waited for me to contact him in the evenings, unless he knew I was out of town, even though I didn't ask him to anymore. Every time I send him something he was always right there. Just a send button away.
Me: Haggis is disgusting. Why did you eat it?
Casey: Marc bet me I wouldn't. I won twenty bucks.
Me: Congratulations.
Casey: Thank you. What's up with you?
Me: I was just going to bed. I thought I'd say hi.
Casey: Hi LOL
And I heard it. My generous memory let me actually hear his laugh. That was all I’d needed.
Me: Goodnight.
Casey: I wish.
Me too.
Smart phones were dangerous weapons. Casey's company, Bay Brewing, had a twitter account. I followed it. I set up an account of my own after I found theirs. I used the user name @BettyTRubble. I had a feeling that Casey was the person behind the account. It was to my benefit that there were pictures of him available to me whenever I wanted. Even though I let him take pictures of me when we were in Chicago, I didn't have any of him and I wasn't brave enough to ask him for any. So the twitter account, that I checked almost hourly, had to tide me over.
And it did. There were pictures of him smiling and laughing. Mostly doing work things and marketing, but it was all the same to me. Seeing his crazy wardrobe and hair whenever I wanted made me feel like I was a secret agent.
That probably made me a little bit of a stalker, but I didn't care.