Sunday, May 25, 2008
I MISSED HIM THE moment I realized he was gone.
My flight was on time and the afternoon plane ride was clear all the way north up the coast. I didn't feel like I was going home though. I couldn't shake the feeling that every step I took was wrong. The closer I got to the airport? the more it felt like leaving was the real mistake.
My conscience was probably just getting to me. The angel on my shoulder sat with her head draped forward, haloed head in her hands.
Hang-overs sucked.
Hang-overs and shoulder angels were real drags when you were flying home after a massive alcohol and tempting-man binge.
Casey.
He was gone when I woke up that morning. I remembered him covering me with the blanket. I had lain there fantasizing about him kissing me and making me forget how bad I was. But fantasizing in the face of opportunity only equaled disappointment. I fell asleep before ever getting my second chance.
My last chance.
At about thirty thousand feet up I decided I wasn't going to think about Casey Moore again. I wasn't going to scan my memory counting his different smiles. I wasn't going to remember his hands digging into my hips. And I definitely wasn't going to close my eyes and beg my conscious thoughts to replay every second I spent with him.
But that decision was wasted, because I did all of those things.
The plane landed uneventfully. I departed the recycled air and the only thing I wanted was the sanctuary of my bed. Alone.
Knowing I'd lost my luggage, Grant waited for me at the ramp leading to the bag conveyor. I returned his smile as brightly as I could, but it was forced.
Wasn't he everything I wanted? I must have left my love for him in my AWOL suitcase, because I wasn't feeling it.
He was so smart and ambitious. Kind and gentle. My family loved him, mostly. My brother Reggie never really paid him any attention, but Reggie was much different than the rest of us.
In the offspring hierarchy of my family, Reggie, Reagan Ashley Warren, was the middle. Shane was the eldest and I was the baby. He couldn't have been more opposite from our oldest brother, Shane. Reggie lived in a high-rise in Chicago, Shane currently lived with our parents again. Reggie was adventurous, flying to Europe on a whim, sending me pictures of himself in front of global landmarks. The pyramids. The Eiffel Tower. The Taj Mahal.
The most adventurous thing Shane ever did was run off to Vegas and marry Kari. Sharing his current address with our mom and dad said a lot about how that marriage was doing.
But everyone else thought that the sun rose and set in Grant's ass. Up until recently, I had too. I still did. I still wanted to anyway.
“Welcome home,” he said and placed a chaste kiss on my mouth. My thoughts went to Casey. I was wicked. I was wrong and I hated that I felt like my boyfriend was kissing away the last remnants of the stranger I'd just met.
“Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem. How was your flight?”
How was my flight? Was I on a plane? My body was, but my mind was somewhere completely different. Somewhere with him.
“It was good. I'm really tired though. I think I'd like to go home. Can you just drop me off? I have work early in the morning. And honestly, I just want to take a shower and go to bed.”
I wasn't an idiot, I saw the confusion and disappointment on his face. In fact, I deserved it.
“Yeah, sure. Do you want to grab some food on the way or...?” His voice trailed off. I wasn't sure if I should or not. I didn't think I could be around him.
“No. I'm not that hungry. I'm really worn out.” He slipped the big bag off my shoulder and rested the strap on his, then grabbed my hand to walk me out of the airport.
“Did you have a good time then? I'm sure it was nice spending all that extra time with Micah, since I wasn't there cutting in on your girl time.” His face was hopeful and the attempt at making his absence a blessing, didn't go unnoticed.
“Yeah, it was great. I miss her.” I really did, too. I didn't get to spend nearly enough time with her. I'd wasted it. But that wasn't the right word. It wasn't wasted; it was just misgiven.
The drive to my place was quiet. Uncomfortably so. It wasn’t him; it was me. I was edgy. The seat in his truck didn't feel right. The temperature was all wrong. I hated the song that played. I felt locked up and caged.
I was never so happy to be home.
“Thanks for the ride, Grant. I'll call you later. Okay?” I said, before I leaned over and gave him a kiss with all the warmth of day-old dishwater.
“I'm glad you're home. I love you. Call if you need anything and get some rest.” He smiled weakly at me. I was behaving strangely.
Warily, I got out of the cab of his truck and walked to my apartment door. I set my bag on the ground to dig for my keys and prayed that I didn't slip them into my missing suitcase. I willed them to be there. And they were. Right inside the mug that said, “Lou Likes Trouble.”
Ain’t this a bitch?
I pulled the yellow coffee mug out of my bag and dumped the keys into my sweaty palm. I'd forgotten that I'd put it in there. As if I needed any more reminders.
After getting inside and picking my mail up off the floor, I went directly to my bathroom. I stripped my clothes off and walked over to the big soaker tub—the real reason I signed the lease on that place—and turned the water to just the right temperature. I walked naked back into the kitchen, grabbed my phone, a cold bottle of wine and the mug.
I climbed into the scalding hot water, sunk down low and tried to wash the memories off me. I needed to wipe all of it clean away and rid myself of my foolish behavior and silly thoughts of a guy, who I had no right to be thinking about.
None of that happened.
Instead, I soaked in the tub, drank two Lou mugs of wine. I begged myself not to call him and compromised, that if I didn't call his number it could remain in my phone. Knowing it was there was enough.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
As the days went by it got easier to not think about Casey. Although, he was always there at the back of my mind. I began working extra shifts at the restaurant and unintentionally avoiding Grant. I was avoiding everything but time. I needed time. Time to sort it all out. Time to get my head back into reality.
It was no surprise that Grant didn't propose right away after I returned from San Francisco. I was barely there at all. I was in a daze. I'd tell myself, Self, he isn't thinking about you. It was a fling. You have a real boyfriend here who loves and wants to marry you. Get your shit together.
But Self was a hussy with a damn good memory.
I dreamed of him. Almost nightly. I was even a little paranoid that if I slept in the same bed as Grant I would say his name in my sleep. So I avoided that, too. Every reason turned into an excuse, all the while, Grant was patient. It was a paradox. Grant’s patience and Casey’s insistence. And just like that, thoughts of him invaded my mind.
Working as many shifts as I was, I was tired and so that excuse usually went undisputed. Others didn't have the same effect.
“Laundry again? Blake, you said you had to do laundry the other night, too. Are you mad at me? What did I do?” Grant said as we sat on my parents’ back patio. My mom and dad were cleaning up the dinner mess and Shane, my oldest brother, was in the yard tossing a ball for Randy, my parents’ eight-year-old Saint Bernard.
“I'm not mad. I'm sorry. I've just been stressed out at work and thinking about this new job thing. I don't know. I'm sorry.” I wasn't being fair to Grant and it was time I put the past behind me. The past, as if it were some long tumultuous affair.
It was one weekend and one crazy night, and there I was letting it affect my life so much. I needed to get him out of my system.
“Listen, I don't have to work tomorrow. I'm going to that interview. What about I cook you dinner and you stay over tomorrow night? I'll make that thing you like.” And for the first time in the past few weeks I put a smile on his face. We hadn't had sex since I'd left. “And I'll wear that thing you like, too.”
He scooted closer to me on the back seat we shared. “What about tonight?” he said leaning into my neck and placing a soft kiss under my ear. “I can't wait until tomorrow. Please?”
His kiss felt warm and welcome. Which made me happy. I'd been so closed off since I got back. Our relationship was great before I left. It wasn't knock-your-socks-off crazy, we weren't pawing at each other in public, but it was good. Comfortable. Secure. Traditional.
“No. I owe you. I want to do something special for you. Let me get this interview out of the way and I'll be able to focus. Can you do that? Can you wait one more night?”
“No, but I will.” He pulled my mouth to his with a gentle hand on my cheek. “You're worth a little wait. Besides, I might have a surprise for you, too.”
I had a feeling I knew what it would be. In forty-eight hours I'd probably be engaged. I'd give myself this one last night. One last night to replay those few hours I'd had with Casey then, I'd be Grant's for good.
We sat there for a few more minutes and chatted with my family. I saw Grant wink at my dad when he told him about how I planned on cooking him his favorite chicken marsala. My dad nodded and gave me a quick smile.
“Thanks for coming over, sweetheart,” my mom said a little later as she hugged us in the driveway. “Good luck at your interview tomorrow. Call me when you finish up. I want to hear all about it. And see you later, Grant.”
Then my dad hugged me, which wasn't uncommon, but this hug was tight. He whispered into my ear, “Cheer up, you look like it's the last day of summer.” He gave me another squeeze and rocked me side to side. “Good luck tomorrow, baby girl.”
I said into his shoulder, “The interview will go fine, it isn't like I'm unemployed.”
“I'm not talking about that.” And he kissed my head. “Be happy.” I knew his simple words were meant two ways. My dad could see through my bullshit. He never told me what to do, but knew how to comfort me regardless.
Like I requested, Grant took me home and didn't even attempt at coming in. I'd been carrying this weight around with me the last few weeks and even though he didn't know what it was, he knew well enough to give me some space.
I couldn't put a name to my feelings. I'm not sure there even was one. All I knew was this other man had crept his way into my head and he didn't want to leave. I needed an exorcism. A Casey-cism. And that night was as good of a night as any to try my best at making that happen.
I looked through pictures of Grant and me.
I played Grant’s favorite music.
I even made myself a rum and Coke—his favorite drink—and I did everything to put my head back into Grant-mode. And it was working. I flipped through my phone at the pictures I'd taken of him and us and played our best hits, memory-flashback style, in my mind.
We'd met when I was home on Christmas break my senior year of culinary school. We were pumping gas at pumps that faced each other. He peeked around a few times and smiled. He was cute, a clean-cut, all-American boy. It was cold and he had a scarf wrapped around his neck. When I caught him smiling at me he slunk his neck down into the argyle to hide his grin.
Our gas pumps went off at the same time. We walked into the station to pay. He held the door open for me and let me go first in line at the register. I paid. He paid. We both walked out. As I was starting my car, I watched him do the same, he gave me another look and didn't hide his smile from me that time. Then he started to pull away. It was then that I noticed he'd left his gas cap and flippy-door open. I sprang from my car and ran after him, waving my arms, “Wait! Your gas thing is open.”
He slammed on the brakes and shifted into park. Jumping from the vehicle, he ran back at me.
“What? What's wrong?” he asked huffing.
“I'm fine. It's your gas cap. You left it open.”
Grant turned behind him to see what I was talking about and then embarrassment covered his face, he looked back at me. “God, I thought you wanted something else.” He ran his gloved hands over his short hair. Then out of the blue he said, “Let me buy you dinner.”
His statement shocked me, as I wasn't expecting a date out of the whole ordeal, but I simply said, “Okay.”
He pulled his phone from his coat pocket and asked, “Can I have your number?” I gave it to him and he promised to call. I knew that he would. I never doubted I'd get a call from him and I had looked forward to it.
“What's your name?”
“Grant Kelly. What's yours?”
“Blake Warren.”
“I like it. I've never known a female Blake before.”
“Well, you do now.”
“Yes. I guess I do.” He shuffled his feet like he didn't want to leave, but had somewhere to be. “I'll call you, Blake, the female, and we'll work out our date.” With that he beamed.
“Sounds good. Merry Christmas.”
“It is now.” He walked back to his truck and closed the gas thing. He looked at me, no short of three more times, before he shook his phone in the air and he stepped inside the cab of his truck.
I let those memories wash over my consciousness, I felt better than I had in the weeks since I'd returned. Grant was a great guy and come the next night he'd be my fiancé, for real.
I had needed that.
I needed to get my head clear of him and focus on what I had. A man that loved me. A man that would take care of me. When my phone buzzed, I assumed it was Grant telling me good night, as I lay in my bed ready for a peaceful night's sleep. But when I read the name on the screen, I knew it was a lost cause. My dreams would be hijacked. Again.
Casey: Good luck at the interview tomorrow.
What the hell?
My stomach knotted with a need. A need to reply. I didn't want to text him. I didn't want to think about him. Sometimes you don't get what you want or need, but sometimes you just can't tell the damn difference.
So much for pretending I didn't have his number.