Hard Time (21 page)

I imagined his sister on the other end, maybe. That brash, mean voice, stealing Eric from me. It was petty to think that after only a week of our being lovers, I ought to take precedence over his family . . . but deep down, that’s what I wanted.

I gave the pillow under my head a little punch, annoyed at whoever had ruined our fun. Annoyed at myself for feeling so much about it. Though how long had it been since I’d cared enough for a man to even
get
jealous? I tried to tell myself that was a gift in itself.

The lie didn’t take.

* * *

The next morning, I rose early and borrowed my mom’s car, heading to the mall—though I knew I wouldn’t be alone. Sure enough, the parking lot was nuts, everyone on a harried mission to swap unwanted presents and cash in gift cards, make the most of the sales. My mom’s little sedan felt like a go-cart compared to my wagon, and I navigated the chaos with ease. It wasn’t until I was well inside the mall itself that I suffered a collision.

The crash came out of the past at a hundred miles an hour, in the underwear section of the Gap, of all places. One second I was debating between a scarlet padded demi-bra and a garnet-colored push-up, the next I was staring at my ex-boyfriend.

“Whoa. Anne.” Justin’s eyes were muddy hazel in the store’s lights. He seemed . . . bigger. And smaller. Bigger than I’d remembered him at twenty-two. Smaller since I’d become so acclimated to Eric’s body.

“Justin.”

There was a girl at his side. Our age. Pretty, blond. Kind of a big head, but sweet looking. She glanced between us, smiling.

To Justin I said, “Hi,” fiddling with the little hangers I held.

“Long time,” he said, then turned to his . . . whoever. “Jen, this is Anne. We went out a zillion years ago, in college.”

“Hi,” I said, and shook her soft hand. To Justin I offered a limp, “Merry Christmas.”

“Isn’t it just
crazy
in here today?” Jen asked me, trying way too hard to be the poster woman for well-adjusted-girl-meeting-boyfriend’s-ex. “But the sales are ridiculous. And I just can’t resist a deal.”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking inside from adrenaline. “Ridiculous.”

She had a set of pajamas slung over her arm and held them up. “I’m just gonna try these on. Excuse me,” she added with a smile, and headed for the changing room.

“Wow,” Justin said as she left. “Home to see your folks?”

“Yup.” I turned back to the racks, pretending to seek my size from a lineup of bras. Anxiety was welling in me, hot and frightening, mixing with anger until I was molten. I’d always known I’d feel something, the next time I ran into this boy . . . but this was something else. This was a volcano. A natural disaster churning in my body.

“She’s seems real nice,” I offered, my face burning crimson to rival the store decorations.

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“Great. I’m glad . . . Try not to get drunk and beat the shit out of her.” I froze but for the tremors quaking through me, and my eyes locked on his. I didn’t know which of us was more shocked by what I’d said. I’d slapped myself with my own words. With all the hatred that had suddenly breached a dam in my gut.

Justin stared, looking slapped, himself. “Jesus, Anne.”

I shook my head. “Whatever.” I wasn’t after a fight. Just a release. A way to vent the ugliness I was drowning in.

“I was just a kid back then,” he said.

“So was I. Didn’t stop you from hitting me, though.”

“I was dumb,” he said, sounding sad. “You were right to call me on it. I’ve never done anything like that since. The way you ended things . . . it was a real wake-up call.”

“I didn’t want to be your
wake-up call.
I wanted to be your girlfriend.” I turned back to the piles of holiday-themed panties. Fuck me, this was surreal.

“I’m sorry.”

I looked up at that. I’d wanted to hear that for a long time. A
long
time. Had thought it might heal me some. But no, nothing. “I have a boyfriend,” I told him, mouth still on autopilot.

“Oh. Well, good.”

“And if I asked him to, he’d break your jaw.”

Justin’s eyes widened at that, then panned the vicinity.

“He’s not here,” I said, suddenly more annoyed than angry. “He’s in Michigan. But if I asked him to, he’d drive straight down to this mall and beat the holy hell out of you.”

“Jesus, Anne. What the fuck?”

“But he’d never lay a hand on
me,”
I told him quietly, leaving the rest of the store to imagine we were chatting about New Year’s plans. “Because he’s a good man. A man, period. Unlike you were, back then. And I wouldn’t ask him to fuck you up, not even if he was standing right next to me now. Because I’m sick to death of hating you. It’s so
fucking
tedious, you have no idea.”

“I’m just gonna go,” he began, but then Jen was walking back toward us. She was empty-handed, and she shrugged dramatically to illustrate her defeat in the dressing room.

“Well,” I said to Justin. “Nice running into you.” And to Jen, “Good luck with the sales.”

“You, too.”

“You seem real sweet,” I added, my tone strange and grave, matching the crazy swirling in my gut. It wasn’t lost on her.

She smiled tightly. “Oh. Thanks. You, too.”

“You make sure this one here treats you right,” I said, and shot Justin a look. Faced with awkward smiles from the pair of them, I abandoned the two red bras I was holding on a pile of panties. “Y’all have a happy New Year.” And I marched myself straight out the door.

I was crying by the time I dialed Eric from the driver’s seat of my mom’s car.

“Pick up,” I burbled at the receiver. “Pick up, pick up—”

“Hey, you. Sorry about last night—”

And then I was straight-up sobbing. Throat aching, eyes burning.

“Jesus, Annie. You crying?”

“Yuh,” I managed.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” I could practically hear him leaning forward, see his brows knitting. “Where are you?”

“I just ran into my ex-boyfriend at the mall,” I mewled, sounding ridiculous.

Eric’s tone went hard and cold. “He say something to upset you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Good. Did you even talk to him?”

“I told—” A hiccup cut me off. “I told him if I wanted, I could get you to break his jaw.”

The huff of an incredulous laugh. “Oh. Well, that was . . . assertive.”

“I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, uncovering the crux of what had me so upset.

“What for?”

“For treating you like . . . like some weapon I’ve got stashed in my glove box.”

“Wait. You’re crying because you feel bad about what you said?”

“I think so,” I gurgled, dabbing my runny nose with my sleeve.

Another soft laugh. “You know I’d do that, though. If you asked.”

“But I’d hate it if you did. Oh
God,
I’m terrible.”

“Hey, calm down. You’re not terrible. You just got freaked out and said something kinda psycho.”

I laugh-sobbed at that. “Yes, I did.”

“It’s okay. Everybody does it now and then.”

“Do they?”

“Everybody I know, anyhow. Listen, Annie.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you ever feel bad about wanting to use me like that. Guys like me haven’t got all that much to offer, so it’s nice to be needed for what we do have.”

“Shut up. You have tons to offer.”

“Well, I’m glad you think so.”

“I’m in love with you,” I blurted out.

Dead silence for two seconds, three, four . . . A sharp exhale.

“Eric?”

“You mean that?”

I nodded, as if he could see. “Yes. I do mean it.” All at once, my throat opened like a plucked bow, breaths coming smooth and easy.

More silence, then finally, “Wow. Thank you.”

I giggled, feeling drunk. “You’re welcome. Thank you for making me feel it.” For making me feel so many things again.

A noisy sigh. “Goddamn it. Why the fuck are you so far away? I always imagined if you decided you loved me, we’d be in a position to celebrate it.”

“I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

“Flight six-ten, landing at nine fifty-five,” he confirmed. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Oh—I messed up my quest to buy red underwear. That’s where I was when . . . You know.”

“Wait. So this asshole wrecked my Christmas present?”

“Or I did.”

“I’m definitely breaking his jaw now.”

I worked hard not to laugh. “That isn’t funny.”

“You already home?”

“No, I’m in the mall parking lot . . . I guess I could hike up my big-girl pants and go back inside and try again.”

“You could.”

I sank back against the seat. “Yeah. And I should.”

“Not red, though,” he said.

“Okay. What color then, personal stylist?”

“Surprise me. Whatever you want me taking off you tomorrow night. Now that you love me.”

My smile was huge and shaky. “Okay.”

“You read my email yet?”

“No. What happened last night, anyway?”

“We’ll talk about that when you’re back. For now, buy some sexy underwear, go home, have a glass of wine way too early in the day, then read my letter. Okay? Forget that guy. And forget feeling bad about what you said to him.”

“Good plan.”

“I have to head out now. Got a gig clearing some of the municipal lots.”

“Oh, you got the snow you’d been hoping for? Good for you. It’s dry as a bone here. Low fifties.”

He laughed. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“Thanks for letting me sob in your ear,” I said. “I um . . . I love you.”

A warm
hmm.
“I could get used to hearing you say that.”

“Good. Do.”

“I love you, too. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

I did exactly as he’d prescribed. Marched back into the mall, and found the most perfect set of underwear possible in Macy’s—sky blue with a garden’s worth of little watercolor flowers. I’d been destined for the purchase, really, driven away from those adequate-yet-all-wrong red bras by Justin. I was home by eleven and had a nice lunch with my folks, without mentioning what had happened at the mall. Afterward I went for a drive with my dad, and let him do what he loved most—explain to me all of the incredibly boring construction projects going on around town. The old-man equivalent of gossip. We swung by his favorite truck stop, and it felt just like the old days, cruising around on The Hunt. Except my cup held coffee now, not cocoa.

We headed toward Mount Pleasant, and on Route 526 we passed a crew spread out along the median in orange jumpsuits.

“No rest for the wicked,” my dad said.

I bit my lip.
I’m dating one of them
,
I imagined telling him. The omission was beginning to weigh on me.

“I look at those sorts of guys all different now,” I offered. “Since I’ve been working with so many inmates. They used to seem two-dimensional to me. I barely noticed them. Or if I did, I thought, ‘Good. That’s what you get, criminals.’ But now they’re just like regular people.”

“Regular people with a lot to answer for,” my dad said mildly.

“Yeah, I know. But they’ve all got hopes and plans and regrets, just like everybody else.”
And I’m in love with one of them. And he loves me back.

My dad didn’t seem especially piqued by the topic, and he pointed to an approaching overpass. “See this here? They’re going to be closing that bridge next summer for structural repairs. They say it’ll take two months, but mark my words, it’ll be closer to six.”

I sighed to myself, my chance at confession gone. I settled back in the seat, sipping my coffee, and let my dad discuss the things that moved him most.

* * *

Back home, I continued following Eric’s instructions.

Have a glass of wine way too early in the day.

At three thirty I poured myself a healthy dose of merlot and carried it and my phone up to my parents’ big bathroom and turned on the whirlpool tub. As it filled, I found Eric’s email, heart suddenly pounding, just as it had with those paper letters. I set my phone on the tub’s wide rim and lit my mom’s candles, shut off the lights.

I eased into the hot water, closed my eyes and adjusted. With a deep exhale I pushed out all my angst from the drama at the mall, and let Justin go for good. Let my anger go. Made room for way better emotions, spurred by a man worthy of inspiring them.

And after drying my hands, I picked up my phone and read.

Darling . . .
Oh, the things those seven little letters did to me.

You’re in the air right now, headed someplace warm. Can’t tell you how jealous I am. But at least you left me with plenty of memories in the meantime. My bedroom’s suddenly a lot less depressing since you came to see me here, slept next to me in this bed. I can even smell you in my sheets. Or I tell myself I can.

I was never the kind of guy who wrote love letters before I met you. Hell, I was never the kind of guy who wrote, period. Now it feels like something I can’t imagine living without, when you’re not here. It’s so humbling, good-humbling, all the little ways you’ve changed me. And thank God for email. This is so goddamn much faster than how I used to write you, on that machine then copied out by hand. I’d get cramps from all that writing. I don’t think I ever told you that. I liked it, though. Felt sweet. Does that feel like years ago to you now? When we wrote those secret letters? It does to me. Crazy that it’s only been weeks.

I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t have you, now that I’m out. Depressing, probably. Empty. Looking forward to seeing you and remembering stuff we did gets me through my workdays. And being with you for real makes these long, dark nights so much warmer. It’s like a little trip to summer in that bed with you.

Everything that we’ve done, since we got together . . . It’s so much better than I ever guessed, back then. And so much better that it’s all happened how it did, painful as those first few weeks were. But if that’s how it had to go down for you to trust my intentions, then I wouldn’t change a thing.

I wonder where you are, as you’re reading this. Maybe standing outside the airport, waiting for your ride. Or maybe in bed. I wish I knew how to picture where you’re staying. So maybe I could picture myself there with you.