Take Me Now (16 page)
“Now get up. I’m not going to ask you again.” Now Sophie’s turned mean, too. I can’t take much more of the people in my life turning on me. First Ryan, then Eric, now Sophie. Who the hell am I supposed to trust? Nobody has my best interest at heart—nobody.
“Fine, Miss Bossy Pants. If it’ll make you happy.” I slowly get to my feet and march in front of her down the sidewalk.
“This was a bad idea,” she mumbles behind me.
“Yeah, you’re not kidding!” I shout back.
After a fitful night, I didn’t get much sleep. How could I when the girl I love basically called me a loser? Sure, she was rip-roaring drunk at the time, but it doesn’t matter. I finally got to see her for who she truly is—an immature kid. How did I ever think we could make a life together if, after the first fight we have, she runs away, losing herself in some intoxicated stupor.
I was actually going to apologize when I first heard her voice on the line, but her behavior changed all of that. Who was I kidding, thinking life would offer me a second chance at happiness? Ivy isn’t Cassidy. She never will be. What I had, what I wanted, is gone. It’s never coming back.
After Ivy’s first visit to my house, when Lauren broke up our make-out session on the porch, I realized it was time to start putting some things away. I donated what items remained in Cassidy’s closet to the Salvation Army. The Lutheran church took most of the baby furniture for its annual rummage sale. Bit by bit, I started dismantling the life I had been building with Cassidy in order to make room for something new with Ivy. Well, it looks like that’s not happening now.
I kept one outfit of Cassidy’s aside, however. It was the shirt I gave her for her birthday. I remember how I spent hours in the mall psyching myself up to browse through the junior department. A few girls laughed at me when they spotted me looking through the racks. It wasn’t until they left that I felt confident enough to resume my search. And then my fingers ran against that top. It was so soft, so feminine, just like Cassidy. I knew it was perfect.
She held on to it through the years. Even though it no longer fit her, she said that she was saving it to make a baby blanket out of it someday. She confided her idea to me with a shy smile, unsure of how I’d react. At the time, we weren’t even engaged, and just the possibility of getting her pregnant made me nervous. I could imagine her father standing on the front door with a shotgun, ready to hunt me down.
It wasn’t until she really was pregnant that she mentioned the shirt again. She wanted it for the baby, but she couldn’t find it. She was too weak then to go looking for it. She wasn’t sure if she left it behind at school or if she stored it away at her parents’ house, but she was intent on locating it. It wasn’t until after she died that it turned up among the things she had transferred to the nursery. She had forgotten that she had placed it in one of the bins. When I discovered it as I was cleaning out the room, I broke down. It was like she was speaking to me from beyond the grave. “Here it is. It was where it was supposed to be the entire time.”
I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. I could barely hold it in my hands, but I couldn’t part with it either. So many hopes and dreams were tied up in that silly shirt—my love for her, my love for our unborn baby, the promise of sharing our lives together. It represented a physical tapestry of my joys and sorrows, my failures and triumphs. How could one item say so much?
And then Ivy appeared at the top of my stairs, not just holding it, but wearing it. I saw red. What right did she have to intrude on my personal space? How dare she stick herself where she didn’t belong? I admit I overreacted. She was clueless as to the significance behind that shirt, but it made me question everything about our relationship after seeing her in it. It wasn’t hers. It would never be hers. It was mine.
It was a secret part of my life that I wanted to keep hidden from her, but she pushed herself in. Wasn’t I already giving her enough? Did she have to take everything, even things I was unwilling to give? I was going to let her stay with me. Let her take her time figuring out her next step. I wasn’t pressuring her into anything. I was there to lend a helping hand, give her what she needed. I wasn’t forcing her down the aisle or dictating what her future should be. Yet she couldn’t give me the space to deal with the issues I haven’t resolved. Already our relationship was on an uneven footing. It was doomed to fail.
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself into believing. It’s not exactly working though, especially after that amazing night we spent together. Why did everything have to get so fucked up in the morning? And what kills me is if I didn’t rip her dress, none of this would’ve happened. But did I just accelerate the inevitable? Would I like this irresponsible side of Ivy the more I got to know her? And the truth is, probably not.
Sometimes, I feel so much older than her, like I’ve gone through so much already and she’s barely scratched the surface. There are only three years separating our ages, but it seems like a lifetime. I have a lot on my shoulders—if I go down, it all falls apart. If she doesn’t complete her internship, the world isn’t going to end. I almost lost everything when Cassidy died. I nearly threw away my business and let my house stand as an incomplete frame. I know what it means to stand at the brink and look over the edge. Times like that test what a person’s really made of, and if Ivy’s response is to get drunk and piss it all away, then maybe I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.
But that’s a lie. I do know her. Going back and forth with this, wrestling with it in my mind, isn’t doing anybody any good. It’s not a decision about whether or not I’m going to give her another chance. It’s when. And for now, I think I’m going to keep my distance. I want to be there for her, but maybe she needs to figure things out on her own. It will only make her stronger in the long run. I’m not doing her any favors by holding her hand through life’s rocky moments. Sometimes it’s best to battle through things without any outside interference.
And I’ll also know where her heart is. If she leaves and I never hear from her again, then she obviously didn’t care that much about me to begin with. I never thought I’d have to put her to the test, but I’m older and wiser now, definitely more cynical. I can’t lose what I never had. I was lucky enough to have one great love in my life. Maybe I’m asking too much to have two.
My dad has been manning the garden center for the last two days. Something he never did before, even after Cassidy died and I let it fold in on itself. Why is he helping me now? He didn’t reveal much about what was said when he drove Ivy back to her dorm. He mentioned that she was crying, but her spirits rallied by the time they arrived on campus. He really seems to like her for some reason, which is strange because he never doted as much on Cassidy, and he’s only known Ivy two days.
I plan on heading back to work tomorrow. I probably won’t be able to do a lot of the heavy lifting but I can inquire around about seeking some part-time assistance until I’m fully recovered from my injuries. I’m sure there are plenty of high school kids looking to make a few extra bucks. Somebody from the football team would be perfect. Practice doesn’t start for a couple more weeks and I should be back to normal by then.
I try not to look at the calendar as I walk by. I never thought I’d make it through the day on Friday. It’s been officially two years since Cassidy died, taking our baby with her. If someone had told me I would be attending a film festival gala and making love to another woman, I’d have said they were crazy. Cassidy made me swear that I would move on with my life. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. But it seems like what I did was the ultimate betrayal. No wonder everything blew up in my face. It was cursed from the get-go. How could I tarnish Cassidy’s memory like that, in the place where she conceived our child?
I guess my guilt erupted when I saw Ivy in that shirt. It felt as though Cassidy was reproaching me somehow, sending me a subliminal message that only I would understand, reminding me of the significance of choosing that date to sleep with Ivy. And it worked. I certainly felt like a prick. A guy who knows better but whose actions are dictated by his dick above all else…yeah, I’m a jerk.
I could possibly forgive myself if it just spontaneously happened, but I pre-planned it. I didn’t want to be alone that night. I had already made the conscious decision when I left the key under the mat. I was filled with pent-up desire, and I was going to release it, one way or another. I’d gone a long time without sex, and I was finally putting an end to my dry spell.
And it makes me contemplate just how much anger is lying dormant under the surface about Cassidy’s death. I can’t believe how angry I am at her for leaving me, even though rationally I know it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t want to die. But for some sick reason, I wanted to get back at her. I deliberately chose this date in July to sleep with another woman. Wherever Cassidy is, I hope she was watching. Let her see what’s she’s missing after succumbing to her tragic fate.
How mental is that? What the hell is wrong with me? Thoughts like those make me hate myself all the more. What kind of perverted freak have I turned into? Maybe there’s no saving me now. I’m too screwed up for anybody to love.
I better stay away from Ivy. Life hasn’t broken her spirit yet. The last thing I want to do is drag her down with me. She deserves someone without all this baggage. Someone who’s looking at the world with eyes as unclouded as hers. That’s the greatest gift I can give her. I’m tired of being selfish. Now’s the time to let her go because if I see her again I know I’ll be too weak to resist pleading with her to come back to me.
Professor Tate, my advisor, never received an official call from Lauren, terminating my internship, but I explain to him that I just don’t feel comfortable returning to such a miserable work environment. He lectures me about sucking it up, being professional, not letting my emotions impair my judgment. He doesn’t know it’s a little late for that. I listen to his spiel as he drones on about how adversely this decision is going to affect my college career, but after five minutes, he gives up when he knows his message isn’t penetrating my thick skull. There’s no point in trying to have a rational discussion with someone who’s so pig-headedly stubborn.
He may be strict, but he’s also fair. He does me a favor by calling all of his local contacts in the hope of placing me elsewhere. In order to meet the requirements, I have to complete another month in terms of credit hours. He hits the jackpot when one of the entertainment weeklies says yes. Now as long as Lauren signs off on the generic form letter he plans on sending her and I receive a glowing recommendation from my new boss, I should be able to fulfill all of the stipulations designated in the course catalog.
Professor Tate encourages me to reach out to Lauren before he tries contacting her on my behalf, but I refuse. Talking to me isn’t going to sway her. She’s either going to make things extremely difficult for me or she’s going to write me out of her life with one flick of her pen. She’s moody to the point of being bipolar, so who knows which way the wind will blow on the day she receives the letter. She’ll either release me from whatever connection that is still tethering us together, or she’ll leave me scrambling at the last minute to make up the extra hours. Even though I don’t think it’s possible to reclaim all of the ground that’s been lost. I’ll just have to wait and see what she does, but I’m not going to beg. That’s where I draw the line.
Eric hasn’t called and I’m too afraid to call him after my drunken outburst outside the bar a couple of weeks ago. The next morning I was utterly mortified by what I’d said, but I couldn’t take back. I knew he was dealing with the anniversary of Cassidy’s death, and what did I do? Rub salt in the wound. Making him choose between her and me when it wasn’t even a competition. Maybe we had a shot at repairing the damage between us before I opened my big mouth.
I figure if he wants to talk to me, he will. I’m not going to go chasing after him, especially if I’m the last person on earth he wants to see. I insulted the memory of his dead fiancée and trash talked him all in one fell swoop. That’s enough to put the skids on any burgeoning relationship, much less one as complicated as ours. He’s probably thinking,
Good riddance. Thank God I got away from her before things got too serious.
But for me, they already were. I’m in too deep. No wonder it hurts like hell trying to get out from under this when there’s no place I’d rather be than by his side. He’s it for me whether he wants me or not. I’m used to unrequited love. I went through years of it with Will. I can solider on alone, sustaining myself on just the memories of that one incredible night we shared.
I try not to think about it too much, but sudden flashbacks hit me when I least expect it. Like when I’m in the break room at my new internship getting a cup of coffee, I’ll remember fixing breakfast with him that morning in his kitchen. Or when I’m getting ready for work, I’ll be putting on a pair of earrings and I’ll recall how he nibbled my earlobe, taking my breath away.
But in between all of those stolen moments, most of the time I find myself in the restroom of the
Weekend Express
. I haven’t been able to shake this stomach bug, but luckily this internship isn’t as taxing as my previous one. For the most part, they have me updating the calendar of events on their web site and maintaining the social media pages that go along with it. It’s not exactly hard news. There’s no reporting required. All of the information flows into the office via email and fax. I just type it up and regurgitate it back out. Kind of like what my stomach has been doing to everything I eat.
After one particularly nasty episode that had three of my new co-workers knocking on the door of the bathroom stall to check on me, I decide it is finally time to visit the emergency room. I have been seeing the nurse on campus, but I think my symptoms have journeyed beyond the level of her expertise. I’ll have to take the afternoon off, but it can’t be helped. I’ll ask if I can possibly make up the hours over the weekend or something. I don’t want to get any further behind, because Lauren still hasn’t responded with a signed copy of the letter, and it looks like she’s going to take pleasure in screwing me over.
The waiting room is already packed when I arrive, and I’m forced to cool my heels for nearly three hours before a doctor can see me. Beforehand, they run me through a battery of tests—urine sample, blood work, etc. Whatever it is they’re looking for, I hope they find it, because if I don’t get to go back to the dorm soon, I’m going to lose it.
However, when the doctor gives his official diagnosis, I nearly fall over. I grab a handful of the crinkly paper lining the exam table as he does a more thorough examination. I can’t believe what he just told me. It can’t be true. But my answers to his questions along with the results of my tests are pretty conclusive. There’s no denying what’s wrong with me. I only wish it weren’t true.
