Will becomes consumed with a design project for a solid week straight, so consumed I rarely see him and when I do, he’s usually distracted, bringing his laptop with him to my house and working on it long into the night.
“Deadline,” he always mutters when he comes up for air—and coffee. Then he offers me that sweet, apologetic smile of his, the one I can’t resist, and kisses me deeply, making me lose my head like usual. “I’ll make it up to you when I’m done. I swear.” His voice is always full of promise.
I take him at his word. He’s already made it up to me in the middle of the night, when I awoke to his urgent hands pulling me toward him, his seeking lips finding mine. He makes love to me with a single-minded focus that steals my breath every single time. Until I’m a breathless mess afterward, unable to think or speak or move. I just lie there with my heart thundering and a spinning head, my limbs weak, my skin still tingling when he pulls away, a satisfied smile curling his perfect lips.
I’ve never seen him so distracted before, but do I really know him? No. I’m learning, though. I see that the job I thought was so easygoing is really filled with moments that are intense and can drag on for days, consuming him. I try my best not to disturb him while he’s like this, staying out of his way as best I can. Instead I concentrate fully on my schoolwork since we’re getting closer to the end of the semester. I have a paper to write, a project to work on. The semester is over mid-December and I can’t wait.
I’m also contemplating taking the spring semester off. Mom will flip and tell me I’m making a huge mistake, but I need a break. I just want to live. To breathe. To be. I even want to try and get a job. Nothing major, something simple and part-time. I still have money saved from my father’s death and though it feels weird to spend it on everyday stuff, I’d like to think he wouldn’t mind. He’d rather see me happy and being normal, wouldn’t he? Versus never touching the money and never really living?
That’s what I tell myself at least.
Work-wise, I’d consider just about anything. Retail. An office. I can type reasonably fast and can write a letter or put together a spreadsheet. And I can answer a phone. I’ll work at a fast-food place if I have to, slinging fries and getting zits from the grease I deal with all day. I just feel the need to be out among people and actually doing something.
And that’s all thanks to Will. He’s given me confidence, made me realize that living all by myself, holed up in my house alone every day, is not the way to live. Not that he was any better since he did the same exact thing. I like to think we brought each other out of our respective shells.
With him so consumed with work lately, I’m glad he insisted Molly should stay with me on a more permanent basis. She’s excellent company. I take her out for a walk first thing in the morning and those last fifteen or twenty minutes before the sun goes down, just wandering around the neighborhood and saying hi to the people who live near me. I’ve gotten to know a few a little better by simply chatting them up and being friendly.
But as we get closer to winter, the night comes even faster, causing me to bump my walks earlier and earlier. Mrs. Anderson likes to accompany me during my walk with Molly if she spots me in time, which she usually does.
Wouldn’t doubt for a moment that she sits and waits by her front window, leaping to her feet when she sees Molly and me go past her house. The old woman moves surprisingly fast for her age. We talk about life, about her late husband, and she allows me to ramble on about Will without making me feel like I talk too much. She encourages the conversation, telling me that since romance has left her life, she has to live through my stories. She claims it gives her butterflies when I tell her something extra sweet that Will did for me.
I have no idea if she’s putting me on or not. I like to think she’s not.
I’m waiting for Will to come over now and I peer out my own front window, anxious for his car to appear. It’s dark outside, fog rolling in earlier, low and eerie, making the streetlights cast weird cone-shaped beams of orangey light. I let the blinds fall back into place and settle on the couch, pleased when Molly curls up close to my feet.
Will is bringing dinner with him, but he wouldn’t say where he’s picking up the food. I’m starving, so I hope to God he shows up soon. This living-an-hour-apart business in different towns is getting old, I swear.
He insists on knocking on my front door every time he comes over, which I think is silly, but whatever. Soon enough he’ll just barge in like he owns the place, pretty much like Molly does. She’ll nose through my partially closed doors like she’s the queen of my house and I’ve finally given in to the fact that yes, she is the queen. She’s comfortable here. Happy. Will always complains about how Molly is too big for his backyard, which is about the size of a postage stamp. The tiny house he lives in is a rental and his lease is coming up soon, right after the first of the year—he told me that a few nights ago.
I’m considering asking him to move in with me as a sort of Christmas present. Is that cheesy? I don’t know. I do know I balked only a few weeks ago, but things have changed. We’ve become closer. I’m not so unsure anymore, though I was still unsure just enough not to mention it to Sheila during our last appointment. I’m almost afraid to hear her response. I don’t want her to tell me that she thinks it’s a bad idea for us to live together.
That’s the last thing I need.
I’m so distracted by my own thoughts I didn’t hear the car pull up in front of my house, so I nearly jump out of my skin when there’s a loud knock on my door. Molly goes crazy as usual, barking like the ferocious dog she’s not, running toward the door, her claws clicking a rapid beat against the bare wood floor. I go to the door and peek through the peephole to see Will standing there, a bag of food in his hands and his computer bag slung over his broad shoulder.
Great. Another work night.
Unlocking the door, I throw it open and he smiles, waving the bag of food at me like I’m Molly and easily mesmerized by a doggy treat. Which I sort of am, considering that I’m beyond hungry—but never for doggy treats, ew.
“Thai food,” he says as he walks in, bringing with him the most delicious smell in all the land.
“Pad Thai?” I ask hopefully as I close and lock the door.
“You know it,” he says as he heads into the kitchen. Molly trots after him, looking hopeful that he brought her a treat, too, and I head for the kitchen myself, going for the cupboard and pulling down the shallow bowls I normally use for salads, while Will empties the to-go bag of its contents. He cracks open one container, revealing my favorite Thai dish. I grab two giant spoons and a couple of forks from the drawer and proceed to scoop up the biggest amount of food I can manage.
Will chuckles, shaking his head. “Hungry?”
“Starving. I was wasting away while I waited for you to get here.” I go to the fridge and open the door. “What do you want to drink?”
“A beer if you have any.” He pauses. “Do you mind if we watch the football game? It’s Monday and the Niners are playing.”
“Sure.” I grab myself a bottle of water and a beer for Will, then shut the door with my hip.
We settle in on the couch with our plates of food perched in our laps and turn on the game, the low roar from the crowd and the continuous commentary from the announcers almost soothing as I devour my dinner. Football reminds me of simpler times. When I was young and didn’t have a care in the world and I would watch the games with my dad. I only pretended that I cared at the time, but really I absorbed everything he told me. To the point that I can follow a football game pretty well, though I don’t know who the best players are.
After everything that happened and my father distanced himself from me, I avoided him, and slowly but surely lost my love for football.
Maybe I can gain it all back with Will. Even though my dad is gone, watching football again can make me feel somewhat closer to him, and I need that. Over the years I’ve been filled with so much resentment and hurt at the way he rejected me after the kidnapping, and I really haven’t been able to get over it. No wonder I’m bitter toward the male species. At one time or another, all the men in my life have disappointed me.
Even Will.
We finish our food and Will never breaks out his laptop once, which makes me secretly happy. He’s glued to the television, though, yelling with triumph when the 49ers score and roaring with anger when they make a fumble or the other team scores—or worse, when the ball is intercepted. I stare in mute fascination as he sits on the edge of the couch as tense as he can be, his gaze wide while staring at the TV that hangs on the wall. This is a side of Will I’ve never seen before. My rabid sports fanatic boyfriend is kind of hot.
“Sorry. I tend to get carried away,” he tells me once halftime begins and he seems to relax somewhat. Considering the Niners are losing, I don’t think he’s completely relaxed. “I used to play football in high school.”
“You did?” If he’s mentioned that to me before, I forgot.
He nods, absently petting Molly’s head, which is resting in his lap. She somehow worked her way onto the couch while we were concentrating on the game, and I didn’t protest. She’s sitting in between us now, sleeping contentedly. “Played baseball, too. We were state champions my senior year.”
“Wow. You must’ve been good.” I’m impressed.
“I was okay.” He shrugs, brushing off his accomplishments as usual. “Never good enough to earn scholarships, though that was my secret dream. It was hard, though. My grades were just okay and I had to work a lot to earn extra cash, so I couldn’t practice as much as I wanted.”
How sad. He missed out on so many opportunities because of life circumstances. Then again, so did I. We’re both pitiful. “I’m surprised. You’ve never wanted to watch football before.”
“Yeah, that’s because I’m usually DVR’ing it and watching it at home later.” He smiles sheepishly, looking like he just got busted. “I wanted to catch tonight’s game live. Thanks for being so agreeable.”
“I don’t mind football.” I consider telling him why.
“Really? So you’re like my dream woman?” He raises his brows, his smile reminding me of a little boy’s.
“We already knew that.” I reach over and slug him on the arm, my knuckles making contact with his hard biceps. Yikes, he’s built. I decide to tell him what I’m really feeling, how football is affecting me. “I used to always watch football with my dad when I was little.”
“Oh yeah?” Will’s voice goes soft. “I’ve noticed you never really talk about him.”
“There’s not much to say. We were close, and then one day, we weren’t anymore.” It’s painful, talking about my dad’s rejection. I like to pretend it never happened, but that’s so hard. Memories always come up. Old resentments and new, past good times that meld into voids of nothingness.
“After you were kidnapped?”
I nod, telling myself not to cry. I refuse to cry. That would be pointless. I’m tired of tears.
So tired of them.
“He missed out, then, getting to know you as you grew up,” Will continues as he reaches out and rests his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze.
I drop my head and close my eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to calm my racing heart. “He was too ashamed of me.” Saying the words hurt my chest and I press my hand against it, willing the pain away. I should be over this, over my father’s rejection. But I’m not. There are a lot of things that are good in my life right now that I should focus on, but I can’t help this. I’m not perfect.
I’m damaged. I probably always will be. But I can at least pick up the pieces the best that I can and carry on. It’s the only thing to do. Life is what you make it.
If you make it shit, it’s shit. But if you make it wonderful, well . . .
“He wasn’t ashamed of you, Katie. More like he was ashamed of himself. Angry that he let something so horrible happen to his little girl.”
“He didn’t let it hap—” I start, but Will cuts me off.
“He felt like he did. And that’s as good as actually letting it happen. It was guilt, baby. Pure and simple.” He squeezes my knee again and then nudges at Molly’s side. “Get out of here, dog.”
She rises slowly and hops off the couch, settling on the floor. The second she’s gone, Will pulls me to him so I’m cuddled in his lap, my head nestled against his shoulder, my lips pressed against his neck and my legs draped over him. “I never blamed him for what happened,” I admit softly. “Never. It was the wrong place at the wrong time. Luck and timing worked against me that afternoon. I know that now. No one’s to blame.” Not even myself.
“He blamed himself and that’s probably worse.” He runs his hand over my hair, his mouth at my temple. “I know it’s hard to forgive him for his rejection, but I’d bet money that he struggled every damn day for the rest of his life. I also wouldn’t doubt that he felt completely responsible.”
Why does he have to be so reasonable?
I remain quiet, plucking at his soft T-shirt, secretly wishing he wasn’t wearing it. I like it best when we’re alone together, bare skin on skin. I wish he was over watching this football game. That he’d take me to bed instead. Or maybe he could take me right here on the couch. We haven’t tried that yet.
Anything to forget the pain thinking of my father always brings me. But it’s no use. He’s there, front and center in my memories, never letting me forget. I remember a moment a long time ago, not long after I came home from the hospital, once I was mostly healed physically but still in tremendous, overwhelming pain mentally. I’d eavesdropped on my parents, when my dad practically broke down and cried while talking to my mom, asking how he could have let something so horrible happen to his little girl.
Despite my not wanting them, the tears come anyway. Quiet, mournful tears for what I lost with my father. What he lost with me. Will’s fingers find my face and he gently wipes away my tears, but it’s no use. The tears keep coming. He tilts my face up and kisses the tears away, one after another, his lips covering every inch of my skin. Until his mouth is on mine. Finally, finally his kisses help me forget my turbulent relationship with my father, chasing away all the bad memories.
But Will also helps me remember the good times. As strained as our relationship was till the very end, I still miss my father and what we used to have. Even when we shared nothing, at least he was still there. Still in my life.
Somehow, despite it all, I can cherish the bad times, too.
More than I ever have before.