The Long Way Home

France sat up from the opposite couch, “What?” He rubbed his eyes, giving me a funny look.



I put a hand to my face, “Everything’s a bit hazy, but I remember my shoes. My Jimmy Choos, she was wearing them. They’re ruined now. He was in a cape.”



He cocked an eyebrow, “Jack, you alright?”



I shook my head, “No. I feel like death. I ate so many carbs and sugars and drove... and I had some of those energy drinks, and then that full bottle of wine. My body hates me.”



He laughed, “You’re dehydrated as shit.” He got up and grabbed a Gatorade. He passed it to me with the drinking spout opened.



I moaned, “We didn’t…did we?”



“I have to admit, I was tempted last night when you were undoing my pants. ‘Course, I had a bad feeling you wouldn’t remember and that’s not how I see us reuniting in my bed. Not just that, but you threw up a lot and I had this horrible thought that it would be amazing timing for you to get sick again.”



My eyes widened, “Oh my God. I tried to take your pants off? I’m so sorry.”



He smiled, “Not the first time a drunk girl tried to get my pants off. ‘Course, it was the first time a girl called me sexy-lumberjack France. Now drink up. I haven’t heard that outta your mouth in a while.”



I gripped the Gatorade and shook my head, “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. But I also hate you for enjoying this so much.”



He knelt beside the couch, smiling. His eyes were so beautiful and dark. His lashes clumped together a bit, making them frame his eyes so much more. I could have gotten lost in them. Until he spoke, “So, you going to thank me for saving you from getting arrested with a DUI? Those cops were pissed.”



I closed my eyes, groaning, “Oh my God. I drove drunk?”



He nodded, looking serious, “You tried to. They got you out of the car, but you had something called care and control and they were pissed. I took the blame for you. I told them you got scared I was going to attack you.”



I frowned at that; I couldn’t make myself believe he would. His eyes were sweet and kind. They were nice, everything about him was sort of nice. He didn’t scare me. “You told them you scared me? They believed that?”



He laughed, “You told them I chased you on the beach, granted it was in a muddled form of English. I had to explain I wanted your keys so you wouldn’t drive drunk.”



I ran my sticky fingers through my nappy hair, “Oh, France. I am so sorry if I embarrassed you.”



He sat back, chuckling softly but giving me an odd look with those dark eyes, “Jack, you were trashed and upset, and I am not embarrassed by anything you said or did last night. In fact, the two strip shows really made up for almost drunk driving.”



My jaw dropped, “What?”



He pointed, “On the beach, you ripped all your clothes off and got changed. It was entertainment at it’s best.” He pointed to the door, “Then, after you threw up everywhere and we got back here, you did a really nice slow one. It was classy.” His grin was also classy.



There wasn’t a single spot in or out of me that wasn’t completely destroyed. He hit me in the arm lightly, “Mellow out. It was funny. You were drunk and fun. Except the trying to drive, that was less fun.” He got up and started doing things in the kitchen. I drank the blue liquid, shuddering at the sweetness.



“Don’t you have any coconut water?”



He gave me a look, “What?”



I winced and swallowed more, “It rehydrates much more efficiently and without the chemicals and artificial sweeteners.”



He shrugged, “No and I couldn’t find any of that weird green drink you have for breakfast, but I made you medium eggs. You can still eat those, right?”



I laughed, “How do you remember the green drink?”



“Last Christmas when Phil went to Washington for that two days and you spent them at my place. You drank it then. I remember trying to find it everywhere.”



For whatever reason, that memory hurt me. Maybe because I’d hurt him when I left.



He put the plates on the table. I got up, clutching the blue drink and plopped into a seat.



He smiled, “So what’s the plan?” He sat down and ate something I had to give a second look to fully comprehend. It looked like four eggs, a stack of pancakes, a mound of fried potatoes, and several links of sausage.



I pointed, “You can't eat all that, you're thirty. I assumed at Christmas it was a bit of a holiday thing. You don’t still eat breakfast like this every day? You’ll die.”



He laughed, “I’ll work it off later.”



I scowled, “France, you’ll die if you eat that.”



He winked, “Worry about your breakfast and keeping it down.”



I shook my head and sighed.



He cut a piece of egg and picked it up with a piece of sausage. He somehow managed to get a chunk of potato on the fork and stuffed the huge bite into his mouth. I didn’t realize my fork was down and my eyes were wide. He laughed, “What?” he asked through the huge mouthful of food.



I shook my head and looked around at the beautiful waterfront home, “You don’t suit this place. It isn’t how I imagined your beach house. I imagined it more like a log cabin.”



He gave me a quizzical look, “No?” he scratched his scruffy dark beard. “If it makes you feel better, I just bought a log house in Boulder.”



I rolled my eyes.



The furnishings were very nice. Everything was done with taste and elegance. The whitewashed wood color and light blues made the house feel like it was part of the beach. The bright, airy feel and huge windows brought so much light into the place. He looked like a basement dweller who ate chips from the bag in front of a TV. It made me smile. I liked that he had more money than Philip, but it never changed him. No matter what they tried, he never stopped being real.



“So you still think I’m a slob? I should be living like Jeremiah Johnson?”



I closed my mouth and shook my head, “No, you’re just…just different and the same, all at once. You haven’t changed any of the good things.”



His eyes had a twinkle to them, a zest for humor and life, “I've changed. I’ve changed tons. You just haven’t been around much to see it.”



I tried to keep the smile on my face but I couldn’t. I felt sick and my life was in the toilet.



I put a hand forward, “I didn’t mean that, the way it came out. I don’t think you’re just a slob. You’re just casual and real, and I always liked that.”



He still smiled, “I get it. My dad wasn’t a cardiologist like yours. I was the scholarship kid at your school. I get it.”



I felt sick, “France, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way, at all. You’ve been my best friend for a hundred years.”



“It feels that way sometimes. I can't believe it’s been so many years.”



I ate a bite of breakfast and tried not to gag. I swallowed, shuddering.



He shrugged, “Besides, it would take a heck of a lot more than that to hurt my feelings. I wasn’t offended, honestly.”



I put down my fork and nodded. I drank the rest of the liquid and felt like I might be sick again. I pointed, “I know it’s impolite to leave during a meal, but do you mind if I take a shower?”



He looked stunned, “Of course not. Why are you asking? You’re being weird. You’ve been weird for days. Why are you here, Jack? What’s going on?”



I shook my head, “Headache and need shower first.”



He nodded, “Take a shower. You look like shit. There’s some girls’ clothes in my room. Go pick stuff out. After that, we are talking about this shit.”



I waved him off as I sauntered away, “Thank you, but puck-fuck clothing is not my thing.” I was an idiot. I hated the way my parents’ snobbery had rubbed off on me and sometimes slipped out in the worst way. I didn’t take any of the clothes or go near his bedroom. I was scared of what I would find in there. I went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning my back against it and trying to catch my breath. It was a beautiful room with a huge window overlooking the beach. I pulled my clothes off and started the shower. I felt miserable. I couldn’t believe I’d nearly driven drunk. I’d never done anything like that before in my life.



I climbed in and leaned against the wall. The shower was massive. I felt my legs giving out as I slid down the wall.



I was an idiot to believe Phil ever wanted to be with me, for me. He wanted the right cow from the right farm. He cared about my branding, not me. He was like the rest of the guys in my world. I closed my eyes as tears leaked out. I couldn’t hold them back anymore. I was ashamed of trying and forcing myself to be there in that relationship. I was ashamed of what everyone was going to say. I would lose my friends and my family if I walked away. The tears rained down my face, becoming one with the water streaming down my face.



I cradled my head, sobbing into my hands.



I finished the shower and stepped out to find a stack of clothes on the counter. I stood and stared at them.



He had come into the bathroom? Wouldn’t be the first time.



The door was closed but he had come in at some point. Had he heard me crying? I dried off and pulled on the plain purple tee shirt and black jogging pants. They only came mid-calf. I hated them but it was nice to be in something comfortable.



I gathered my clothes and stuffed them into the bag with CHANEL. I made sure the dress was wrapped properly so my other clothes wouldn’t touch it. I noticed my boots and pouted. I picked one up and sighed. The sand had scuffed the hell out of the leather.



I pulled them on and picked up my bags. I looked like an idiot in capri jogging pants and knee-high leather boots.



I grabbed one of his pieces of mail and copied down the address on a piece of paper. On another I wrote,



‘Mike,



Thank you for being you, but I have to go home and face the music. I can’t run away from this. I swear we will talk about it.

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