– Harlow
I pull up to Whitney’s apartment, located in what locals jokingly refer to as the “student ghetto.” She is still a student, after all, I remind myself, although it’s easy to forget.
I don’t know as many students who have their act together as well as she does. I certainly didn’t when I was her age. I wasn’t even a college student. Studying books wasn’t really my thing. My thing was more like climbing up mountains and jumping out of planes and diving into water.
As soon as I knock on the door, Whitney comes right out, wearing a mini skirt with some leggings, and a tight- fitting blouse.
“Wow,” I say, and she says, “What?” with a cute, awkward little laugh.
“You look so different than you normally do.”
“Um, thanks?” she says, with another laugh.
“I mean. Wow. You look great.”
“Thanks.”
I feel like an idiot. She’s left me fucking speechless. Literally.
She looks into my eyes briefly and then heads for my truck. I can tell she’s not quite sure to approach this, and, clearly, neither am I.
It’s probably not exactly kosher to be hitting on my physical therapist and taking her out on a date, even though that’s not what either of us ever called it. But, I think, as I pass her to open the passenger door for her and look down at her ass on my way, who could blame me?
I take her to Apothecary Lounge, the rooftop bar on top of Hotel Parq Central. It’s not usually my kind of scene, but I want to impress her. The weather’s nice and the view of the city is beautiful.
“Wow, gorgeous,” she says, as she walks to the edge and looks down. “I’ve been wanting to come here since it opened, but…”
She trails off, and I imagine it has something to do with it not being her ex’s type of place.
“Do you know this used to be a mental institution?” she asks, changing the subject and gesturing towards the hotel as a whole.
“I’ve heard that,” I tell her, with a wink. “So, I figured it was only fitting for two crazy people to come have drinks here.”
She laughs and I take her arm, leading her to lounge-type chairs and a fancy-looking coffee table in a private alcove of the bar. I like that she doesn’t back away and instead she holds on quite steadily.
The waiter approaches with an expensive drink menu and Whitney orders a fancy martini I’ve never heard of.
“I’ll have the same,” I tell him. “And we’ll look over the tapas menu.”
“Very nice taste,” she says.
“I don’t think they serve my standard drink,” I tell her. “Jack and Coke.”
“I meant your taste in food. Tapas? Really?”
“I’m a world traveler!” I protest, although I’ve only been to combat zones that most people would prefer to avoid rather than travel to.
I leave that part out. I begin to realize that we’ve lived very different lives, and have little in common.
But who cares? I remind myself. It’s not like we’re on The Bachelor. I don’t want to marry her, or marry anyone at all for that matter. I just want to fuck her, give her that orgasm old Tony boy wasn’t ever able to give her. And maybe relax and have some fun for once.
“So, what made you want to join the SEALs?” she asks, as we look over the menu.
“I wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge,” I answer. “I mean, Duke City,” I give Albuquerque’s nickname as a pun.
She laughs, but I’m surprised at myself because it’s the most honest answer I’ve ever given.
I usually try to impress women with tales of valor and heroism, but, even though we just met not too long ago, it feels to me as if Whitney already knows me. She’s seen me at my lowest— hell, she saw the video where I couldn’t even write my name, and the photos of me with half of my face burnt off— and thanks to our physical therapy sessions, she also knows how strong and invincible I can be when I set my mind to it.
There’s just really not much left to try to convince her of. I think the fact that she’s here with me—when it could undoubtedly get her into trouble at work—shows that she’s pretty into me despite knowing everything that she does about me.
Well, she doesn’t know everything about me, I remind myself. My crazy mom, my simultaneously strong yet weak, now deceased, father.
“You don’t like Albuquerque?” she asks, looking a bit disappointed.
“Oh, I like it a lot, now. And I don’t think it was ever Albuquerque I was running from. More like, my folks, my environment… even myself, really.”
“It was that bad, huh?”
Guess she’s about to find out, I think.
I take a deep breath. I usually make it a policy not to get into heavy conversations about my past with my dates. It never turns into anything serious anyway. But this “date” feels different.
“Yeah. I don’t know where it all went wrong. With my mom, I guess.”
She looks at me intently, waiting for me to continue.
“My dad was a respectable guy, a local politician who got along with everyone. We were, like, the picture perfect family. Then my mom ran off with some guy that was fun to drink or do drugs with.”
I shrug.
“My dad didn’t really help matters. He always clung to this fantasy that we’d be a family again.”
As I talk, I feel sentimental about my father’s hopes and dreams, which were never able to come to fruition.
“Every time some loser guy ditched my mom, my dad would take her back, and support her financially and emotionally,” I explain. “They say everyone has to hit her rock bottom, but sometimes I wonder what happens if they don’t. Because she never really has.”
I had never said that out loud before, since this subject is one I try not to talk about, but now that it’s hanging out there in the open, I realize how true it is.
“Mom just used Dad when she needed him and then ran off to the next guy. Over and over. I guess that’s why they say when you enable someone, you don’t allow for things to get bad enough for them to want to change. At the same time, it’s hard to watch someone you love suffer.”
“Of course,” she agrees, nodding vehemently. “You want to help those you love, not let them flail around in their suffering, no matter how self-induced.”
“Exactly,” I tell her, so glad she understands. “And finally, he just couldn’t handle it any more. He died, suddenly and far too young, of undiagnosed pulmonary hypertension. Basically, the stress of it got to his heart. Love literally killed him.”
“That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”
Whitney looks shocked, and I worry that I opened up about too much too soon. She’s right that it’s certainly a sad story, although I’ve had to live with it and accept it as best as I can.
“It’s okay,” I assure her— assure myself. “I just had to get out of that environment. I’ve always been close with my brothers, but they were older and able to leave before I was. Jensen actually stuck around longer than he had to, to look out for me. But we both knew we wanted to join the Navy, become a SEAL just like Ramsey. I just took some detours along the way.”
I pause, realize I’m getting into some heavy shit. But what the hell. It feels good to get it out there, to tell someone.
“I was pretty bad in high school,” I continue. “Everyone including me was pretty surprised that I graduated. But I had to, to get into the SEALs. To escape.”
I sigh, reminiscing.
“I used to think I needed to get away from my mom, from this town, from my dad’s memory. But really, I was just trying to get away from myself. It wasn’t until I realized what I have in the SEALs— and what I came very close to losing— that I was able to put it all together.”
The waiter comes back with our drinks and I order some over-priced small appetizer I probably won’t even like, and Whitney orders one too.
“I can understand,” Whitney says. “I couldn’t handle the pressure of pre-med, so I made a new plan, to get out from under that. And I was only with Tony because I wanted to escape loneliness. But of course I had to come to realize that being lonely is better than being mistreated.”
“Yeah. I hear you.”
Except I’m used to being “lonely” when it comes to not being in a relationship. I used to prefer it this way, as opposed to the other option of opening myself up to being hurt the way my dad was. The way we all were.
Used to.
The sun starts to set, turning the sky various shades of purple and red. I can’t believe I’m catching myself thinking that I might actually want something serious with my physical therapist.
“To wanting to escape ourselves,” she says, and clinks her glass against mine, the loud clink reverberating in my brain and drawing me out of my thoughts.
“Cheers to that,” I respond.
But I know that for the first time in a long time, I’m not trying to escape from— or to— anything. Sure, Whitney seems able to help me get what I want long-term— back into active duty, back to being a SEAL— but right now all I want is this.
To be sitting across from a beautiful woman, watching a lovely Southwestern sunset together, and enjoying way too expensive drinks and food.
Not a care in the world. Just me and a beautiful girl and some good times I want to last for as long as possible. They can stretch on out into forever and I’d welcome that.
What in the actual fuck has gotten into me?