LIZ
The apartment is quiet, Ros must not be home. I close the door behind me and lean against it. After Chris dropped me off, I came into the house, changed my clothes, and immediately left for a run. I don’t usually run in the neighborhood, but today was an exception. I ended up at the playground. I don’t know why, but there’s something about watching kids that lift my spirits. I guess it reminds me that everything in the world can’t be shitty if the kids can still laugh and play.
It took everything I had not to burst into tears in the car with Chris earlier. He didn’t need to see that, not again. God, I suck. Last night was so great; it had to be the best hook-up in the history of hook-ups. Granted, I don’t have much to compare it to, but I know a mountain had to move somewhere. Doesn’t matter, though. I had to make it completely weird by ugly crying the morning after. Who does that? How much awkward can two people take? I probably broke things for good. Maybe I’m not ready for a sex buddy after all.
I really wasn’t prepared for that dream; it was beyond horrible. I watched my sister die over and over in my sleep last night. Each time I’d try to stop it, but each time it would end the same. I saw Chris and knew it was a dream, but the pain and terror had gripped me so tightly, I couldn’t breathe through it. Usually, when I have a dream like that, I take a few deep breaths and repeat, “It’s okay. You’re okay,” but it didn’t work this morning. I kept repeating it, but it wasn’t okay and I wasn’t okay. My sister’s screams echoed in my head, and every breath I took felt like fire. Chris’ reaction surprised me; hell, my reaction surprised me. I would’ve expected him to be completely weirded out, but he wasn’t. Yet another layer of compassion hidden under his hard body and perfect smile. I guess that’s why they say to never judge a book by its cover. I appreciate him not making me talk about it.
Pushing myself off the door, I head toward my bedroom for a shower. The run helped a lot, but I need to shake this mood because Sean will be here in thirty minutes. If not, Sean will be able to see right through me, and I don’t want to talk about it with him either. By the time I met him, it had been a year since Della had died. Living was too hard, so I chose to stand between surviving and existing, and that wasn’t even my lowest point. Grayson had already served a year of his four-year sentence, and I was starting to be able to breathe again. We didn’t talk about my past; it hurt too much. He knew that I had a sister who died and that I was getting divorced, but not much else. Sean never had to watch me hurt, and I preferred it that way. He had no idea Della tried to introduce us that night at the ball; I’m not even sure how much he even knew about Della’s death before I told him. They weren’t friends, just lab partners that semester. After things kicked off with us, and love started growing, I never wanted to show him that hurting part of me; he didn’t need to know that girl. We were months into our relationship before I was able to start opening up more about what happened with Della, and even then, it was only in small doses. Sean quickly became all I knew. He took away the pain and forced me to focus on the things I could control, like my life, my grades, and my career. Everything about him was so opposite of Grayson that I knew immediately why Della wanted me to be with a guy like him.
Sean knocks promptly, thirty minutes later, and my heart sinks as I walk toward the door. It’s starting to hit me that this will officially be our first time hanging out since the breakup, and I really don’t know what to expect, I don’t even know what this is. I’ll just call it a ‘maybe date’—maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I take a head-clearing breath and open the door.
“Hey,” Sean says, and my heart sings. I greet him with a smile and step back allowing him inside.
“So, how was your weekend?” I ask, rubbing my sweaty palms against my jeans. We are sitting on the couch and have been making agonizing small talk for the last seven minutes and twenty-two seconds, twenty-three seconds, twenty-four seconds. I wasn’t expecting this to be weird. I’m probably not helping. I’ve been so stiff and tense sitting next to him it’s probably ruining the mood. My heart is screaming at me because while I’m ecstatic he’s here it still hurts. I don’t expect him to apologize every time we see each other, but I know there is still so much left unsaid.
“So, Tegan said he saw you and Ros out at The Lounge a few weeks ago. He said you were wearing some slinky red dress.”
“Yeah, I remember seeing him.”
“He also said you were wasted,” he frowns.
“Well, it was my divorce celebration, Sean.”
And the night I met Chris.
“Wasn’t that the week of exams? Don’t you think that you could’ve utilized your time better?”
“I did great on my exams. My divorce deserved to be celebrated, you know what that meant for me.”
His jaw tightens.
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to carry on like a drunk, Liz. It’s irresponsible; you’re too smart for that. Are you still set to go to Emory in the fall?”
“Yes,” I sigh.
Words dissolve on my tongue, I stand and ask if he’s hungry. In the shower, I had made up my mind to attack this thing head on, ask him how he felt about us and where he wants to go from here. Instead, I dutifully fetch him popcorn and beer as we watch a movie. Well, he’s watching the movie, I’m watching him, analyzing his every move. Like how he leans back comfortably, allowing his knee to touch mine, or how he throws his arm across the back of the couch, not around me like he normally would, but as if he would be open to the possibility.
God, I miss him.
Okay, New Liz.
Right after the movie, I will pull up my big girl panties and ask him where we go from here. It’s not too forward, right? It needs to happen, right after this movie.
Decision made, I’m finally able to relax. We're halfway through “SuperBad” when we decide the popcorn isn’t enough, so I’m off to the kitchen to throw together a quick stir fry. Sean follows me into the kitchen and breaks the tension as he jokes about the first time I tried cooking him stir fry. I was so nervous that I burned the chicken, and instead of just starting over, I convinced myself I could fix it with a little seasoning. That night we ate crispy chicken stir-fry, and as delicious as that sounds, it wasn’t.
He watches me cook, and I watch him. My heart is so happy and, for a second, I forget the current status of our relationship. We smile, laugh, and pretend while we stuff ourselves sick with stir fry and a pick apart every hilarious moment in “SuperBad”.
“I kind of miss this,” he says after the movie ends. He leans back on the couch and grins.
“What do you mean, this?” I ask, hoping for the answer I want to hear.
I miss us, being with you, being together, say it.
“You know, our banter. You’re always talking shit about something,” he laughs.
Not knowing how to respond, or how I feel about his reply, I give him a smile, hoping he interpret it as “Yeah, it’s because I’m awesome and you know you miss me.”
As the time winds down and as he prepares to leave, I begin to panic. My words, all of my questions, my one question—everything is stuck. I’ve been praying he says something first, to take the conversation where I need it to go because I can’t find the courage to do it. This night has been good and bad. Good to know we can just move past him breaking my heart, and bad to know we can just move past him breaking my heart. He’s too casual. Earlier in the night, it was excusable, now it’s beginning to feel cold. I know Sean may be a lot of things, but he’s not cold.
“This was nice,” he says. I walk him to the door; he opens it and turns to face me.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
I drop my eyes to the floor, and he backs a step out of the door. When my eyes return to his, I’m shocked to see pain dancing in them. The forced smile I’ve been holding begins to hurt, and I know he must be able to see through to my pain as well.
“I want to do this again,” he says and walks away quickly.
Twenty minutes later, I’m lying in my bed alone, feeling empty and bruised. Using my foot, I push my overnight bag onto the floor and throw a pillow across the room. I think I understand Ros a little better now. Every time I mention Sean’s name, she turns into the ‘Fuck him’ police, and now I see why. Just a word, or lack thereof, from him can turn me inside out.
My mind races toward Old Liz, wanting to submerge myself into missing, needing, yearning for Sean, but I know I can’t let myself go there. Instead, I roll over and call Kesha.
I need a distraction.
“Hey Kesh, you home?”
“Just walking in. Why do you sound sad?”
“Come downstairs.”
I meet Kesha at the door, opening it before she knocks, and her expression goes from ‘what’s wrong’ to ‘what the hell’ the second she walks into the room. I probably look like I’m about to burst into tears.
“What’s going on, Liz?” she asks, heading straight to the kitchen to get a corkscrew. Kesha must have sensed this was a red wine moment and bought an already chilled bottle.
I tell her about my movie with Sean, how high it got my hopes up, but inevitably got me nowhere.
“I’m so sick of feeling like this, Kesh.”
“So why don’t you just ask him where y’all stand? He has been making himself more of a factor in your life since you told him about the divorce, maybe he doesn’t know how to proceed,” she says, very carefully.
“Maybe.”
A burn behind my eyes begins to match the burn of the wine as it trickles down my throat. I take a deep breath and force myself to go on.
“I’m not ready,” I say, dropping my eyes from hers and finishing my glass of wine in a large gulp.
“Life was finally getting somewhat close to being back on track. The way it should’ve been from the start. So no, I can’t ask him yet. I can’t ask him where we stand because I’m honestly not ready to hear the answer. How fucking dumb is that?” I mock a laugh at myself and grab the bottle of wine, quickly pouring another glass and bringing it to my lips. I feel the contrast of cold wine flooding down my throat as warm tears run from my eyes.
“Damn, Lizzie,” she says in a huff, and then leans toward me. “You have to give it time,” Kesha says, hugging me tightly.
“I promise that the pain will start to go away. You just have to find a way to keep your mind busy while you heal. You can’t let it run you anymore.”
I give her a smirk and nod as I continue to wipe the tears away then we sit quietly for a beat.
“Hey, how was your night with Chris? Did you finally kiss him?” Kesha asks, smiling, wiping mascara from her cheeks.
“Yes, you whore,” I say, somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle.
Kesha and I are on our third glass of wine by the time I finish giving her all the details of my night with Chris, conveniently skipping the details of this morning.
“WOW! YES! That’s what I wanted to hear. See, you need more or that and less of this!” she says, pointing to the wad of tissues I’ve accumulated.
“Chris really is a lot of fun. There’s no pressure, and I find myself comfortably doing things with him that I would never do. Like, who decides to have sex in a parking lot?” I say with a laugh.
Kesha clears her throat and cuts her eyes to the side, guiltily.
“Okay, I forgot who I was talking to!” I say, and we both laugh.
“Hell, if it’s the right guy and the right moment, parking lots can be fun,” she says, wiggling her brows.
“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” I say.
“So, Mr. Rebound has turned into Mr. Keep Around?” Kesha says with a devilish grin.
“Ugh, you make it sound so sleazy.”
“You said y’all had the ‘I don’t want anything serious’ conversation. Right?”
“Well yeah, but—”
“Do you plan on seeing him again?” she says, cutting me off.
“Probably,” I say, but the half smile, half blush that comes across my face answers before I have to.
Kesha shrugs and raises her brows as if to ask, “Well, what’s the problem then?”
“Wait, how does being around Chris make you feel about Sean? You aren’t over there all crazy and guilty, are you?” Kesha asks, suddenly.
“No," I laugh. "Honestly, I don’t think about Sean much when I’m with Chris. Chris doesn’t give me a chance; being with him is so intense. It’s like he makes me forget about real life, real pain, and just gives me the best parts.”
Kesha and I talk at the table a bit longer, with her pressing me for more details on my “Stripper Sex” as she calls it. Ros comes home about thirty minutes later, and I beg Kesha not to tell Ros about my outburst of emotion. Kesha agrees. Ros joins us at the table, and we finish the bottle of wine before Kesha leaves.
The last thing I see before I fall asleep is the look of pain and regret on Sean’s face before he walked away.