Chapter Ten – THEN

 

“When are you coming back to work?  I miss you.  It’s so boring in the office without you,” Meg says, pouting at me.  My raven-haired friend decided we needed a girls’ night, so she organized for Celia to watch Matilda, and she ensconced me to a bar downtown. 

“I start back on the first of next month,” I say, bringing my margarita to my lips.  Thankfully, my boss was amenable when I informed him I wanted to take a full year off after Matilda’s birth.  The thought of leaving my little girl when she was three or six months old wasn’t something I felt I could do.  Now that she’s a toddler who’s walking, albeit unsteadily, and babbling, I feel slightly more relaxed about going back to work.

“Good.  I can’t wait to have you back!” she says excitedly before holding her glass toward me. 

I clink mine with hers and together we say, “Cheers.”

We spend the next hour drinking margaritas, catching up, and laughing.  A live band starts to play, and as people steadily fill the bar, Meg and I decide to find a spot on the makeshift dance floor.  We shake and shimmy until we’re dripping with sweat.  My throat is parched and I signal to Meg that I need a drink.

We find two stools by the crowded bar and order six slammers and two beer chasers.

I hold my shot glass up.  “To best friends,” I shout.  Meg chinks her shooter with mine and we throw them back.  The burn of the alcohol slides down my throat, only easing when I greedily suck on my lemon wedge.

“To best friends coming back to work after a million years of maternity leave!” Meg shouts.  I laugh as I cheers her.

“To the best girls’ night ever!”

“Hell yeah!” Meg agrees.

We throw back the tequila and chase it down with a beer.  I’m feeling lightheaded and have a fabulous buzz happening.  We order a couple more drinks and move away from the bar to a quieter corner where we don’t have to shout as loud to hear each other over the music.  My steps are a little wobbly and my gaze is slightly unfocused, but we make it to the chairs without incident.

“I’m so sloshed.  I haven’t been this drunk since college,” I slur.

“I haven’t been this trashed since last weekend,” Meg counters.  I burst out laughing and then a sudden seriousness overcomes me.  I look at my friend – there’s two of her, so I focus in the center.

“Have you ever had feelings for someone you shouldn’t?” I ask.

“Uh, yeah! Of course I have.  I crushed so hard on my English teacher, it was borderline criminal.”  Her eyes glaze over.  “I screwed him right after our graduation ceremony.”

My jaw drops.  “You did?”

“Yup.”  She pauses for a beat.  “Such a letdown,” she sighs.  “He had the smallest dick, and he didn’t even know how to use it.”

“Oh Jesus,” I mutter.

“Just like that.”  She waves her hand around.  “Four years of crushing down the drain.  What a waste.  Such a shame.”

“Did you… do you regret it?”

“God no.  It taught me a valuable lesson,” she implores.

“What’s that?” I ask hesitantly even though my words are slurred.

“Fuck first, develop feelings later.”

She’s serious.  Not a smile twitching her lips.  I burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

“You’re a riot!” I shout hysterically.

“I’m being serious,” she replies through her laughter.  “So, who do you like?  Is it your boss?” 

I give her an indignant glare.  “My boss is female, you know this.  Plus,  I’m straight.”

She gives me a come on, don’t lie look, before bursting out laughing. “I’m kidding!”

I slump in my chair, defeated.

“It’s Kyle Westwood – Brant’s older brother.  But I know it’s wrong.  It’s so fucking wrong.  No matter how many times I tell myself that, my body just won’t listen.  Every time I see him, or even think about him, my body has a visceral reaction that I can’t control,” I complain.

“What’s so wrong about it?  You’re single, I’m guessing he’s single, no doubt he’s hot, you’re hot… I don’t see a problem.”

“He’s my dead boyfriend’s brother.  He’s my daughter’s uncle.  And did I mention he’s my dead boyfriend’s brother?!”

“Liv,” she says, softening her features to match her tone.  “Brant’s been gone for almost two years.  You deserve to be happy.  I’m sure Kyle’s a great guy, and you deserve the freedom to move on, to find love.”

“Maybe it’s just sexual tension?”

“Oh no, girl, the look on your face tells me it’s waaaay deeper than sexual tension.”

I wrinkle my nose.  “Every time I consider it for only a second, I feel like I’m betraying Brant in the worst possible way.  I wouldn’t just be moving on, I’d be moving on with his brother.”

“I think you’re overthinking it,” she advises.  “Listen to your heart and your head, but go with your gut.”

“Cheers to that,” I say, tilting my glass to her. 

Her words hold merit, but deep down, I know two things for sure:  One, my heart, head, and gut all direct me to Kyle.  Two, I’m going to continue ignoring them.