Love to Love Her YAC (8 page)

As I stare down at my lap, eventually the
sadness, anger and shame subside and begin to feel marginally less
oppressive. My sorrow dissolves into a need for solitude and time
to mull things over.

Slowly, hesitantly I lift my eyes. Blake is
still kneeling before me; his expression is broken, and his
shoulders are slumped. His eyes drink me in, pausing first on my
eyes, then for an inordinate amount of time on my lips – I press
them into a firm line, not wanting him to get any ideas.

“Please leave,” I whisper, sounding calmer
than I really feel. “I need to be alone.”

He nods. “I understand.” He rises to his
feet. I can feel him gazing down at me, but I can’t look at him
anymore. Instead I focus downward, suddenly feeling silly for being
in this frilly pink camisole, having meant to seduce a guy I hold
absolutely no sway over. I wrap my arms around my stomach, wanting
to rip it off. I want him out of here.

Blake squeezes my shoulder one last time
before heading for the door. When he reaches it he turns back.
“Rhiannon?” he says.

I look up and immediately wish I hadn’t. His
face looks so totally
haunted
. “I still want to spend time
with you,” he says. “That may be the wrong thing to say. I know it
would probably be easier if we just…didn’t. And you may never want
to see me again anyway.” He exhales and rubs the side of his face
with the hand that isn’t grasping the door knob. “But that doesn’t
change how I feel. We could be…friends.”

My jaw unhinges in disbelief and perhaps a
bit of relief, although I can’t stand admitting this to myself.

“Will you just promise me you’ll think about
it?” he asks. He looks at me a moment longer but doesn’t wait for
my response, affirmative or otherwise. Instead he turns and lets
himself out, leaving me behind.

Blake – 11:30 PM

M
y heart feels as if
it may be breaking. Even after everything Jordan and I have been
through, I can’t remember a single other time I felt quite so
desolate. I stand on the landing outside Rhiannon’s door for a full
five minutes, my hand on the knob, wanting nothing more than to go
back in there and apologize some more. Eventually I summon the
strength to walk away, wanting to respect her wishes. An
indescribable despondency borne of the fear I may never see her
again bubbles to the surface of the already incomparable pain.
Fuck, it hurts – I almost buckle under the weight of it. I
shouldn’t have touched her tonight, but I was selfish and had
somehow deluded myself into thinking it was all innocent.

I don’t remember driving home, and I have no
recollection of going into my apartment. All I can think is thank
God
Adam is gone. The only thing I need worse than being
with Rhiannon at this moment is to be alone.

I don’t bother turning on any lights. Instead
I make a beeline for the cabinet above the fridge and remove a
bottle of Jack Daniels. I pour a couple of fingers into a water
glass sitting in the sink and knock it back, exulting in the
searing heat that follows it down my throat. My eyes water as I
wipe at my mouth with my sleeve. I drink one more shot of the stuff
before replacing the bottle in the cabinet.

I stumble into my room and sit on the edge of
my queen size bed. There I sit until my breathing has evened out
and I can see without the room swimming before my eyes. I should
call Jordan – I almost always call her before I go to sleep at
night. It’s a habit that developed over the years, and some habits
are difficult to shake. I won’t tonight though. I can’t.

I strip down to my boxer briefs and flop onto
my unmade bed. I stare up at the ceiling, one arm raised above my
head and the other clutching my chest. A thought drifts through my
mind, and before I can think better of it I reach for my phone. I
type a text message to Rhiannon.

Please let me see you again. I can’t not be near
you.

I hate sounding so weak, but desperate times
call for desperate measures. I roll onto my side and draw the
covers up, resolved to give her the time she needs to respond. I
tell myself I won’t be upset if I don’t hear back from her tonight,
or even tomorrow, but I keep my phone grasped in my hand just in
case.

Sometime later, just as I’m about to fall
asleep, the phone beeps.

I don’t know, Blake. Maybe.

Maybe
… It isn’t “yes,” but it’s enough
to give me hope. I drift off with the hint of a smile on my
face.

Rhiannon – Tuesday, September 18, 7:00
PM

“S
o would it be ‘She
likes to
lie
in the hammock,’ or ‘She likes to
lay
in
the hammock’?” I ask. I hold the phone in the crook between my
shoulder and my ear as I dump pasta into the colander in the
kitchen sink. I salt the pasta and drizzle it with olive oil while
I wait for my sister’s response. Our Tuesday night phone chats have
become a weekly ritual, and part of my responsibility as a big
sister is helping Tawny with her English Comp homework.

“It sounds like it should be ‘lay,’” she says
after some deliberation, “but I’m not sure.”

“Well let’s think about it,” I say as I put
the finishing touches on my dinner. I plate the pasta and take it
and a glass of ice water to the coffee table. “’Lay’ should always
have a direct object, remember? So go back and read that sentence
again. Is there a direct object there?”

“I’m not sure you’re speaking English right
now,” Tawny replies, the frustration evident in her voice. I
struggle not to laugh.

“Okay, maybe we need to go about this in
another way,” I tell her as I begin winding pasta around my fork. I
rack my brain, trying to come up with some way for her to remember
the difference. “I know! Have you ever heard Dad say that old
phrase ‘Lay it on me’?”

“You mean like when you say, ‘I have a
question,’ and then he says, ‘Lay it on me’?”

“Exactly. In that statement, ‘it’ is the
direct object. That’s what you’re doing the action
to
…What
are you laying? You’re laying ‘
it.
’ So because we’re talking
about a direct object, the correct verb is
lay
.”

“All right…”

“Now look at that sentence again. Does it
have a direct object?”

I wait as Tawny reads and re-reads the
sentence to herself. “I don’t think so?” She says it like a
question.

“Right! There isn’t one! So in this case, the
correct word would be
lie
. Got it?”

“I guess so,” says Tawny. I grow a little sad
for a moment, wishing Tawny could like school more. She’s supposed
to be caught up from all the work she missed when she first got
sick a couple of years ago, but she still gets herself down
thinking she’s behind in some way.

“All right, enough about school,” I say after
a minute of silence. “Tell me about your love life.”

Tawny laughs. “There isn’t much to say about
that.”

“I doubt that. What about that guy you were
telling me about last week…Kyle?”

“Oh, him…He barely talks to me anymore,” she
says. She sounds so forlorn it tugs at my heart strings. Blake pops
into my head unbidden, and suddenly I find myself fighting back
tears.

I shake my head to clear it. “That can be a
sign he likes you,” I say.

“No, I don’t think so…He doesn’t even notice
I exist most of the time.” I smile to myself – sometimes I can’t
help but be amused by her fifteen year old histrionics.

“Tawny, that is completely impossible. Have
you looked at yourself lately?”

“Not really.”

“Well then get your butt up off that couch or
whatever it is you’re sitting on, and go to the nearest mirror,” I
say. “I mean it, I’m being serious!”

She giggles, but I can hear the thud of her
footfalls against the carpet as she heeds my command.

“Are you there yet?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m here,” she sighs.

“Good. Now, I want you to take a look at the
girl in the mirror. I want you to notice, I mean really
see
how truly gorgeous she is. Just look at her, baby girl…See those
pretty blue eyes, and that perfect little nose? See those big, full
lips? And holy crap, check out that hair! Do you know how many
girls would
kill
for hair that color?”

She’s laughing now, and the sound is like
music to my ears. I can picture her standing in the hall bathroom,
the phone pressed to her ear, her lips pursed together as she takes
herself in. I can imagine a smile spreading slowly across her
beautiful face as she listens to my words, feeling partly
embarrassed but partly as sure of herself as she’s ever been.

“But now,” I continue quietly, “to see how
really and truly amazing that girl is, you’re going to have to look
past all that. I want you to stare into those exquisite big, blue
eyes of hers and focus on what’s on the other side. Think about her
huge heart…Think about the time she rescued that ugly old stray cat
from the rain because she couldn’t stand the thoughts of it being
cold. Think about the time she told off that stupid boy at school
because he made her best friend cry.” I can feel something building
inside me as I grow desperate for her to believe every word I’m
saying. “Tawny…Think about what she means to everybody who loves
her, and think about
why
they love her so much.”

She’s stopped giggling now. I hold my breath,
waiting for her to respond. When she finally does, her voice comes
out in a hoarse whisper. “Thank you, Reena.” I smile at her use of
the nickname she’s been calling me since before she could pronounce
my full name.

“You bet, baby girl. Now go finish that
homework so you can relax.”

“Okay…I love you.”

“Love you, too.” I press End, then climb
slowly to my feet and walk back to the sink to rinse off my dishes.
I’m still lost in my conversation with Tawny when my phone beeps,
and I dry my hands on a dish towel before reaching for it. I feel
faint when I see the text message is from Blake; I haven’t seen or
heard from him since last week when he came to tell me about his
girlfriend.

I decide I’d better be sitting when I read it
just in case he has any more earth shattering news to deliver, so I
hop up onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar before tapping
on the message.

What are you doing Thursday night?

My heart beats a million miles a minute as I
puzzle out a reply. Should I pretend to be busy? No, we’re just
friends. This isn’t a big deal.
But really it’s a huge deal
.
God, I’m still
mad
at him – and yet I still
want
him
so much.

Nothing that I know of

His rapid-fire response takes me by
surprise.

Can I come over? Say 6:30?

I pretend to ponder the appropriate response,
but really it just boils down to one word, two letters.

OK

Blake – Thursday, September 20, 3:30 PM

A
fter three weeks of
nearly perfect weather, today it seems the streak has ended. I’m
sitting in one of the study carrels at the library staring out the
window at the quad as the rain comes sheeting down from the wet
gray sky. I have the afternoon off to work on my thesis, but
maintaining focus is bordering on impossible. If I’m being honest
with myself, the real reason for my inability to concentrate has
nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with my plans
for the evening. I probably should have waited for Rhiannon to
contact me herself, but after almost a week of not talking I was
beginning to go a little crazy.

My phone begins to vibrate, causing the
entire table to judder. The screen is lit with a thumbnail sized
photo of a smiling brunette…Jordan. I push back from the table,
welcoming the break. I snatch up the phone and stride purposefully
toward the side exit. Once outside I run for cover beneath a nearby
picnic shelter.

“Hello?”

“Hi…Blake? Are you all right? You sound out
of breath.”

“No I’m fine, I was just running to get in
out of the rain.”

“Oh. Well do you need to call me back?” She
sounds irritated for some reason.

“No, I don’t need to call you back. What’s
up?”

“Well I was just calling to see if you’re
still coming home the weekend of October 27. My dad got us tickets
to see the Forty Niners play the Cardinals that Sunday.”

“Oh, wow, that was really nice of him,” I
reply. “But babe, you know I have to drive back on Sunday. I have
work on Monday morning and class on Monday night.”

“Aww, come on, Blake,” she whines. “Can’t you
call off? You can drive back bright and early Monday morning so you
won’t miss your class. You hardly ever come see me anymore.”

I’ve been home to visit Jordan at least five
times more than she’s ever been to visit me, but I don’t point that
out. No use rocking the boat. “I’ll see what I can do,” I say. She
shrieks happily. “No promises though,” I add quickly before she can
get carried away.

“Okay, I’ve gotta scoot, call me later,” she
says. She makes a smooching sound and hangs up the phone. I wander
back to the library, not even bothering to dodge the rain.

6:00 PM

I
’m so nervous by
the time I pull up to Rhiannon’s building I almost forget to put
the E brake on when I pull my key out of the ignition. My palms are
sweating and my heart is about to tap dance right out of my chest –
I’m a fucking mess. The one silver lining to this whole ordeal
(apart from Rhiannon herself) is the fact the sun came out about an
hour ago and drove away the rain. The parking lot, which is in bad
need of resurfacing, is cratered with puddles of rainwater, and a
rainbow is faintly visible in the western sky.