A Thin Line (16 page)

"He asked me to marry him, when we got back together. A long, long time ago. But...I couldn't say yes. I felt like we needed some more time to be real with each other. I needed more time to figure out if he was really everything I needed. Really everything I wanted. What would happen the next time he got bored and needed to explore? What if I got pissed again and decided to go find some other guy? That can't be my base response. So we put off marriage and worked on
us
."

"Right... so now?"

She glances at me, the happiness returning to her eyes. "Nate has worked so hard, over the past ten years. He's been nothing but good to me. Faithful and supportive and loving and always there. He believes in everything I want to do with my life. He's.... he's everything. I finally felt like we were solid. He asked me again, kind of joking, to marry him."

She chuckles, smiling into the memory. "I told him I'd marry him if he was serious. He didn't believe me for the longest time. I had to convince him that I was serious. He proposed for real over Memorial Day."

"Wow. Ten years later." I elbowed her and laughed. "And you give me shit about Preston."

"Oh," she said, wagging a long finger, tipped with a perfectly manicured nail. "I didn't wait ten years to realize I loved him and I wanted to be with him. You and Preston are stupid. Stupid for each other, stupid about each other."

My body hurts with the effort to not say something to her, to spill about my recent conversations with her favorite subject lately. I'm aching to tell her about The Kiss. But I don't. I can't, not yet. Besides, I know exactly what she will say, and I don't want to hear it right now.

"So that's the story of how Nate and Morgan aren't that fairy tale couple everyone thinks we are. In some ways, though, I think that experience saved us. Before that, we were going with the flow. We said we'd talk marriage after Nate finished his residency but we weren't really planning for it. We became more serious about each other after that. We realized that we have to hang onto each other. That it wouldn’t be easy. We weren't going to be able to coast through this relationship, like when we were in high school. This is the hard part."

I understand. So much now, I understand.

Morgan rolls herself sideways so she can stand up. She offers me a hand and pulls me up, then brushes her hands together to remove dirt and pieces of pavement from her palms.

"Well. That was sobering. We're in the middle of a big ass party, aren't we? Let's go drink! Jackie will drive us home."

I link arms with her and walk her back inside. I have a different impression of my best friend now. Strong, capable, and completely sure of where her life is going. I admire her. Still. I admire her relationship, still.

And I
still
want a relationship like hers.

An insistent hammering that will not stop busts through a dreamless, drunken sleep. Except, I realize as my eyes peel open, it’s not in my head. It's somewhere in my apartment.

The door.
Someone is knocking on the door
.  I stumbled up the steps around 3 AM and collapsed on the couch.  It is there that I have awakened to the sound of someone at my door.

I sit up and immediately regret doing so, at least so quickly. I grab for my phone inside the purse I tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table.  I press the Home button to bring it to life and squint to read the screen.

Who the hell is banging down my door at 10:44 AM?

The knocking continues, louder and more rapid. Now I'm pissed. I hurl myself up from the couch and stalk to the door. I fling it open without checking the peephole, ready to stab the salesman or Mary Kay lady or Boy or Girl Scout on the other side.

"What?" I practically scream, before I even see who's standing there. I'm face to... well, chest with Preston, who fills my doorway with his arm raised, mid-knock. I lift my head so I can see his face, then cringe at the deeply amused expression there.

I turn around and walk back into my apartment, leaving the door open under the assumption that he will follow me inside. He does, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" My voice sounds funny, like I swallowed sandpaper. "I'm on vacation. I can't even sleep in?"

I flop onto the couch and tuck one leg under me. Preston takes a seat at the other end. "It's almost 11 o'clock. You going to sleep all day?"

"Did I mention I was on vacation? You didn't answer me. What are you doing here?"

"I had coffee with Kent this morning. He spent the entire time laughing because Brandy called in sick today. He took the kids to school so she could sleep. Totally hung over." He laughs and rests an ankle over his knee. He's wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers. On a Thursday.

"Anyway, from what Kent said, you girls can party. I came by to see how you were doing."

"I'm alive," I manage to squeak out, rubbing my hands over my face and combing my fingers through my hair. Since I'm starting to wake up, I'm aware that
Preston is in my apartment right now
.  "Why are you not at work?"

Preston stares at me for a few seconds, as if the answer will come to me by osmosis. I stare back, I'm sure looking as blank as ever.

"I told you I was leaving Perry."

"Oh." Blink blink. "So you already left? Settled the case and… bounced?"

"I'm surprised Troy didn't tell you. It’s all my parents are talking about."

"I haven't seen much of him this week. I've been trying to get my caseload in order, since I'm going to be gone. And he's been in court." I look over at Preston and smile. "By the way, I can totally tell that you took Troy shopping. He's wearing your style of suit. He looks great."

Preston shakes his head. "I didn't take him. Of course he looks good, if he's biting my style... but that wasn't me."

"Oh. Well. He must like your style, then."

"You think I have a style?"

"Of course you do. I'd know you from a mile away."

"Interesting." He strokes his chin, brushing down the hairs in his light beard, blending them with his goatee. He’s been growing it since the engagement party. "I didn't think you paid that much attention."

Well, damn, Angie. Admit to thinking about him nonstop, while you're at it. 

"I hardly think you having a style has anything to do with me paying attention. Everyone knows your style."

"Yeah, but..." He wags a finger at me. "You noticed. That's what's important."

"Whatever. So what are you doing with yourself, since you're unemployed? Besides sitting outside my apartment?"

Preston seems to relax, sinking into the fabric of the couch and laying his arm across the tops of the cushions. The fingers of one hand tap a beat on his knee. "I've been keeping busy. Getting some things done that I usually don't have time to do. Working on a couple of things for my Uncle."

He aims his golden browns right at me.  I suppress a shiver at knowing I have his undivided attention. "I've been occupying myself pretty well, I'd say. Not bored yet."

"Good," I say, nodding.  "That's good."

"Yeah," he says, seeming to agree. This is the most civil conversation we've had in... forever. I'm amazed at how I've shifted from hating the very sight of him to being nervous that he's here, at my apartment. And that I look a mess.

Suddenly embarrassed, I leap up from the couch. "Uh... so I got home really late last night and crashed and I'm sure I look really bad–"

"You look like you had a good time. You're always beautiful to me."

I don't want to smile and blush and be flattered, but I do and I am.  Instinctively, my hand goes toward my hair, which by my estimation resembles a rat's nest. I slept in my clothes, so my blouse is wrinkled. I never took off my makeup and I always get raccoon eyes when I sleep in eye shadow and mascara. Beautiful, I am not, but I take his flattery as intended–compliments from a man who says he's still in love with me.  I blush again at the thought.

"Anyway, I need to grab a quick shower, so..."

"I'll wait. I thought we'd go to breakfast. You look like you need some grease to soak up that hangover."

My feet feel stuck to the floor.
Breakfast?

"So go." He shoos me away with the flick of his wrist, then leans forward to grab the remote. "Lunch rush at Grand Luxe sucks. Let's try to get there before noon."

I'd started to walk away but stopped at the mention of my favorite place. He snaps his fingers at me and tries to glare. "C'mon lady. Time's wasting. I'm hungry."

Less than an hour later I am freshly showered and comfortable in a strapless maxi dress, tucked into a booth at Grand Luxe Café with a hot cup of coffee, across from Preston. The menus stay on the edge of the table, since neither of us needs one.  While waiting for the waitress we chat about the wedding, the parties coming up over the weekend, the weather. Everything but the giant elephant in the room.

The waitress arrives to take our order, chewing gum and cracking jokes as she refills coffee and water, then pulls a pen from its resting place behind her ear. I have my usual chocolate chip pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon. Preston orders the peanut butter and banana pancakes, his usual. The waitress collects the menus we never used and then we are alone again, as alone as we can be in a restaurant slowly filling with the lunch rush.

"So," Preston says, folding his arms and then leaning onto the table. It brings his face closer to mine. "Have you thought about our conversation?"

I reach for the tiny cups of cream, rip the cover off of three of them and pour them into my coffee. I do the same with packets of sweetener, then pick up my spoon and stir. "Our conversation?"

His eyes narrow, though I can see a playful spark in them. He's almost smiling. "You're stalling. Don't think I don't know that."

"I'm hoping you'll pick up that I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it yet. I haven't decided how I feel."

"What's to decide? You feel it or you don't. And don't tell me you don't. You’re just as shaken up about it as I am."

"You don't seem shaken up," I say, bringing the mug to my lips. I take a sip of coffee and set the mug back into its groove in the saucer. "You seem confident in your feelings. In my feelings, too. You're pretty much telling me how I feel right now."

"I'm not telling you how you feel. I'm acknowledging it. Like I'm acknowledging how I feel. You don't think it's weird for me to suddenly realize I still have a thing for you? Do you know how long I've been thinking of dirty comebacks and nasty things to say to you?"

"A couple of decades? That's how long I've been mad at you."

"And are you
still
mad at me?"

"I'm not," I insist, shaking my head. "I promise I'm not. Just... right now I'm thinking about things."

"Like?"

"Like the timing. You said that weddings bring out the worst in people. It makes people reassess their personal lives when two of their friends commit themselves to each other forever. Maybe..."

"You think I'm lonely and reaching out for the first warm body because my best friend is getting married?"

I sink back into the warm fabric that covers the booth. "No, not like that. But maybe we're getting caught up in the romanticism of the event. Maybe it would be better if we waited until the wedding was over before we made a huge decision like getting back together."

"Okay, I'd picture
you
falling for that. But do you think I'm the type to base my life around a ceremonial event for two people who've pretty much been married since they were five?" He clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water in front of him. He sips, then comments, "That's a weak argument, Counselor."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but can't stop myself from laughing.  "Sidebar?"

He nods. "Granted."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Okay, for real. I have thought about it. I've thought about it nonstop. I can't think of anything else."

"And?"

"And..." I give him a bewildered look. "I'm scared. I'm scared out of my mind that I'll give in to this and be disappointed or it won't work or it'll be like all those times when you would be nice for a few weeks and then out of nowhere, you'd do or say something ugly. I can't hear all those pretty things you said to me and then fall into some elaborate trap, Preston. I can't take that."

"There is no trap. Honest. And I get it. We have a lot of history and most of it, on average, is bad. I don't have any excuse for my behavior except that I wanted you and I didn't know it. You're Morgan's friend, so I still had to see you all the time and that was hard for me.  I still felt things for you but didn't know why and the only way I knew to combat that was to lash out.

"And I got jealous a lot. I'd see you with some guy…like who's that guy you dated for about a year?" He snapped his fingers together, his eyes blinking quickly, furiously trying to remember a name. "Darrell or... Mike or..."

"Steven," I answered. Steven was a fellow attorney. We had a great connection, lively conversation and debate and he was incredible in bed. But I wasn't in love with him. I knew it wasn't going to happen for me, despite his confession of love and desire to get married. I had to let him go. Six months later, I got a Facebook wedding announcement. He'd met someone right after we broke up. They hit it off, had a hot and heavy courtship and got engaged. I've never been so happy for an ex-boyfriend.

"Him. Seeing you with him drove me crazy and I didn’t know why. My brother would tell me all the time, ‘
hey you know you're still in love with Angie right?'
I almost punched him one day. He wouldn't let it go."

"He told me about that."

Caught off guard, he's frozen in place for a few seconds. Then, timidly, he asks, "He told you that?"

"He's been telling me for years that you're still in love with me. And I told him he was crazy."

"So how can you think that I'm getting caught up in wedding fever? You know it's not the wedding. It's not our friends showing us what we should be doing, what we should have done a long time ago."

"Because it isn't only that."

"Okay, what else?"

"It's that... I mean, it's been a long time since we were together. You expect us to pick up where we left off. Just get back together and everything's the same? It won't be."

He is already shaking his head in disagreement. He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. His is warm, the tips of his thumbs soothing as they caress the skin on the back of my hands.

"I never said I expected us to just get back together and everything would be the same. I'm not that kid anymore, obviously. And you're not the same girl. And while I still have feelings for you, the feelings I have now are completely different than what I felt for you then. As they should be. Aren't yours different?"

I nod, knowing that I am admitting to even having feelings, let alone that the thoughts that fuel my current fantasies, the mental images of his body, his face, his tongue, his hands… they’re nothing like they were when we were teenagers. 

"All I'm saying is let's take this chance and see if we really are meant for each other. Let's see if we're supposed to be together, like everyone keeps saying. Like I keep feeling. And like you must feel too."

I breathe a sigh of relief as the waitress shows up with our breakfast. Thankful for the break in conversation, I busy myself with adding syrup to my plate and slicing my pancakes into bite sized pieces. Preston is doing the same, making quick work of his task, then spearing a stack of pancakes and shoving the entire mound into his mouth.

He closes his eyes and a sultry moan rolls from his chest. "These are so good," he says, around a mouthful of food. He picks up another forkful and offers it to me. "Want some?"

I almost refuse, but decide not to. "Sure," I say, and reach for the fork.