If Only (36 page)

“Sure, what’s up?” 

He jingles his keys in front
of me. “Think you could take care of my baby for me?”

My gaze cuts to the Kombi,
parked in the drive. “What?”

“Think you could take care
of Roberta for me? I’m headed to the airport now – I’m going to Thailand for a
while. I’ve got a buddy who runs a Yoga center there, I was gonna join him a
couple years ago, but then we got together. I figure now is probably the best
time. Who knows, maybe I’ll even learn Thai massage.”

“Omigod, you’re leaving the
U.S.?
How long for?”

“I’m just going with the
flow, sugar. That’s how I always did it before I came to Arizona, even with my
wife.” He jingles his keys again, pulling me from my shock.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m serious all right. You
love her almost as much as I do, she’ll be in good hands with you.” I slowly
take his offering and then practically jump on him, hugging him. He chuckles
and squeezes me. We hold our embrace for some long moments, and I breathe in
the sweet almond scent of his hair.

“You’re still King of
Awesome,” I whisper.

He squeezes me a little
tighter. “You just make sure you keep that blog of yours going, so I can check
in on you from time to time and make sure you’re all right.” He releases me and
turns to walk away.

“Wait! How’re you getting to
the airport?”

“I’ll head home, pick up my
stuff, and call a cab.”

“No way, dude, I’m taking
you. Give me a minute to put my shoes on.”

I’ll never forget Roman, or
regret being with him. Being with him has been one of the best times of my
life.

Now I really do feel ready
to go home.

Su’s been the best apartment hunter. One week into the
search she found me a place in a newly refurbished Edwardian building that I
will, “Just love,” because of its traditional features with a modern twist. The
best part is that it’s close to all the people I love. It’ll be just like
before I left, but this time it’s my own place. Of that, I feel so proud.

I arrive outside, with my
dad in his car behind me. Between the two of us we’ve managed to bring back all
my stuff in one trip, and I got a good sale on my car before leaving. I’m
already missing my aunt and uncle, but I know I’ll be visiting soon and often.
They’ve been my second parents for three years. I’ll never fail to show them my
gratitude for that.

Stepping out of the Kombi,
with gray clouds above me and no sign of blue sky, I gaze up at the building
before me. I can’t tell you the emotions I felt when I drove onto Bay Bridge. I
was tired from the long-ass drive, but the moment I saw the city with a
covering of fog nothing else mattered, other than being home.

Mom and Su are here, and we
all form a very long group hug. I snap a shot of Roberta in her new home, a
parking space right outside my apartment building. That’ll go on my blog for
Roman to see.

I walk through
my
front door, which leads into a large living room. It’s a complete blank canvas,
ready for me to stamp my ‘Callie’ print on. There’s an open kitchen with granite
countertops and maple cabinets, and there’s even space for a dining table.

I stand visualizing how I
want the place to look; I’ll position two large slouchy couches in an L shape
around the old refurbished fireplace, an antique coffee table on a shabby rug
in the center, and a big flat screen TV mounted on the wall. Orange and yellow
will form the color scheme and my photography will add character and a personal
touch to the décor.

The place is perfect,
absolutely perfect.

I arrive at the bar later than intended, after running
over with a client, and head straight out to the patio where the guys are
seated. Funky Latino music plays live and the inevitable smell of smoke infuses
with the atmosphere.

These days we all have
obligations that mean we don’t hang in this type of setting as much as we used
to, but we do make time to suck down a cold beer or two. On nights like tonight
its quality bourbon, accompanied by a fine cigar.

We eat and talk about
nothing of consequence and then sit back and languorously enjoy some vintage
tobacco. After a while, we end up on the subject of women and Karma.

I can’t help but feel that
in some way our past behavior is catching up with us. I’ve been blessed with an
amazing son, who I love more than my own life, but under circumstances that
more than ripped my heart out. Dane is one hundred percent committed to his
relationship, he’s crazy about Brooklyn, but she knows his reputation from before
they got together. Their journey so far is proving to be a fuckload harder than
it should be.

I hadn’t even considered
myself to be a bad guy, I never lied and I didn’t take advantage of anyone. I
don’t even consider Dane to have been bad. Yes, he liked women, lots of them,
we all did, but he didn’t lie or intentionally hurt anyone, either. But you
can’t just fuck without some type of problem somewhere along the line, I know
that. And, yes, people do get wounded, even if you don’t intend it. So maybe we
do deserve some of the crap that’s been sent our way. Sometimes, Karma can be a
motherfucker.

“So come on, you, it’s clear
something’s going on,” Dane says to Gerard.

All eyes are on Gerard, he has
no choice but to talk. “Guys you would not believe it. One minute I’m cruising
through life, having me a good time, Jessica, Molly,
Mackenzie
.
And then ...
Bam!
”
He slaps his hands together, with one loud
clap, seconds later his palms land atop the table, with a double thud. “Hold
up! Road.
Block.
Ahead.” He shakes his head and simply
says, “Peyton.” He leans back in his chair, like no further explanation is
necessary.

We all glance at each other,
and then stare at him.
“And?”
Adam probes.

“And
what?”

“You can’t just say that and
nothing more.”

“What more is there to say?
She’s the one.” Get the size of that grin on his face right now. 

Dane shakes his head in
disbelief. “Fuck me, you’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen that look on your face
in all the years I’ve known you. Who is she?”

“My dad was getting pissed
with me at work. Said I wasn’t pulling my weight. He decided I should be
demoted
to teach me a lesson, have me earn my position back, like I give a fucking
fuck. He got in a replacement; Peyton Jordan. Guys, you have got to see her.
She’s a smoky-eyed brunette with nice curves and the prettiest smile I’ve ever
seen. The finest ass, too, and here’s the best part ...”

We wait.

He makes us wait some more.

“She’s an ex porn
star.” 

“
What?
” we all say in
unison, absolute shock evident in our response.

Gerard chuckles. “I’m
kidding, guys. Everything is true except the last part, although, she’d be
perfect for that career if she wanted to do it. I’d be her number one fan, for
sure.”

I watch him daydream. The
dude is love stoned. I figured there was someone, but I didn’t expect
this
,
not from him. It was only weeks ago he was using my son as a freaking chick
magnet. Man and child can be quite appealing to some women, and as a result,
Uncle Gerard was enjoying his and Jack’s excursions a little too much. Saffron
caught onto his use of Nathaniel sooner than I did with Jack. I’d like to make
it clear that I did not loan my kid to my buddy for the purpose of bagging
chicks, and I haven’t done that myself.

“So what’s going on with you
two?” I ask.

“I watch her all day. If my
dad thought I wasn’t pulling my weight before.” He smiles and I can see he’s
thinking about her again.

“Dude, man, c’mon. Give us
more,” Dane says.

“I know everything I
possibly can about her. I know where she lives. If I can get up early enough, I
go to her house and watch her leave for work. When she finishes, I follow her
home. Sometimes I drive by at night, park up and just hang outside her house.”

“That’s stalking,” I say.
“You’re stalking the poor woman.”

“That’s not stalking, I’m
not gonna hurt her.”

“That’s not the point,” Dane
and Adam say.

“Guys, it’s not how it
sounds, we speak every day. I’m not some crazy killer pervert – I wouldn’t harm
a hair on her head. I can’t stop thinking about her and sometimes I just have
to see her.”

“I get it,” I say. “We all
get it. But you can’t just follow her around and sit outside her house. Does
she know how you feel about her?” Are we really having this conversation?

“She knows I like her, but
she thinks it’s a bad idea because she works for my dad. That’s kinda why I
started following her, I just need to be near her.”

Shit, this isn’t right, even
if I know he isn’t a danger to her. “You can’t keep doing it, brother. Whatever
way you look at it, you’re stalking her. She probably wouldn’t be impressed –
she’d be totally weirded out if she knew. Just tell her how you feel. If you
really want her, and she doesn’t like the work situation, get another job or
something. But stop with the stalking.” 

“If that’s what it takes,
then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Damn, you’re serious,” Dane
says, and it’s somewhere between a statement and a question.

“I’ve never been more
serious about anything in my life,” Gerard says, reaching for his bourbon.

“Fuck that, I’ll gladly
stick to my own bullshit,” Dane says.

This is some crazy shit. And
I revert back to my point about karma.

After two weeks, and several visits to thrift and antique
stores for furniture and fabrics, my apartment is finally complete. Bright
colors and personal photos, my home is a place of love and happiness, and
anything that conflicts with it will be left at the front door on the way in.

Now that I’m settled, I
decided to get my hair done today and the growth of my roots inspired my
decision to try my natural color for once. I’ve had the full rainbow, though
more often than not pink featured in some way, and now I’m all out of ideas. My
little project for growing it has resulted in a length a few inches below my
armpits. I got my blunt brow-skimming bangs cut again and had it dyed chestnut
brown, a perfect match.

Su and my sister are coming
over for dinner and a movie night, but I’ve arrived home earlier than intended.
I’m going to do something I’ve been putting off the whole time I’ve been back.
I go to my closet and pull out a large cardboard box that I hid in my parents’
house, before I left San Francisco.

I sit on my bed with my legs
crossed and the large package in front of me, my fingers twitching from the
urge to open it. I’m hesitant, though. I don’t know what emotions opening it
might bring. But this is another important step forward I need to take.

With some scissors, I start
cutting away at the overenthusiastic amount of tape I sealed the lid with. Once
I get through it all, I turn out the flaps, revealing the contents. At the top
is a disc of all my photos of Joe, which I cleared from my laptop. I’m
embarrassed even now, it seems obsessive. Most girls would do this, right?

For the first time since I
left, I allow myself to fully think about him. I close my eyes and visualize
what he looked like; his ink-black hair and the way it framed his face, his
gorgeous coffee bean brown eyes, and all the emotion they held, the perfect
structure of his nose, cheekbones and jaw, his silky-soft lips, and his
perfectly sculpted, inked body. I can recall it all, his array of expressions,
the smooth, slow way he spoke, and the way he felt. I can even remember his smell
– not his cologne, or soap, just him. Joe. I can’t believe how vivid my memory
of him still is, he could be standing here in front of me. It’s amazing, I can
also recall the instant he removed his helmet the day we almost collided. I
nearly lost my mind.

He was always the one.

This reminiscing doesn’t
make me want to cry, it makes me smile. I haven’t given into this level of
thought and it feels wonderful to do so now. “God, I love you, Joe,” I whisper.

I open my eyes and place the
disc on the bed. The next thing in there, folded in crisp, white tissue paper
that rustles as I open it, is my wedding dress. A silk, blush colored, 1950s
inspired dress. It’s strapless with a sweetheart neckline that fitted like a
glove around my chest and waist, with layers of soft tulle underneath the wide
skirt that ended at my knees. It still feels and smells brand new. In some ways
it is. If I’d had the time, I’d have made my dress with my grandma. If I ever
do get to have my big day, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I lay it out on
the comforter and pull out the ivory birdcage veil, sparkly stilettos, and
pearl necklace. 

The last thing causes me to
pause. It’s the hardest part. The remaining item is a little black velvet box.
I lift it out, opened it, and ease out the engagement ring Joe gave me. New and
barely warn, my platinum ‘snake’ with brilliant diamonds. I slowly slide it on
my finger. It feels heavier than I recall, but maybe I’m just overly aware of
it. Maybe what I can feel is the significance of it. When I left, I felt that
giving this back to Joe would’ve been a punch in the gut he could do without,
so I decided to put it safely away.