Living Backwards (31 page)

I was momentarily seized with panic knowing that I’d be left alone with Jillian again. It occurred to me that she would probably be equally as horrified. After the way I had behaved, she probably didn’t want to speak to me very much either.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Danielle stated, grabbing me for a hug.

“You hang in there,” Josh added, chuckling, which was kind of strange.

When they were both out the door, I walked through the room, helping Peter by turning the chairs over onto the tables. I had only managed a few when Jillian walked back in. She looked flustered.

“Where’s Danielle?” she asked, addressing me for the first time since she had arrived.

“She and Josh needed to go back to the showroom to check on something,” I replied, coolly. “She said she’d see you at lunch.”

“Great,” she sighed.

She looked down at her feet, fidgeting with the purse in her hands. When she looked back up, her eyes were glassy and then I truly began to panic.

“Can I…I mean, can we...” she trailed off, frustrated, and my pulse began to race. I didn’t want to have this conversation. “Luke, I know that there’s nothing I can say to explain…”

I felt my whole body react—vibrating from her verbal left hook. My defensives went up immediately.

Don’t tell me “It wasn’t you, it was me”, Jillian because I can’t handle hearing that shit.

“Listen, Jillian, honestly, you don’t need to do this,” I interrupted. Which was a lie. I wanted her to be upset. I wanted her to
want
to explain. I think I even wanted her to cry. I just didn’t want to hear it. “It’s late. Let me walk you to your car.”

She breathed in a ragged breath, finally nodding before following me to the door. Wordlessly, I waved to Pete over my shoulder and led her outside. The bastard actually winked at me.

We crossed the street in silence until we reached the public lot where most of our patrons parked. There were only a few cars left since it was so late. I think I expected to see the crap car she drove in high school, but I didn’t.

“This is me,” she said, signaling to a black Jetta.

“No more Red Baron,” I remarked almost wistfully. I hadn’t thought about what I was saying before I spoke. The last thing I wanted to do was bring up the car and any memories attached.

“Um...no,” she replied absently, as she rifled through her purse. I heard her curse under her breath before she brought the pocketbook up onto the hood of the car and resumed her search, frantically grabbing at the items inside. She stopped abruptly, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Danielle has my keys,” she announced, as if she were saying it to herself and not to me. She dug back in her bag, pulling out a phone and began dialing. Her whole body seemed to be humming with nervous energy. She shifted slightly from one foot to the other, playing with the buttons on the sleeve of her wool coat as she waited for the person to pick up.

“God damn it, Danielle, where are you?” she shouted into the phone. “You never returned my keys. Call me back as soon as you get this message.”

She gripped the phone tightly, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Luke,” she began calmly. “Would you mind if I waited inside so I can call a cab to take me to Danielle’s house?”

“But they’re going to the showroom,” I reminded her, already panicking myself.

“Well, until she calls me back,” she explained, throwing her phone into her pocketbook in frustration.

“I can drive you to Danielle’s house. You don’t need to get a cab,” I offered awkwardly. “There isn’t anyone who has a spare key to your car?”

Boyfriend, maybe?

“I live with Megan, but she turns her ringer off when she stays with Nate because he usually has to wake up so early. Danielle has my spare, but she’s not answering her cell,” she explained uncomfortably. At least we had that in common. Nothing would be more uncomfortable than driving Jillian home.

After trying Josh’s cellphone and their house phone, Jillian finally conceded and tried dialing Nate’s number, but it was sent directly into his voicemail.

“Why don’t we swing back to the showroom? They’re probably still there and Danielle’s wreaking havoc,” I suggested because imagining being stuck in a car with her was making me crazy.

“Are you sure?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I answered coolly, showing her over to my car. I opened the passenger side door for her and walked over to my side. When I stepped into the seat, I was immediately assaulted by the smell of her perfume.

I flipped on the radio to avoid any forced conversation. I couldn’t decide which was worse—a conversation about Seattle weather or a half-assed apology for taking off on me years ago. Both sounded pretty depressing so I avoided it altogether.

She sat rigid in the seat beside me, occasionally looking out the window. She was clutching her purse, and if I gripped the steering wheel any tighter, I might have broken it in two.

“Do you have any neighbors that might have spare keys?” I asked, causing her to jump.

“I don’t think so. I was going to call Suzanne, but it’s almost two in the morning,” she added, shaking her head. “I just don’t know.”

“Relax. We’re almost there. We’ll figure it out.” I wanted to sound confident, but I truthfully didn’t want to talk about our options because none of them appealed to me.

As we turned the corner onto the side-street where Danielle’s showroom was located, Jillian craned her neck, looking over me and out my driver’s side window to scan the parking lot. The shift in her position caused her to move slightly closer, the scent of her perfume more concentrated.

“I don’t see any cars,” she sighed, leaning over further. Even though I knew it was empty, I pulled into the lot so she’d have a better view and move back into her own seat. My body was already reacting to how close she was. Apparently my dick didn’t get the memo that we were pissed at her.

I drove the length of the building and everything was dark.

“I’m calling them again,” she announced, plucking her phone from her bag. I watched her dial and could hear the tinny sound of the voice mail picking up.

“Do you want me to drive you by their house?”

She began shaking her head again, and I worried she was about to cry. This night had rapidly gone from bad to worse.

“Luke, I just—”

“Let’s just go,” I interrupted, before she had a chance to continue. “Where do they live?”

When I turned to look at her, she had her eyes squeezed shut and was leaning all the way back against the headrest.

“They’re over near Magnolia Park,” she sighed, keeping her eyes closed. While it was in the opposite direction of my condo, it wasn’t going to take long to get there. She gave me directions, and we rode in silence without the comfort of the radio. I wished I hadn’t turned it off. The silence was deafening. It was Jillian who spoke first.

“You still don’t smoke in your car.”

“Um, no. Habit, I guess,” I replied, her comment seeming random to me.

“Your Lexus used to smell like lemons.”

My chest constricted again, not as much with the longing I had been feeling, but with pure anger. I couldn’t understand how she could think a walk down memory lane would be a good idea.

“Jillian, what are you doing?” I sighed, gripping the steering wheel, trying to keep my temper in check.

Her eyes widened once she noticed my reaction as she opened and closed her mouth, wordlessly.

“I just…I was just remembering,” she stammered.

She didn’t speak again until it was time to point out the street where Danielle and the Poor Bastard lived.

“I don’t believe this,” she moaned, as we pulled up to a large pacific lodge off the main street. The house was dark, but there was a silver sedan in the driveway. “They’re not home. Where the hell did they go?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “Whose car is that?” I said motioning to the driveway.

“That’s Josh’s car. They were in Danielle’s SUV. I don’t even know what to say, Luke. None of this makes sense.”

She drew in a deep breath, and it was clear that she was biting back tears. I didn’t want to feel bad for her. I was so sick of feeling bad. I knew I had acted like a dick. I knew I was harsh, but this wasn’t my doing. I didn’t create this situation.
She
left
me
. I was frustrated and angry, and I just wanted to go home and forget that any of it ever happened. Instead, I was being forced to do something that might very well break me.

I couldn’t believe what I was about to offer, but I wasn’t left a choice. I was going to bring her back to my condo. Even though I spent every day at the bar surrounded by reminders of her, this was different. This was where I lived. Would I ever be able to walk into my living room again without seeing her sitting on my couch? Would I continue to smell her perfume long after she left? And if Danielle didn’t call, would I need to give her some of my clothes to wear to bed? It was a bad idea, but I was going to do it anyway.

“I’m going to drive you back to my place.” Her head jerked in my direction, and while she still looked very upset, now she also looked completely incredulous. “You can crash there and when Danielle calls, she can come and get you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Luke,” she replied, shaking her head rapidly in response. “Just drop me off at one of the hotels downtown. I’ll have Meg pick me up in the morning.”

“I’m not dropping you off at a hotel,” I argued, frustrated. I was pissed at the situation and she wasn’t doing anything to make it easier. I didn’t want to argue with her so I flipped the radio back on. It may have been rude, but dropping her off at a hotel would be even worse.

So I drove silently in my car that didn’t smell like lemons with the girl who didn’t say goodbye, so that I could take her to my house and pretend that seeing her, talking to her, looking at her didn’t bother me at all.

I don’t know when I became such a liar.

When I was fifteen, the dentist told my mother that I would probably need to have my wisdom teeth removed sometime within the next few years. I knew people who had the procedure done. I had heard the horror stories, so this news did not sit well with me.

On each subsequent visit, I got more and more nervous waiting for the day that he would finally tell me he was going to yank them out. My heart would race, my hands would shake, and I would want to vomit. By the time he finally told me that we couldn’t hold off any longer—nearly two years later—I was almost relieved. I wouldn’t have to wait for the other shoe to drop anymore. I wouldn’t have to feel like throwing up every time I went to the dentist. I could just get it over with. Ironically, in the end, the procedure hadn’t been that big of a deal. It was the waiting and the wondering that had been torture.

As I sat in a car, next to the boy I loved—who wasn’t a boy anymore—I was reminded of that feeling. I was going to apologize to Luke, but waiting for the right moment and wondering how he would react was slowly killing me. It was going to be painful. It was going to be uncomfortable. But unlike the wretched experience with my wisdom teeth, there wouldn’t be any painkillers to dull the ache.

Luke, however, wasn’t making it easy. I wanted to tell him that I had only done what I thought was right, but he cut me off. I wanted to tell him how happy I was to see him, and how hard it was not to touch him, but he wouldn’t even look at me. Even though I was terrified of the conversation, I knew that we needed to have it, and he needed to hear the words. An apology might not mean much to him, but it was all I had to give. I was beginning to believe that my impending conversation with him might honestly be more painful than the oral surgery.

Complicating matters was the fact that I had no idea what I was going to say if he asked me why I left. It wasn’t as if I could be honest.

Sorry Luke, I fell hopelessly in love with you and couldn’t bear the thought of you compromising your happiness for me. Please forgive me. I know your future and I didn’t want to screw it up.

Not likely.

I had no explanation. There wasn’t any miscommunication. My parents didn’t force me to leave. I didn’t run away because I was afraid of my feelings. I was from another time and I was changing his life. I was blindly responsible for his future and I was in love with him. How could I ever explain the burden that type of responsibility bore?

What haunted me the most was that I wasn’t sure I had made the right decision anymore. As my new memories flooded my consciousness, I was forced to experience the pain of leaving him all over again. The loss had stayed with me all throughout college—the heartbreak never quite healing. If he had behaved differently when I ran into him, I would have known I made the right choice, but his anger was palpable. Only a week had passed for me; I expected everything to feel raw and new, but over ten years had gone by for him, and he was still furious. I knew that could either mean he still cared for me, or it could mean he just really hated my guts. I was hoping for the former, because hating my guts would really put a wrench in my plans.

I stole a glance in his direction even though I had tried all night to avoid looking at him for too long. When I first saw him walking through the crowd at the party, I was shaken to my core by how striking he looked. Luke the boy disarmed me with his quiet confidence. Luke the man drew all the air out of the room without even realizing it.

I spotted him immediately as he walked toward Danielle, wearing a charcoal suit with his shirt open at the collar. When I saw him at the reunion, he was dressed casually—an oxford shirt rolled to his elbows and jeans. Tonight, though, he looked entirely different. I felt like I was watching someone who had just walked off the cover of GQ, not the boy who rode around Reynolds on a beat-up motorcycle. I loved that boy, but the man who took his place left me breathless.

While I didn’t want to stare, I couldn’t help but notice the tension in his jaw, and the way he gripped the steering wheel. We hadn’t exactly been sitting in a comfortable silence, but as we made our way through Lower Queen Anne, his discomfort seemed to have grown exponentially. I figured we must have been getting closer to where he lived.

My suspicion was confirmed when he pulled onto a side street in a residential neighborhood. Midway down the street at a cluster of stone buildings, he pulled into a small, adjacent parking lot. Wordlessly, he threw the car into park and slipped out the door. Exiting the car, I was suddenly aware that I wasn’t the only one feeling tense and uncomfortable.

He walked in step with me, hands shoved into his pants pockets, head down. The silence was unsettling, and I wanted so badly to find something interesting to say that would break the tension. I came close to mentioning how mild the evening was and how quiet his neighborhood appeared. Even in my head it sounded lame. Fortunately, I had the good sense to remain quiet instead.

“This one’s me,” he said motioning to the building on the end. I followed him up the cement steps and into the lobby of the building. Luke nodded over at the man on security detail, who tipped his head back at us in return. I could only imagine what it looked like to him and how far from the truth it really was.

Walking into the elevator, he pressed the number twenty-seven and for a moment I felt a flash of recognition. Brushing it aside, I stood uncomfortably, clutching my purse and looking everywhere but directly at him. I think I may have even looked convincing as I studied the etchings around the elevator door. Turning right, we walked along the carpeted hallway until we stood in front of number 2702. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the front door.

My heart began hammering again and my throat felt dry. I was suddenly terrified to see where Luke lived, but it was obviously too late. I followed him through the doorway into a large living-room with cream walls and dark wood floors. He hung his coat on a wrought-iron coat rack next to the door then reached out to hang mine up as well. I stared as he hung them side-by-side.

“Can I…um…get you something to drink?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. I wanted to say no. I didn’t want to be a bother, but my throat felt like sandpaper.

“Could I have some water?”

As he retreated into the small kitchen off the living room, I looked around, taking in the things that surrounded him in his everyday life. While it looked very much like a place where a single guy lived, it was uncluttered and tasteful. From the brown leather of the living room furniture, to the stone fireplace and the framed photos on the wall—everything was warm and comfortable. The back window of the living room looked out over the water. Against the night sky, it looked like black ink. I could see the lights from Bainbridge Island faintly off in the distance, and wondered if the ferry was visible by day.

“Here’s your water,” he said, returning from the kitchen with a small glass. I thanked him and took a gulp, happy to give my hands a task to perform. When he said nothing further, I felt compelled once again to break the silence.

“It doesn’t surprise me that everything is so neat,” I said, off-handedly. “Your bedroom back home used to be, too.”

When I turned around, he was shaking his head and scrubbing his face with his hands.

“Have you checked to see if Danielle called you back?” he asked suddenly in a strained, tired voice. I fumbled for the phone in my bag, glancing at it and seeing that there were no missed calls. I wasn’t surprised. She really had a lot of explaining to do.

“No,” I added. “No calls.”

“Okay, then. Well, you can sleep in my room,” he began. “I’ll just put on some new sheets or something, and I’ll crash out here.”

He sounded so defeated, and I wanted this all to go away. I wanted to fast-forward to a time when I had made everything better. I wanted there to be a painkiller.

“I can’t take your bed,” I shot back. “I’ve done enou—”

“I’m not arguing with you about this, Jillian,” he warned. “It’s been a long night.”

He walked towards a door down the hall. I wasn’t sure if he expected me to follow him, or if he was just going to pick underwear up off the floor or something. I stared out the window anxiously as I waited for him to return. My body stiffened as I heard him walking behind me.

“Here are some things for you to wear,” he said, handing me a stack of clothes. “The bathroom is through there.” He pointed to another door before returning to his bedroom, where I assumed he was changing his sheets. I didn’t protest this time. I complied and headed off to change.

The amount of white in his bathroom was almost blinding, and the room was spotless. Luke either had a cleaning company or Grace had trained him well. It occurred to me that I could break the ice and ask about her. She was so sweet to me. I hoped that she and Carter were doing well. I smiled, pleased that I had some common ground I could speak about without causing him to look like he wanted to gouge his eyes out.

Unfolding the clothes from the stack, I found a pair of blue sweatpants and a gray t-shirt with the bar’s name across the back. The pants were huge and hung off me like I was a circus clown. I tried rolling them at the waistband and the ankles, so that I didn’t trip over myself as I walked. It didn’t help much. The shirt, while smelling like detergent, also held a faint scent of something that may have been his deodorant. It felt strange to be wearing something of his, and wrong to be that close. It was all just a reminder of an intimacy we no longer had.

Looking in the mirror, I frowned at how pale I looked under the fluorescent lights. I smoothed out my hair and tried to make myself look presentable. I didn’t know why I was bothering. It wasn’t as if he had showed any interest in my appearance.

I folded my dress, carrying it along with my heels back into the living room. Luke was laying a blanket down on the couch. He was bending over and because he’d discarded his jacket, I was treated to a pretty spectacular view from behind. All that view did, though, was taunt me.

I cleared my throat and he regarded me hesitantly. It didn’t escape my notice, though, that he allowed his gaze to drop slightly, taking in how I looked in his clothes. Unfortunately, I thought I looked a lot like Bozo the Clown.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I began.

“Not a problem,” he replied, throwing the pillows down on the couch. Looking past him towards the fireplace, I saw a number of pictures along the mantle. In the collection was a large photo of Grace autographing her cookbook.

“Is that picture from Grace’s book-signing?” I asked, motioning to the mantle.

“Um…yeah,” he replied, not looking up and still messing around with the couch cushions. “Her first one.”

“Oh, she’s had more than one?” I asked, thrilled that we may have opened up a line of communication. If I was able to get him to relax a little, he might allow me a chance to apologize. “That’s wonderful.”

I gave him a few moments to respond, but when he didn’t, I attempted to engage him again.

“I’m not surprised she’s done well for herself. She made a mean veal saltimbocca. It’s not—”

“Jillian, what are you doing?” he asked, spinning around at me suddenly. His body was rigid, his elbows were bent, and his fingers were splayed out in front of him stiffly. It was as if he was trying to ward me off.

Caught off guard, I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t expected him to be so upset, so soon.

“I’m trying, Jillian. God, I’m trying so hard to get through this, but I can’t do this with you,” he exclaimed. “Not now.”

“I was just trying to talk to you, Luke,” I tried to explain.

“I can’t
just talk
to you,” he ground out.

“Well, what am I supposed to say? You won’t listen to me!”

“And have you say what? It wasn’t you, it was me? You had fun, but it was time to move on? I don’t want to hear any of that.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance,” I protested, my voice louder than I knew it should be.

“Fine. I accept your apology,” he replied, harshly. “You can relax. Your conscience is clear.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for, Luke,” I responded, moving closer to him, trying to connect like we used to. I took a deep breath because I knew this was it. Everything hinged on what I was going to say.

“I should have talked to you. I should have tried harder to convince you that following me to New York was a bad idea. I just wish you knew how hard it was for me. I wish you knew that I was doing what I thought was best.”

“Best for who, Jillian?” he replied, wildly. “Don’t tell me what was best for me. You leaving was
not
best for me.”

“But it was,” I argued. “Look at you! Look at what you’ve done. You’re successful. You’re happy.”

“Don’t patronize me. If you wanted a clean break, you should have just said so,” he sneered, visibly attempting to control his anger and volume.

I had been trying to rein in my own anger and frustration, but his inability to hear me out was wearing thin. I wanted to shake him, hold him down, and force him to hear what I was telling him. But I’d had it.

“I wasn’t looking for a clean break! I was in love with you!”

I let out a rush of air through my nose, shocking myself with my outburst. We stared at each other, chests rising and falling as we gasped for breath. It felt like a lifetime went by in those few minutes of strained silence.

“Go to sleep, Jillian,” he finally said tersely. Turning away, he walked toward the window and ran both hands through his hair.

I stood frozen, unable to move toward him or the bedroom. I felt more than ever that I was living my life in limbo.

“Jillian,” he added, his voice sounding tired. “Please…just go to sleep.”

I could only see the faint reflection of his face in the glass. His eyes seemed to be shut and his head was tilted slightly back. Quietly, I walked to the bedroom, leaving him alone to stare into the black night.

Walking slowly to his room, I clutched my clothes to my chest, steeling my nerves. The last thing I needed was to break down and cry in front of him. I had done enough.