Living Backwards (34 page)

Taken aback by my outburst, he raised his eyebrows which I was sure was a signal for me to get a grip. I wished it was that easy.

“I’m not saying that she went about it the right way. Not everyone reacts well to stress, Luke,” he replied, with a pointed stare. “I’m just saying that it would have been a mistake to give up the opportunity Jonas was offering. Clearly, it was a good decision.”

I groaned, burying my head in my hands and raking them through my hair.

“So, I’m assuming you still have feelings for Jillian,” he hedged.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m feeling anymore.”

“I think you know exactly how you feel,” he countered. “What about her? How does she feel?”

The words she said and the way she said them played over again in my head. I thought about the email, and how she claimed that she meant everything she said. Even though I had thought of nothing but that declaration all week, repeating it out loud was something else entirely. I closed my eyes, drawing a breath before continuing.

“She said she left because she was in love with me. She wants to get to know me again.”

Carter stared at his coffee mug and for a moment I thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all.

“Do you remember that first time I took you to the cliffs?” he asked, looking up at me cautiously.

“Of course.”

“We talked about your dad.”

He stopped, lost for a moment in his thoughts. “Forgiveness is a tricky thing. You can really want to forgive a person. You can really not even be all that angry anymore. But as much as you want to move on, you just can’t. It’s just a natural instinct we have to protect ourselves.

“Jillian didn’t set out to hurt you. She actually thought she was helping you. You may not be ready to see that now, but I think in time you’ll see things differently.”

While it felt good to talk to Carter about Jillian, I didn’t feel any less confused. I was still pissed off that she left, but at the same time, she was all I could think about.

We spent the remainder of the time discussing the plans for the restaurant. I told Carter that I was going to name it after Grace and ask her to plan the menu. He agreed that she would probably cry throughout the rest of the conversation, but once she recovered, she’d dive right into planning the restaurant’s signature taste.

After we said our goodbyes, I drove back to my condo, deciding to freshen up a bit before heading to the bar for the night. I told myself that I was showering to wake myself up, but that really wasn’t the only reason.

When I arrived at the bar, the place was already packed. Peter had his hands full so instead of going straight to my office, I headed behind the bar to help him out.

There were some nights that went by without incident. The patrons behaved. The crowd stayed under control. Then there were some nights when you knew right away that the amateurs had come out to play. An hour into the evening, I shut-off two drunken coeds and escorted a belligerent frat boy off the premises.

Not long after, I was forced to call a cab for one of our regulars who had decided he could match some kid celebrating his twenty-first birthday, beer-for-beer. He was pushing sixty, and his wife would not be pleased.

I helped Frank get into the cab out front, handing the driver some cash for his fare. Just as I was walking back to the bar, I heard someone shouting my name. Spinning around, I caught a glimpse of Josh through the crowd. The line at the bar was still two- and three-people deep. I waved, motioning for him to give me a second so I could help Peter out for a bit. As soon as I was back behind the bar, I glanced over to where I had seen Josh, finding Jillian instead. She was sitting with a wine glass in front of her, twisting it slowly as she listened to the others talk. Her hair was up, and because nothing in my life was fair, she was wearing a tight red shirt with lipstick that matched.

When we got the crowd at the bar under control, I made my way over to their table. Nate was in the middle of a story.

“So, I was like ‘No, Olbermann, it’s not cool for you to compare the game to Hannibal’s trek across the Alps. This is football, man. We got rid of Dennis Miller for a reason.’”

I couldn’t help but laugh when I caught the end of his diatribe.

“Hey, Luke,” he said. “You agree with me, right? Olbermann needed to haul ass back to MSNBC.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t a big fan,” I replied.

“Is it always like this in here?” Josh asked, nodding over at the crowded bar.

“Some nights, but I usually have a backup bartender. He’s on vacation so I’m pulling double-duty.”

“Well, I personally love when a place is jumping like this,” Danielle began. “Jillian was just saying that she wanted to do some body shots.”

God hates me.

“What!” Jillian exclaimed. “I never…Danielle, I swear to God…”

“We’re not a body-shot type of place, Danielle,” I replied, anxious to change the subject.

“I was just kidding. God, neither of you can take a joke.”

Yes, Danielle, it’s hysterical for me to think of Jillian laying on the bar, waiting for someone—me—to lick salt off her skin. So funny.

“And you pay to spend extra time with her,” Megan interjected. “I thought you were smarter than that, Luke.”

“Oh, can it, you,” Danielle replied. “I’m wonderful and you know it.”

“Well, I have to grab something from the supply room,” I explained, looking for a clean exit. “I’ll be back to check in on you in a bit. No body shots while I’m gone,” I added, pointing at Danielle. She put her left hand over her heart and raised her right hand, swearing to behave.

When I reached the supply room, I took a moment to pull my shit together. If I could just make it through the evening, I would sit down and respond to her email. I’d be honest. I’d tell her I needed time.

After I grabbed a case of wine, I pushed awkwardly through the crowd to get back to Peter. Glancing over at the bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. Jillian was standing behind the bar—my bar—with Peter behind her. She had an empty martini glass in front of her and Peter held a silver shaker in his hands. He reached around her to bring the glass close, while Danielle leaned over the bar watching attentively. His face was practically in Jillian’s hair.

I was going to kick his ass.

Incensed, I made it to the bar in a few quick strides. If anyone had been watching, it would have looked like I was about to kill Peter. It wasn’t completely out of the question.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked, setting wine down and glaring at him.

“Oh, hey boss! I was just showing your friend here how to make a cosmo. We were just finishing and I was going to get her—”

“I think you need to get
those people
at the end of the bar some drinks. Right, Pete?” I suggested, lacking any obvious subtlety.

“Right, sure,” he replied, looking at me like I was crazy. I honestly didn’t care. I clearly
was
crazy. “You’re the boss. Enjoy, ladies” he added, handing me the shaker.

“We didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble, Luke,” Jillian began nervously. “We were just joking about how hard it is to mix a good drink and Danielle practically begged him to show me.”

She glared at Danielle, who just shrugged.

“Just having a little fun, Luke,” Danielle added. “Don’t blame Peter. I’m the sinner here.”

“I’m not upset, Danielle,” I replied. Because I wasn’t anymore—at least now that Peter’s face was out of Jillian’s hair. I turned to Jillian, who was shifting uncomfortably in front of me.

“You wanted to learn how to make a cosmo?” I asked, changing my tone, attempting to sound like I wasn’t ready to commit capital murder a minute ago.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” she stammered.

I held up the container and began shaking it.

“We keep the shakers chilled. When you pour the drink into a glass, you should notice small plates of ice forming across the top. Some bartenders don’t take the time to chill both the glass and the shaker. You’ll still get a good drink, but that’s the difference between good and great.”

I poured the red liquid into the glass and small flecks of ice rose to the top.

“Time,” I added, looking at Jillian as I slid the drink to Danielle, “and a little patience. That’s the key.”

“Time,” she replied, echoing my words. I hoped she understood what I meant. I hope she understood that I couldn’t offer much more right now. I couldn’t even coherently explain to Carter how I was feeling. Time was what I needed.

“Ooo-kay,” Danielle drawled, grabbing the glass. “On that note, I’ll meet you back at the table, Jill.”

Before she could protest, Danielle was lost in the crowd, leaving us alone and me feeling self-conscious.

Did I really just make a martini metaphor? What the hell am I doing?

“What was he making you?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh, just a glass of
pinot grigio
,” she replied. “Please.”

I showed her the brands we had in stock and she chose the one she wanted. She still seemed very uncomfortable, and I was sure I had only made it worse.

“I read your email,” I said, pouring the wine, only able to mention it because I had something else to focus on.

“I figured,” she replied, softly. “You seemed a little…tense.”

“I meant to reply but it’s been a crazy week.”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” she said, focusing on her glass. “I just…I just wanted you to know.”

When she looked up at me through her lashes, I felt as though my chest was caving in. It reminded me of the way she looked the first time I kissed her. It reminded me that I wanted to kiss her again. But as soon as the thought entered my mind, I was reminded that I still didn’t trust her.

“Luke,” she began. “I’ll wait—”

“Um, boss,” Peter shouted from the other side of the bar. I looked over to see two huge guys shoving each other right in front of him.

“Jesus. Stay here,” I told her.

As a general rule, once a couple of guys started pummeling each other, the other yahoos in their vicinity usually took it as an open invitation to slug anyone they wanted. If a big fight broke out, I wanted Jillian to stay put.

Peter and I managed to pry the juiceheads apart, shoving them into opposite ends of the room. Their friends soundly decided to usher them out of the bar before any further damage could be done.

When I returned to the bar, Jillian was where I left her, but Danielle and the others were standing there as well.

“We’re taking off,” Josh announced, draping his arm over Danielle’s shoulder. “Seems like you have your hands full tonight.”

“Yes, and Luke, I’m planning a dinner in your honor this week,” Danielle added. “We need to celebrate your new venture…and the amazing designer you hired. What works for you—Tuesday or Wednesday?”

Jillian was glaring at Danielle again, but Danielle seemed to be ignoring her.

“Um...either is fine,” I stammered.

“Fantastic. Tuesday it is,” she replied.

We said our goodbyes, Nate insisting on some fist-bump, and I was suddenly left alone with Jillian.

“Thank you…for the lesson,” she said, looking at me that way again.

“Anytime.”

And for a moment, neither of us said anything, but just stared at each other.

“Well, I’ll see you on Tuesday,” she added, finally breaking the tension. With a small smile, she turned and headed to the door.

I was left to obsess over ever word, every smile, every motion she made until Tuesday when I’d be subjected to another night of wanting her and hating myself for it. I guessed I’d be hitting the treadmill when I got home.

Everyone handles stressful situations in different ways. They bake. They focus. They fight. They run. They do whatever they can do to stop thinking about what she said.

They spend
all week
thinking about what she said.

They get by.

Then the really stupid ones do it all over again.

As we get older, our memories become less vivid—some get hazy, while others simply fade away. You may only remember parts of an event. You may forget some of the details. You may not know what you wore, or who said what. Sometimes, as we get older, it’s just hard to sort through all of the names and dates and places. Everything gets jumbled.

I had a great memory during my first life. For some reason, I was able to retain the most useless details about the most random things. I would never forget where I parked my car and I never missed paying a bill. I remembered the birthdates of second cousins and the names of our mailman’s kids. When someone told me a story, I remembered it—every detail. It was something I always felt came in handy.

Now, in my second life, the memory that had always worked to my advantage had become the bane of my existence. How was I supposed to keep two separate sets of memories straight when most people failed at remembering one?

Megan was angry at me. We had been eating salads for lunch because apparently in this life, I liked to deprive myself of real food. I was trying to focus on the conversation and not on the image of Luke’s upper arms flexing when he grasped the martini shaker, but I obviously wasn’t focusing hard enough because I slipped.

“We need to make plans to go dress shopping soon,” she said, spearing a chunk of lettuce from her salad and popping it into her mouth.

“Dress shopping? Why are we going dress shopping? You know I hate shopping. Make Dani go,” I complained, angry at shopping and his biceps and my salad.

When Megan let her fork drop with a clatter onto the table, I knew right away something was wrong.

“You know, Jillian, I know you’re having a tough time, and I’m trying to be understanding, but Jesus Christ, could you pretend to be excited about my wedding for just a minute, please?”

And I officially felt like an asshole. In my defense, in my first life, Megan wasn’t even engaged—nevermind planning a wedding. She mentioned shopping, and all I could think of was what happened the last time someone tried to dress me. It’s what got me into this mess in the first place.

After throwing myself at her mercy and admitting that I was daydreaming about Luke, she calmed down, and stopped looking at me like I was the worst bridesmaid that ever existed. To further prove my loyalty and devotion, I agreed to go dress shopping with her the next day. It would actually be a welcomed distraction because thanks to Danielle, I needed to write a piece on Luke’s renovation.

Contrary to what she said to him the prior week, there was never any article or any pictures that needed to be taken. Thanks to her “quick thinking”, I was spending my Sunday night in front of a laptop, deciding how I’d like to approach Luke’s story. I was pretty sure that the I-Fell-In-Love-With-the-Owner-When-I-Time-Traveled-Last-Month angle would be too much of a stretch.

Annoyed with my entire second existence and looking for something mindless to do, I launched Facebook. As I read through the timeline, I learned that Danielle was looking forward to a dinner party on Tuesday. I’m glad
she
was
.
Megan was sitting on the 50-yard line cheering on her future-husband—“the hottest show on turf”.
Cue eyeroll.
And Josh just topped his high score in Words With Friends.
Nerd.

Just as I was about to scroll down, a new alert flashed at the top of my page. Luke Chambers had become a fan of Farmville.
The hell?

I wasn’t sure which was more alarming—the fact that Luke was online at the same time I was, or that he was tending to an imaginary online farm. Clicking on the chat icon in the corner of the screen, the small box opened, revealing the friends who were currently online. There, between Suzanne and the boy who used to eat dirt in kindergarten, was Luke.

Impulsively, I clicked on his name, opening up a chat window. The Luke I knew would not be playing Farmville. I didn’t think twice as my fingers pounded the keys, typing into the chat box.

Tell me this is a joke and you’re not a Facebook Farmer.

It wasn’t until after I had pressed enter that I thought about what I had done. My relationship with Luke was tenuous at best. I was in no position to judge his admittedly awful taste in Facebook games. Mortified, I was about to log off when his response popped up.

What is this thing? Nate sent me some link, now there are alerts everywhere and someone wants me to water something. How the hell do you get rid of it?

I read his response, laughing at his obvious frustration. I also made a mental note to ask Nate how long he’d been farming and if Megan watered his crops when he traveled. That information would come in handy next time he decided to make fun of my “epic dry spell”.

Don’t ask me. I’m not lame enough to join Farmville. Maybe you should take that up with Farmer Nate.

I was still smiling after I had pressed enter. Our conversations were so strained in person. It was refreshing to have some form of interaction with him that wasn’t awkward and uncomfortable—even if it was about virtual livestock.

The strange thing about our visit to the bar on Saturday, though, was that suddenly there was a different kind of awkward between us. When I saw Luke at the reunion, he was so angry—barely able to look me in the eye. The expression on his face nearly shattered me. Then a few days later at Danielle’s opening, he seemed detached—almost defensive. I didn’t really know what to make of his behavior. Later that night when I was stranded at his house and forced to sleep in his bed, he was different—no longer aloof, but frustrated. It was the first time that I suspected that he was holding back. Then last night at the bar, I truly thought he was going to pummel that poor bartender. He could claim that he just wanted him to get back to work. He could claim that it had nothing to do with me. But something had changed. From the way he spoke to me about time being the key ingredient to the way he looked at me when we said goodbye, his resolve was slipping. Megan and Danielle were right. He didn’t hate me, and honestly, I think that pissed him off a lot.

I had assumed he was done chatting with me until a response showed up on the screen.

This is why I hate Facebook. Nothing makes sense. People keep trying to play word games with me. What does that even mean?

Nate wasn’t the only person doing ridiculous things on Facebook. I had probably thirty Words with Friends requests that I had been ignoring for months. I had no desire to play Scrabble in real life, nevermind in cyberspace. I just didn’t understand the attraction. But it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I downloaded the application and clicked on his name to challenge him to a game. And as I looked at the tiles available to me, I couldn’t believe my luck. In a flash I had posted my first word: farm. Immediately after pressing enter, I logged off, giggling.

It didn’t surprise me when I dreamed of the Luke I knew in high school that night. I reveled in the sight of him with a little less stubble on his face and a few less laugh lines in the creases of his eyes. He was my Luke. The Luke who followed me to the cliffs, beautiful and furious. The Luke who so eloquently told me that he wasn’t going to wait for me to figure out my shit anymore. The Luke who knew I wanted him, too.

I could still see my Luke when I looked at him now. He scowled at me a little bit more than in the past, but he was still in there.

I woke the next morning to a thumping sound on my door and Megan’s way-too-chipper voice.

“Wake up, Jillian. Time to find you an amazing pastel-colored dress you’ll only wear once.”

“I’m up,” I groaned. “Now.”

Rolling out of bed, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I was about to drag myself into the kitchen for some breakfast when I saw the Words with Friends alert. Luke was playing the game with me. I opened up the app and checked out his response, but ended up just staring at the screen. He had played the word “of” for five points.
Of? Really?
Out of all of the imaginative things to say, he picked that? I immediately clicked on the chat icon and began to type.

That’s the best you can do? Are you in kindergarten? Seriously.

Using the M in “farm”, I played the word “lame”. When I pressed enter, I looked up into the angry eyes of Megan, standing in my doorway and glaring.

“Jillian! What’re you doing? We have an appointment at ten o’clock,” she exclaimed. “Let’s move.”

Powering down my laptop, I followed her into the kitchen for some breakfast before heading off to countless bridal shops in search of the “perfect” bridesmaid dress…that I’d only wear once.

Feeling guilty that I had been a less-than-attentive attendant, I chimed in when Danielle commented on color choices, and when Megan remarked about a certain style. I nixed a few dresses that would either make me feel wildly uncomfortable or paler than I already was.

When we had finished with our first appointment and were halfway through our next, I took a quick glance at my phone as Danielle and Megan debated acceptable colors for February weddings. Luke had responded to my chat message.

So “lame” is your A game? I think I can handle the challenge of your first grade vocabulary.

I couldn’t stop the silly grin from spreading across my face. He had played “brat”. Before I attracted too much attention, I played “flask” and put the phone away.

An hour later, I was standing in the dressing room of bridal shop number five when I heard my phone vibrate
.
He had made his next move, playing “red” which again, I thought was pretty lame. And it went on like this all afternoon. I had never played Words with Friends before and we had practically finished an entire game in an afternoon.

While I was preoccupied with beating Luke, Megan chose a dress. It was chocolate brown and looked decent on me. Danielle looked better, but Danielle looked good in everything. It took effort for her to look bad.

As we were driving home, I got another chat message from Luke.

Is there a white flag I can wave on this thing? How did I end up with a bunch of vowels? Is that normal? I’ll willingly pronounce you winner of this round.

After reading his response, I immediately felt disappointed. I had been having such a good time sparring with him. I didn’t want it to end. Any interaction with Luke where he wasn’t scowling at me or ignoring me was a huge improvement. I also didn’t want to push it, though. When I first emailed him, I never imagined that six hours later, it would have evolved into this. I was about to type a response, when Megan interrupted.

“Jillian, your eyes have been glued to that phone all day. What gives?”

I looked up from the screen to see her staring at me through the rearview mirror, eyeing the phone in my hands. Danielle spun around from her seat in the front, narrowing her eyes at me suspiciously.

“Yeah, Jillian,” she added. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, I considered deflecting and not telling them that I had been playing a game I had previously avoided like the plague all day with Luke. I couldn’t think up anything believable in response though, so I decided to fess up.

“It’s nothing. I’ve just…Luke and I are playing Words with Friends…but it’s nothing, really,” I replied, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“Luke?” Danielle cried, bouncing in her seat. “Do you play this game with Luke every day?”

“No! NO,” I exclaimed. “Just today. We’re just messing around.”

“Messing around?” Megan asked. “Did you hear that, Danielle? Jillian and Luke were messing around today.”

“You two are ridiculous,” I replied, rolling my eyes at their cackling.

“We’re just teasing you, Jill,” Danielle said, still fighting back the giggles. “Seriously, that’s good that you’re…playing games together.”

“Or whatever it is that you want to call that,” Megan muttered.

“I’m not speaking to either one of you anymore,” I announced, crossing my arms over my chest and pouting.

“Oh, don’t be that way, sweetie,” Danielle replied. I could tell she still wanted to laugh, and it only fueled my annoyance.

“Have you thought at all about what you want to say to him on Tuesday night?” Megan asked, wisely changing the subject.

“He wants space. I’m not going to bring up anything that will make him uncomfortable.”

“Well, don’t worry too much,” Danielle added. “We’ll be there to help.”

I smiled at her declaration, but knew that was part of the problem. I had enough of their help.

By the time Tuesday arrived, I was a wreck. I had messaged Luke back, accepting his forfeit and congratulating him on passing Words with Friends 101. Unfortunately, I hadn’t heard from him since then. Like a crazy stalker, though, I logged onto Facebook a few times a day, first checking to see if he was online, and then reading the comments on his wall. Each time I did it, I felt stupid and ashamed.

I spent an embarrassingly long time staring at the clothes in my closet on Tuesday night. I needed something that looked good, but wasn’t too obvious. Something that said “I’ll give you time”, but also said “Hurry up”. I really wasn’t a patient person, and I didn’t want to waste any more time.