Lost (14 page)

  “Honestly, I have NO idea what you're talking about.” And I really didn't.  I knew myself, and I knew I didn't have weird hang-ups like that.
  “Okay.  Well, you do.  I know it as your twin,” he grinned. “That’s like a lucky dress, or a power dress or something.”
  “I don't think so, but I'll certainly watch when I want to wear it next time.”  I really would watch too, because Steven made me feel totally self-conscious suddenly.
  “How's the job?” He asked blowing more smoke out the window.
  “Good.”
  “How's Peter?”
  “Good,” I replied easily.
  “Ha!  Another tell.  You looked right in my eyes when you said good about Peter.”
  “We're talking, so of course I looked at you,” I argued.
  “Nope, you don't.  Usually when you go to answer a question, you think for a split second, looking away from the person, then you look at them to give the answer.  You always think before you speak, which is probably why you never put your foot in your mouth like I do.  But you just stared right at me and said Peter’s good, which means he isn't.  So tell me what's wrong,” he smiled knowing he totally had me.  The bastard.
  “I freaked him out... I said 'you do love me',” I quoted, “about chocolate in my coffee, which was a totally innocent thing to say, but from the look on his face and the way I felt afterward it didn't go over as totally innocent, even after I explained it was.  So that's it.  I freaked him out which is usually the other way around for me, and though he said he'd see me soon I felt like I damaged something, and I don't want to.  Can I be honest?” I looked at my brother looking at me with so much love, I wanted to hug him.
  “Always,” he smiled.
  “I feel like I'm falling in love with him, which is crazy and way too soon, but it’s true.  He is by far the only man I have
ever
felt like this about, and of course it scares me, but I don't like it either.  I'm happy when I'm with him, but I feel miserable when I'm not, and I'm not that kind of girl.  Well,
you
know.  I'm not flighty and romantic, or sappy, but I am with him.  Or I am in my head, and once in a while with him out loud, which he wants.  He says he wants to know everything I think, and everything I am, but when I kind of get sappy, or tell him something personal it makes me feel like shit, or scared, or even pissed off at him sometimes.  And it's weird,” I finally exhaled.
  “So what's-”
  But cutting him off I went for broke. “Guess what he bought me for Christmas.”
  “I don't know,” he shook his head.
  “Guess!  Never mind.  He bought me a 1st edition,
signed
Leonard Cohen Beautiful Losers novel.”
  “Fuck off.”
  “I'm not kidding.  It was such an amazing gift, and he bought it on eBay, like right after we met for lunch that very first Sunday- not even 2 weeks ago, and see?  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
  “Thank him with a blow-”
  “
Ewww…
 Don't go there, Steven!  You're my brother!  Gross.” I said as he laughed at me.  “Anyway, do you see how I could fall in love with him?  Who does that?  And he talks so weird, not like any guy I've ever met before.  And he's super romantic, and like sensual, and sexy and like a beautiful lover kind of guy, and I hate it, but not really...”
  “You really need to chill out, Soph.  If he’s as romantic and 'sensual,'” he said with quotes, “as you think, then he probably wants to hear how you feel about him.  So what if you have feelings for him unlike what you've ever had before?  You were never really happy with them anyway.  Seriously.  Just chill out.  You thinking this much about your feelings is making you a psycho, and you're gonna scare him away with your thinking probably more than by how you actually feel.  So just enjoy it,” he said while sitting beside me on my bed.
  Grabbing Steven in a tight side hug, I exhaled the tension of the 'you love me' slip.
  “We should go back downstairs before mom kills us.  Plus, I need a dozen or more drinks,” I grinned.
  “Me too... Being the voice of reason between us is fucking awful,” he said as I burst out laughing.
  So 3 hours later, and like 10+ drinks later, I was smashed.  Totally, absolutely, completely polluted.  And everyone knew it 'cause, well, I fell into the tree once, and I laughed like a fool when I spilled a drink down the front of my dress. 

   At one point Steven even brought me a plate filled with breads and crackers to absorb the alcohol, and my dad casually cut me off at the bar.  Even my mom kept watching me from every single position in the living room she could see me from while she entertained all the other guests.
  But by 10:00 I acted like a stupid, immature, 24 year old drunk moron, and sadly I drunk-dialed Peter.
  “Hello?”
  “Hi, Peter... I'm hammered just so you know, so nothing I say can be held against me right now or after this drunk-dial, okay?”
  “Okay,” he said sounding worried.
  “I like you.  A. Lot.  You freak me out because you're awesome, but I. Don't. Love. You.  Okay?”
  “Okay.  Where are you, Sophie?”
  “At my parents’.  In a party.”
  “Are you safe, baby?”
  “Yes.  Why?”
  “I just want to make sure you’re safe.  Are you staying there tonight?”
  “Problably.”  I knew I had to hang up.  “I’m sorry.  That's all I wanted to say.  Merry Christmas, Peter.  I'm sorry.  I think I'll be embarrassed tomorrow, but I wanted you to know.  I'm falling- ugh- but I don't love you.  But you're awesome.  Okay?  And I love my present.  And you totally win.  Yours was way better than mine.  Oh!  When’s your birthday?”
  “July 4th,” he laughed.
  “Shit!  Mine’s February 28th, or March 1st, depending on the best night to have a party 'cause Steven and I were leap year babies.  But you'll get to get me another present before I get you one, so you'll win again.  IF we're still dating then.  Crap!  Sorry. 
See? 
I can't relax like Steven said about you, and I can't tell you stuff like you want me to because then I feel stupid.  Sorry.  Holy shit!  I'm gonna die tomorrow.  Remember, this doesn't count.  I have to go.”

  “Why did you freak out when you said that to me earlier?” Peter asked seriously, and I panicked again.

  “I didn’t freak out. 
You
did.  You had a weird
oh no
face and you looked like I scared you or something.  But I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “No, I didn’t have an
oh no
face about what you said.  I was stunned that you would say something like that to me because you never speak like that, and you never act so carefree as to slip up when you speak.”

  “’Cause I
don’t
slip up when I speak.  And sometimes it’s hard to talk to you.”

  “Why?” Peter asked sounding intense again.

  “I don’t know…”
  “Sophie, I wish you didn't have to be drunk to talk to me...”
  “I don't have to be drunk to talk to you, but it's easier.”
  “Which means you have to be drunk to talk to me.”
  “No it doesn't.  It means when I'm drunk I can talk to you easier.” Ha! 
Oh… “
Don't laugh at me, and please don't hate me.  I'm supposed to give you a thank you blow job for the book,” I giggled.
  “
Really?
” Peter asked sounding all sexy.
  “Yup.  So think about that.”
  “Oh, I will...” he practically moaned in my ear.
  “Okay.  I'm going to lie down, so sleep well.  Merry Christmas, and don't be mad at me, okay?”
  “I'm not mad at you.  Merry Christmas, Sophie.  And by the way, I think you're pretty awesome, too,” he said.
  “Really?” I begged.
  “Yes.  Go to sleep, baby.  I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
  “I miss you...” I whispered when I hung up, which was true.  I missed him so much I felt it deep in my heart.
  But I hung up before I said anything else.  And rolling over, I threw the phone on the floor as I felt myself passing out, even though I still had a big stupid smile on my face.
 

CHAPTER 12

  The following morning, Christmas
morning was a nightmare for me.

  My mom woke me up LOUDLY, and my dad and Steven had zero sympathy for me as they stood in my doorway laughing at my mom bouncing on my bed. 
  Begging to die, my mother handed me coffee and told me to get my ass downstairs in 2 minutes or I was out of her will, making Steven the sole heir to their non-fortune.  So after a few attempts, I finally stood up, swayed, and made it to the bathroom for a quick gag and teeth brushing.
  After using the washroom and washing my face of nasty makeup, I grabbed a pair of my old sweats and changed out of my tequila stained dress before I practically hobbled downstairs with each movement mirroring the throbbing in my head. 

  Incidentally, tequila sunrises, though delicious going down, are quite notoriously deadly the morning after, and I was suffering the proof.
  Crashing on the couch, I grabbed a throw blanket, curled up, and wished to god everyone quieted down.  The Christmas carols were making my head explode, and the smell of breakfast was turning my stomach, but nobody cared.
  “Why don't you love me?” I whispered to my parents. “I’m the good twin...” I moaned making them laugh at me.
  “If you're old enough to get drunk, then you're old enough to suffer, Soph,” my dad grinned while handing me Tylenol and a glass of orange juice.
  “Thanks, Daddy,” I whined while popping 3 Tylenols.
  “Okay!  Enough whining... Who's first?!” My mom cheered as we began.
  45 minutes later, one garbage bag filled with ripped paper, and stomachs growling, we were done.  I was pretty happy with my loot, too.  I even liked a sweater my mom bought me, which was a first.
  Afterward, Steven was testing out his new digital camera, my dad was reading the instructions to his new GPS, my mom was reading one of the new cook books my dad bought her, and I was figuring out my new laptop, which was hard with my much slower, hung-over brain.
  We eventually made it to the kitchen where my mom had cooked bacon and eggs earlier, leaving them in a heated dish, while my dad quickly made toast and waffles for everyone.  And I ate against my better judgment what I was craving- syrup covered bacon on top of waffles, which was delicious. 

  After breakfast my hangover lessened slightly, but I needed a nap in my own bed.  So gratefully after begging, my parents allowed me to leave the Christmas nightmare of hung-over exhaustion I was in, to meet them at 4:00 for the next festive round at my aunt’s house.
  Kissing and hugging my parent’s goodbye, I thanked them for everything and told them I loved them.  I also thanked them for not lecturing me about my drunken behavior the night before, to which Steven informed me I had passed out before it got too interesting.
 
  When I finally arrived home I was thrilled to see a blue rose taped to my door.  A blue rose greeted me and I allowed myself to think about Peter for the first time all morning.

  Finally, I thought about him and it was with sadness and happiness, which was warped.  I was sad that we were struggling, but I was also happy that he cared enough to bring me a rose.  The rose made me think that he still cared, even if I was screwing up our semi-relationship with all my bullshit insecurity.
  Curious, I did want to know if the rose came before or after my stupid drunk-dial, which made me nervous.  But then I decided he lived in my neighborhood somewhere close, so if he was pissed about my behavior he probably would've come over and removed the rose in the night.  Or that's what I told myself, so I didn't have to think about us ending before we even started.
  Once inside, I dropped my bags on the couch and made my way to bed.  I wanted a shower, but I wanted sleep more.  My hangover was taking way too long to lift, and I was pretty sure only a little sleep could cure it.  But after crawling in bed with a sigh, I suddenly thought of my answering machine, as I jumped right back out of bed, jarring my brain against my skull, but I didn't care.  I had to be sure.  And when I saw the blinking light I knew he had called me.  I just knew it.
  4 messages from friends later and one from Joseph wishing me a Merry Christmas, finally, Peter was the sixth.

  “Hi Sophie... Merry Christmas.  I'm not sure if you remember but you called me last night, and it was the funniest, most pathetic drunk-dial I've ever received.  You were
in a party
and you
prob-lably
were staying at your parents’ house, which I hope was true.  I want you to know I'm not mad at you, and I’m not freaked out by your call. I hope you had fun, and I'm looking forward to seeing you soon.  Hopefully tonight, because I can't wait til tomorrow morning to see you.  I can't stop thinking about you either, Sophie, which is freaking
me
out, too.  I’ll talk to you soon.  Merry Christmas.”
  After I listened to the message twice, I couldn't even describe the relief I felt.  I laughed when he mocked me, and I felt all warm and excited when he admitted to being freaked out.  I was excited again, and I wanted to make this work without acting like a psycho anymore.
  I knew I was acting like an immature, scared idiot with Peter, so I was going to stop.  I wanted him to want me, so I was going to stop being so afraid of how awesome he was, and I was going to give him the reason to want me in his life, like I wanted to be in his.
  I realized I felt totally insecure with Peter because I had never known or dated anyone like him before.  I was insecure with him, but I was going to try to stop.