Triangles (37 page)

“Really?” Another story I’ve not heard.

“He was more into the Old Testament?” Oh, yeah. Hellfire and brimstone.

Christian (not Chris) smiles.
You know
it. He was all about that going-to-hell
stuff. At least, until he started to qualify.

Funny how it’s easier to point fingers
at your neighbors than toward yourself.

But then he sobers.
I still miss her.

I study his face through wine-heavy eyes.

He looks like his mother, only she never allowed a single stray strand of gray.

Christian’s blondish hair is woven

with silver threads. “I know. But she’s watching over you right now.”

No. The hushed tone of his voice can’t
deny his conviction. It’s total.
If she were
still alive, she’d have nothing to do
with me after what I’ve done. She wouldn’t
feel differently in heaven, if there is one.

Adultery was numero uno on her sin list.

He’s so serious, I can hardly believe 726/881

it. “Aw. Come on. Surely murder

would have been a notch or two higher.” I didn’t flinch when he said the word I can barely consider. He cringes now.

There weren’t any murderers in her family.

I’D THINK IT WAS THE WINE

Talking, but Christian’s tolerance level is much higher than mine, and cabernet is no match for his usual Johnny Walker.

His eyes are clear, his enunciation crisp.

“Your mother loved you very much,

Christian. Whatever you have done,

I know she has forgiven you. And”—

not sure he cares, but—“God has too.” His head starts rocking side to side.

No, no, no. There is no forgiveness
for sin like mine. The Old Testament
trumped the New on this. God is all
judgment. Look how he’s punished
me! First my mother. Then Shelby.

“Stop it. You don’t really believe that.

What happened to your mother was

an accident. And Shelby was a genetic roll of the dice. Nothing more.”

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Genetics is God. And God gets

pissed when you misspend love.

SUDDENLY WE’VE SEGUED

From adultery to love. Not that I ever believed five years together could

have been only about sex. Sometimes it’s a real bitch to be proven right.

“So, you were in love with her, then.” He turns his attention away from me, back toward the rise-and-breathe

of the incoming sea.
Yes. Very much so,
at least at first. She was just so … new.

“Compared to what? Old me? Used me?” The words are frothed with anger,

but he doesn’t sidestep.
I have no
excuse, Marissa. I was smitten, that’s
all. Smitten and stupid. I didn’t realize …

“What about now? Do you still love her?” He swivels toward me again, looks

straight into my eyes.
I’d be lying
if I said no. But I’m telling the truth
when I say I love you so much more.

Whatever I feel for Skye will fade away
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in time. I believe that, the same way
I believe you and I were meant to be
together. But if you say no, I understand.

INELEGANT TRUTHS

Scattered in front of me

like used paper wrappers

and bits of tinfoil. Litter.

I wanted his honesty.

That’s what I thought.

Outside, the Pacific sighs.

I knew he was in love

with her. Wishing it

wasn’t so couldn’t make

it a lie. He has chosen

not to lie to me now.

How can I be angry, when

nothing has changed at

all except his willingness

to expose his troubled soul?

Inside, a younger couple

saunters, tandem, to the bar.

He isn’t worth a second glance,

but she sizzles in a skirt

that barely curtains her

pubic region. Any man

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would look, and Christian’s

chromosomes line up

that way. He doesn’t even try

to disguise the rotation

of his eyes. It bothers me.

But why? Would I feel better

if he pretended not to do it?

If I decide to stay, will I ever

be able to trust him again?

AND WILL I EVER WANT HIM

To touch me again, in the way every husband should touch his wife, and

every wife should long for? Part of me wants to try. To see if I can have sex with Christian without thinking about his hands, traveling collarbone to hips down Skye’s (narrower, longer) torso, pausing to caress her (larger, higher) breasts. Lowering his mouth to her

(tauter? pinker?) nipples, circling them with the tip of his tongue before moving on. And licking her (flatter, browner) belly as she arches her (straighter) back, opens her (sleeker) legs, inviting his face to plunge between them, inhale her peculiar pheromone perfume. To

sample her unique favor, savor its taste in the wet of her orgasm without first seeking his own. And when at last

he lunges into her, hearing her moan, no scream, until she comes and he

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comes and they come together.

Can Christian and I ever have sex

without doing a threesome with her?

THREESOMES

Are often awkward—

the indelicate weave

of body parts tangles

in too many ways.

Six legs

with knees, ankles,

and thirty toes, easily

accomplish trauma

when thrashing about. Likewise

six arms—

a half dozen shoulders

and elbows, plus three-times-

ten digits. And then there’s

the confusion of

three faces

and six eyes, trying to

decide what to look at;

three mouths, uncertain

of what needs to be kissed;

three tongues

with a plethora of places

to lick and spaces to explore.

Someone better take charge

because a threesome

lacking clear direction is chaos.

Andrea

AN ABRUPT DIRECTION SHIFT

Can roil your life into chaos,

make you rethink boundaries.

Possibilities. Definitions. Here’s

one I’ve been thinking a hell

of a lot about.
Friend.
The dictionary defines
friend
as a person who is

“emotionally close; somebody who

trusts and is fond of another.”

Up until a few days ago, my internal thesaurus would have listed Holly

as a synonym for friend. But I don’t see how we can ever be friends again.

I’m sleeping with her husband.

And worse, I’m crazy about him.

I’m pretty sure that disqualifies me as her friend. Wait. What am I

saying? I’m one hundred percent

sure that disqualifies me as “me.”

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Okay, I’ve always had a little thing for Jace. A trifling worm of affection.

But I never expected it to become bait.

JACE TOOK THE HOOK

Ran hard and fast with it, and

I’m not sure who it surprised more.

That night when he came over

with Holly’s journal, and we found

ourselves kissing on the couch,

our first reaction was to jerk apart, weak apologies stumbling from both

our mouths simultaneously. “Oh,

wow, I’m s-sorry, Jace. That was …

unexpected.” Almost word for

word, second for second, he said,

Oh my God. I’m sorry, Andrea.

That was … surprising…
And because of our random duet, we

started to laugh. Inappropriately,

I guess, but then, everything about this mess is inappropriate. And it all started with Holly, which compounds the myriad problems. And that night we were both drunk enough for it

to seem really very funny, despite

the fact that the kiss was deadly

serious. We left the enigma dangling 739/881

between us.
I don’t suppose you
have anymore wine? I think I need it.

He obviously didn’t, and neither

did I, although had he gone away

then, I probably would have drunk

it solo. “I keep the cellar well stocked, in case of emergency.” We were bulldozing straight toward a major disaster,

but at that point, neither of us cared.

I went to the kitchen, brought back another bottle. Didn’t give it two

seconds’ worry, thinking about sitting back down beside Jace, who claimed

the corkscrew, opened the wine,

and poured our glasses deep. I waited for him to talk. Finally,
I’ve been feeling
her pull away, but Holly is like a colt …

er … filly. Headstrong. I was afraid
of reining her in. Afraid she’d bolt,
or kick me in the teeth. Looks like
she did both. Not to mention …

I can’t believe she’d do these things.

I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to agree or try to explain or say anything at all.

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I was acutely aware of the warmth

of his thigh against mine, of the softness of his skin when our hands bumped

from time to time, while reaching

for our glasses, which somehow kept emptying. It was a small effort to say,

“Holly really hasn’t confessed anything to me, Jace. But she has changed.

She’s restless, which is probably not uncommon for women her age,

especially those who have been in

committed relationships for many years.

But Holly’s restlessness is profound.” I hoped he understood my message.

I thought it would be insensitive

to come right out and say I thought most of the journal was autobiographical.

And I realized at that point my motives might be questionable. We were

on the same page.
I knew something
was coming, just not how big it was.

I didn’t try to head it off and now
have to wonder why I didn’t.
His hand found mine again, and that made his 741/881

last sentence even more ambiguous.

Morality tilting one way, logic the other, I only knew one thing. “I can’t let you drive home. You can sleep in Harley’s room.”
DESPITE EVERYTHING

His response—his very first thought—

was,
What about Holly? Should

I call and let her know I’m here?

“It’s after midnight, Jace. I don’t think so.

One night of worry won’t kill her.

Maybe it will make her think.”

He snorted.
Like she’s worried about
me anyway, right? Concern for her
family hasn’t exactly slowed her down.

Fuck it. Let’s get drunk.
He divvied up the last of the wine, signaled a toast.

To the future. Whatever it looks like.

“Uh, Jace? I think we’re pretty

close to drunk already. But I’ll call your toast and raise you one.

Here’s to friends who bring other

friends into your life.” Our glasses tipped together, made a rich crystal clink. We sipped in silence, musing in private corridors. Eventually, the clock chimed one. I looked at Jace, who

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returned a heavy smile.
I really,
really hope you have a spare toothbrush.

My mouth tastes like a winery smells.

“I keep a few around. For Harley’s

friends, who rarely smell like merlot.

Come on. Let’s go find one.”

I led him to the guest bathroom,

showed him the spare toothbrushes.

“Harley’s bedroom is straight across the hall. Sheets are clean. I changed them this morning. Take an ibuprofen and chug a big ol’ glass of water. Best hangover preventative I know of.

My bedroom’s down there. If you

need anything, just let me know.”

Okay if I take a shower? I smell …

he sniffed—lightly.
Not too good.

Wow. How did you put up with that?

I laughed. “It wasn’t easy. Help

yourself to the shower. Harley’s gel is bubblegum. If you want straight soap, try the bar on the sink.” I didn’t really 744/881

want to leave, wanted to see him naked.

Realized how smashed I was. “Night.” I closed the door behind me. Left

his nakedness to my imagination.

The sound of the shower made me shiver.

I SINCERELY DID NOT EXPECT

Another thing to come of that night.

What I anticipated, come morning,

was a hangover of gargantuan proportion, and a thank-you note on the coffee table.