One String (Lighter Ones)

Chapter 9

Ricky

Fuck.

It isn’t until I’m waiting for the waiter to bring back my credit card that I look at what Marilyn entered. As soon as the screen is visible, I feel the fucking floor drop out from under me.

Shit.

Clenching my teeth, I look toward the front of the restaurant, hoping I can catch her, but I know she’s gone. Not only didn’t I remember that Marilyn’s number was in my phone, but I sure as hell forgot that I had do not answer as part of her name. As soon as I reach my vehicle, I hit the name of my best friend in my contacts. Getting inside the car, I slam the door shut. Justin answers on the first ring.

“Are you injured? Why are you calling?”

“Fuck, I’m not sure what to do. Is Devan there?”

“You could call her number if you want to talk to her,” he says.

I pound the back of my hand against the steering wheel and stare out the windshield at the people walking along the sidewalk in the brisk, chilled air. “I want to talk to you, without my sister’s input, or, fuck…knowledge.”

Justin’s voice drops in volume. “She’s upstairs in her office, grading papers. What the hell did you do?”

“Now, or years ago?” I ask, feeling guiltier than I have since Marilyn and I parted ways after the graduation party. I can’t get the look she gave me out of my mind, the one after seeing my note in my contacts. No wonder she left so fast.

“Rick, what’s happened?”

“Do you have a few minutes? This isn’t a quick story, and I’d rather be talking in person over a few beers.”

“I have the time,” my best friend says. “I’m not driving to Indy.”

“I wasn’t expecting that. Remember how impressed I was that Marilyn had an internship at the firm Parker and Stevens?”

“Marilyn James, Devan’s best friend?”

“Yes, that Marilyn. How many do you know?”

“It’s an old name, but she’s the only one.”

“That firm,” I say, going on, “is a well-respected wealth management company with a Carmel office.”

“Oh, now I remember. Devan said you called the other day to ask if she still worked there.”

“And she does. I’ve been interviewing at the same firm. The other day, I got an invitation to a dinner with the partners, and it asked for a plus-one. I thought that by working there, Marilyn could help me with the interview process. I thought she could be my plus-one.”

“I thought the two of you hated each other, or was that some kind of act?”

“That’s kind of where this story begins. Around the time of Devan’s graduation, I may have mentioned I hooked up with someone. It wasn’t a big deal, and I didn’t say who…”

“No fucking way.” Justin’s voice is no longer soft. “You and Marilyn? Devan said you kissed.”

“It was more than that. After…well, I didn’t want a relationship, and fuck, she was so young. I had no way of knowing I was her first, until it was obvious.”

“Oh man. Shit. No wonder she despises you.”

“It wasn’t like I pledged my undying love. It was a hookup. No strings. And then over the years, I found her animosity fun…a little. Mostly, being the asshole that I am, I avoided her. Then with you and Devan, we agreed to play nice for you. I even apologized during your reception.”

“And now?”

My view through the windows is muted by condensation. I close my eyes, picturing Marilyn looking at my phone, seeing her number and the note I’d put there seven fucking years ago. “Now, I think I fucked up again.”

“You didn’t sleep with her again?” Justin emphasizes the last word.

“No. I didn’t. I want to, but that’s not the fuckup.”

“Whoa, you want to?”

“We had dinner together tonight.” I rub my fingertips over my chin. “She’s grown up. In all the right places. And it was good to talk to someone who knows the things, places, and people I know. Tonight was supposed to be a trial run for tomorrow night’s partner dinner. She agreed to be my plus-one. We came up with a story that we’ve been off-and-on-again dating for years.”

“How did you fuck up?”

“Marilyn asked for my phone to put her number and address into my contacts. When she did, she saw her name.”

“You already had her number?”

“I’d totally forgotten that it was there. When I called her to ask if she’d be my plus-one, I called her office number, one I found online. That’s not all.” I take a deep breath. “Seven years ago, when I put her number in my contacts, I added a note.”

“Shit. What did it say?”

“Do not answer.”

“Dude, you either need to cancel tomorrow night’s dinner or do something drastic. I love you like a brother, but you’re an asshole—not only for years ago, but for today. You can’t expect her to play your fake-date after that.”

I know he’s right. That doesn’t make what he’s saying any easier to hear.

The clock on the dashboard tells me that it’s after nine.

An idea comes to me. “She gave me her address. Do you think if I apologize in person…? Fuck, I’d forgotten all about that note.”

“She could slam the door in your face.”

“What would Devan do?”

“If I really pissed her off, she would tell me.”

“And what would you do?”

“Anything and everything I could to make it right.”

“I’m going to stop at a store and get flowers. I need to make this right.”

“I have a question,” Justin says. “Why are you making it right?”

“Because I hurt her. Fuck, I saw the way her expression changed, but I didn’t realize until after she was gone what she saw.”

“Or are you making it right so she’ll still go with you to the dinner?”

“I mean…yes, but…” I let out a long breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Tonight, or seven years ago?”

“Seven years ago, I didn’t realize I hurt her. Some women are fine with hooking up, no strings. Marilyn never said she wanted more.”

“How could she? You had a reminder not to answer her calls.”

I clear my throat. “Fuck the dinner. I’m going to apologize. And one more thing, don’t tell Devan.”

“I don’t lie to my wife.”

“Omission isn’t lying. Marilyn said she never told Devan. If you tell her, she’ll be upset with Marilyn, and that’s not what either of them needs.”

“Fuck,” Justin growls. “Work this out, not only for Devan, but for the two of you.”

“Thanks.” I disconnect the call as my shame and guilt multiply.

How many phones have I had over the last seven years?

Why the hell would all of that contact information transfer?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I set my GPS to Marilyn’s address. I start thinking about what I can take as a peace offering. All the local florists are closed, but the supermarkets usually have flowers. And then, the idea hits me.