Chapter 4 #3
“My mom had her uterus stolen.” Why did I say that?
I closed my eyes, then opened them again and tried to collect myself.
“It wasn’t stolen.” Wasn’t that a given?
“Dr. Brenda took it out because it was causing her troubles and problems. It was prickling her. It was a problematic uterus…” I can’t even talk. I want to hide.
I could tell he wanted to laugh. “She told me about her problematic uterus.”
“It caused her pain, so the doctor stole it. I mean…” I put my hands to my face for a second to get myself together.
I was so unbelievably flustered. Logan had been my best friend since kindergarten, then my boyfriend starting when we were fifteen.
My very serious and naked boyfriend. We’d had so much fun…
and passion. He used to climb up to my second-floor bedroom at night. Sheesh. “My mom had an operation.”
“Yes, I know. I took her some Thai food.”
“That’s right. Thank you so much, Logan.
She told me. I forgot when I saw you. When I’m seeing you.
Right now. Anyhow…” I brushed a hand through the air like I was trying to catch a butterfly.
I didn’t know why. “She says it feels like the doctor replaced her uterus with a porcupine. I’m here to run the bar and T and A. ”
“T and A?” His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“No.” I put both hands up this time, as if trying to stop a truck.
I am ridiculous. “I’m not running tits and ass.
That is not appropriate. Those are not the right words.
It’s her Lady Whiskey’s T and A Christmas Burlesque Show, but she says the T is for Christmas tinsel, and the A is for All I Want for Christmas Is Santa. ”
He was trying not to laugh again.
“I know. It’s an unbelievable name. She’s already put it out there, so now I get to deal with it.”
“You have to organize the Christmas burlesque show? Even though you just got here?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Well, as least you know what to do. You helped your mom with her annual Christmas show for years. I remember you were so organized. You ran it well.”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“No?”
“No. I wanted to come home and take care of her and then go home to Oregon.”
He nodded. There was sadness in his eyes.
I saw it before he hid it. I understood.
I thought I was going to start crying at any second.
I probably would. I can’t hide my emotions like he can.
Soon, I’d be a blubbery mess, and Logan would be Logan and give me a hug, and I’d cry all over that wide chest of his, as I’d done a bunch of times before.
“Who’s going to run the bar?” he asked.
“That’s me, too.”
“You’re running the bar and putting on the Christmas burlesque show?”
“Don’t say all that in one sentence. It makes me jittery and nervous.”
“I don’t want to make you jittery or nervous.”
His voice was so…deep and soothing. “You’re already making me jittery and nervous.” Shut your mouth, Bellini. Shut it. Put your hand over your mouth, and don’t speak. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should shut my mouth.”
“Please don’t. Say whatever you’re thinking, or I won’t recognize you.”
He grinned, and I thought, I think I’ll melt. Like Frosty the Snowman. Thankfully, I did not say that. He made me nervous, but maybe that was desire masked by nervousness. Maybe it was his hotness. I wanted to hold him and see what he looked like naked now that he was older. Stop it, Bellini!
I saw people behind him working on the lights for the Christmas tree. Logan and I used to go to the tree lighting every year along with our friends, wagonloads of my cousins, and my mom and her six sisters and their spouses. I missed that. Missed holding hands with him and how he’d give me a kiss…
“Bellini?” he said. He was standing closer to me. “Bellini? Are you okay?”
I jumped out of my daydream. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“How do you like living in Oregon?”
It’s quiet. It’s lonely. I miss you and try not to think about you as much as possible.
At least I don’t have memories of you there.
But I can’t live here, because seeing you like this, it’s shredding me.
I hoped I could come back and see you and not have this reaction.
I thought I could move on, that you would be different, that my reaction would be different, but I was wrong. “I…I like it.”
“Good.”
We locked eyes, and there was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t.
I couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t tell him why I’d stopped seeing him.
I thought I saw his eyes mist with tears, but I wasn’t sure, because I couldn’t see through my own misty tears.
I struggled to speak. I told myself I’d make a list of ways I could avoid Logan so I wouldn’t have to go through this tidal wave of pain again.
“I brought my cats here with me.” Why was I talking about my cats?
“How many do you have?”
“Four.”
“I’ll assume they’re good cats.”
“They aren’t. They’re bad.”
He laughed. “You have a herd of bad cats?”
“Yes.” I laughed, too. “They scratch furniture. They lean on my hands when I’m trying to work on my computer.
They meow at two in the morning when they want to play.
If I give them food they don’t like, they glare at me and won’t eat it.
They follow me around. I’m always being watched.
One likes me to meow back at him, as if we’re having a conversation. ”
His smile widened. “You have company.”
“Too much company. Anyhow, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“What…what are you up to?” I had told my mom not to give me information on Logan.
She agreed. She didn’t even know the full truth of what had happened between Logan and me.
I knew what she’d do with that information—it would probably involve yelling, a pitchfork, and maybe a tractor running someone over, and it would have made everything worse.
“I’m working as an architect and builder.”
He nodded at the building on my right, which I was familiar with.
It was three stories. Very old in a statuesque, historic way.
But obviously it had been restored and refurbished.
On the ground floor, there was a bookstore and a bakery.
I sucked in my breath when I saw the name, Hamilton Architecture, on the door. “This is where you work?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I see. You work on the second floor?”
“Yes. And I live on the third floor.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You seem…surprised by that.”
“I am because I thought you would be living out on your mom’s land. Maybe you would have built a house out there for yourself. I know how much you love it.”
He nodded. “I still love it. I’ll always love our land. It reminds me of her. But…” He paused and took a breath. “My dad is out there, so I’m living in town.”
“Ah. I get it.” And I did. Logan and his father did not get along.
His father didn’t get along with anyone, especially me and my family.
I decided to change the topic so I didn’t have to think about that.
My stomach was beginning to churn as if a tiny grinch were in there, stirring everything around and about.
“Panoramic view from up there, right? On the third floor?”
He smiled. “It’s pretty nice. Swan Mountains out the back, Rocky Mountains straight ahead.”
“Congratulations on your business, Logan. It’s very impressive.” I meant that. It was. “I’m not surprised you have your own architectural firm, though. I knew you would. Do you have people working for you?”
“Eight.”
“Wow.” And then I said, “Wow,” again and probably sounded silly. “You’re doing what you always wanted to do. You wanted to design and build, and here you are. You’re talented, Logan. I bet you design buildings like no one has ever seen before. I like this building, too. You chose an old one.”
“Old buildings have more character. And, thanks, Bellini. I…” He paused for long seconds. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s the truth,” I said quietly. An embarrassing thought popped into my flustered brain. “I didn’t know this was your business. I wasn’t waiting for you outside or…”
“I know.”
“I haven’t turned into a stalker.”
“Noted.”
“I’m an odd cat lady.”
“And a writer.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve bought your books.”
“You have?” I was thrilled. So happy. I actually felt myself rocking onto my toes and slammed my feet back down.
“Yes. Roxy Belle is very entertaining. I can see why kids like to read about her and her adventures on the farm and in school and with her family. I think the sister who wears antennae is hilarious, and I like that you made the oldest brother, a football player, kind and loving toward Roxy Belle instead of the usual stereotypical image of a football player.”
“I used to know a kind football player.” I smiled. Couldn’t help it. The oldest brother was modeled after Logan. “I tried to create a somewhat normal family.”
“They’re normal. But hilarious. The scene with the twins trying to catch fish in the aquarium was so funny.”
“I can’t believe you read my books.” I was so touched. Thrilled. I grinned up at him like a weird cat.
“Why? You wrote them, and I knew you’d tell an incredible story, and you did. I noticed that in none of her books does Roxy Belle make alcoholic drinks in a bar.”
“No. That was definitely left out.” Logan and I were friends for so long.
He had always been interested in how I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking.
He was the first person I’d told that I wanted to write and illustrate books for kids for the rest of my life.
He’d thought it was a terrific idea and told me so, and then I’d started telling him my ideas for stories, and he loved them. I sucked in my breath. So much…lost.
A man stepped out of the building. “Logan, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but everybody is here for the meeting…”
“I’ll be right in.”
“Okay, thanks.” He smiled at me, nodded, shut the door.
“I’m sorry I kept you,” I said.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s great to see you, Bellini.”
“Thank you. It’s great. For you. I mean—” Oh, help me. “It’s great to see you, too, Logan.”
He stared at me, and I saw glimpses of what we used to have.
An easy, fun friendship and passionate romance.
I was the class valedictorian. He was the salutatorian.
He played football. I was on the chess team.
He played basketball. I was on the debate team.
He played baseball. I spent a lot of time drawing and making art and writing stories.
He was cool and relaxed and socially adept, with a lot of friends.
I had a few close friends, two of them my cousins, but was often anxious and nervous in large social situations, unless I was with my family or Logan.
I was—am—an introvert. I like to be alone. He liked to be “alone” with me. Otherwise, he was very social.
Logan went home to a lousy home life, his father a nightmare, strict and punishing.
I went home to my loving, if colorful and flamboyant, mother after I worked in the bar.
We were different, but for some reason, we clicked. It was like I knew, even then, he was my best friend and would be forever.
And then it all exploded.
“Bye, Logan,” I said, my voice wobbling.
He blinked a couple of times. He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he said, “See you later, Bellini,” which caught me off guard. Would he see me later?
My heart was cracking and shattering as I walked away. I know a lot about biology, but what biology doesn’t tell you is that your heart can break when people you love are no longer in your life. It was a wonder I was still standing.
I missed him. I always would.
But what would be the point of trying to talk to him while I was here? We hadn’t talked in years. Logan did not want to see me again, I was sure, and seeing him now had been devastating.
I would return to Oregon in January.
Put him behind you, I said to myself. Put him behind you. Again.
I sniffled and shoved my gloved hands into the pockets of my red coat.
The Christmas tree momentarily lit up, as if for a practice run, the white star on top shining.
I don’t like Christmas. At all.
When I couldn’t see him anymore, I let the tears flow.