22 Xavier
22
XAVIER
S HE SPUN IN my arms, her hands slid up my chest, and I got to do the thing I’d been wanting to do since the second she opened the door five hours ago.
I got to kiss her.
All night I’d been in a state of dull panic. Knowing the clock was ticking, knowing she was only giving me this one dinner and that dinner wasn’t a date. I’d been trapped between being so happy it was happening and dreading that as soon as it started, it already had an end.
I had to do something. This couldn’t be our last time together. Even if the something was pouring everything out and telling her how hard it had been to pretend to forget her, and hoping that was enough, because I could not live like this.
I couldn’t act like I didn’t remember what being with her felt like and that it hadn’t changed me.
She didn’t think we could have parallel lives. But we were. Even when I couldn’t talk to her and she was two thousand miles away, I was next to her. Seeing her tonight didn’t even feel like we’d been apart, it felt like we’d been on pause.
And now she was kissing me.
There was a tiny glimmer of a chance. And I felt instant peace.
The gnawing discontent of the last two months was finally quiet, and all I could think in this moment of relief was that I was kissing my wife.
I couldn’t tell you how I knew this. A pristine realization on a dim porch in the middle of the night. The scent of her perfume bringing up memories of a beach under the moon, the sound of crashing waves, a kitten with fur that smelled like her, a shitty hotel room or a UFO that was the only place in the world I wanted to be, simply because she was in it.
I had friends on their wedding day who still weren’t totally sure—and I was sure, even this early. I didn’t need more information, I didn’t need more time. I just knew .
And now that I did, the panic was back.
Because even though she was kissing me, she still might not ever let me see her again. If she sent me away, I was going to be condemned to think about her for the rest of my life.
This was what they meant when they talked about the one who got away. She’s the woman you never stop remembering, the one who haunts you. The one who stays at the front of your mind even when decades pass.
And I had to figure out how to make this work. I had to.
I didn’t have any choice.
Three hours later we were lying naked in her bed, looking at each other. Our bare legs tangled under the blankets. The only light in the room was from the pale glow of the lava lamp on her nightstand. Pooter was curled up at our feet. It was sometime around 2:00 a.m.
I reached out and brushed the hair off her forehead.
“You are in so much trouble,” she whispered.
“I like this kind of trouble.”
She gave me a mock stern look. “I can’t believe you faked a conference.”
“I’m beginning to think there’s a lot of irrational things I would do for you,” I said.
She went quiet. “How is this going to work?”
“I will make it work.”
She looked like she didn’t believe me.
“I know myself, Xavier. I’m not built for this kind of relationship. I like togetherness. I like to see the person I’m seeing.”
“We’re just going to have to try harder than other couples.”
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “This is so fucked up.”
“I know.”
“It’s impossible.”
“I know,” I said. “Believe me, I have turned this over in every way you can imagine. And at the end of it, I just can’t. I can’t not see you. It’s too miserable. I’m just going to have to figure it out. I’ll come as much as I can. I could probably come once a month at least.”
She looked back at me, her eyes sad. “I was miserable too,” she said softly.
My stomach tightened at the admission that she felt the way I did. Probably not exactly the way I did, but it was something.
“I thought about you every minute,” I said. “Even when I wasn’t thinking about you, I was.”
We studied each other quietly.
I reached out and touched her earlobe. “How is this?”
“Fine. I still can’t get an earring in it though.”
I rubbed the soft skin gently between my fingers, feeling the small scar. I hated that she had this, but I liked that I knew why. I’d been there for it, knew the story.
Even bad memories are sacred in their own way.
A car alarm chirped outside. Samantha looked over her shoulder. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah…”
She got up and went to the window wrapped in a blanket and peered through the blinds.
“What is it?” I asked, getting up.
“It’s my dad…”
I leaned down next to her and looked out. A man was in the front seat of a Honda, backing out of the driveway with the headlights off.
“What the hell?” she said. “What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “Two oh eight.”
She wrinkled her forehead.
“Did you ever find out where he went that night?” I asked.
She let the blinds snap closed. “Sort of.” She looked up at me. “He said he had a toothache and needed to get some Orajel.”
Her brows were furrowed.
“What?”
“I’m just pondering the strange and unusual habits of elder Gen Xers,” she said. “So mysterious. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How did it end? With your parents. Like when you went to go live with Jesse?”
“Why are you thinking about that?” I asked.
“Just thinking about my parents a lot lately,” she said. “Curious about yours.”
I went quiet for a moment. This was another story that no one knew but the guys. And again, they only knew because they’d been there.
But I wanted her to know.
I wanted her to know everything about me, the things that shaped me and how I felt about them so she could make a decision about how she felt about me.
“I had a learning disability,” I said. “It was an eye condition called convergence insufficiency. The muscles in my eyes were weak and it made my vision hop around on the page, so I couldn’t read well. It doesn’t show up on a standard eye test, and it’s easy to correct with physical therapy, but my parents didn’t really care to dig any deeper and figure it out. So I struggled all through middle and high school. The only class I did well in was 4-H. I liked the animals. I was in special ed classes at one point, but I couldn’t get caught up. And I would be punished for it. Badly. I was called every name I think you can imagine in this situation. I was called those names instead of my name.”
She stood there, staring at me.
“In eleventh grade, I got my report card. My dad came at me with a belt, like he usually did, saying the things he usually said. Only this time I was taller than him and stronger than him and it didn’t go the way he thought it would.
“I went to Jesse’s house, with a fat lip and a torn shirt and I told his mom and dad everything. And to this day I don’t know what they said to my parents, but they left my house with a suitcase of my clothes and my birth certificate and social security number, and after that, I lived with them. We got my eyes figured out, and I graduated with all As. I put myself through college, then veterinary school. Two years ago I opened my own office. My parents really didn’t think that I would amount to anything. So I have spent the last thirteen years proving them wrong.”
She shook her head. “Do you ever hear from them? Or see them?”
“No. Not really. They still live in the same city, but I’ve never run into them. They do check up on me though. I know that. I see it on Instagram. A few years ago they sent a friend to try and guilt me into talking to them. They’re both sick and disabled and they need help, which I will never give them.”
“Talk about reaping what you sow,” she said.
I thought about Samantha’s mom. She was also reaping what she sowed, but in the best way.
She was so loved. She had a family willing to give up everything to take care of her. If Lisa was loved even a little less, Samantha might be in Minnesota with me. But I wouldn’t change it. I was glad she had nothing but good memories of her childhood.
“God,” she said. “Imagine growing up like that and turning out the way you did. And no wonder you hate people. I’d hate people too if that was my first introduction to them.”
She wasn’t wrong.
I gazed at her. She looked beautiful. Tired—but beautiful.
“I’ve never told anyone that story,” I said.
“How does it feel now that you have?”
I thought about it. “Lighter,” I said.
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Your days of being treated badly are over. Forever.”
I looked at her mouth. “At least they didn’t make pasta just to torture me with chorizo.”
She rolled her eyes. “My brother will never be the bigger person. He will only be the bigger bitch.”
I smiled and leaned over and hovered there for a second before I closed the distance and my lips pressed into hers.
The kiss was slow and easy, but my heart pounded anyway. Something about her just felt right . She’d felt right from the very beginning I realized.
Only the logistics were wrong.