Chapter Twenty-Six
Three Months Ago
It was a month and a half until the big day and Luke and I had dropped our in-person meetings down to once a week. Most of the planning had been completed and the odds and ends could be discussed via email or text.
Since the kiss, however, the once-fun meetings—the only part of the week I looked forward to—had become very business-like. Luke had suggested we work at his place a couple of times, but I always had a reason why we should meet at a coffee shop instead, not wanting to give mixed signals. He eventually stopped asking.
I missed that house. I missed seeing Hannah and reading to her until she fell asleep.
Luke seemed fine with the new arrangements, and I pretended I was fine with meeting at Starbucks in the evenings, but every time I saw him and was greeted, not with a hug but with a polite smile, my heart sank. It was for the best, though. We weren’t meant to be together.
Of course, I said nothing. I just kept pretending I was fine. He didn’t seem bothered, so why should I be? He appeared to have gotten over whatever was between us very quickly, so there was no reason to say that I hadn’t. To say that I missed him. To say that I was suffering.
One thing I was very good at was pushing feelings away. If I was determined enough, I could shove every good feeling I had about Luke so deep inside that they would never again see the light of day. So, that’s what I focused on. It was easier than actually feeling things. It was easier than wanting him. It was much easier than feeling sad.
Luke arrived at Starbucks late, which was unusual for him. “It’s disrespectful to be late,” he always said.
“Is everything all right?” I asked as he pulled his phone from his cargo pants pocket, set it on the table, and sat down.
“Sorry,” he said. “Hannah—”
“Is everything okay with Hannah?” I leaned forward, my chest tightening.
He nodded. “It is now. She fell at school and they called me in from work. She’s fine, though, just a couple of scrapes. One was pretty deep and they thought she might need stitches, but she didn’t. That’s where I was. At the hospital.”
“Oh my God, you totally didn’t have to come tonight,” I said. “If she needs you, you need to be with her. We can do this another time.”
He looked up, his eyes softening as they met mine, a proper grin poking at the sides of his mouth. “She’s with her grandma and some ice cream, tucked deeply into her happy place. She would kill me if I interrupted that.” His eyes shone and I relaxed. I hadn’t seen that look in a while. Maybe things were finally getting back to normal. Maybe it wasn’t too late to still be friends.
“As long as you’re sure.” I pulled at my hair and then tucked a piece behind my ear. “Are you doing okay?” I asked as I unconsciously put my hand over his.
His eyes darkened and he slipped his hand out from under mine.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” He pulled out his laptop and set it between us. “Let’s get to work.”
As we checked items off our list, knowing all of our hard work would soon be coming to a satisfactory end, I rolled our story around in my head, trying to rearrange the outcome into something I was happier with.
Maybe I’d never had feelings for Luke. Maybe I’d merely gotten caught up in the wedding planning festivities. Of course someone could develop romantic feelings for someone else when everything that surrounded them was about love and commitment and being together forever. It wasn’t so much that we had a great connection; it was more the situation. Obviously, it could have happened with anyone.
As soon as this was over, as soon as our part in the wedding was done, we would go our separate ways and rarely think of each other again. Maybe on Kate and Ben’s wedding anniversary I would remember our time together fondly, how we had bonded over planning, how we had achieved our goal. That’s all it would be.
Soon, I wouldn’t have to delete his texts because it made me sad to see his name at the top of my contacts list. Soon, the texts would just stop coming. Soon, I wouldn’t have to try so hard not to think about him, ignoring the tingly buzz of excitement. Soon it would be easy. Because it was never meant to be.
Our friendship was one of necessity. It had developed in a bubble. And that bubble had popped.
Soon, we would never have to see each other again.
And then I would be able to breathe.
If you ever want to get your mind off something, plan a staff party where the only colleague who helps you plan things is unable to because, you know, the party is for her.
All week I had been getting ‘helpful’ suggestions from the men at work like “we should get a cake” or “we should get balloons from Balloon Bar,” when everyone knew that “we” meant “me.” Not one of them offered to help.
All of them somehow thought that the party of their dreams just magically appeared without any work. Unsurprisingly, the few other women in the office had asked what they could do to help and what they could bring. The men just asked what time they should show up and “You’ll have good beer, right?”
By the time Friday rolled around, I hadn’t had time to think about anything else. My days were filled with party balloons and colour schemes and paper plates and drinking games and actually cleaning my apartment, trying to make it look like it was inhabited by an adult. I had even taken the time (and money) to buy a few nice throw pillows and a cozy blanket to cover my threadbare furniture to try to cheer the place up. This was the first party I’d had since the New Year’s I’d stopped drinking the first time—the New Year’s Ben and Kate had gotten together—and, if I was having people over, I should probably do my best to make the place look nice.
I left the office early Friday afternoon, grabbed some extra bags of chips on the way, and ran up my apartment steps so I could get myself ready and put the food out in the thirty minutes I had to spare. Much to the displeasure of Kate’s cat Mittens, I had left Marty with Kate and Ben for a sleepover. My apartment was going to be full of people and I didn’t want to make the little guy uncomfortable.
Not really caring what I looked like—the party wasn’t for me after all—I changed out of my work clothes, threw on a pair of skinny jeans and shrugged into a pale pink button-up tunic top. A couple squirts of hair shine to liven up my locks, and a bit of powder to subdue my shiny face, and I was ready to go. Thank goodness I had prepared most of the food the night before or I wouldn’t have been close to ready when the first guest arrived.
And, of course, that guest was Ethan.
I had just finished dumping the last bag of chips into a bowl and was walking around the room making sure everything was in place when I looked out the window and saw him walking back and forth in front of my apartment building, looking confused. I opened the window and called out his name, watching him spin around until he saw me like a dog chasing his tail.
First of all, who comes early to a party and, secondly, what on earth were we going to talk about until someone else arrived? At least talking to him, about anything, would take my mind off—
No. I refused to think about Luke tonight. For the next several hours, it would be like Luke had never existed. I had to get over him somehow, and pushing every thought of him out of my mind was the only strategy I could think of.
I buzzed Ethan in and heard him running up the stairs, likely taking them two at a time, trying to get as much benefit out of the physical activity as possible. The stamina on this guy was incredible. My face flushed and I had to shake my head to dislodge the thoughts that were creeping in.
Although, I reminded myself, it wasn’t like I was dating anyone. There was nothing wrong with thinking this way. I was single; Ethan was single. What was wrong with a bit of fun? It wasn’t like we would get together or anything. No one at work would have to know. What was that saying? Get over someone by getting under someone else?
I can’t believe I just thought that.
“Hey Jules,” he said, not even close to being out of breath when I opened the door. He handed me six cans of Perrier encased in plastic. “For the hostess with the mostest.”
“You sound like my dad.” I laughed. “Are you sure you’re in your thirties?”
He winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
That didn’t make sense, but okay. He went to hand me a second six-pack, this one of Nokomis Honey Brown beer, but changed his mind and pulled one out of the plastic cover. “Do you mind if I have one? That run up the stairs made me thirsty.” He popped a can open and swallowed deeply before I had a chance to answer.
“Of course not.” I grabbed the remaining cans and put them in the fridge. “If I’d made this a dry party, no one would have come.”
“I would have,” he said, so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d heard it. He took another swig of beer, put it down on the kitchen table and unzipped his jacket. I could smell his distinct scent clinging to it as he gave it to me to hang up. He was wearing a tight long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off the results of all the workouts he had “crushed” lately. His triceps tightened the fabric as he slid his hand through his perfectly messy mop of hair.
“So….” I started, not having a clue what to say. All I could think about was running my hands over a different kind of six-pack that was surely hiding underneath his shirt. Thank God the buzzer went before I told him that shirts were optional at my parties.
I buzzed whoever it was in and was relieved to see Quinn burst through the door, overloaded with shopping bags, ready to save me from my impure thoughts.
“Happy birthday!” I cheered and gave her a hug as Ethan took the bags from her hands and set them on the counter.
“Thanks, friend!” she said to Ethan and then looked back at me, raising her eyebrows.
I shrugged. She knew about as much as me at this point.
“Hey, Millennial,” she called as Ethan put her bottle of chardonnay in the fridge. “I’ll actually have a glass of that.”
A flicker of irritation crossed his face before he turned and pulled the wine back out. “You know you’re also a Millennial, right?”
She shrugged. “I’m a Gen-X at heart.”
He looked at me, his eyes begging me to come to his rescue.
“Sorry, she’s right. I’ve officially accepted her into our fold.” I laughed and playfully punched him in the arm. My goodness, those biceps though.
Quinn opened her bottle of wine and poured herself a generous glass while Ethan looked around my small apartment. “This is a great space,” he said, admiring my cheap, random decor. With the exception of what I had just purchased, I had never bothered to decorate, seeing as most of my money used to go to bottles (boxes) of wine. Now that I had a full-time job, maybe I could save up and finally buy myself some adult furniture. Maybe a bigger TV. I was finally starting to realize that I deserved to live somewhere nice. I might as well do my best to make my place more comfortable if I wasn’t going to be hanging out at Luke’s anymore. A dart of grief hit me in the chest and I forced down a glug of soda water, trying to ignore the sweet aroma wafting from Quinn’s glass of wine.
“Why isn’t there any music playing?” Ethan said. “Can I plug my iPhone in somewhere? I have a sweet party playlist.”
I pointed to the wireless speaker on my bookshelf. “Be my guest.”
“What’s this?” Ethan picked up a circular piece of plastic I had propped up inside a frame holding a picture of me, Kate and Ben.
“That’s my six-month sobriety chip.” I walked over and picked it up, smiling at the memory. “From the first time I quit drinking.” I hadn’t actually attended AA before my meltdown almost a year ago, so what I was holding was actually a poker chip that Kate had written the number six on in black sharpie. I had almost cried when she’d given it to me.
Ethan’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you said you didn’t drink because of health reasons.”
“Yeah, I lied,” I said, not caring about pretence anymore. “I’m an alcoholic. And I keep this out to remind myself what I can do. I have just over a month to go before I’ve made it one year.” I smiled, proud of myself.
“Nice,” Ethan said. “Good for you.”
I picked up the picture and pointed to the faces, rubbing off a smudge in the process. “This is my best friend Kate and my brother Ben. The chip lives with them because they’re who I’m doing it for. They mean everything to me.”
“And yourself, right?” Quinn said, digging into the pretzels. “You’re also doing it for yourself?”
“Of course.” I smiled. “And myself.” I put the frame down and stood the chip back up inside. It seemed like so long ago that I’d gotten it. So much had happened since then. I’d gotten a new job, met some great friends. Met Luke.
An unwanted lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it down. Focus, Julie. This night was about Quinn, not about me. She deserved a fabulous, fun party. I refused to think about anything else. I needed to keep my head planted firmly in the present.
“Another beer?” I grabbed Ethan’s can from his hand and shook it side to side. I knew it; empty.
“Might as well.” He grinned.
Might as well indeed.
If the success of a party could be measured by how many bottles and cans were littered around an apartment after it was over, then mine was definitely successful. Ethan walked around the room with a garbage bag and threw the empty cans in and I dumped the not so empty ones in the sink while Quinn snored on the couch. I’m pretty sure at least two of the empty wine bottles were courtesy of her. No judgment from me though; she looked like she’d had an amazing time.
“Quinn seemed to have fun,” Ethan said as I draped one of my new red-and-yellow tartan blankets over her.
“She deserved it,” I said, smiling at her tiny snores. “She’s been working really hard. And it is her birthday. It’s about time she was celebrated.”
Ethan put down the garbage bag and walked over to the sink, close enough that I could smell the tangy scent of beer on his breath. I wondered when the smell of alcohol would stop being a trigger. When I would stop wanting a drink. Maybe it never really went away.
“You’re a great friend,” Ethan said. He leaned over so his shoulder tapped mine and I shivered.
“I’m going to close the window.” I moved away. “It’s getting a bit chilly.”
Take it easy, Julie,I thought. Yes, I admittedly was attracted to him, and yes, sleeping with Ethan could potentially help me get over Luke, but I still had a month left before I hit my year of sobriety. Did I want to waste it on someone who probably checked his fitness tracker during sex to see how many calories he was burning?
I struggled to pull down the ancient wooden window frame and Ethan came over to help. Our hands touched once, twice and then his baby finger hooked around mine, pulling my hand down and stroking the top with his thumb.
Just breathe. I tried to swallow, wondering if he could hear the pounding of my heart. This was the moment. This was where I had to make a decision. Either I pulled away and pretended nothing had happened or I turned to face him, knowing that something would.
Should I give in and break my promise to myself? Did it count if it was just sex? If it meant nothing more than giving in to attraction? It was better than finishing off the rest of the wine people had left behind, and I wasn’t going to lie, the thought had crossed my mind.
I turned and tilted my head up, gazing into Ethan’s clear blue eyes. Eyes that were staring at my lips. “We can’t let this affect our work relationship,” I whispered, trying to block out the sound of my nagging conscience. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Kate.
I’ll be fine,I said to her in my head. This is fine.
“It won’t. I promise,” he breathed in my ear.
His lips nestled in the crook of my neck and slowly slid up to my cheek. A shiver started deep in my toes and came out of my mouth as a gasp. It had been so long.
He pulled me into my bedroom and I closed the door behind us, pushing him gently down on my bed. He reached behind and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth, practised motion, and I almost lost consciousness. I had never seen a body so perfect; his abs actually rippled when he lay back on his elbows.
Suddenly, I was nervous. What if he expected a body that was younger and fitter? What if he was disappointed? It suddenly occurred to me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex sober. I had never cared what the men I slept with thought. I was always too busy drunkenly acting out their fantasies.
I needn’t have worried though. It was pretty clear he was ready before I even took off my shirt. “You are so beautiful,” he said as I unbuttoned my blouse. “I dream of that hair, hanging down, brushing my face. Do you know what you do to me?”
“Tell me.” I stepped out of my jeans and straddled him on the bed, once again ignoring the voice telling me to stop. I was just nervous because it had been so long. I needed to keep going. It would be worth it when it was done. I would finally be able to move on.
“I think about you constantly.” He lifted his hands and pushed my hair off my face, leaning in to kiss my neck. “I feel so good around you. You’re the only one who really gets me.” He pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I feel like we’ve known each other forever. I really, really like you.”
Using every bit of power I had, I made my hands stop exploring. I could barely think straight. But I did know one thing from experience: I had to make sure we were on the same page. Not only did I not want this to affect our work relationship, I also didn’t want him to get hurt. I wanted him to know this would just be for tonight.
I put my hands on the sides of his face. “This is just fun, right? Just sex? I’m not in this for a relationship. You need to know that before we go any further.”
He pulled back and tilted his head to the side. “Of course.” He laughed. “I’m already in a relationship. What would I want with another one?”