Chapter 19
Denise
A familiar ping grabs my attention while I’m tidying up my workstation. I set down the bottle of shampoo in my hand and pick up my phone.
Are you at work?
I stare at the text from Isaac. His question seems too casual and mundane after several days of total silence, and after everything that happened when we last saw each other.
Yeah, but I’m leaving soon.
Good. I’m waiting outside.
I avoided him all week. His response should fill me with reluctance, or make me dread the reason why he came to see me. Excitement surges inside me instead. My response masks that, though.
K. See you soon.
Before Isaac texted, I moved slowly, my body sore from standing and zipping around for hours.
Now, there’s urgency in my movements as I finish putting away hair products and equipment, wipe down my station counter, and sweep up hair.
Then I linger in the bathroom, making sure I look put together and smell fresh, even though I usually don’t care about my appearance after work.
Outside, Isaac leans against his car, dressed in a beige leather jacket over a light-grey shirt, and dark jeans. He looks up from his phone as I approach and shoves it into his pocket. It’s the strangest thing. I’m more excited, even though I’m standing right in front of him.
Before the theft, Isaac and I used to talk to each other every day. His absence was noticeable this week, but I didn’t realize how much I missed him until now. I feel like I can breathe again, and I barely resist the urge to hug him.
We’re silent, staring at each other. The last time we were together, he admitted he had feelings for me. I almost did the same thing, almost let him fuck me too. The man who’s always been like a brother to me.
My face warms despite the chilly air as dirty snippets of that night replay in my mind. How he kissed me like his life depended on it, how amazing his thick fingers felt as they pushed inside me, and how hard he made me come. The intensity in his eyes says he’s remembering the same things.
“A friend told me about a place that makes the best wings in town,” he says, breaking the silence. “Want to try them with me?”
At the mention of food, I rub my empty stomach. I haven’t eaten since the cup of coffee and a croissant for breakfast this morning. Tasty chicken wings sound fantastic right about now, but I’m nervous. It’s not a good idea for me to be alone with Isaac. A public setting should be fine, right?
I nod. “I could eat.”
Isaac unlocks the car, opening the passenger door for me. For a moment, our gazes meet as I slip past him into the car, and a pleasant thrill goes through me before I stifle it.
* * *
Isaac and I sit at a booth and order a basket of wings with a side of sweet potato fries. I glance around, liking the moody, intimate vibe of the place with its dark teal walls, soft amber lights, and black leather seats.
A song plays overhead, the male singer’s crooning voice paired with gentle guitar notes. It’s sad yet beautiful and romantic, though the lyrics confuse me.
“Kisses from roses sounds like he’s singing about love, but what does he mean by on the grey?”
“I think most people believe it’s a song about love,” Isaac says. “One that ends in heartbreak—the grey. Others think he’s referring to drug addiction.”
“I didn’t know it’s a popular song. This is the first time I’m hearing it.”
“It was popular when I was a kid. It’s from the early 90s.”
“The 90s. Wow. What was it like living in ancient times?”
Isaac chuckles. “It was the Dark Ages. We had to roll down our car windows, Beanie Babies were currency, and everybody was wearing neon.”
We share a laugh, then fall into silence. His stare makes me shy, and I lower my gaze to the table, drawing circles on the smooth wooden surface with my finger.
“Gordon’s birthday is on Sunday. Did you remember?”
I straighten, moving my hands to my lap.
“I did. Why?”
“Mom is throwing a party for him and she wants you there.”
I scoff. “That’s funny. Gayle didn’t say anything when Dad threw me out. Seemed to me she supported him.”
“She told me once she regrets she didn’t stick up for you that day.”
“Oh, yeah? She’s never said that to me.”
Isaac leans forward and folds his arms on the table, a faint smile on his lips.
“Because you blocked her from contacting you.”
“Then you can tell her my answer is no.”
“You should go, Denise.” His expression turns somber. “Gordon fell off a ladder, and I think he’s in rough shape.”
My mood switches from irritation at Gayle to dismay over my dad. I resent him for how he treated me the last time we spoke, but I still love him, and I hate that he’s hurt.
“But Dad doesn’t want me there,” I say.
“He does. He said so.”
My eyebrows lift. “Huh. Shocking.”
“If you really don’t want to go, I won’t push, but it could be a chance for you and your father to make up.”
Isaac looks away, his expression pensive, then he takes a heavy breath and holds my gaze again.
“I never told you this, but Camille and I had a fight the morning she died. A stupid one. I had a bad habit of leaving my cup in the sink with some leftover coffee instead of dumping it out and putting it in the dishwasher. I didn’t do it on purpose.
Just an absentminded thing. Camille hated it.
She would remind me not to do it, but I would forget.
“That morning, she snapped at me for doing it again. Like a fucking asshole, I told her she wouldn’t have to worry about it much longer.
Soon, I’d be out of her life once our divorce was finalized.
That was the last thing I said to her. Not an apology.
Not a promise to do better. Something shitty and uncalled for that I can never take back. ”
He shakes his head as if he’s reliving the moment, anger tightening his brow. I want to reach over and stroke his arm to comfort him, but I resist. Physical contact with him is dangerous for my morals.
“Forgiving your father might be difficult. But it’s easier than living with the regret of never working things out if something happened to him.”
I play with the hem of my top, remembering the huge fight I had with my dad before I left home.
Before he met Gayle, my dad raised me by himself after my mom passed away in a car accident. We used to have a good relationship until the drama with Matt and college.
Looking back, I understand why my actions angered him. I’m mad at myself too, after gaining more common sense. It was stupid to walk away from a good college because I wanted to stay close to my boyfriend.
However, my dad’s threat did not go over well at the time. As long as you live under my roof, you have to do whatever I say. That felt like a challenge from a dictator, and every cell in my body demanded rebellion.
Clinging to a guy who wasn’t worth it ruined my relationship with my dad. His prediction that Matt would disappoint me turned out to be true. What if he crows about that? I won’t take it well, and we might get into another fight.
I’ll see how it goes. Isaac has a point. I don’t want to live with regret. I’ve already lost my mom forever. It’s time I tried mending the rift with my dad and forgiving Gayle. Resentment might be invisible, but it’s so heavy. It would be a relief to set it down and patch things up with them.
“OK. You changed my mind. I’ll go. If it turns out to be a mistake—”
“We’ll leave so fast, my tires will squeal as we peel out of there.”
I chuckle and he smiles, our solemn mood lifted.
Our meal arrives, and we dig in. The verdict—the wings are decent, but they’re not the best in the city like his friend claimed.
We joke about becoming informal judges, trying different spots to find the best wing joint.
After we finish eating, we wash up, but linger at our table while nursing our drinks.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Isaac says. “For losing my shit with Matt.” His gaze turns heated. “Not the part before he showed up.”
I sweep my hair behind my ear and lick my lips, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
Since we’re talking about Matt, I should tell Isaac about the break-up. It’s risky, though. If being with Matt didn’t deter Isaac from pursuing me, he’ll ramp up his efforts now that Matt’s gone. But since he’ll find out eventually, might as well tell him now. I’ll stop him if he tries anything.
“Matt and I broke up after you left,” I blurt out. “He moved out that night.”
He straightens, surprise on his face before it’s replaced by a satisfied smile. I don’t want to explore why that excites me.
“That’s good news. The best I’ve heard in a long time. Why did you guys break up?”
“Because both of us sucked. He was a bad boyfriend, and I was a bad girlfriend.” I lower my gaze to my empty drinking glass. “He found out about us. He saw the hickey you left on my neck and accused me of sleeping with you.”
“I wish his accusation were true,” he says.
You shouldn’t, I want to say. I would be a hypocrite if I did, after a week of dirty thoughts about him.
Isaac reaches over and cups one of my hands between his. I tense, but I don’t pull away like I should.
“You were a bad girlfriend because he was a bad boyfriend, Denise,” he continues. “He wasn’t right for you.”
He strokes me, his fingers sliding over my palm and the back of my hand, his warmth seeping into my skin.
I told myself I would stop him if he tried anything, but I should’ve known that was an empty promise.
I craved his touch all week and just this simple contact lights up my whole body.
Triumph shines in his eyes when he releases my hand.
“Ready to leave?” he asks.
I nod, too ashamed of my self-betrayal to speak.
We arrive home twenty minutes later, and I’m nervous as hell when Isaac walks with me to the backyard fence’s side gate instead of using his front door. The moment he shuts and latches the tall wooden gate behind us, we’re secluded. Alone.
The basement door is a few feet from us. I should get out my keys and bid him a good evening. I don’t move. He’s standing close, the faint scent of his woody cologne tempting me to lean in and inhale him, his eyes dark with interest.
My heart beats faster in anticipation. That’s the way he looked at me before he kissed me last week.
Is he going to do it again? Would I stop him?
The answer is quick and shameful. I wouldn’t.
I might protest, but no matter how often I remind myself it’s wrong, I can’t stop myself from giving Isaac whatever he wants.
Because I want it too.
“We’ll leave at eleven tomorrow,” he says, breaking the tension between us.
After I agree, he waves goodbye, heading up the deck stairs and into his house. I take a breath, willing away disappointment, then turn to the basement door.