Champagne Toast (34 page)

“
When?
”
she asks.  Yep, here we go.

“
The end of January, I think.  We don
’
t need to buy tickets or anything yet.  Just wanted you to know since you love her so much,
”
I add.  A gigantic smile spreads across her face. She
’
s elated.  Damn it.

“
Oooh, that sounds great.  I
’
ll have to mark my calendar
.” 
She hops up and plugs the date into her phone before sitting back in her seat and taking a bite of pasta.  As she slurps the last bit of the pasta into her mouth, a tiny splatter of sauce lands on her cute, little nose.  It makes me chuckle softly to myself as I look at her very pretty face.

“
What?
”
Chelsea asks.
Sliding forward in my chair, I give her a tiny kiss on her nose, taking the sauce with me.

“
Nothing,
”
I smile, taking a sip of wine.  She gives me a lighthearted smirk before rubbing her foot up my leg.  She has got to be the most playful girl I
’
ve ever dated.  Things are easy with Chelsea, they
’
re fun.  And it
’
s these moments, these carefree moments that help me ignore my looming thoughts of Kate.  The wedding is in just a few weeks and the closer we get to the date circled on my calendar, the more anxious I become.  So, right now, I
’
m able to forget about Kate, at least temporarily, and enjoy the adorable and attractive blonde who
’
s currently putting the moves on me.

“
Nothing, huh?
”
she asks, moving from her chair and climbing into my lap.  I wrap my arms around her, cradling her tight.
“
Maybe we should go into the bedroom for a little while and talk about
‘
nothing
’.” 

Chelsea starts to unbutton my cotton shirt as she nibbles at my neck.
Sweeping her up into my arms, I carry her into my room as she continues to lick, nibble and kiss me.  Sex with Chelsea is fun.  Not passionate gotta-have-you-right-now-or-I
’
ll-die sex, but comfortable, enjoyable and satisfying sex.

Laying her down on the bed, I begin to unbutton her jeans.  She wiggles as I pull them down to her ankles, yanking them off completely, sending her into a fit of laughter.  I kiss the inside of her thighs and work my way down to her big toe, taking it into my mouth; her weakness. She throws her head back and moans,
“
Oh, Ev
.” 
And that
’
s all it takes for reality to return.  Her foot falls down to the bed
,
and I stare at her in disbelief.

“
What is it?
”
Chelsea looks up at me, propping herself up on her elbows, dread upon her pale face.
“
What did I do?
”

“
It
’
s nothing, it
’s just . . .
um, I don
’
t really like being called that,
”
I mutter in response.

“
You mean
‘
Ev
’
?
”  I nod.
“
Okay, I
’
m sorry.  It
’
s just
. . .
well, you call me Chels all the time, so I thought
—”

“
I know, but that
’
s
different
,
”
I snap, feeling bad the second the words leave my mouth.

“
Evan!
” Chelsea says
, her eyes wide.  She looks so injured.  I have to force myself to calm down and try to make this better.  Placing my head in my hands, I pull on my hair, trying to release some of my anger and frustration.

“
I know.  It probably doesn
’
t make any sense.  And I
’
m sorry,
”
I say, looking down at her.  She sits up slowly and takes my hands in hers.

“It’s all right
.  We both have baggage.
”

“
You?  Baggage?
”
I ask with curiosity.

“
Maybe a little.
”

“
Wow, you just seem so
. . .
I don
’
t know, happy all the time.
”

“
Life
’
s too short to be anything else.  So, maybe one day you
’
ll tell me why you hate that nickname.  Until then, I
’
m not going to worry about it.
”

“
You
’
re awesome, Chels,
”
I say, kissing her lightly on the lips.  She attempts to deepen the kiss, but I place both of my hands on her shoulders and push away gently.

Stripping the rest of her clothes from her body, Chelsea and I have sex quietly on the bed.
Kissing her one last time, I lay down beside her, staring off into space.  All I can hear, see, taste, smell, is Kate.  She has invaded my brain, invaded my heart and I can
’
t get her out.

Chelsea falls asleep and I hear her breathing softly in and out.  I turn to look at her face, tracing the skin of her button nose, guilt surrounding my every movement, my every breath.  I want to love this woman
so
badly.  My life would be so much better if I did.  Wouldn
’
t it?

Kate

November 18, 2012

The weather is unseasonably warm this weekend, which gives me the inspiration to take photos all day long on this lonely Sunday afternoon.  I worked at the bar all weekend long, made some really good tips and had some mediocre ideas for what to present at the art show.  The art gallery accepted my work within just a couple of days of entering, which was surprising.  It felt great, though, to have that acknowledgment from professionals who look at photos and other various pieces of art on a daily basis.  They aren
’
t my boyfriend or my best friend.  They owe me nothing
. . .
and they like my work.

Since the day I opened that email telling me my work had been accepted, I
’
ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what to present at the show.  Nothing seems good enough, original enough or creative enough.  And every time I think about it too much I start to feel physically sick, like I might vomit.  But, now the show is less than a month away and I need to figure it out.  It
’
s too important to keep avoiding.

Walking through a local park just a few blocks from my home, I snap pictures left and right.  An abandoned swing with the sunlight
hitting the seat just perfectly.  A
tree that
’
s lost all its leaves, sitting lonesom
e on a small hill.  A
blade of grass bending over in the sunshine.  For over an hour, I roam around the large park, looking for something, anything to inspire me.  For the light bulb in my head to go on and tell me,
‘
this is it.
’
  But, what I really love to photograph are faces
,
and somehow
,
taking pictures of strangers in a park doesn
’
t bring the intimacy to my work that I
’
m used to. 

“
Can you believe this November weather?  It feels like it may hit 65 degrees,
”
a man says from behind me.  He
’
s wearing sunglasses and sitting on the park bench just a few feet from where I
’
m photographing the weak branches of an incredibly large tree.  I really hope he isn
’
t hitting on me.

“
Yeah, it
’
s a great excuse to get outside,
”
I say, raising my camera up as a way of explaining what I
’
m doing here.  He points to the park.

“
Days like this are a godsend for me.  My daughter
’
s playing with some new friends, and I get a break from being Dad for a few minutes,
”
he smiles, taking off his sunglasses.

  He looks like he
’
s probably in his 30s, but his face tells me more than that.  Deep-set wrinkles near his eyes tell me he hasn
’
t been sleeping well.  His disheveled hair tells me he doesn
’
t take nearly enough time for himself.  And his warm smile tells me he
’
s longing for adult interaction.  He looks tired and worn and a little lonely.
“
Do you have kids?
”
he asks.

“
No, I don
’
t
.” 
I shake my head.

“
Well, you
’
re young.  Take your time.
I wouldn
’
t trade her for the world, but she
’
s an insane amount of work for one person
.” 
 

I
’
m not sure what to say next.  He seems like he really needs someone to talk to.  But, that
’
s not really my style.  I
’
m not the appease-strangers-I-meet-at-the-park kind of person.  So, instead, I simply nod and take a few more shots.

“
That
’
s a nice camera,
”
he continues, looking for something else to discuss with me.  I take a large sigh and turn to give him a polite smile.

“
It
’
s old, but it gets the job done,
”
I offer.

“
I used to take pictures in college and it looks like something I used to use,
”
he says, pointin
g at the lens.
“
It looks like a Canon.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I respond, surprised, turning the camera so he can see the small emblem on the side deeming it a Canon camera.  He smiles.  This isn
’
t the first man who
’
s tried to talk to me when I
’
ve been busy taking pictures.  They usually pretend to be interested as well, but I can tell pretty quickly that it
’
s just an excuse to make conversation.  This guy is different. 

“
I used to take pictures for our school paper.
God, that feels like a million years ago, but it was great.  Do you develop your own pictures?
”

“
Yeah, I have a darkroom.
”

“
Oh wow, that
’
s great.
I always wanted to learn, but the paper insisted we didn
’
t have the money for that.  So, we used a service.
”

“
Most people think I
’
m nuts for not going digital,
”
I say, rolling my eyes, surprising myself that I
’
m actually continuing conversation with this random person.  But, it
’
s refreshing to meet someone who
’s used a camera like this.
  Someone who gets it.

“
Ignore them, they don
’
t know what they
’
re missing.  Developing photos is an art form in itself. I
’
m impressed
.”
His smile is so wide.

“
Thanks,
”
I reply.

“
So, are you a professional photographer or do you just do it as a hobby?
”
There
’
s that word again, hobby.  I will always see that word as nothing but poison.
But, he doesn
’
t know that.  He
’
s just being friendly so I cut him some slack.  I
’
m getting better at that lately.