Landslide (34 page)

In theory, that’s certainly plausible, as Erica had always put others ahead of herself whenever feasibly possible and sometimes, even when it wasn’t. Although, some standout moments from our summer together lend to heavy doubt on how much truth there is in that idea. A person can convince themselves of many things when they want to believe something exists badly enough; however, there were instances that even if I had the most exorbitant of imaginations, I couldn’t have mistaken her response to me for anything other than what it was.

The thing is though, even if I could rely on that truth which was proven in crystalline moments long ago, I only received a brief texted thank you in response to the note I left for her when I dropped off her car early Saturday morning. So, I’m thinking maybe I read the signals wrong Friday night and I should just leave it alone until I hear from her again. I’ll have a better idea of where we’re at if I wait, because if seeing or talking to me is low on her priority list now after seven years, chances are that kiss
was
just a force of habit for her.

It’s just… Damn. In the moment, it
really
felt like she was kissing me because she
wanted
to,
not
because it was what we used to do when she was hit with melancholy. Again, I know it’s been years, although the fact still remains; I used to be able to feel the difference in her lips. I guess I can just add yet another thing to my rapidly growing list of uncertainties and inabilities the long gap of time has seen fit to write for me.

Time… Man, it’s a ball buster.
 

Ain’t that the truth.

I can accept that I’ve undergone some pretty dramatic life changes since I walked away from Erica, so I’m sure she has too, but, I’m not a different person; I haven’t changed. Not really anyway, and I don’t think time has changed who she is as a person either. After all, it’s not as if it’s been something like twenty years.
Then
maybe I could see how changes in our lives or who we are could’ve been brought about that would make us incompatible in a significant way or unable to be together.

Like a husband.

Now
that
would be unfortunate and keep us apart. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, though. And I looked. Twelve gazillion times. There also wasn’t a tan line on any of her fingers to indicate that she’d worn a ring long enough for it to remain visible even after she’d taken it off. Still, I guess she could be divorced. Enough time has passed for a failed marriage—more than one actually. She could also be someone’s mom already. Even without being married once.

God, this sucks. Not knowing what I’m dealing with and whether or not too much has come to pass since we’ve been apart, and, if any of it will continue to keep us apart.

All I know for certain now is, I hate constantly checking my phone for texts or missed calls. I feel like a girl.
 

Speaking of…
 

Payton bustling around in my kitchen putting groceries away quickly with a deliberate intensity I’ve only ever seen him have in combat has me wrinkling my forehead and suspiciously narrowing my eyes. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, there you are! So, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says and clasps his hands together in front of him in an overtly feminine way, reminding me of his extremely laughable and overdone flamboyancy in the bar Friday night when we were—er…when
I
was texting him unbeknownst to Erica and the guys.

Payton had returned from the bathroom only to come to a surprised halt across the room when he saw Doppelgänger Jen standing at our table. I met his eyes over Erica’s shoulder and gave him a look that told him to get his gay ass over to the table, pronto. His response was to point at her and excitedly mouth, “Oooh, it’s Doppelgänger Jen!” That’s when I slid my phone from the table and holding it in my lap, I sent him a text that read, “Yeah. I know her as Erica though. FML.”

He responded by opening his eyes outrageously wide and placing the fingertips of his hands—
both
hands, mind you—over his mouth. Then, bubbly and practically bouncing, he silently clapped and over-annunciated his unspoken words of, “Oh my God! She’s so pretty!”

I texted back, “Really? Like I don’t already know? I’m freaking out here. And btw, the fuck, man? Stop checking out her ass. You like dick now, remember? And trust me, she has an innie, not an outie.”

Then from across the room still, he read the text and while flipping me off, he shot me a rather masculine look that said, ‘Cheap shot, dude.’
 

My next correspondence was, “Can we get back to the FML and I’m freaking out part of this convo., please? Seriously, I need to get the fuck out of here before I say or do something I’ll regret. Like inviting her to sit down, because if I do I just know I’ll offer her my face instead of a barstool.”

His eyebrows soared up and disappeared into his hair.

“Not even kidding,” I typed back, consciously realizing as I hit send that my mouth was already watering at the thought of going down on Erica again, and that’s when the girly-man strolled up and, in person, finally met the girl that the guy who saved his life once was and still is in love with.

“I’m gonna start marinating the filets and seeing if I can make the lightest meringue your mouth has ever had the pleasure of, and you should start straightening up,” he commands, giving a condemnatory look around my living room and the mess it is from being smack-dab in the middle of moving into my new house, “And get rid of these boxes…either toss ‘em in a closet or break ‘em down and stack ‘em in the garage or something. We have about four hours before Erica gets here, so that should give you plenty of time to do that in addition to washing the stink off you and getting that paint out of your hair.”

I’m pretty sure I heard him correctly, but I don’t have words, and all I seem able to do is rapidly blink in trying to understand what he means by saying I have four hours until Erica gets here.
 

“You look confused…”

“No shit, I’m confused. What in the actual hell are you talking about?”

“I ran into Erica at the market and invited her over for dinner.”

“Y—Bu—And she accepted?”

“Of course. Well, after I talked her into it she did. She was a little hesitant at first, but she was no match for my charming self.”

My mouth falls open. “Payton, if her first instinct was to decline, then there’s my answer. She’s not interested in me the way I am in her.”

“Oh, would you shut up. It wasn’t that kind of hesitation. Seemed like she felt she’d be intruding or something like that, so I faked a phone call to you in front of her to ‘make sure you were cool with her coming over’,” he tells me, using air quotes, “And after hanging up, she was more than happy to accept our invitation. She even insisted on bringing something, but since I already have everything taken care of, I told her that all she needs to bring is herself.”

“Oh my God, Payton, you don’t understand!
Insisting
to bring something is Erica speak for doing the polite, socially expected thing to do,” I explain and then sigh when he just gives me a look that essentially says, ‘Duh. That’s what everyone does, so what?’ So shaking my head, I enlighten him further on what The Great Big Book of Erica that I spent a lifetime reading says in regard to her and social niceties. “If I were still special to her and she actually
wanted
to come here or see me for
any
reason, she would’ve just shown up with a homemade apple cobbler or a fucking book of coupons declaring her to be the bearer’s personal chef for a month or something else adorably saccharin like that!”

“She makes special people coupons?” he asks, like he’s impressed and possibly considering adding that to his dating repertoire.

“Yeah. With stickers, glitter glue, and all kinds of other cute shit.”

“Huh. Well, I didn’t know and it’s beside the point now. And, one would
think
you’d be tickled about the fact that she’s coming in the first place.”

“Yeah…because she feels
obligated
. I mean, you felt you had to fake a goddamned phone call which means she was obviously uncomfortable, so why the hell would you force her hand like that?”

He starts shaking his head in exasperation. “Fine. You really wanna know why I’ve been pushing and conniving?”

“Yeah, I do. Explain it to me, because having Erica here in what basically amounts to as her being under duress is gonna suck beyond the telling of it for me.”
 

“Because I owe you. I’ve known you about six years now and in that time, we’ve shared a lot of really personal things with each other, and we’ve been through some even more fucked up shit than anyone would wanna hear or even
know
about. You gave me my life back in more than one way, man, and I’m not gonna stand by and watch you blow this chance at living yours the way you deserve to live it…because I know what you want out of life. I know you want a love that consumes you wholly and the only person you’ll
ever
have it with is her.”

“How can you know that? How can you be so sure she’s the person for me? You don’t even know her…”

“Bullshit, I don’t. Through you, I got to know her years ago and quite well at that. I might not have known about coupon books, but even so. I honestly thought you’d made her up because no one person could ever possibly live up to being the veritable paragon you made her out to be.

“
However
, meeting her in person, watching her and listening, I believe you now. I mean I remember every conversation we ever had, and I clearly remember you describing in detail a girl who has every quality you could ever hope to find in a single individual, a girl who has no equal in your mind and because of that one thing, she will forever hold your entire heart under lock and key, brother. Even through the anger and bitter words, you practically radiated unadulterated love for her, and I could see what was going on inside you when you’d just think of or talk about her.

“I don’t think you even realize the effect she has on you, but…you glow, Cole. From the inside out, you glow. You being actually
with
her, though, the light coming from within you is blinding. You were incandescent Friday night and I’ve never witnessed a transformation like that in my life. That’s how I know she will always be your lifetime’s one epic love. And I will not sit idly by and allow you to let fear or uncertainty paralyze
either
of you and keep you from experiencing the kind of joyous life that only she can bring you.

“You had a shot and royally blew it, but for your sacrifices and several acts of profound valor throughout these last years, it’s my opinion that God has deemed you worthy of a second chance. And from where I sit, you’re turning your nose up at His offer…this gift, Cole. You’re sabotaging yourself. I can’t have you doing that. Not when you had a hand in me receiving my second chance.

“So this time, you need to fight for it, and I’m going to see to it that you have ample opportunity to suit up. No more of this pussy footing around, waiting for the right moment. Fuck that. Make your moment or I’ll make it for you. I know you’re concerned about timing and aspects of your life as it is now, and whether she’ll be able to accept being a part of it, and sure, there’s a possibility you two aren’t meant to be, but regardless, what do you have to lose in trying to find out? Because if you even want a
peek
at any of the answers to your questions, you have to stop teetering on the edge of speculation and just dive in head first.”

While he ultimately went Air Force, Payton was blessed with a talent few have naturally and he was actually sought out by his local Marine Corps recruiter and encouraged to go for sniper school, so it’s no surprise really that every word coming from his mouth hits its mark; and as each are aimed with the utmost precision befitting a master marksman, I find myself ill-equipped to argue with the clear truth of every one of his solidly made points. Everything he said—absolutely all of it—is undeniable fact. To have needed someone to put it into words for me, though, just to be able to accept it as such, leaves me shaken. She’s had me heart and soul since day one and finding out that we’re not meant for one another—that I’ve been deluding myself my entire life—scares the shit out of me so I’ve been protecting myself from that possibly with cowardice and by not taking even a small step, let alone the biggest of leaps. Well, I’m tired of this incessant vacillation and I’m done being a shrinking violet when it comes to Erica as well.

Meeting his eyes, I blow out a steadying breath and nod. “Okay, I don’t think I have any idea of what I’m getting into for real, but I’ll do it. Head first, I’ll dive in.”

“Good, you stubborn ass. Now get this house in order…this mess won’t aid a long overdue courtship and it disturbs my innate gay aesthetics.”

I chuckle at him and take a good look around my house; the clutter, boxes, and general disarray fades away and is replaced with overwhelming pride in myself, the feeling coming from having accomplished the feat of designing and building it myself. My eyes then travel over just a few of the pictures that have made it onto the walls and I pull up short. Pride is bulldozed to the ground by extreme panic as I twist and turn, my gaze hitting books, movies, and all sorts of questionable things that will no doubt doom a courtship with Erica before it even gets a chance to begin.

“Tick-tock, dude, I want this place spic and span before Erica gets here.”

“Oh my God, Payton, we have to cancel.”

“No, we do
not
have to cancel, and we won’t! You literally
just
told me you’re going in regardless! These filets are fresh, and they cost a pretty penny too, dammit, so get your shit together and clean your goddamned house!”

“Are you out of your ever-loving homosexual mind?! I don’t care about the damned steak! Take a look around, you jackass! Erica can’t come here!” I holler and swing my arms around wildly, demanding he comprehend my predicament here.

“Oh. Holy shit…” he mutters to himself, his eyes growing round now that he’s finally cognizant of the issue, “Um…shit.
Shit
.” He finishes sealing the meat in a bag to marinate, washes his hands, and then wiping them on the damned apron that has a cartoon depiction of a man’s naked chest on it, he looks at the empty boxes, then me, and decidedly nods. “We’re not canceling. We’ll just pack up the outwardly suggestive things and take it all back to your dad’s until you’re ready to tell her. And that I
will
let you choose your moment for…after all, you didn’t shove me out of the closet so I won’t push you either.”