Living Backwards (36 page)

“Yeah, but I like to check in,” he explained, never making eye contact.

Liar.

“Well, we’ll have to do this again soon,” she added, hopefully.

“Yes, absolutely. Thank you for having me,” he replied, his voice sounding strained. He stood, giving her a quick hug.

“Maybe next week?” Danielle pressed.

“Um, maybe. I have a busy week with the restaurant, but yeah, maybe.”

As he turned to leave, he waved, never making eye contact with me, and then he was gone.

“Well, Dan my man, it wasn’t the food,” Nate began, “because it was definitely your best batch.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, ignoring Nate and covering my hand with hers.

“Why are we sorry?” Nate asked, looking between me and Danielle.

“He needed time, remember?” Megan chimed in, sympathetically.

“Time? What are we talking about?” he asked, exasperated.

“Jillian and Luke,” Megan replied, with a glare that was clearly meant to tell him to stop talking.

“Wow, man, I’m lost,” he said to Josh, shaking his head.

“Come on,” Josh replied, signaling to the living room. “I’ll fill you in.”

I was so consumed with conflicting emotions that it was hard for me to focus on one. I felt numb. It was just too much—reliving the memories that were so recent and raw, and witnessing his reactions to them all at the same time.

I knew he was mad. I knew he didn’t trust that I wouldn’t hurt him again, but I also knew he hadn’t let go. While I was the one resistant in high school—afraid to get attached and alter the course of time—this time it was Luke who was making things more difficult than they needed to be. I kept remembering his words from the cliffs—not so long ago.

I’m not letting you avoid this anymore.

“We knew it would take some time,” Danielle began. “We’ll go to the bar this weekend, or I’ll plan a movie night. Or, maybe—”

“No,” I interrupted.

“No?”

“No, he doesn’t get to leave.”

“Sweetie, he’s already gone,” she replied, looking at me like I had finally lost it.

It took me less than a minute to make up my mind. Pushing away from the table, I marched into the living room and grabbed my purse.

“Jillian, don’t go home yet!” Megan pleaded.

“I’m not going home,” I replied, matter-of-factly.

“Wait, are you…you’re going after him?” Danielle exclaimed.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said, hugging her quickly.

“Oh my God! I feel like I should stop you and wish you good luck all at the same time!”

“I’ll call you,” I said, rushing out the door.

I jogged to my car, unprepared for the rain that had begun to fall. In all honesty, I didn’t really care. As soon as I shut the car door, though, the sky opened up and the rain fell harder, sweeping across the ground in sheets. I could practically feel it punishing the roof of my car. It didn’t bring with it the type of sound that was calming, like the noise machines you buy at The Sharper Image. It was an angry downpour.
How fitting.

As I drove frantically through the busy streets, the harsh lights of the city reflected off the giant puddles that the surprise storm had created. I focused on the clock on my dashboard and nervously laid on the horn when the car in front of me slowed to a crawl.

When I arrived in his neighborhood, I looked up at the street sign, blurred by the rain. I jerked the wheel roughly, pulling into the darkened parking lot. I didn’t care that my umbrella was at home. I didn’t care that there wasn’t a hood on my jacket. I didn’t care that the rain would turn my hair into a wet, frizzy mess.

I stumbled out of the car, running up the steps of the building behind a clearly smarter person holding an umbrella. I dashed into the elevator, and up to the twenty-seventh floor. Panting and shivering, I rang the doorbell then knocked impatiently.

When the door cracked open, I was blinded by the glare inside.

“Jesus, Jillian,” he said, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “You’re drenched.”

“I’m not…I’m not waiting for you to get your shit together anymore,” I stammered as drops of water trailed from my hair down my face.

As my words registered, he looked stricken. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t have a plan. I hadn’t prepared a speech, but he was standing in the doorway in a white t-shirt and jeans with no shoes, and I just snapped.

With every ounce of strength I had, I grasped his upper arms and pushed him back inside and up against the wall next to the door. Catching him completely off-guard, I launched myself at him, grabbing his face between my wet hands before my mouth descended on his. His hands tensed, suspended in the air at
his sides. His lips tensed, unprepared for my attack. I tensed, afraid that he wouldn’t respond and kiss me back.

Please, kiss me back.

Then, at the same time, he slowly tilted his head to the side, parting his lips and bringing his hands up to rest on my waist. God, I missed his lips.

Emboldened, I snaked my hand up into his hair, tugging roughly, eliciting a groan that sounded like I had tugged maybe a little too hard. Before I could ask if I had been embarrassingly overeager, he spun us around, pinning me up against the wall, touching his open lips against mine—breathing into my mouth and making me feel more alive than I had any right feeling.

“I’m not letting you avoid this,” I whispered, echoing his words from years ago. “I know you want me, too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his forehead against mine, looking pained and conflicted. I needed him to focus. I needed him to come back to me.

“Luke, I swear to you, I could never hurt you again. I barely lived without you the first time. I just…I can’t give you time. We’ve wasted—
I’ve
wasted—so much time. If you give me a chance, I’ll prove what I already know. But if I’m wrong and you want me to leave, I will. And I promise I won’t bother you again. I just have to know.”

As he stared at me, his gazed unwavering, I thought of the moments in life when you know however the situation turns out, things will never be the same. I thought of how I wanted, for just a moment, to freeze time and stay here before he answered because if he told me I was wrong—if he told me he could never forgive me—I honestly didn’t know what I’d do. I thought about how good it felt to be pressed against him, feeling the heat of his body and the warmth of his breath. I thought that this was right—
we
were right—and I hoped he saw that, too.

When Luke slowly backed away from me, my heart sank and I felt sick. I could hear my labored breaths and feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes.

Dragging his hands from the top of his head down his face, he turned and walked slowly toward the window facing the lights of Bainbridge Island as I stood frozen in place, unable to make a move or sound.

It seemed like forever—it probably wasn’t—when he turned to face me, looking tired and young and more like my Luke than he ever had.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said.

And my heart started beating again.

I was always a black and white type of guy. You’re either right or wrong; a winner or a loser. You either want her, or you don’t. You either forgive her, or you don’t. Except nothing—
nothing
— was black and white with Jillian.

For over ten years, I wondered why she left without telling me. For over ten years, I thought that it was something I said, or something I did. I thought maybe she wanted a fresh start in a new school. I thought maybe she wanted a new life. Now suddenly, after years of wondering, I had answers, but the answers just seemed to complicate things more.

It took Jillian years to figure out that she wanted to know me again. It took me less than a month to turn back into the loser I was in high school, hanging on her every word. There was no way I could deny that I still wanted her—not after the way I had been acting. But wanting her wasn’t the problem—it was
never
the problem…trusting her was.

So while I sat at Josh and Danielle’s dining room table, I tried to forget that Jillian made a really big mistake a long time ago. I tried to forget that I almost chased her across the country. I tried to forget about all the time I spent wondering. I tried to just enjoy my goddamn dinner.

I listened to everyone recount all of their twisted high school memories. I joined in when it seemed appropriate, and ignored the pain in my chest when something hit a nerve. But the tension slowly began to build. When Jillian said she did a lot of stupid things in high school, I wondered if she was thinking about the nervous boy pawing her on a scratchy, old blanket. When she mentioned Nate’s wandering eyes, I thought about how I watched her in shop class—never taking my eyes off her body. When she joked about the lipstick she wore to the prom, I thought about Dream Jillian and her red, red lips.

But it was when Josh mentioned Tyler Burroughs’s party that I snapped. Instead of going to the party with Jillian, I was at home thinking about flying to New York and demanding an explanation.

It was too much. Almost instantly I was furious—not because of what happened in high school—but because I couldn’t enjoy a simple dinner without being reminded of it. Forgive her or don’t. It should be easy. But it just wasn’t.

So I left, annoyed and frustrated, vowing that I would get my shit together. If I was going to keep seeing Jillian—if I ever wanted to be friends with Jillian—I needed to let this go.

I never would have expected the doorbell to ring. I never would have expected to see her at my door, wet from the rain and determined to come inside. I almost told her that it had been a long night and that we’d talk in the morning, but instead, I opened the door wider and let her inside.

Without any warning, her lips were on mine, my back was against the wall, and it was definitely not what I expected. The anger and the bitterness seemed to melt away because we were both here now, and here felt pretty damn good. But she pulled back and asked me the one question I wasn’t fully ready to answer. It should have been easy—black or white, yes or no—but it wasn’t.

No, I don’t want you to go. Yes, you should because when you leave again, it’ll destroy me.

So while she stood there, cold from the rain and still so beautiful, I did nothing but stare out the window like the loser I was once again, wishing that this wasn’t so goddamn complicated. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t need her—that I barely ever thought about her, and that she hadn’t ruined me years ago. I wanted to tell her that I was fine. But I was tired of lying. So, I looked into her eyes and told her not to go. From the look on her face, I could tell it was obvious that she was surprised.

“I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” she replied softly. I took some sick comfort in the fact that her voice was wavering.

“No, but I can’t do this if…Jillian, if you leave like that again…”

“Luke, I know that this doesn’t make any sense. I know it sounds crazy, but I remember everything so vividly—like it just happened. Not just big things like the prom and the fire alarm. I remember the little things. I remember how you used to look at me. I remember what it felt like to touch you. I remember the smell of your cigarettes and that crappy mint gum you always chewed right after. I even remember how I could taste it whenever you’d kissed me,” she added, her voice sounding much lower. “So, I can’t
go
anywhere, Luke, when all I want to do is feel that again. It’s the
only
thing I want to feel. Tell me how to fix this. Please. I need to fix this.”

As she spoke, her lips trembled and her hands seemed to shake, and suddenly, the whole situation just seemed ridiculous to me. You either want her, or you don’t.

I didn’t think about what happened in high school when I walked over to her. I didn’t think about the years I spent wondering when I put my hands on her cheeks. And I didn’t worry about how much she hurt me when I kissed her.

Walking her backwards across the room, I dragged my lips, my tongue and my teeth down her neck. Stopping just shy of the couch, I fell backwards, pulling her down onto the soft leather cushions with me. Just those few minutes away from her lips seemed too long.

As soon as I switched our positions—settling myself over her—she was grinding underneath me, and testing my paper-thin restraint. The flood gates opened, and I needed my lips everywhere—on her neck, along her jaw, against her ear. I couldn’t even say that touching Jillian was familiar, or that my mind drifted back to when I was eighteen and kissing her behind the school gym. Nothing was the same. Nothing had ever felt this way.

“God, I forgot…,” I muttered, dropping any pretense that I was in control. “I forgot how good you feel.”

I had wanted her for so long, and she was here, and her hands were everywhere—gripping my arms, tugging my hair and pulling at my shirt.

I reached back, helping her pull the shirt over my head and pushing her further into the couch in the process. When she moaned and shifted, it felt so good that I didn’t care that this was moving too fast. I didn’t have the strength to slow it down. I didn’t want to.

I ran my fingers slowly along the edge of her sweater, feeling the soft skin beneath—desperately wanting more. Sliding my hand under the fabric, I brushed my knuckles along her hip, remembering the hidden tattoo there and how I wanted to feel the raised skin against my tongue.

Just as Jillian’s hands moved up from my back and into my hair, the telephone rang.

“Let the answering machine get it,” she panted against my ear. As she swirled her tongue around my earlobe, my hips shifted forward and my eyes rolled back. I didn’t give a shit who was on that phone.

“Yeah,” I murmured, more in response to how she felt than to what she had said.

The phone continued ringing in vain because I refused to focus on anything else. When the machine picked up, I was greeted by a familiar voice.

“Hi sweetie, are you there?”

I groaned, not just because Jillian stopped running her lips and tongue along my ear, but because Grace’s voice had suddenly filled the room. I was pretty sure that if you took a poll of things a guy does not want to hear when they’re lying on top of a girl, their aunt’s voice probably ranks up there with “Are you done yet?”

“I wanted to make sure you were still dropping by tomorrow. I have some things I want you to look over regarding the menu. Also, I can’t believe I have to hear about this Jillian situation from your uncle.”

Panicked, I pushed up off the couch, tripping over my feet and stumbling toward the phone on wall. I vaguely registered Jillian’s laughter as I grabbed the receiver.

“Grace, hey, I’m here,” I said, gasping for breath.

“Luke, sweetie, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

I
was
okay, Grace. I was better than okay. Now, I’m definitely not.

“I’m fine. I was just in the shower,” I lied, hearing the giggling behind me again.

“Luke, I hear giggling. Is Jillian there now? Oh my God, were you in the shower?” she gasped.

“Grace, no!
Please
, can we talk about this tomorrow,” I pleaded, trying to keep my voice low and praying that she’d move on.

“Oh, I get it,” she whispered. “Cough once if she’s in the room with you or twice if she’s just close by.”

“Are you serious? I’m not…Jesus, Grace,” I replied incredulously. “Listen, I’m coming by tomorrow to talk about the menu. You’re welcome to ask me anything you like when I see you.”

“All right, Luke,” she huffed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, but tell Jillian I said hello.”

I felt a pang of guilt rushing her off the phone, but when I turned to face Jillian, no longer lying down but sitting on the couch, my guilt was replaced with disappointment.

“So…um…Grace says hi,” I said awkwardly.

“How is she?” she asked, and I wanted to cringe because Grace was
not
what I wanted to be discussing.

“She’s good—she’s Grace. She wanted to make sure we were still going over the menu tomorrow.”

“You’re going to Reynolds?”

“It’s my day off tomorrow. So…yeah…”

She shifted on the couch, glancing down at the floor uncomfortably. I knew I needed to say something—do something—to recapture that moment. I just didn’t know what.

“Listen, Luke, I think that we should talk,” she said, wringing her hands nervously.

Again, another of the things you don’t want the girl you were just kissing to say. I thought that we had moved past all of the attempts at explaining what happened and were trying to move forward. I was sick of going in circles. I was sick of complication. Couldn’t it just be black or white?

“Jillian, I don’t want to talk about high school anymore. I feel like that’s all we ever talk about, and I think we just need to not…talk about it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she replied. I could tell she was frustrated, and she was having a hard time looking me in the eye. “Um…would you mind putting your shirt back on?” she asked, sheepishly. “It’s a little distracting.”

While it was admittedly a boost to my ego, I still wasn’t happy with the direction this was heading.

“Um…sure,” I stammered, grabbing my discarded shirt from the edge of the couch.

“When I said we should talk,” she began, focusing on her fingers again. “I kind of meant that I think
you
should talk. I’ve done a lot of talking—probably too much. I think you know where I stand, but I really need to know what’s going on in your head.”

As soon as she said it, I felt embarrassed and stupid because being with her again was all I had been thinking about. It wasn’t something I took lightly, but she obviously didn’t know that. She didn’t know about the five o’clock treadmill marathons and the psycho Facebook-stalking. She didn’t know because I was the asshole who hadn’t told her.

I sat down next to her on the couch, turning to face her but giving her room. I hated that she thought I had just gotten carried away. It was never like that with her—not even when we were kids. It was time to tell her the truth.

“About six months after you left, a friend from the bar was talking about visiting his cousin in New York. He wanted to hit up some places out there, and asked me if I wanted to go along. I had barely taken a day off in six months and I needed a break. I wanted to go—
really
wanted to go—but I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to get that close to you again because if I was there, I knew I’d try to find you. I didn’t even know how, but I knew I would. If I found you, I knew I would end up right back where I started, and six months after you left, I was doing all right. I liked my job. I liked Seattle. I didn’t think about you every day. So, I didn’t go because seeing you would mean going through all that shit again. And I just wanted to stop…feeling that.”

When I looked up, Jillian’s eyes were glassy and I felt terrible for making her sad, but it was the only way for her to truly understand.

“And it was a good decision because seeing you again
was
really hard and it was
years
later. And I’m not going to lie. I want to be mad. I don’t want to still feel this…but I do. And it pisses me off,” I said, with a small laugh. As she laughed along with me, a tear slid down her cheek, and I didn’t care anymore about giving her space. I moved closer, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m sick of trying to convince myself that I’m not feeling this. I’m not going to risk losing you again. It’s not what I want.”

“And this,” she asked, hesitantly. “This is what you want?”

I moved closer to her, leaning over slowly, and waiting until she looked in my eyes.

“This is what I want,” I said, without dropping her gaze.

It was all I needed. This time, I wasn’t caught up in the moment. This time, I wasn’t rushed. This time when I kissed her, I took my time. I held her close, touched her skin and groaned when she wrapped her arms around me. When I finally pulled back, the shine in her eyes and look on her face nearly crippled me.

“I like seeing you smile,” I said, brushing her hair back from her face. “You should do that more often.”

“I think I’ll be smiling all the time if we do
that
more often.”