He’s been in the house for thirteen days and I’ve barely seen him. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was avoiding me on purpose so I don’t feel like he’s overstepping. When I do see him he’s short and focused on some random task, like fixing a leaky toilet, or putting more shelves in the hallway linen closet. He’s even repaired some cracks in the ceiling. I don’t want him thinking he has to go overboard just to stay. Even though we aren’t spending direct time together, I sleep better at night knowing I’m not alone in the big house.
On this particular night I’ve made a nice dinner, which happens to be something I never do. I remember fried chicken being one of his favorites, so I’ve gone all out, looking online for batter recipes and how to slice potatoes so they cook like chips. I’m not a cook. Generally speaking, I buy the meals that are already cooked or come in a bag with all the ingredients already mixed together. I also love take-out, it just doesn’t love me back.
I heat the oil and begin the process of soaking the chicken in the batter I’ve concocted. Then I move on to the potatoes, using this gadget I got for a wedding present but never used. I’m stressing out, because being across the table from Brant feels like a date.
Is it though? Is it what I want?
No.
What I want is to have a friend I can count on.
He’s good to me, and that’s what’s important.
I won’t ruin it because there’s an empty spot in my bed.
Sure, Brant Wallace is someone I could easily fall back in love with. He’s my past. At one point I thought he’d be my future. Now there’s a hole in my heart from another failed attempt at love. What makes matters worse is knowing he’s just gotten out of a very serious relationship. How can I be sure they won’t reconcile. Brant obviously loved her.
All feelings aside, I need this friendship to work, because ever since blaming Avery she and I haven’t been the same. It makes me sad, like maybe I’m not a good enough friend in the first place.
When I have the potatoes ready I rinse them off and drop my first batch in the hot oil. Then all hell breaks loose. The boiling liquid starts bubbling and popping, finally spilling over the pot onto the flame. I’m freaking out, beating the small fire with a pot holder while trying to figure out if it’s water or flour I need to avoid.
I’m screaming, searching for the fire extinguisher that may or may not exist, when Brant comes into the room. First he turns off the stove, then reaches in the cabinet for the flour, pouring it all over the disastrous meal I was trying so hard to make for him.
With a room full of smoke, he looks me over. “You okay? Did you burn yourself?”
I’m shaking my head but words won’t come out.
He pulls me into a hug. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m fine,” I manage as I pull away. “I ruined dinner though.”
He claps his hands together. “Nah. It’s not ruined. We can fix this.” He starts gathering rags. “First we’ll clean the mess, and then I’ll show you how my mom made her famous battered chicken.”
“That’s what I was going for,” I pathetically admit.
“Yeah, I figured.” He’s laughing at me, which in turn causes me to laugh at myself.
“I never really learned how to cook.”
“Good thing for you I had to fend for my siblings. You learn fast when you’re hungry and your dad is drunk.”
I start gathering spilled oil with a rag so we’re able to clean the stove. It’s a hot mess, literally. “Was it that bad? It’s the part of Brant’s life I wasn’t around for. I often thought about his family and how they were making out without his mother around to care for them.
Brant puts the towel down and sits in one of the kitchen chairs. “Yeah, for a while. I mean, he tried. He’d work extra, and try to provide for us, but he couldn’t be two people at once. I was the oldest, so it was my job to take the slack.”
“Brant, I’m sorry.”
“It’s part of the reason I knew sending you away was the right choice, even if it’s not what I wanted.”
“I would have helped.”
“Exactly,” his voice is so serious. I sit down next to him and wait for him to explain. “You would have sacrificed your own life to help me with mine. I would have held you back. You were too important to me.”
I have no idea what to say. It brings back memories I wanted buried, but hearing his struggle and learning how difficult this was for all of his family makes me feel awful. I don’t want to pity this man who broke my heart, but that’s exactly what’s happening. My eyes begin to swim in warm tears, while my emotions wreak havoc on my mind. “I should have checked on you.”
“This isn’t your fault, Jamie. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now. Things are good again. We all made it through.”
“Yeah, but it was hard. While I was at a fancy college you were playing dad.”
“You were where you needed to be.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Meeting my asshole ex-husband.”
We both start cracking up. It’s so awful it’s funny. When the room settles and all is quiet again I’m left looking at this handsome man I used to love with everything in me. I’d be lying if I said something wasn’t still there for me. A part of me will always love him, and maybe that’s what scares me.
“This is weird, right?”
“Really weird,” I agree.
Brant stands and gets back to the disaster. He cleans the remainder of mess, and begins getting ingredients out of cabinets, mixing them in a bowl. He pulls out some milk and eggs and mixes them separately in their own bowl. Then he turns and motions with his head. “Get over here.”
I do as he says. “Okay. Show me how it’s done.”
He dips the chicken several times back and forth in both bowls, before sticking them in a new pot of oil. Unlike my mishap, his chicken floats to the top and begins to fry the way it’s supposed to. He starts on another breast strip, dipping it and then bringing it up to touch the tip of my nose with the floury mixture. He’s laughing as he sticks it into the pot.
I back away and start wiping it off, watching as he keeps working on the meal. Leaning with my back against the cabinets, I watch and learn. “I take it you help out at the restaurant.”
“Sometimes.” I’m in awe when he takes a knife and slices the potatoes perfectly. “I like food, so I learned how to make it right.”
While the food sizzles and cooks, he turns his attention to me. “What was your life like before you met the douche?”
I shrug. “Good I guess. I hung out with friends, worked hard on my studies, volunteered at local animal shelters.”
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
“I guess.”
“No,” he corrects. “It’s what I would have wanted for you. It’s how I pictured you living your life. I guess in a lot of ways it helped me deal with losing you.”
“Brant, we were kids. Who knows if we could have had something long distance.”
“We could have, but you deserved more than I could give you. You still do.”
This makes me feel like he’s putting me on some kind of pedestal. “Don’t say that. I would have been happy, because all I wanted was to be with you.”
And there it is. I’ve gone and said something I can’t take back, and as I watch his eyes fill with hope I know exactly what’s coming. He steps in front of me, taking both of my hands in his. We’re face to face, and although we’ve embraced before, this seems somehow different. It’s old and new at the same time. It’s the past and present clashing together. “Don’t you dare kiss me,” I tell him.
“Oh, I’m totally going to.”
“I don’t want things to change.”
“Then close your eyes and pretend it’s not happening, because if I don’t do this right now I might combust. I’ve waited almost ten years to feel those lips again. Please don’t ask me to stop.”
I lick my lips, nervously trying to prepare for what’s about to take place. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this. Every female wishes she was able to go back and relive her youth, but it’s more than that.
He’s slow, so slow I open my eyes to see if he’s still going to do it. His warm lips brush over mine once and pull back. I feel him gripping my hands while our eyes are locked. “Is this okay?” He asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He lets go of my hands, but instead of moving away like I assume he will, he brings them up and cups my face, pulling me into a much deeper kiss. Things go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds. I’m gripping onto the hem of his shirt, shoving it up his rock hard chest. He helps alleviate my struggle by pulling it over his head so we’re able to kiss again. Then I’m working on the button to his jeans, finally unzipping them so I can shove them off his feet. He easily lifts my shirt off and pushes me back against the counter, stopping abruptly to take the food out of the frying pot.
While I stand there shirtless, I watch him intently, focusing on the shape of his body and those large hands I remember touching every part of my body. I wonder if it will feel the same as it did when we were teenagers, or if it will be a whole new experience. After pulling a piece of chicken apart, he blows on it before offering me a bite. I take it in between my teeth and savor the delicious flavor I suddenly recall from his mother’s kitchen. “That’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Wow. You totally showed me up.”
“You know what’s better than chicken and chips?”
“What?” I ask with my mouth still full.
“Naked chicken and chips.”
I smile, traipse over to the refrigerator and grab the honey mustard. Then I hold it in the air. “Which room? Yours or mine?”
I’m done waiting for things to get better in my life. It’s time to give in. I want Brant. I’ve wanted him since I first laid eyes on him and it’s never going to change for me. Still unsure of where this will lead, I decide to go for it. I want to be spontaneous, because I deserve to be.