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Kelsey drops into a kitchen chair and leans her head over the back, staring at the ceiling. She’s been training for a CrossFit competition for the last couple months and Saturdays are her push days.
“I’m not cooking tonight,” she says, eyes half-closed with exhaustion.
“What? Why?”
Kelsey always cooks. It’s part of the reason I haven’t rushed to find a home of my own. Living with her is like having a personal chef.
“You’re not suggesting that I cook, are you?”
She bolts up. “God, no. I’d rather skip a meal.”
I’d be offended if it weren’t true.
“Let’s order in.”
Kelse shakes her head. “Let’s go to the pub.” She tries to sound all sweet and innocent, but the act falls short when she sees my reaction to her suggested restaurant. “Come on, we haven’t gone there in forever and they have the best burgers.” I have sneaked in there at lunchtime so I can get my fix when it’s likely no one from Black Ladder will be there. “He doesn’t own the place, you know. We can go there too.” She puts on her don’t fuck with me face.
It’s not a matter of him owning the pub. It’s a matter of avoiding my weakness, especially when his cronies will be there to witness the shaming.
“How am I supposed to overlook my transgression with you forcing a meeting between us?”
Kelsey has nothing to do with my inability to forget. It’s been three months since I last saw him at the awards ceremony. Since the day everyone, including Asher, saw what I refused to see all along. Since he stopped leaving me messages. And he still crosses my mind at least once in every one of those days.
“Having sex isn’t a sin!”
Sex itself isn’t a bad thing. Sex with Owen is a bad thing. Was. It was a stupid idea that could never have had a positive outcome.
“I want to ignore it ever happened.”
“Yeah right.” She snort-laughs. “Who was your first crush?”
“What does he have to do with anything?” I ask. Kelsey’s snorts digress into huffs, so I play along. “Charlie Sampson, kindergarten.”
“Who was your first kiss?”
“Todd Klipper or Klapper or something. Grade three. But real first kiss was Carl Montreaux, summer camp of grade seven.” I remember that summer, alright.
“Who was the first to get to second base with you?”
“Carl, summer grade eight.”
“Third base?”
“Ha, Carl, summer grade 10. I don’t remember why we skipped a year.”
“You went to the Maritimes with your family instead of camp.”
“Oh yeah. Anyway, what’s your point here?”
“My point is that you forget nothing. Especially when it comes to those important emotional milestones.”
The list of people I’ve messed around with is short. It’s even shorter for people I’ve slept with, so it’s easy to remember every one of them. Also, I don’t regret any of them. Owen, however, was a mistake. I slept with him because it was my way of getting a little something out of the deal. He’s obviously attractive and he seemed like the type of guy who knows how to make a woman feel good—which he is, and I have no problem giving him credit when it’s due.
When it was all over, though, I didn’t feel like I got a fair trade. I traded my childhood memories for a couple hours of grinding and screaming. It didn’t fill my cup in the end.
Besides, it’s more than my sexual transgression I need absolution from. “I’m embarrassed at how badly I mischaracterised him and I don’t want to eat crow by facing him.” Avoidance is a much better way of dealing with it.
“What if he doesn’t want to rub your face in it? What if he wants to move past it?”
It’s too late. By the time he told me about his mom’s accident, his dad’s illness, the meaning behind his tattoos, and the truth about Tommy, it was too late. I slept with him because I was curious. Because I was sad, and he offered, and the timing was right. I didn’t do it hoping we would create a lasting bond.
“Let me ask you this: How many people have you slept with since Owen?”
“We live together, Kelse. You know exactly how many.”
“Right. We’re going to the pub.”