Fighting for Arielle (14 page)

“You should, because you are.”

He points out the bright and light guest bedroom and his office, which is similar to his office at work, only he does have plaques and degrees on the wall.  

We walk past the main bathroom and enter his bedroom.
 He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  “I’ll be right back.  Make yourself at home.”  Then, he glides into the master bathroom.  

He says that as if making myself at home should be simple.
 I’m standing in the bedroom and staring at the messy, unmade bed of McCrary Ashby, who recently came into existence in my life and turned it upside down.  I’m not the girl who lives in fairy tales and gets the prince.  I am waiting for an ironic turn of events or for the floor to fall out from under me, but at least for right now, I bury those worries and decide to be in the moment.

Arielle

I
take a very invigorating and anxious shower.  I wash myself very quickly because I’m excited to spend more time with McCrary, literally on his home turf, but then realize that it might seem weird if I shower too quickly, as if I didn’t clean myself well.  

I use his body wash, which smells manly and wonderfully like him.
 I think I might switch to this body wash every day because I can’t stop smelling myself and getting excited when I do.

I deem that an approp
riate amount of time has passed to seem like a normal shower, and I have lathered myself and rinsed enough times that I no longer smell like outside and sweat.  I towel off, walking back into the bedroom
, and see that McCrary was sweet enough to lay out a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt on his bed for me to wear since my other clothes were wet and dirty.  I also see my bra that was stuck to his hat that first night I met him, laid delicately on the bed next to the clothes.  He’s just too freaking cute.

His clothes smell of laundry detergent and of him, which is a smell that cannot be replicated, but I would bottle it if I could.
 I now also smell like his soap, and I think I could suffocate in this scent and die a happy person.  It’s a smell that tells me that I’m right where I want to be.  

In his clothes
, and with wet hair, I leave his bedroom behind and go toward the living room to find McCrary.  

When I enter the living room, I stop in my tracks.
 I wonder how in the world I missed this sight before.  In the middle of the living room sits a regal, white baby grand piano.  

“Holy moly bejeezus!
 Is that a baby grand?” I gasp.  

McCrary looks over at me from inside the kitchen and says coolly, “Yeah.
 It’s been here the whole time.”  

I walk over to the piano and run my hand across the smooth enamel exterior.
 

“You must be messing with me.
 I think I would’ve noticed a Steinway white baby grand piano, my dream piano, just sitting right here in front of my face.”

McCrary chortles some, but his response
is reserved.  “Perhaps you should pay better attention to your surroundings.”

I look over to him with m
y hands on my hips, scowling.  “I blame you.  You distracted me.” 

I look back to the piano that
I just want to lie all over.  “Anyway, this is the most beautiful instrument I’ve ever seen.  And it looks untouched.”  

Then, I remember what McCrary shared with me- he hasn’t played an instrument since his mother’s funeral.
 

His eyes fill with regret.
 “It was my mother’s.”  

Immediately, I feel terrible.
 Here I am gaping and drooling over what is easily the piano I play in my dreams, but I now see it as the constant reminder of pain and regret that it must be to McCrary.  I still don’t know exactly what happened, but I don’t need to know details in order to completely understand what she and this piano mean to him.

“Well, it’s absolutely stunning.” I say, trying to be reassuring, but feeling not too successful.

McCrary walks over to me, pulls my back into his chest, and puts his arms around me.  

“Do you play?”

I place my hand over his and make little circles with my thumb on his knuckles.  “I do.  Well, I did.  It’s been a really long time.  I’m very much out of practice.”

H
e brings his head down to mine and smiles down at me, hopeful.  “I would love to hear you play it.”

Nibbling on my bottom lip nervously, I ask, “Right now?”

“Sure.  If you want.” He kisses me on the top of my head.

I am nervous since my skills are very rusty, but I cannot turn down the opportunity to allow my hands to come in contact with this beauty.
 

“I absolutely will, because I want to play on this work of art so badly, but be forewarned that I will fumble over many notes
, and I only have a repertoire of like five songs I can play from memory.”  

I begin to nervously fidget my legs.

He ushers me over to the pristine instrument and says, “I will love anything you play.”

I pull out the piano bench and open the cover to the keyboard.
 This piano is definitely well cared for, even if it’s never used.  I wiggle my fingers and get my bearings on the piano keys, finding middle C and reintroducing myself to the layout.  I look over to McCrary.  

With a smile and a nod
, he says breezily, “Just play whatever.  I’m going to go into the kitchen and scrounge up something for dinner.”

“Okay.”
 

I inhale slowly and let it out as my fingers hover over the keys.
 I’m racking my brain for songs I can remember.  I place my fingers to the ivory and black keys and begin playing “Moonlight Sonata” from memory.  It’s not as smooth and full of technique as I would like, but it feels great to play.  The more I play, the more I realize how much I’ve missed playing the piano.  Rusty or not, I get lost in the notes and the music and my mind wanders to places it’s long since visited.  

I work my way through a few other classical pieces:
“Gymnopedies,” “Tocatta in D Minor,” “Fur Elise,” and “Claire de Lune.”  That is about the extent of what I can remember.  If I had music to read, I would have had much more variety.  I recall a few songs from Broadway musicals like “On My Own” from
Les Miserables
, “I’d Give My Life for You” from
Miss Saigon
, and “No One Knows Who I Am” from
Jekyll and Hyde
.  

I cannot hear a song in the doctor’s office and not sing and tap my feet along with it, so playing songs with words naturally me
ans that I will sing along.  I don’t realize I am singing, and quite so loudly, until I am aware of McCrary standing next to the piano, his eyes closed.  

The entire experience is surreal
and emotionally charged.  I am sitting in the home of a man that I think I dreamed into existence, playing the piano left to him by his deceased mother, and I wonder how she would feel if she knew her son is cavorting with a married woman.  The familiar pangs of guilt, shame, and worthlessness that I’ve come to know all too well invade my senses.  I feel like my very being and life is dependent on this beautiful soul standing near me, yet I know that it’s not fair to him.  How can I be so selfish?  He has a career and a future ahead of him, and if he were to continue our relationship and allow it to blossom any further, all of that would be in jeopardy.  

I sing the lines:

It’s such a shame

I’m such a sham

No one knows who I am

My voice cracks and tears spill out of my eyes as I play the last haunting notes of the song.
 

I bury my head into my hands and sob.
 

“I shouldn’t be here.
 I’m so sorry.  I’m toxic and bring everyone down who comes in contact with me.”

McCrary charges to me and sits on the piano bench next to me.
  “What?  Why are you saying that?”

Unable to look at him, I say, “Because, it’s true.
 Think about it, McCrary.  You’re breaking some major rules being with me.  I cannot do that to you.  I can’t ruin your life.”

“I hardly think you’re ‘ruining’ my life.
  The only way you could ruin my life is to walk out of it.”  

I sniffle and feel a little melodramatic, but I still think I am right.

 Before I can continue my case, McCrary speaks.

“Look, I don’t want to put any pressure on you.
 I invited you in because, not only do I find you irresistible, but I simply love your company.  You’re funny and interesting, and even if you’re not looking for more than that, for whatever reason, just know that I will still want to spend time with you.”

I feel embarrassed that I just had a crazy person meltdown saying I can’t be around him in the middle of his living room.
 Plus, I can’t tear myself away from him.  I feel like I might die inside all over again if I leave.  I lean into McCrary’s firm chest as he closes his arms around me.  This simple embrace gives me an instant feeling of closeness and safety, and it is the most intimate I’ve felt with anyone.  There’s something so special about the simple moments of vulnerability shared between two people.

“I’m so sorry I freaked out.
 I think it was just sensory overload with the piano and the song and my personal life…”  

I look up to him-
this beautiful, caring man who shows nothing but warmth and support in his eyes -and I no longer feel embarrassed.  I feel special.  I feel that he actually cares about me and my feelings.  He’s not mocking me or giving me a half-hearted response so that I will shut up.  He’s genuinely comforting me and supporting me: trying to understand and help me through my confusion.  I’m not falling for him; I already fell, and fell hard.  I have no idea how all of this is going to play out with our complicated issues, but I’m charging forward.  

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for.
 I know you have a lot going on in your life, given you have so many things to work through, Arielle.  Against my better judgment, I kissed you at the gym and invited you into my house.  I just can’t seem to stay away.  I don’t want to stay away from you, but I also don’t want to make moving forward in your life more difficult.”  McCrary sighs.  

I can only imagine what he’s going to say next, which is to let me walk away, and I begin to panic internally.
 

“I don’t want you to stay away.
 I can’t guarantee that I won’t be an unpredictable mix of emotions and rash decisions, but as long as you’ll have me around, I want to be around.”

I think I’m going insane.  I just freaked out and pushed him away, but now I’m prepared to beg him to never let me go.

McCrary’s eyes lighten, and he smiles.  “Nothing with you is predictable, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  He gives me a peck on the nose.  “Now, how about that glass of wine?”

“Wine sounds perfect.”

“White or red?”

“White.”

“Done.”

We sit at the bar that divides the kitchen from the living
room and I sip on a delicious Pinot Grigio.  McCrary tells me about some of the craziest clients and outlandish cases he’s ever had, like having to defend someone who allegedly broke a vase of someone’s that they claimed was worth $500.  He didn’t believe it was worth that much and had the judge agree to award the $500 to the Plaintiff in exchange for possession of the actual vase.  He still has the ugly vase, which is so not worth $500, but displays it as a humorous keepsake.  

He’s had many different types of cases spanning several types of law, which I think is why he studies so much.
 I’ve gathered that he’s a perfectionist, and on top of that, when he is tasked to educate himself on something, he takes it very seriously.  He is a wealth of information, but I too like to study random things and am a random fact sponge.  

I have a genius idea.

“Do you have Trivial Pursuit?” I ask excitedly.

“I don’t have many board games, but actually I think someone gave one to me one holiday.
 If I do, it would be in the closet in the guest bedroom.”

             
“Care if I go look?”

             
“Help yourself.  I will refill our glasses.”

             
I’m a Trivial Pursuit nerd, who can get very competitive in quiz games.  

I enter the guest bedroom and see more of the personality of McCrary.
 It’s a very understated, but clean style.  He has some pieces of artwork on the wall, which look like actual paintings, and they are muted colors in various soft lines and shapes that seem to move across the canvas.  I open the closet door to find nothing hanging in this closet; however, on the shelf above, there are a few board games, including some that look like original editions of childhood games like Candy Land.  I’m a little jealous of that.

I spot a Trivial Pursuit game
in a red box.  That tells me it’s an older edition, but not the original, so I know as far as answers to questions are concerned, the USSR has been broken up, but the Berlin Wall is still up.

             
“Jackpot!” I declare as I walk back to the kitchen.

             
McCrary’s eyes light up.  “Oh wow.  I thought I had a copy.  I haven’t seen it in years.”

             
I giggle.  “I bet you haven’t.  You’re going down, lawyer man.”

             
“Is that so?”  He walks over to me with a wild look in his eyes.  “Care to make it interesting?”

             
He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into him.  I’m not going to let him get into my head, though.  Even if I’m easily lost in his eyes.  And his face.  And feeling his muscles against me.