The wedding was simple, walking a fine line between being casual and trashy. Most of my family looked out of place and overdressed in suits and dresses, while Molly’s side wore mostly Wranglers with thick circle patterns worn into their back pockets and massive amounts of plaid shirts. Grandma Miller was ready to raise hell and start tossing people out of the church when she saw a large group of men sitting together, all wearing their cowboy hats. I could see her and knew the tangent she was silently cursing them with, educating them on how you’re supposed to dress nice when you go to someone’s house, let alone God’s house. My brothers and I had been on the receiving end of that speech one too many times. My mom and Uncle Lenny sensed it too because they each reached out and held her hands tightly in their own. She didn’t argue but looked contemptuous each time she braved a glance across the aisle.
As the day progressed, so did my stress. Every time I turned around, someone was there to ask me about when I was going to propose? How? Had I picked a ring? Would it be in California? How many children did we want? Thank God most of them had at least enough sense to not ask me while you were around, because the times that occurred only made the situation that much more awkward. By the time the night was over, I felt tense and agitated with questions that I didn’t have answers to, swirling through my brain.
We ended up back at the hotel room where I took a shower, hoping the time to myself and hot water would calm me down.
You were in bed when I opened the bathroom door, your dress was still on, but your hair was wavy from being up all day. I should have kept my mouth shut. I don’t know why I didn’t just kiss you and tell you I was exhausted and go to bed. There are a lot of should haves these days, and like the rest, this one is answered with, I didn’t.
“What are you reading?” Seeking the comfort you bestowed upon me so easily, I stretched my body against yours. For the first time, it didn’t dull all of the restlessness I was fighting with.
I hadn’t foreseen receiving all of those questions when I asked you to come, and I was contemplating if I was regretting asking you. I had no idea how to handle any of them, because as much as we talked and as much as I knew you cared about me, I had concerns about the large topics we never brought up. Like why I allowed all of the rumors about my “overactive sex life” from high school, or the fact that you dated nearly half of the student body yet never slept with any of them. Those questions suddenly made the air seem heavy.
“I’m reading a book about two crazy people having a very carnal, sexual relationship.” You lifted the book to show me a nearly naked couple on the cover. “Your aunt Louise heard I like to read, and would really like to discuss it with me.” Your lips folded in as you pressed them together.
When I didn’t give a reaction your eyes grew. “Discussing this book with her is going to require some kind of therapy! Read this!” You swung the book toward me and stabbed the page. I looked up to see your eyes focused on mine, waiting for me to actually read it.
My eyes quickly scanned over the words and then I looked back to you, feeling the first traces of humor of the night. “You can’t talk to my aunt about this!”
“I know, right?”
“I mean this book is practically written about us! Hot sexy guy with rippling muscles taking the young, very beautiful girl to his bed and fucking her brains out. This is so us!”
You closed the book and hit me with it, making me laugh. “I’m serious! I’m going to be mortified!”
“I’m serious too,” I insisted.
You dropped the book and quietly sighed before you looked over to me. Your face was full of inquisition, and I felt my smile fade and my muscles tighten. I could tell you were about to ask me a question and I prayed it wasn’t along the same line of questions my mind had been thinking of. The last thing I wanted to discuss was our pasts with how I was already feeling.
“Do you think someone can fall in love with another person in a three-day period when they’ve only been around said person for like five hours?”
That route of conversation didn’t offer relief. The L-word hadn’t been used up to that point in our relationship, and averting the question seemed dangerous. I’d come within nano-seconds of saying it to you numerous times, and somehow the word seemed to stumble and trip as it attempted to roll off my tongue. I wasn’t sure if I should just casually drop it into conversation, or say it before going to bed, or if I was supposed to say it following a big romantic gesture? I was in new territory with all of those feelings, and confirming them aloud made it even more real.
My attention had drifted to the wall with my thoughts, and when I returned it to you, you were staring back at me, your brown eyes wide with patience and thought. I wondered how many other guys had professed their love for you, and the thought made my muscles convulse again.
“I don’t know, maybe?” I clipped.
“I don’t think you can. I mean you might be in love with the idea of loving that person, or possibly even feel the beginning of love because you’re really attracted and click well, but full-on love? I don’t know, maybe it’s just that this book makes sex sound like something we’re doing because we’re animals, rather than choosing who we have sex with, and doing it because you care deeply for that person.”
“Sometimes sex is just sex,” I spat the words. “Sex isn’t a promise or expressing your love for another person. That’s not why people do it. People more experienced realize that sex is something you do because it just feels good.”
Every inch of you recoiled, leaving cold air to sting where your warmth had been mere seconds ago. I watched as your eyes went vacant, processing my words a thousand times over, and I felt like I could punch myself. I knew I needed to apologize and take my words back and replace them with the truth and assurances. Pleas should have been flowing, however the thought of you returning someone else’s love, dislodged the words from my throat.
As you stood up, I saw the hurt you were trying to hide, but you turned and went into the bathroom without forcing me to validate the shit I was spewing. My chest burned from causing that hurt, not only with my tone and my words, but with the fact that I had just told you that sex was something we do just to feel good, when with you, it really was a promise.
The shower turned on and I pushed off the lumpy hotel pillows and headed to the bathroom door to find you had locked it.
I laid in bed, waiting for you to come out, trying to fight the exhaustion of the day. I stayed awake for a long time, but my exhaustion won out and I fell asleep before you came back out.
The next morning we flew back to San Diego and arrived home with an awkward silence still hanging between us.
“Hey, do you want to go to the gym?” Jameson asked as I stepped through the front door carrying our bags.
I wasn’t in any mood to go to the gym and was about to decline when I looked over to see you still closed off, intentionally several feet back from me. I knew I needed to release some of the pent up frustration I still had before I could try talking through things, otherwise my words wouldn’t come out any better than they had the night before.
I told him that I’d change, and watched you slide in behind me without even glancing in my direction.
Kendall flew from the couch and nearly knocked you over in greeting, earning a small smile that she couldn’t see was forced. As you both sat on the couch, your smile grew. No one would’ve suspected that anything was bothering you and that you’d spent the morning ignoring me.
“So how was the trip?” Jameson asked as he pulled his car out, making a wide turn and earning a well-deserved middle finger from a driver that was forced to stop.
“Fine.”
“You seem … sort of …” I turned to look at him as his eyes appraised me. “You seem like things didn’t go so well …” he said slowly.
My head fell against the head rest with a sigh. “I don’t know what’s going through her head,” I admitted with a growl.
“Come again?”
“I don’t know what she’s fucking
thinking
!” I repeated, running a hand over my hair and then down my face. “She started telling me about this book last night that my aunt gave her, and she was talking about love, and how she doesn’t believe people can fall in love in a short period of time. I don’t know why, but I started telling her that sex doesn’t mean love, and that she’s too inexperienced to understand.”
“So you’re saying we should go back, because you need to talk to her.” He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling over to the shoulder of the road.
“I don’t know what to say to her!” The words exploded from me as I hit the dash with my fist.
“No need to take your frustrations out on Shelly,” Jameson said, stroking the dash above the steering wheel. “Dude, I don’t get it. You and Ace love each other. Neither one of you actually says the words, but you love each other. Really, it’s more important that people show their love than say it, because anyone can say they love you. Not many people can show you, but I understand you need confirmation. Why don’t you just tell her?”
I sighed, dropping my head back against the leather again because my thoughts weighed too much.
“Dude, don’t let your pride fuck things up,” Jameson said, sounding less like a friend and more like an agitated spectator as he turned the car around.
“I just need to know how she feels.”
“Then stop being an asshole, and ask her.”
When we pulled up to the house, I was relieved to see your car still parked beside my Jeep.
Jameson and I stopped in the living room where you still sat beside Kendall who was reading the book that caused all of this mayhem.
“What’s with this chick crying every time they have sex? That’s not normal! Is it?” Kendall asked looking at you with genuine interest. “Do you cry during sex? I don’t.”
“Can we not be that open with all of that, babe?” Jameson shifted, his chin dropping as he stared at Kendall.
“Wouldn’t you rather hear what I have to say, as opposed to doing it behind closed doors? Because it’s going to happen, one way or the other.” I smirked at Kendall’s honesty.
“You don’t just start a conversation like that about sex!” Jameson cried.
“Like you guys don’t talk about sex, please!” She’s right. The week before, I threatened to break Jameson’s nose if he wouldn’t shut up about a blow job Kendall gave him. Probably not something you ever wanted to hear either, huh?
“Yeah, isn’t sex just sex? Something we just do because it’s our primal instinct? We are animals.” I don’t know what brought the salt to that injury, your words, your indifferent tone, or the fact that your eyes only stopped on me for a second.
I noticed Jameson wince, and Kendall stare at you in confusion. It was obvious she had no idea you were pissed with me.
“And with that, I think you’re done reading this book.” Jameson grabbed the book from Kendall’s chest and tossed it across the room. Your eyes follow it to where it landed in the kitchen with a thud. “Something tells me they need to talk.” He took Kendall’s hand and pulled her up.
“Here’s some good advice, don’t repeat whatever it was you said before,” Kendall instructed before they both disappeared down the hall into Jameson’s room.
Without looking at me, you got up and headed to the stairs, reminding me that my time was running out.
“How long are you going to freeze me out?” I asked, skipping multiple stairs to be behind you.
“I’m not freezing you out.”
“The hell you’re not! You’re pissed at me for what I said, and you’re trying to make me pay for it!”
“Pay for it? You think I’m trying to make you pay for it?” Your eyes swung to me. Usually I noticed your lips when you spoke to me, as I’ve said, you have the greatest lips. But your eyes were round with accusation and anger making me focus solely on them.
“People have casual sex all the time! I’ve had plenty of it; sex isn’t always about emotions and deep-seated promises, tying two people together. It’s naive to think that!”
Hurt resonated in your eyes as they narrowed, and the skin between them wrinkled. Then you wiped it clear and grabbed your backpack. That’s when I realized it was your indifferent tone downstairs that had hurt. You were acting so nonchalant and detached, it pissed me off even more.
“You always want to run away when shit gets real!” I accused, holding onto the doorframe to prevent a clear path to the hallway. “You have to stop running!”
“What am I supposed to do, Max?” Your bag dropped on your arm, and for a second, I thought you were going to stay even though your eyes were still hard.
“Fight. Tell me that’s not what it means. Tell me how you feel!” The words came out angrier than I intended; in my head they were a plea.
“Are you kidding? You want to completely demean me and our relationship, and now you want me to profess my feelings for you?” Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag again, and your eyes became slits.
I waited to see something else besides anger to help me calm down so my hurt didn’t lead the conversation.
You wanted me to say something, I just didn’t realize how much until you lifted your bag and yelled, “Move!”
“What is running away going to accomplish?”