The sound of his name does that to her. I rethink the idea of telling her. At first it was that I didn’t want her to hold on to something that’s long gone, to fan flames that need to be put out, but this time I feel, well I think I’m irritated, but that wouldn’t make sense. I have no reason to be irritated…unless I’m jealous.
“What did you remember?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look in her eyes and see the hope in them. There’s a difference in her.
“Not a lot. Just me or Cal talking to Dexter,” I say, and I see the hope drain from her expression. She looks down at her lap and back up at me, apparently trying to hide her disappointment. A part of me feels like a jerk, the other part of me is relieved.
“That’s great,” she says, a small smile on her face.
“What happened?” she asks.
“They had an argument.” I know her next question is going to make me tell the truth. Should I give her a little of her hope back or leave things out and possibly ruin her night?
I don’t want to ruin her night but I don’t want to see her eyes light up like that again.
Well, I do, just not for him.
Now there’s no question about it. I’m jealous and that is one of the worst things I’ve ever felt.
“About what?”
Do I tell the truth or a white lie? I try to weigh the benefits of both, but it’s hard to think clearly when her hazel eyes are looking into mine, trying to read them, possibly searching, still looking for him.
“About you.” The truth wins out. I can’t lie to her when she’s looking at me like that. I’m already hiding things. If she asks me something directly, I’ll tell her the truth. I wouldn’t want her to lie to me so I won’t do it to her. Lying and omission is what got us into this and it’s scary how easy it’s becoming for me to want to do the same.
She looks taken aback.
“Why were they arguing about me?” she asks, a little puzzled. I might as well just get it out.
“Dexter didn’t want him to marry you.” She’s quiet after I say that. She laughs to herself and rests her head in her hand.
“That’s not surprising. It seems most people didn’t,” she says sadly.
“Well Cal was pretty adamant. He didn’t give a shit about what Dexter thought.” The words come out of my mouth so fast I don’t even realize what I said until afterwards, but they make Lauren smile. She looks like she feels better.
“He didn’t give a shit what most people thought,” she mutters.
She likes that about him. I sort of envy that; I’ve never been able to feel that way. I do care what people think, especially the people I love and care about, sometimes to a fault.
“The thing is, I still don’t know if what I saw was real or a dream,” I say, reminding myself of why I even brought this up to her in the first place.
“Of course, I mean, how could you?” she says, matter-of-factly.
“Their argument was at some type of event. I remember seeing a banner in the background. It said “Crestfield Cares.” There were grey and black balloons,” I say hesitantly.
She sits up and starts to think and shakes her head. “I don’t know, it could’ve been. We went to so many events for their company. Some I didn’t even go to,” she says apologetically. I guess I’m going to have to be more specific. I let out a sigh.
“You were there,” I admit, and she perks up a bit.
“The rest of everything was kind of hazy.” I smudge the truth. “But I remember you were wearing a grey dress and he drove you somewhere near water after the party.” After a few seconds her eyes light up in recognition and she grins. I can tell she’s fighting a wide smile.
“Yeah. I remember that night,” she says with a smirk. “It was a company party he took me to a couple of weeks before he proposed.” Her smirk turns into a full-on smile then she starts to blush.
Yup, she remembers that night.
“You don’t remember anything else?” she asks, looking at me, her expression a cross between suspicion and glee.
“It was all pretty hazy,” I say with a shrug. I get up from the table to check on the burgers. I open the oven and lean down so the heat can reach my face, an excuse for my blushing. The burgers and bacon are almost done. I motion for her to come look. She stands beside me, an accomplished smile on her face.
“It smells really good,” she says cheerfully. “High five,” she says lifting her hand, and I chuckle and slap hands with her.
Lauren and I are friends. There’s nothing friendlier than a high five.
Even after knowing that, I’m starting to remember, and I’m sure she has a suspicion that I remember more than I’m telling. She’s okay. She still knows our line. She doesn’t look at me longingly like she wishes I’d tell her I love her or I want to be with her.
I was wrong.
She doesn’t want to hear that from me at all.
I’m happy.
I should be happy.
I tell myself I’m happy.
It doesn’t bother me at all that maybe she’s starting to distinguish that Cal and I are different. It’s what I wanted after all.
It’s a good thing.
That’s what I tell myself.
Even though I feel like crap.
I don’t know why I’m at Jenna’s house. It seemed like a good idea at the time. After cooking with Lauren, I felt like I needed to see her. I know it’s late and she has to drive back to school in the morning. I need something to remind me why I shouldn’t be feeling the way I am now. Why I feel off-balance, empty, and confused. Jenna is the woman I’ve known for the past two years, who’s been there for me through some of the toughest times in my life, the woman I want to marry. Since all this happened, all we’ve done is argue or she tosses ultimatums at me. I need to feel what I know we have…to remember. So many thoughts are being pushed forward in my head, it’s like our memories are being pushed aside for everything else. I need them to come back to the forefront.
“I can go if you want me to. I know you have a lot to do tomorrow.” I’m sitting on the white and brown leather sofa in her living room. Jenna’s house was decorated right out of a home magazine, literally. The walls are beige and the furniture is brown leather. It’s modern/chic. That’s what Jenna tells me. It’s clean, just her books, notebooks, and laptop on the coffee table.
“No, I’m glad you’re here.” She covers her mouth, trying to keep a yawn from escaping.
“You’re tired, I can come back.” I say, getting off the couch and kissing her forehead.
She frowns. “No, it’s fine,” she pulls me back down. “What’s wrong?” She adjusts her sitting position so that she can look directly at me.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just miss you,” I say, pulling her on my lap. She smells good, like she always does. Her hair’s down but not perfectly straight and in place the way it usually is.
I like it like this.
I run my hand through her hair and she murmurs softly.
“That feels good,” she says as my fingers drag down her back.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she purrs before shifting her position. She's wearing a light blue robe that she starts to take off, revealing an oversized school t-shirt and boy shorts underneath.