Tight

There had been very few moments where I’d appreciated my father’s position. The encounter with the boys at Beverly’s Diner smelled of his involvement. I’d have to pull him aside at the wedding. Make it clear that he needed to keep his distance. Respect my privacy and new relationship. Allow me to live my own life. I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I could make my own decisions and mistakes. I sipped Folgers and wondered how Dad would react, both to my mandate and to meeting Brett. Mom would be easy. Any person who increased her likelihood of grandchildren (maybe this time it’d be a boy!) would be embraced.

“So.” Brett wandered in, pulling a shirt over his head, the stretch and pop of abs causing my eyes to linger. “What’s the plan for today?”

I lifted my head from the cup. “Not sure. I was just mulling over that. We need to be at the church at three. Until then, it’s pretty open.”

“You always have such a serious expression when musing over lunch plans?”

I smiled and took another sip, letting the bitter heat warm my throat. “I was thinking about my parents. Not sure if they’ll scare you off tonight.”

“These are the police chief/pharmacy tech parents?” Brett asked, picking up an apple from the bowl and asking permission with his eyes. I waved him on, lifting my feet from the other dining room chair and kicking it out for him.

“Yes. The only ones I got.”

He shrugged. “Some people have two.”

“Do you?”

He chewed a bite of apple, the act taking a minute, his Adam’s apple bulging as he swallowed. “Nope. Just one. My parents are still married.”

“Look at us. Two surviving children in a sea of broken families.”

“A good omen for the future of our marriage.” He looked up, winked.

“Easy, Fabio.” I sipped my coffee. “One relationship milestone at a time.”

“I didn’t mean to pressure you last night. With the ‘I love you’ stuff.”

“I wouldn’t have said it back if I didn’t mean it.” I reached out, requesting the apple, and he passed it over, letting me steal a bite. “Let me get dressed. We can run into town and I’ll buy you a real breakfast, give you the five dollar tour.”

He caught me as I passed, his hand gently on my waist as he pushed me against the wall and stole a kiss. “I do love you, Miss Johnson.”

I rose to my tippy toes and kissed him back.

I used to be a man who didn’t care. Who smiled freely, put his shoes up on the table, drank to excess, loved without reserve. Then, the woman I loved more than anything in the world was taken. That day put a cloud over my life. Changed the man I was to the man I am now. A man who considers every action. Who hides more than he gives. Who lies more than he tells the truth.

I was lying when I met Riley. Playing a part that I’d cultivated to such a point that it felt natural. I was in a role, so I kept playing it. Provided a card that contained rows of lies. Talked and hinted of a life I didn’t keep. I played the part, I fucked the girl, and somehow, amid the skin and the touches and the gorgeous crook of her smile, I felt it. Felt a tugging on a part of my heart that I thought had died.

When I first met her, I should’ve let her go. Let her get on that jet and fly back home. Let my heart turn back to black, crush the weakness that had threatened. But I didn’t. I allowed the weakness to fester, to rot at the bones of my ribcage until my chest was cracked wide open and she had crawled inside and feasted on my heart. Inhaled it until there was no longer her and I but only us.

I didn’t know how to go back. Didn’t know how to break off this piece of my soul and give her back. Didn’t know how to sift through the lies and tell her the truth. Didn’t know how to be the man she deserved without losing sight of my goal.

I didn’t know how to hold on to that goal without letting it consume my future.

Chelsea’s wedding narrowed the list of single girls down to two: Megan Gallt and myself. Megan was more in love with Jesus than any man, and would probably be single at least another five years, the pool of men in Quincy too sinful for her tastes. Me … I hadn’t really thought about marriage, not with any of my exes. Not until Brett. But being at a wedding sort of forced your brain in that direction, shoved hopes and dreams down your throat until the moment when you confronted all of it and allowed what if.

What if we got married? We’d have to move to Fort Lauderdale. His job was there, and it was a much bigger job than mine. I didn’t mind moving. Had thought about it before I even met Brett, my restlessness in Quincy finding new ways to emerge: in my snap at a customer, my binge on Netflix series, my scan of big city job search engines late at night. I would happily move. Settle in South Florida, get a new job, find new friends, and we’d jet set back to Quincy a few weeks every year to see my friends and family. Maybe we could have an annual girls’ trip to Atlantis, could relive our bachelorette party weekend.

What if we had kids? Brett would make a great dad. And I’d always wanted a child; my maternal urges sated by the fact that I had become “Aunt Riley” to Tammy, Jena, and Mitzi’s kids. What would it be like to wake up to the sound of a child’s giggle and know we had created that? What was this love that “changed you” and how would it feel to love a baby that much?

What if we grew old together? What if this was it, he was my soulmate and this breathless, nervous excitement that I felt whenever he reached for me, smiled at me – what if it never faded and was there forever? What if our kids had kids, and we retired together and bought vacation homes and went on cruises and played shuffleboard? What if my hair turned white, and he still loved me, and we died like that old couple in Titanic, our hands clasped, us entering heaven within minutes of each other?

What ifs were dangerous. What ifs were terrifying. I watched Brett smile at my mother and stand, reaching for her hand, and she blushed, following him to the dance floor where he carefully spun her around.

What if he broke my heart?

“Want to grab a movie?” I gestured to the brick storefront of Rick’s Movie Rentals. “We could grill burgers and stay in tonight.”

“Sure.” Brett glanced out the window. “I didn’t think those existed anymore.”

I smiled, pulling into the gravel lot. “Watch what you say in public. We’re a no-Redbox town in support of Rick.”

“Really? That written down in the city code?”