A Thin Line (15 page)

"Oh." I hadn't thought of it that way. I was too busy worrying that I liked it so much.  I can't think of anything else to say, so I dip my head back to his shoulder.  "I've been thinking about what I said to you and... I didn't mean it. You know, about you not caring about me, back then."

"Yeah."

"I know you loved me."

"And you loved me. But the question is… do you
still
love me?"

I almost choke on the air, mostly because I don't know how to answer. I quietly laugh instead.

"Okay. I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess." He's quiet for a few moments and then says, very softly near my ear, "The thing is…I think I do."

I'm dumbfounded, not even all there at the moment. We're moving in time to the fading strains of one song into the swelling notes of another. I haven't made a move to be relieved of his arms or his scent or these words that I must have known were coming, and yet I am surprised.

"You don't have anything to say? Nothing snide or sarcastic? No smart ass commentary?"

"You seem to have my reaction covered. I apparently don't need to say anything."

He chuckles. "There she is… my spitfire, Evangeline."

That, again.
I tense up; try to step out of his embrace. He tightens his hold on me.

"Finish out this dance with me. I'm not done saying what I need to say."

I relax, but promise myself that when this song is over I will put an entire room of people between myself and Preston.

"This case we're supposed to argue next week... you're going to win. You win."

I win?
  "What are you talking about?"

"On Monday, you're going to get a notification of settlement and dismissal. I'm making Bailey settle the case. I know he's wrong, he knows he's wrong, he's an asshole and he doesn't like losing. He'll spend a hundred grand to not lose. I'm done."

He exhales, which makes his shoulders drop like a weight has been lifted from them. "And I'm done with Perry. I'm leaving the firm."

I almost trip over my own feet. He catches me and keeps moving.

"You're right. About my job, about the clients. I hate the job, actually. It's not what I signed up for. I hate how they pit me against you, because they know you're good and I have to be unscrupulous to beat you. I hate how it makes you hate me, makes you disrespect me, makes you think I like representing lowlife assholes. I do it because it's my job, because everybody has the right to representation."

He shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip with the most wistful expression on his face. He looks like he's dreaming. "That representation won’t be me. Not anymore."

"Preston, I-"

"I don't deserve anything from you. Not after the way I've treated you, the way I've talked to you. But I'm hoping that if that kiss awakened even the thinnest thread of feeling for me at all, that you'll let yourself explore it. And maybe think about giving me another chance."

This is the first time in many, many years that Preston has asked for another chance. I have dreamt about this moment, so I could throw his behavior back in his face and break his heart when I told him no. And get great joy from doing so.

Those words don't come. The need for vengeance, the desire to destroy him, it isn't there. I don't have it in me to look at this man and tear him down. 

"Don't say anything right now. Think about it, though. And be honest with yourself. There's a lot riding on your answer."

As if I need anything else to confuse me, he dips his head to kiss me. It's nothing more than a soft, sweet press of his lips that lingers for a few seconds, but it has the same effect as the kiss from weeks ago. Butterflies take flight throughout my body and goose bumps break out in waves, despite the flush that crawls along my skin.

The song ends and he steps back, freeing me from his grasp. "By the way, you look beautiful tonight."

He gives me a solitary nod, then steps around me, leaving me on the dance floor by myself, looking and feeling confused.

I feel like I am dreaming. I know I am not.

The evening passes in a shimmery fugue. I chatted with Nate's dad, met Morgan's grandfather. I remember the champagne toast and the speech that Preston gave, something about knowing both Nate and Morgan their whole lives, so he couldn't imagine anyone better for either of them.

I leave the way I came in, through the basement, to my car at the back of the house. I drive home in the same fog, slowly becoming aware that the words that fell from Preston's mouth were real. And while I have hoped for this moment for so long, the emotions I expected to feel as a reaction are a no show. Without the self-righteous anger and hurt, I feel disarmed and unprepared.

Maybe think about giving me another chance.

I pull into my parking spot and climb the steps to my apartment. As soon as I close the door, I hear a chime from inside the sparkling clutch. I grope for the hallway light and flip the switch, then zip open the purse and dig out my phone.

Preston Reid would like to begin a Facetime session with you. Click yes to participate.

With my heart slamming around in my chest, I press
‘yes'
. The screen is dark but I make out Preston's face and shoulders. His jacket is off, his tie loosened and the first three buttons on his shirt are undone. He looks tired, but not in a bad way. His eyelids are drooping, halfway closed. His fingers have been in his hair. That, along with biting his fingernails, is something he does when he's nervous.

"You make it home okay?"

"Just now. Yes."

I walk to the living room and sit on the couch, holding the phone aloft so the screen stays on my face. I look harder at his image and realize he's not at home. He's in his car–that's why the screen is so dark. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

His smile is faint, a hint on his lips. "Maybe," he says.

"So you're going to sit outside my apartment all the time, now?"

"I don't sit outside your apartment all the time. I wanted to make sure you got home."

"Well, I'm home."

"So you are." He stares at me via the screen. I stare back. "So, tonight..."

I inhale a deep breath. Here we go… the part where he takes back everything he said because it was a mistake. And we move on with our lives because that's the way it should be.

"I uh... I don't want you to be freaked out. About what I said."

"About how you think you still love me?" He nods, briefly. A short bob of the head up and down. "What makes you think that, after all this time?"

"That night at my house. You were setting the table and everything was... so perfect.  I felt like I was dreaming. You were beautiful and the table looked great and the whole scene...for a split second I let myself think, what if..."

He licks his lips. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows a few times. "I realized that's all I've ever wanted.
You're
all I've ever wanted, Evangeline. I'm tired of pretending that's not true. I'm tired of thinking I can replace you with someone else. Anyone else. I'm tired of not being with you."

I feel a need to swallow a few times myself.

"You’re angry at me…still. I haven't helped the situation. I egg you on, I think, because even if you hate me, at least it's something. It would be worse if you didn't care."

I nod, slowly. Like a key into a lock, things start clicking into place and I finally get it, what the last eighteen years have been about. Making sure I don't forget him.

"I hope it's not too late to turn that around."

"Yeah, well...." I clear my throat, which seems dry all of a sudden. "I haven't been on my best behavior either. I've been pretty bad, especially recently."

"It's the wedding."

"You think so?"

His low laughter crackles over the phone line. "Weddings bring out the worst in people."

"Especially when your best friends are unintentionally flaunting what you should have had."

"But Angie....you know we were never going to be like Nate and Morgan, right? They have an uncommon connection. We can't duplicate them. And I think, maybe I'm wrong, but your biggest problem was that I took away the possibility that we could be like them."

My eyes drop to my lap.  I can't look him in the face and admit that all of this strife has been because I was jealous of Nate and Morgan.

"I had a long conversation with Nate the other night."

My eyes rise to the screen again. "Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm. About why they're getting married. I think you should ask Morgan about it."

"She never answers me when I ask. She dances around the question and then gives me some non-answer."

"Ask her again. I think you'll be surprised."

"What answers am I looking for?"

"One that will show you that
‘they've only ever been with each other'
myth is just that. A myth."

I rear back, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about? They have only ever been with each other."

He shakes his head slowly. "Ask Morgan. You're clinging to something that doesn't even exist, and basing something you wanted for us on a myth. And you've been angry at me about it for the last two decades, almost."

Why is my world turning upside down right now?

"I wanted to give you some things to think about."

"What are you going to do about your job? Go to another firm? Do you have an offer?"

"Sort of. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I'll fill you in. Soon."

This new information has me reeling, my head is spinning, twirling in time to my world flying completely off its axis. I cannot take this night anymore.

As if he can sense my near panic attack, he says, "So you're home, which means I can go home. I'll let you get to bed. Please think about what I told you tonight. Seriously. Okay?"

I nod. He brushes two fingers across his pursed lips and touches them to the screen. And then he is gone.

Preston Reid has ended this FaceTime session. To reconnect, press OK.

It takes everything in me not to dial him back, for no reason at all but to talk to him. This is odd, because I haven't wanted to
just talk
to Preston in a long time.

I remove my jewelry, peel off my dress, kick off my shoes and crawl into bed in my underwear. I pull the covers up over me. And lay there.

On my mind? In every thought? Lurking around every corner?

Those eyes, that almost curly hair, those full lips. The sound of his voice. The warmth of his skin. The weight of him on me, around me. His hands, large and manly and possessive. The thought of being with him sends my brain into a tailspin.

My life is, yet again, all Preston, all the time.  Right now though, I don't really mind.

A half written document taunts me, the cursor blinking in rhythm to the tapping of my pen against the hard plastic frame of my laptop. I’m thinking.

Daydreaming, really. About the kiss at the engagement party. And the call that night.  Remembering how he felt against me that night in front of the fire pit. His scent surrounding me. The scratch of stubble against my cheek when he got close enough to kiss me. And his lips. His mouth, actually. He always did kiss well. He knew exactly what buttons to push to turn me on.

The week is whizzing right past me.  I had planned to take some well-earned and much needed vacation time before flying off to St. Lucia and I only had three days in the office to wrap up finished cases as much as possible and get the open cases to a point where I could pick them up when I came back.

True to his word, a courier showed up Monday morning with Perry's petition to settle the case of
Bailey v. Sanchez.
Bailey would let Carlos and Gloria out of their lease without penalty. He would also revert the rent to the previous monthly allotment before he raised it and would refund the balance, less the insurance deductible for the damage to the building. In return, my clients would drop their claim against Bailey, which they've already agreed to do.

I feel guilty, being celebrated at the office with flowers and a cake. I'd won plenty of cases but it was my first against Perry, namely against the formidable Preston Reid. And I didn't really win. He gave up.

Flanning, one of the senior partners, tried to reassure me about the outcome. "He realized he didn't have any dirty tricks to pull this time, and you'd win. So rather than be embarrassed in open court, he took the ‘L'."  He formed an L with his thumb and forefinger and lifted it to his forehead.  "We'll take the ‘W', no problem." His fingers formed a W and he laughed. I couldn't help but laugh at him and take another bite of cake.

Troy finds me in my office. He'd been in court all day, so he’s dressed to impress in tan Calvin Klein, a colorful tie and chocolate brown shoes. I give him an obvious once over and smile my approval. His brother must have taken him shopping. Not only is he looking great lately, but I see the Preston influence in the cut and the style.

"Hey," he says, stepping into my office after a light knock-knock. "I hear we're celebrating a win."

I wave him off, but I’m giving a wide smile as I do so. "Aw, it's nothing. Just my first win against Preston Reid, a day for the record books. That's all."

He laughs while slipping off his jacket. It's early fall, but still warm. There are sweat circles under his arms and droplets of moisture at his waistline. "Well, it sucks that you had to beat my brother to get such a great win, but congrats. Proud of you."

"Thanks." I glance back at my desk, which is covered in folders, notepads, my laptop, my phone and pads of Post-It notes. "Now if everything else goes smoothly, I won't feel guilty about taking time off. You're ready to go?"

He nodded vigorously. "Getting excited about it, actually. I can't wait to hit that beach. I might go nude out there."

"Remember we had that talk about things we don't need to know about each other? That's probably one of them."

Troy bunches his jacket together in one fist and moves toward the door. "I'm in the office all week and my case load is around a two, so throw anything at me that you want me to watch or handle for you when you're out."

I give him an appreciative nod as he steps out. At some firms the Partners or Case Assignment Clerk will ask for a Busy Level to decide who gets cases and who gets research and who goes to court.  At one or two, you're handling your cases but could do more and should be asking for more work. At three, you're doing everything a two is doing but could do more if it was a low level case or a one-off court appearance. A four means your hair is on fire, you can't find your desk under all of your case files and you might throw something – namely yourself – out of a window if you're asked to take on any more clients.

I've been at a four once. It wasn't pretty.  I try hard to keep myself at three.  I function best with a lot to do and a wide variety of cases to work on.

It also keeps my mind busy, full of law and task lists and things that have to be done. I don't have time for my brain to drift to thoughts of Preston, of the things he said to me while we danced. Of the confessions he made to me in the shadows. I don't have time to remember the grit in his voice, the pull of emotion at the edge of his words.

You're all I've ever wanted, Evangeline. I'm tired of pretending that's not true.

There are two sides of me in bitter battle. One side is staunchly against believing anything Preston has to say. That side of me remembers every hurtful word he's ever uttered; the anger and disgust at having to watch him parade new women in my face; the callous and careless way he's treated me for the last eighteen years.

The other part of me knows that I’m not seventeen anymore.  That people change and evolve and maybe peace can be found in letting go of stupid shit from high school. It isn't like I didn't know it was dumb to hang onto all that hurt and pain... it was that Preston was always there to remind me of it.

And instead of forgiving him and moving on with my life, I used it, as he put it, to stay angry. As long as I was angry, I couldn't forgive him.

Because if I forgave him and forgot about all that immature self-righteous anger, I might remember the feelings I had for him. I might conjure up some memories of the great times we had together. I might think about what he said out by the fire pit that night, how we had been best friends one day and nothing the next. Attached at the hip for most of our lives and then it was like a body part had been removed.

I might remember that I miss him, too. More than I care to admit.

At 7PM I give up and start to shut things down. My cases are either closed or not. At this point, it doesn't matter; it's paperwork. I pack up my laptop and grab my bag, slipping the handles over my shoulder. I push in my chair, and take one last look at my desk for the next two and a half weeks.  I close and lock my office door and by the time I reach my car, there's a bounce to my step and work is the furthest thing from my mind.

That night, I join the girls for drinks at Prime. Well, most of us have drinks. Poor pregnant Jackie has to make do with a virgin spritzer- ginger ale and juice.  She asks the waitress to serve it in a martini glass so she can feel like she's drinking.

We're a rowdy bunch, loud and cackling with laughter at everything. The group pulses with the mounting, palpable excitement of the pending Bachelorette party and the Shut In and the week on an island, far away from civilization.

"I'd like to thank the geniuses that planned this wedding in October, and not next year when I can drink." Jackie turns to give me a playful glare before she takes another sip of her passion fruit spritzer.

I shrug and smile. "It actually wasn't up to me. I was gunning for next summer. Preston was the one who insisted we do it this year."

“S’okay," Morgan slurs, on her fourth or fifth drink-I've lost count. Her thin arms flail, giving away her excitement and alcohol fueled emotion.  "I'm ready to do this! Finally. You know?"

"Hey, Morg... let's go outside for a little bit okay? Get some fresh air."

I grab her arm and help her off of the bar stool, then slide my arm over her shoulder and guide her toward the door. It's too early for Morgan to be swaying in her seat, her eyes rolling back in her head.

We make it to the door and walk a few steps down the sidewalk. Morgan takes long, deep breaths, like she's trying to cleanse herself, like this will help her sober up. In between breaths, she's rambling about the wedding. She's always rambling about the wedding these days.

"So, I need to ask you about something," I say, interrupting her stream of consciousness. "I've asked you about it before but a little birdie told me to ask you again."

Morgan walks to the curb and plops herself down on the sidewalk, stretching out her legs in front of her. Her skinny jeans are painted on, her stiletto heels shiny and covered in gold sparkles. They match her blouse, which is red with gold glitter. Despite her drunken state, she is glowing, emanating happiness.

"Shoot," she says, patting the concrete next to her.  I sit, trying to think about how I'm going to bring this up.

"You want to know about why Nate and I are finally getting married, right? After all this time, for kind of no reason. Right?"

I wince, but nod. "Yeah. I had a conversation with Preston last weekend and he mentioned that he had a big talk with Nate and-"

"And Nate spilled our secret." She nods, her eyes focused on the pavement of the street in front of us. Her bottom lip creeps between her teeth and she chews on it for a few seconds. "So, it's story time. Brace yourself."

"Okay. Braced." 

"Well. You remember that Nate did his residency in Atlanta?" I nodded, remembering. That was a long span of time, the longest Nate and Morgan had ever been apart. 

"We purposely picked Atlanta, because Nate felt like he needed to get out of Orlando. Out from under Dr. McCord’s thumb, from this place he knows so well, the medical community that has known him since he was a kid."

"Yeah. Has to be hard, when people's expectations are already set."

"Right. So Atlanta. It was hard, you know that. And for Nate and I, it was really hard because while he was up there, he decided he wanted to... uh, explore."

My left eyebrow twitches and rises without my consent. Morgan glances at me and laughs. "Yeah that's the exact look I had on my face, after I drove eight hours to see my man and he sits at dinner and tells me how he feels guilty that he's the only man I've ever been with, and doesn't want me to have any regrets, so we should break up for a little while and play the field."

Morgan snorts. "Right. So what happened was that he met this girl. This doctor in his residency. I guess she was cute, or whatever. And he was horny and maybe curious about other women, but he felt guilty because he was with me and had been with me for..."

Her eyes glaze over as if she is mentally counting the years. "For forever. We'd been together forever. And I thought we'd be together forever. I never had any plans to be with anyone else. Nate is all I have ever wanted or needed.”

She sighs, scooting herself back from the curb, bringing her legs in and loosely crossing them.  "So. We... broke up."

"Shut up," I said, barely breathing. How could I not know? How could she not tell me? "For how long? What happened? You could have told me, Morgan."

She shakes her head. "No. I couldn't. I couldn't tell anyone, because the only thing that everyone knows for sure about me is that I'm with Nate. I've only ever been with Nate. I'm only ever going to be with Nate. So if I have to look at all my friends and family and tell them...."

Her voice fades and she looks away, down the street at the other businesses in the strip mall. A few cars pass before she picks up again.  "I couldn't admit that. I couldn't confess that I didn't have the fairy tale. That we weren't perfect. That
I
wasn't everything
Nate
needed."

My heart breaks for her. I never knew she was struggling with so much. Alone.

"So, while we were broken up, Nate was still calling me, emailing me. Like we were friends. I was dumb and asked about that girl. It took him a minute but he confessed to fucking her. I lost it after that. I hung up on him. I left my place– remember I had that shitty little apartment in Dr. Phillips?" I nod. It was close to Universal and a lot of cast members lived there.

"There's this bar down the street from there. I went there. Got
solo
drunk. Of course, I got hit on all night, which made me think I'd have no problem finding another man. I met this white guy. He was cute and funny and didn’t seem riddled with disease. Brought him home. Fucked him."

I'm pretty sure I'm sucking in all of the air outside when I gasp. My hands fly to cover my mouth. I feel like my eyes are the size of saucers.

"Girl, it was so bad," she says, chuckling, shaking her head. "Not because it wasn’t Nate, but… just…
so bad
.  I was getting back at Nate. I was doing something for myself. I was moving on."

She shakes her head, side to side. When she stops she looks up at me. Her face is streaked with tears, her lipstick smudged and feathered across her lips. I've never seen her so sad, and I'm suddenly sorry I asked about this story.

"How long were you guys not together?"

"Not even a month. But we wouldn't be together today if Nate hadn't worked so hard to get me back."

"So he was the one who came back?"

Morgan nods. "Almost right away. It took me some time to work things out inside my head and my heart. But eventually I came to know several things: that guy I had sex with definitely meant nothing to me. That girl he had sex with meant nothing to him. And we meant everything to each other."

Surprised, my eyebrows lift and I sit straight up. I like the direction of the rest of this story. Obviously they made up, but I wanted to hear that they went through a process to get back together. I'm about to go through the same process.