Forever With You (Silver State Series) (23 page)

It’s been twenty-three days since I last saw Kyle, and honestly it seems closer to three months than just one.  The first week without seeing him felt like a replay of the week after we slept together for the first time – he called, I ignored; he texted, I messaged back a one word answer.  He left me a couple of voicemails asking me to go places with him, and Lord did I ever want to say yes.  I had already made up my mind, though, and I clung to my resolve to end my jacked-up relationship with him.  I reminded myself I’d given the “friends with benefits” scenario a fair shot – it just wasn’t the life for me.

I did consider whether I owed it to Kyle to call and let him know my decision, but ultimately opted against it.  We were never dating, after all – this wasn’t a breakup.  Still, if I’m being honest, my decision to leave things unsaid probably had more to do with my own selfish aversion to awkward confrontations.

Anyway, sometime around the middle of last week, after seventeen solid, fruitless days of trying to contact me, he finally gave up.  This revelation was both a relief and a source of anguish for me.  Of course, I had to know he wouldn’t stay on my case forever – and really, his attention span seems to be longer than I originally gave him credit for.

There is, of course, another complicating dynamic.  I can’t help feeling guilty whenever I think of Kyle’s grandma – which is frequently.  If nothing else, I want to be there for him for that reason alone, and likely if he ever mentioned Donna in any of his text messages, I’d be more than willing to compromise on my stalwart decision to keep my distance.  In the absence of any news from Kyle, however, I’ve been checking up on her in my own way.  My mom sees her in their weekly Bible studies, and she’s dutifully reported all she knows about the course of Donna’s treatment – which so far isn’t much other than the fact she’s had surgery to remove the lump.  Next she’ll start chemotherapy.

But even in my whorl of guilt and frustration, I can’t help reliving certain moments – like when Kyle would tell me I was “beautiful” or “amazing,” or when he’d look at me like I meant more to him than just someone to hook up with, to satisfy his sexual craving.  There are times when I almost trick myself into believing he may have felt something deeper for me – but if that was the case, then he passed up multiple opportunities to make his true feelings known.  As much time as we ultimately spent together, I can’t believe he wouldn’t have spoken up if I was what he truly wanted.

A few thoughts remain that continue to gnaw at my insides and obstruct my path to closure.  The first is of the girl at the NAK party who started grinding against Kyle while we were dancing, touching him in ways that made me believe she’d done it before.  Seeing as I was drunk at the time, it took me a while to remember that fleeting moment.  The memory of the way he’d leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, and then the smug smile he’d put on her overly made-up face, continues to be a painful one.  Had he been making a date for later while I’d been standing right there in front of him?

Next, of course, is the thought of Kyle with that girl Macary – the pretty one from the breakfast place.  I have a recurring nightmare that stars the two of them engaging in an act of passion akin to what
I
experienced with Kyle, and I’m always left feeling moderately nauseated by it.  Not a day has gone by when I didn’t wonder whether they’ve ended up together.  Kyle’s affection for her had been pretty plain to see.

And then there’s
the video
.  It’s a shame we couldn’t reach some sort of agreement about what to do with that little piece of cinema
before
things turned south.  It turns my stomach to think such a thing exists in the absence of a pact to keep it confidential.  My only consolation is my intact belief in Kyle’s innate decency as a human being.  It’s also occurred to me he may have just erased it – and that thought is, for some reason, almost as disturbing to me as the thought of him sharing it.  I have no idea what sort of twisted logic is at play here – I guess it just hurts to think I could be so easily rendered irrelevant.

There are times when I’m sitting quietly across from Vivian, who’s such a good and loyal person, when I wish I could open up to her about these things.  But Vivian is close friends with Aiden, and I know it would be a conflict of interest for her to commiserate with my plight.

Which reminds me…
Aiden
.  Aiden is a great guy.  He’s so well-mannered and attentive and patient.  Things are progressing slowly between the two of us, but they are progressing.  We’ve been on two dates in as many weeks, just the two of us.  What’s strange is it feels more like I’m
letting
it happen than
making
it happen, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not – is it bad I don’t feel as if I’m playing a very active role in building my own relationship, or good it doesn’t feel forced?

Such is my state of inner turmoil these days.  No wonder I’m exhausted all the time.

Kyle – 5:45 PM

I
spend entirely too much time sitting at my desk – reading, writing, editing photos, screwing around on Facebook.  I’ve made time every evening for the past couple of weeks to go for a run or lift weights at the gym, vent some pent-up aggression, but other than that, when I’m not in class, I’m sitting at this fucking desk.  I even eat dinner here.  It’s miserable and lame. 

Seriously, what the hell is happening to me?

The thought has entered my mind more than once that I may be going crazy – I think of my mom and consider the old adage “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”  Times like these, when I feel so inescapably
restless
, I can see the appeal in just taking off, sort of the way she did and continues to do.  Doesn’t mean I’ll ever come close to forgiving her for it – it just scares the shit out of me that I may be catching a firsthand glimpse of what it feels like to be inside her fucked up head.

I finish the assignment I’ve been working on, a feature story for
Summit
on a comparative lit student who speaks seven languages fluently.  I attach it to an email to the section editor and click “Send” without even bothering to proofread it.  Placing my hands on the desk, I prepare to shove back, get out of this chair for a change and get some fresh air.  That’s when my eyes land on the blue, quarter-sized memory card for about the billionth time in the last three weeks.  It’s lying atop a stack of notebooks on the corner of the desk, and it seems to glow red every time I glance at it.

I haven’t touched it since I removed it from my camera the day after Tawny and I recorded ourselves having sex.  I figured I’d let it lie there until I had a chance to talk to her about what we want to do with it – but now she won’t return my calls or my text messages.  Turns out my moment of clarity after we bumped into Macary had been spot-on – in addition to crazy, I might be fucking clairvoyant.

At first I was confused, but now I’m just
pissed
.  I’m pissed at her, but I’m also pissed at myself.  I’m man enough to admit I was wrong – I knew from the beginning Tawny was special, and yet I still managed to treat her the same way I treat every other girl – like she was just another pretty face, somebody else to bury my dick inside.  It’s not her fault I realized too late that I wasn’t just in it for the sex – not this time.

Then again, I didn’t
really
treat her the same, did I?  I cooked her dinner; I showed her a good time at a party she’d been hating till I showed up; I let her
sleep in my bed
– and what’s more, I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed every fucking second I spent with her, and that includes the times when we
weren’t
having sex.  For Christ’s sake, it has to mean
something
that when I found out Donna was diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease, Tawny Read was the first person I called.  She had to have known she meant more to me than any of those other girls I’ve been with.

But how
could
she know if I didn’t even realize it myself?  My head has been shoved so far up my ass, I don’t even know what’s what anymore.  Still, better late than never, right?  That’s why I decided the very same day I dropped her off at her dorm for the last time that I was going to finally bite the bullet and ask her on a legitimate date.  I kind of felt like we had been dating already, in a sense, but I wanted to make it official.

Too bad she never gave me the fucking chance.

Whatever.  She’s too good for me anyway – and what’s more, she knows it.  Fuck it – if she wants to forget me, I’ll forget her, too.

I pick up the goddamn memory card and stash in the very back of one of my desk drawers, tucking it away for good.

Chapter 20 – Contest

Friday, October 14

Tawny – 10:45 AM

Damn girl, have you seen your pic hanging up in the union?

I read the text message from Harumi three times to be sure I didn’t miss anything.  Maybe she meant to send it to someone else?

Huh?

I’m in German class, and Frau Mueller is shooting me a stern look for having my cell phone out.  I give her a sheepish grin, then move my phone into my lap beneath the desk to conceal it from her dissecting glare as I wait on Harumi’s response.

There’s a big framed portrait of you that won some kind of photo contest.  It’s fantastic.

My heart thumps faster.  I sneak a discrete glance up at the clock above Frau Mueller’s head – only five minutes left of class.  I begin to squirm anxiously in my seat, desperate to get over to the union and see what Harumi is talking about.  Obviously, if there’s really a picture of me, it had to have been taken by Kyle.

Apparently I’m not the only one who seemed antsy, because Frau Mueller decides to end class a couple of minutes early.  Her expression remains dour as she rounds her desk and takes a seat behind it, then watches in clear disdain as the fifteen of us file out of the classroom.

As I exit the building I glance down again at my phone and see a message from Aiden.

Wow Tawny, you didn’t tell me you were a model

Jesus, where’s all this coming from all of a sudden?  I begin to walk faster, barreling straight through a knot of people congregating on the sidewalk in my haste to reach the union.

I push through the front doors and begin texting Harumi to ask her where the photo is – but then I see it.  It’s a blown-up print set in an ivory-colored matte with a thin black frame around it, and it’s prominently displayed on an easel in the front hall next to the information desk.  I see two other frames set up on adjacent easels beside it, and each one is festooned with a big, colorful ribbon.  The largest ribbon, however, belongs to Kyle’s photo.

I take a step forward in the direction of the display, but suddenly I hear my name.  I turn my head and almost collide with another student walking purposefully toward the door I just entered through.

Aiden is coming out of the Starbucks, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a paper cup of coffee in his hand.  His face is lit up with a gigantic smile as he walks toward me.  Just as he steps across my path, a girl walking by gives me a hard stare, then flicks a glance back over her shoulder at the photo.  She looks back at me and quirks an eyebrow in curious recognition, then keeps walking.

Aiden stares after the girl with an amused grin on his face before he shifts his gaze back to me.  “You’re kind of famous, you know.”  I sigh, feeling embarrassed as we approach Kyle’s work of art. 

It really is a stunning photo – and in a way that doesn’t even really have anything to do with me.  It could have been
anybody
in the picture, because it isn’t the subject matter that makes it so beautiful – it’s the play of light and shadows, the contrast of light versus dark, and the hazy background that hints at the vastness of the environment.  I remember when Kyle took this shot – as is evident from the more relaxed grin on my face, it was sometime after he’d gotten me to dance with him.  I’m standing in the doorway of the barn, angled in such a way that the frame appears to be divided in thirds.  The left third is the dark space of the barn’s interior, the center panel shows the peeling red paint on the exterior of the barn, and the rightmost third is filled with the dusty tan of the desert floor and the blue-gray of the sky.  In the foreground of the photo, I’m leaning back against the doorframe, smiling over my left shoulder at some unspecified object.

An elaborate blue “Grand Prize” ribbon is suspended from the top left corner of the frame, and a small placard is wedged in the bottom left.  The type on the card reads:

Dulcinea

By Kyle Freeman

I wonder at the significance of the title. 

A little while later, I’m still gazing in wonder at the photo when Aiden’s voice shakes me from my reverie.  “Who’s Kyle Freeman?” he asks.  “Friend of yours?”

The heat that rises to my cheeks is as inevitable as it is unwelcome.  I clear my throat and angle my head to the side in hopes Aiden won’t notice.  “Um, yeah,” I reply.  My tongue feels thick in my mouth; suddenly I need a drink of water.

“It’s amazing,” he murmurs, his eyes darting from the photo to me.  I hold my breath as they rake over me from my head to my feet.  There’s a glimmer of something I hadn’t noticed before lurking in their green depths, and I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or unsettled by it.

Kyle – 12:00 PM

U
ntil this morning I had mostly forgotten about having submitted an entry to the photo contest – it was close to a month ago, after all.  A lot of shit has gone down since then.  In any case, I must’ve sounded like a real moron when one of the fine arts majors from the judging panel called to tell me I’d won first place, considering he had to remind me what he was even talking about.