Unravelled (8 page)

“What about you?” he’d asked. “Why isn’t a beautiful, successful woman like you married? You’re a catch.” I had shrugged. “Just haven’t met the right guy, I guess.” And for the first time, I realized it was true. I no longer thought of Colin as the right guy with the wrong attitude. We just weren’t meant to be.

Letting myself into the apartment, I was immediately met by the sounds of the TV. Kendra was home (of course) watching another chick flick—the one where Kate Hudson inherits some dead relative’s kids. I knew that Kendra was a Cancer and therefore a nester and homebody. But would it kill her to go out just once in a while? I couldn’t help but worry that my roommate might smell the alcohol on my breath. It was only 7:50 and I was half-loaded! I decided a brief hello was in order before I scurried off to my room to make the nonexistent edits to my article.

“Hi, Kendra. I’ll be in my room making some edits to an article I’m working on.” She yawned and nodded in response. “And I’ve got to make a couple of work-related phone calls,” I said, moving into the kitchen and grabbing the phone. Of course, there were no work-related phone calls to be made, just like there were no edits. I was dying to tell Angie about my date with Jim Davidson. Could I call it a date? It was, sort of, a date. Yes, I think we’d just had our first date!

No sooner had I closed the bedroom door behind me than the phone rang in my hand. Oh! I hoped it was Angie, or maybe Mel, and not Kendra’s mom calling to give her an update on her new knork. I pressed
talk.
“Hello?”

“Uh, hi, is that Beth?”

Oh, shit. “Yes,” I croaked.

“It’s me . . . Colin.”

Twelve

HIS GRANDPA DIED.”

“Oh, dear,” Nicola said.

Sophie asked, “Were you close to him?”

“Not really,” I said, placing my knitting in my lap and reaching for my wineglass. We were in Angie’s pristine apartment again. It was my turn to host, but I knew that Kendra wouldn’t open up her home to a bunch of strangers. And we didn’t want her to alert the Promises Rehab Centre swat team to swoop in and haul us away for the inappropriate mixing of booze and knitting. “I didn’t know him well but he was a nice old guy. I remember he ate a lot of butterscotch candies and watched a lot of baseball.”

Martin asked, “What does Colin want you to do?” He’d started a black, wide-ribbed sweater with a beige band across the chest. While I was impressed that he felt confident jumping to such a complex project, I couldn’t help but feel a little hopeless in comparison. I mean, decreasing for armholes and tackling stripes! The mere thought made me feel like that inept little Brownie with the holey pot holder. I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach his level of expertise. Not to mention that it seemed my cream merino scarf would be the project that took me well into menopause. It never seemed to grow beyond about five inches before I made a mistake and ended up ripping out several rows.

I cleared my throat a little nervously. “He wants me to come over tomorrow night... to talk.”

“Tomorrow night?” Angie shrieked. “Tomorrow night is Valentine’s night!”

“It’s just a coincidence!” My response was defensive. “He’s upset. He needs a supportive friend right now and I’m the first person he thought of calling.”

“How convenient,” Angie muttered skeptically.

“Right. So his grandfather
planned
his death so Colin could invite me over on Valentine’s Day.”

“Are you going to go?” Nicola asked.

I paused. “I think so. I still care about him—as a friend—and he needs me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Angie said, placing her needle, with its single row of aquamarine stitches, in her lap and looking at me frankly. “It sounds like a ploy to me.”

“Angie,” I said, “his grandpa is
dead.
”

“Okay, but does he really need you to come over to his
apartment
to talk about it? On Valentine’s night? Couldn’t you go out for coffee to talk about it—say, on Saturday morning?”

Nicola gasped. “Do you think he’s just trying to get her into bed?”

Angie gave her a “like, duh” look. “Men will do anything for sex.”

“Of course,” I snapped, “this was just a ‘my grandpa is dead’ booty call.”

Martin, ever the voice of reason, stepped into the fray. “What matters isn’t Colin’s motivation but Beth’s state of mind.” He looked at me. “Do you think you can handle being alone with him on Valentine’s night?”

“I can,” I said, with more confidence than I actually felt. “I’ve recently realized that Colin wasn’t the
right
guy with the
wrong
attitude: He just wasn’t the right guy. We weren’t meant to be.”

Nicola was staring at me intently. “Profound,” she said, nodding. She wasn’t even being sarcastic.

Angie’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “This is about that old guy, isn’t it?”

“Well...” I blushed, and also wished they’d stop calling him “that old guy.” “I kind of went for drinks with him last night.”

“Oh my god!” Sophie squealed excitedly.

“So . . . ? How was it?” From Martin.

“It was really nice,” I said, making a concerted effort not to sound like Angie when she talked about Thad. “He’s very interesting... and funny.”

“Ring?” Angie asked pointedly.

“No ring. He’s divorced...years ago.”

Sophie jumped in. “Are you going to see him again?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to. He lives on Bainbridge Island and only comes into the city once in a while.”

“My parents have a summer home there,” Nicola said. “It’s beautiful. You should go visit him.”

“Slow down!” Angie said. “They’ve only gone out for drinks one time. She can’t very well show up on his doorstep.”

“Don’t worry,” I laughed. “And even if he doesn’t call again, I had a great time. Spending an evening with him made me feel so much more . . . I don’t know . . .
optimistic
about the future . . .”

“Sounds like fate to me,” Martin said, eyes on his knitting.

“How so?” Sophie asked, a bemused smile on her lips.

“The old guy came along just in time to make Beth strong enough to be there for Colin in his time of need—and strong enough
not
to sleep with him.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’m going to support him as a friend and I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“You’d better not,” Angie said, sternly. “I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces if he breaks your heart again.”

“I’m not going to, okay?” I shrieked. “Can we please just drop it?” I knew of one surefire way to steer the conversation in another direction. I turned to Nicola. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

As usual, her face split into a wide smile and her cheeks began to glow with excitement. “Oh, it’s going to be so magnificent. Did I tell you that we’re having the reception at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel? We’ve booked the Spanish Ballroom!”

“Wow,” Martin said. “I went to a fund-raiser there once. It’s spectacular.”

“I know,” Nicola gushed, her mauve scarf now ignored in her lap. “I adore the Italian Renaissance architecture. And we just finalized the table centrepieces last night. We’re having enormous bouquets of lavender and pale pink roses, in moss ribbon-wrapped vases with flowing ostrich feathers!”

“Wow,” Angie said.

Nicola looked on the verge of happy tears when she said, with a sigh, “It really is going to be the wedding I’ve always dreamed of.”

I was starting to feel just the teensiest bit nauseous when Sophie spoke up. “What about you and Thad?” she asked Angie. “How are things going?”

While this topic was only slightly less vomit-inducing than the previous one, I’d been wondering where that relationship stood myself. Maybe they’d broken up by now? Maybe Angie and I could start spending more time together, two single gals out on the town?

Unfortunately, Angie replied excitedly, “We’re going away together for a Valentine’s weekend.”

“Where to?” Nicola asked.

“There’s this place in the desert in southern Nevada. It’s sort of a spa retreat slash holistic Native healing centre.”

Well, that figured. Leave it to flaky Thad to suggest a Valentine’s weekend away at a spa retreat slash holistic Native healing centre. My eyes darted to the others to see if they thought it a strange vacation as well, but Martin asked, pleasantly, “And what will you get up to there?”

“We’re doing a sweat lodge ceremony. It’s meant to purify the body, mind, and spirit, to allow a new sense of self to emerge. It’s like entering the womb and being reborn.”

Oh, come on! But everyone else was smiling pleasantly, knitting away as though Angie had just announced they were off on a wine-tasting tour in the Napa Valley. Sophie even murmured, “Interesting.”

I simply had to say something. “Well, that’s quite a departure from the last holiday you took.” Last November, Angie had gone to Club Hedonism in the Turks and Caicos. She’d returned home with a tan and three pairs of men’s underwear to commemorate her conquests.

She shrugged and smiled. “It’s certainly a much healthier choice. I can’t wait to be purified.” She continued her slow and painstaking knit stitches as she said, “You know, Beth, you should try something like that. It could cleanse Colin right out of your system.”

“He’s not in my system,” I retorted. “And even if he was, I don’t think I’d need to
sweat
him out.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” she replied, flippantly.

I was suddenly feeling defensive. “I don’t need any crazy purifying techniques to get over Colin. I’m moving on. I’m feeling optimistic about my romantic future.”

“I have faith in you,” Nicola said, with a supportive smile.

“Me too,” Sophie agreed. “When you see him tomorrow night, you’ll be a supportive friend, nothing more.”

“Thanks, guys,” I said sincerely. Then, for Angie’s benefit, “And I
definitely
will not sleep with him.”

Thirteen

DON’T SLEEP WITH
him . . . Don’t sleep with him . . . Just support him in his time of need and don’t sleep with him.
I repeated the mantra as I made my way up the walk to Colin’s building, as he buzzed me into the lobby with its omnipresent odour of frying onions, and as I climbed the carpeted staircase to his second-floor apartment. On the day of that symbolic dried orange peel toss, I had been so certain I’d never be here again, but, of course, I hadn’t factored in the death-in-the-family scenario. It would have been heartless to reject Colin’s plea for emotional support. He had been my friend, my
best
friend, for four years and I still cared about him.
Don’t sleep with him . . . Don’t sleep with him . . .

But when he opened the door I felt my stomach lurch involuntarily. Oh god. Maybe I’d underestimated my remaining feelings for him? He looked so handsome and sweet and a little bit sad. He was wearing the faded khaki T-shirt that I had always loved on him. I tried to ignore how it brought out the green in his eyes and highlighted his pectorals. “Hi,” he said, huskily. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. My voice was clipped and formal as I walked through the doorway. I turned to him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” he said sadly, his eyes downcast. “Come on in.”

As I entered the living room, the apartment felt familiar and yet strange. The elements were the same but it no longer had that feeling of hominess. Colin hadn’t replaced the pieces of furniture that I’d removed when I left, so the room had an unfinished feeling, like it was only half complete. I tried to ignore the symbolism as I sat on the small tan loveseat (the matching sofa was sitting in my storage locker).

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

Wine was not a good idea. You certainly didn’t need wine to comfort a sad friend, and it obviously wasn’t going to make Colin any less attractive. No, I’d suggest a cup of tea instead. But somehow, when I opened my mouth, the word “sure” came out. What was going on with me? Did my borderline alcoholic liver have control over my brain? Or was my nervous system just crying out for some sort of relaxant? I decided to go with the second theory.

Colin went to the kitchen and soon returned with two glasses of red wine. “It’s that Australian Cabernet Merlot you like so much,” he said, almost shyly.

“Thanks.” I took a long sip of the full-bodied red, and then placed it on the overturned laundry basket that was serving as a coffee table. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay. Better, now that you’re here.”

Don’t sleep with him . . . don’t sleep with him.
“How’s your mom?”

“It’s been hard on her. Grandpa was old, but it’s never easy to lose a parent, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course. Have you had the funeral already?”

“It was on Monday. It was a really nice service . . . sad, but nice.” He tore his eyes from his wineglass and looked at me intently. “How are you doing? You look great.”

I had to admit, I was looking pretty great. For some reason I’d put intense effort into my appearance that evening. While I knew you didn’t need blown-out hair and smokey eyes to comfort a friend in need, I’d felt compelled to take pains with my appearance. “Thanks. I’m doing well.” I paused. “Moving on.”

Colin winced at these words, as though they caused him physical pain. Oh shit. I was supposed to be comforting him, not rubbing his nose in the fact that I was suddenly feeling optimistic about my romantic future again. I reached for my wine. “Of course, some days are better than others.”

We sipped our drinks in silence for a while. We had always had that comfort level where words weren’t necessary, even when we were first dating. But things had changed and I scrambled for the appropriate thing to say. I could ask after his grandmother. But maybe I should leave the subject of loss behind for a while. What about work? I could ask how his design job was going. Or would that make it sound like I didn’t care that he’d just lost his grandfather? Maybe I should go broader and bring up some world affairs. I was just about to comment on the astronomical price of oil per barrel when Colin spoke.

“Beth...I wanted to see you tonight because—” His voice seemed to catch in his throat. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day and—”

I jumped in, my voice shrill. “But that’s not what this is about, right? I mean, your grandfather
died
!”

“Of course. It’s just that... my grandpa dying
and
it being Valentine’s Day made me realize . . .” He cleared his throat. “I still feel . . . umm . . . I just—”

“What? What?”

He set his wine on the laundry basket and reached for my hand. “I still love you, Beth, just as much as I ever did. And what we had together was so special and so wonderful.”

“It was, Colin, and I’ll always care about you, too, but—”

He cut me off. “Let me finish. I know we had some problems, some differences of opinion, but we can work on that. When my grandfather died, I just felt so—so alone without you. I need you, Beth. I really need you.”

Oh my god! Was he crying? He was! He was crying a little bit and begging me to come back! How many times had I fantasized about this exact scenario in the last few months? How many times had I hoped for some kind of catalyst to make him realize that his future was with me? It was unfortunate that his grandfather had to die for him to see it, but every cloud has a silver lining. “I need you, too,” I said, as tears sprang to my eyes. They weren’t tears of joy exactly, more tears of relief. Colin and I belonged together. We were a pair, one incomplete without the other—much like the couch and loveseat.

So when Colin reached for me and began to kiss me, I didn’t pull away. The
don’t sleep with him
mantra was irrelevant now. Surely his tears and heartfelt plea meant we were getting back together? That he was ready to commit to me, heart and soul? It only made sense to have some sort of celebratory sex. It was Valentine’s Day after all! While I knew some (i.e., Angie) would view the timing of our reunion as a little corny, I chose to see it as . . . poetic.

As he lay me down on the loveseat, I revelled in his familiar scent, his taste, the feeling of his hand as it reached under my sweater. No, this wasn’t new—it was better than new. It was easy and comfortable and yet still wildly exciting. I hadn’t been so much as touched by a man in over three months! Well, I think Martin may have accidentally brushed my elbow at our first stitch ’n bitch meeting, but that hardly counted. It simply wasn’t healthy to go that long without physical contact. I needed this as much as Colin did.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered, as he pulled his belt from his jeans.

“Okay,” I said, eagerly. “I know the way.”

IT WASN’T UNTIL COLIN’S CLOCK RADIO BEGAN TO blare at 7:20 A.M. that I realized I had spent the night. It had been my intention to go home after our lovemaking, but I’d felt so secure and warm in his arms that I must have drifted off. Besides, it had been so nice to sleep in our old bed again, lulled to slumber by the rhythmic sound of his breathing, and not to hear Kendra’s voice on the phone with her mom, complaining about the price of bus tickets.

“Hey, you,” he said sleepily, rolling over to kiss me.

“Hey,” I cooed. “I had fun last night.”

“Me, too.”

“Do you have to be at work at nine?”

“Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “Although...” A devilish grin appeared on his lips as he looked at me. “I could always call in sick.”

“Really?” Colin never called in sick! We’d only been back together one night and already he’d changed for the better! Not that calling in sick normally constituted a change for the better, but it was evidence of his new-found commitment to spending time with me.

“Sure.” He began to nuzzle my neck. “We’ve got to make up for lost time.” He began planting a trail of kisses along my neck, over my collarbone, and toward my breasts. It felt great, but there were serious issues looming that were distracting me.

“We have so much to talk about,” I said, “like, what are the next steps? Do we move back in together right away, or wait until we’re engaged? I think it would probably be better to wait. We don’t want people to think we’re one of those flaky couples who continually break up and get back together.” The kisses stopped. Colin lifted his head and looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Well . . . It’s just that we’ve only been back together like, ten minutes, and you’re already talking about getting engaged.”

My eyes narrowed. “You said we could overcome our differences of opinion.”

“We can,” he said, sitting up. “And we will. But I didn’t mean right this second. We’ve got lots of time to talk about it.”

I sat bolt upright. “Oh my god! Was this just a ploy to get me to have sex with you on Valentine’s night?”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is your grandpa even dead?!”

“Of course he is!” His voice was angry now, but I would not be deterred.

“I have one question for you, Colin.”

“What?” he grumbled.

“Have you changed your mind about getting married and having a family?”

There was a long, painful pause. Finally, he said, quietly, “I’m willing to talk about it some more.”

“Talk about it some more? We talked about it for four years!” I cried. “Have you changed your mind or not?”

“Well...” Colin cleared his throat. “My grandpa’s death did make me rethink things somewhat...”

“Somewhat?”

“Like I said...” He sounded nervous now. “I would definitely be willing to discuss the subject of—” he paused to clear his throat loudly again “—marriage.”

Oh my god! I had just slept with him under the illusion that he’d had some major revelation about the whole institution and yet he was choking on the word! I reached for my pants. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Beth, don’t go,” he said, touching my shoulder. “I meant what I said. I love you. I need you.”

But I had heard this tune before. Colin wanted me to be with him, but on his terms, not mine. Absolutely nothing had changed. I turned to face him, and when I spoke, my tone was surprisingly venomous. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? I guess you’re just going to have to get over me.”