Caleb tips his head back. His lips curve into one of his signature cocky grins. His mouth opens void of words or excuses before he clears his throat and lands those blue-mirrored lenses over mine.
“I came back for you.”
A thick silence thumps by. It feels as if it lasts four long years. “You sure took your time.” I cock a wry smile at him. One thing I learned with Keith is that you have to throw the dog a bone once in a while if you want him to stick around. But Caleb is no dog. He’s a fox, a stud, a steed, an inseminator bull that all the pretty girls go out of their way to bat their lashes at, sort of like I’m doing now. It’s disgusting, I know. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever be back. You McCarthy boys aren’t necessarily known for telling the truth, at least not up around these parts.” I do my best impersonation of a country bumpkin when I say it. It is true, though. His cousin, Warren, is a classic weasel—the exact weasel who cheated on—tried to rape—and marry, Reese. Thank God for Ace. And when I look into the glowing firefly eyes of this beautiful man before me, I think of Keith and want to scream thank God for Caleb. It makes little sense, but very few of my lucid thoughts do.
“I’m back, Kennedy.” His dimples dig in without the effort of a smile. Caleb is legendary for those deep-welled divots in his cheeks. I’m not so sure that even his law degree impresses the ladies as much. “I’m staying.” He says it emphatic, stern, as if he were about to dole out a punishment. I’m not too sure I’d mind. “Tell me what happened between you and Keith. I heard rumors. You’re not together. I want to hear it straight from you.”
“Then what? You’ll know whether or not you’re wasting your time?” He’s not. I take that back, he might be. Keith and I broke up for good early last summer. It was strange the way it finally went down on the long way to our doom. After all those fits and starts it was all rather anticlimactic. I caught him with his mouth sealed over some drunk coed, and I simply tapped him on the shoulder and waved hello—technically, it wasgoodbye,not that anyone cares. I certainly didn’t, but I pretended to. God, did I ever. I wielded my false broken heart like a handful of sharpened knives all over campus. I made sure my sorority sisters knew that I was not to be cheated on—ever.
I was a liar, still am in many respects. It’s a sad admission especially when the only person you’re really lying to is yourself. But a long time ago those lines were blurred for me, and for some incomprehensible reason, I don’t feel a shred of guilt over these vague deceptions—a gift from my mother. Treachery, betrayal, deceit—she had me roll them over my tongue, my heart, like rosary beads until they became my religion. We were the liars, the crucifiers of men through our twisted words. She molded me into who I am, a monster with a black hole where my soul once stood.
“We just quit.” I shrug. Keith and I were glorified quitters when it came to our relationship. It was the only thing we were ever really good at, the only thing we could get right (even temporarily), the only thing we ever wanted to do together was quit one another. “He cheated, and I left. It was rather un-dramatic.” Lie number two. Have I lied yet? I’m terrible at keeping track of my transgressions. That’s where Reese and I are so different. Her transgressions eat her alive, and I’m rather noncommittal to mine. “He dumped me. I dumped him. Six of one, half dozen of the other.” I give another unconcerned shrug. “We all lived happily ever after—separately, of course.” Lie number three. There were so many odd and juvenile occurrences that have happened since. Who could live happily ever after? First there was a rash of magazine subscriptions—hundreds of them—sent to Keith’s dorm with a surprising gift message,from Kennedy with love!All suspiciously billed to him. Not sure how I pulled that one off. Then there was the more to-the-pointgraphicselection of magazines sent to his parent’s house—a gift from me to his father. His parents are both happily married. They still kiss and grope one another whenever they can. They call out weak innuendos while whipping up Sunday dinners together. All that saccharin solidarity made me want to vomit. Not that I didn’t want that for myself, but witnessing it, imagining what they might be doing behind closed doors was all a little much. I’m betting they don’t look at the magazines together. Then came the Craigslist voyeurs, pounding down his door to pick up his prized collection of guitars, which were all listed asfree!And who could forget the crowds coming to take a quick look at his vintage roadster, which was up for grabs for a whopping$20.00or best offer!Keith was not amused and quickly lost patience with my “middle school antics.”
Then things swiftly elevated. There was a hand written proposal sent to him, outlining the prospect of pinning a rape, a murder on him—all written in my perfect penmanship. None of those (ingenious) gags were actually perpetrated by me. None of the more serious pranks, not the gasoline doused on his luxury sports car with a book of matches lying over the hood like a promise, not the dozens of bloody Kotex stuck to his windshield (it was red nail polish come to find out). I didn’t put the dead raccoon in his oven. Keith doesn’t cook, so he lived with the rancid stink for a week.
A smug grin comes over my face at the memory. I hope it reminded him of a trip to visit Ms. I’ll-show-you-my-Knickerbockers. Some people just need to be taught a lesson, and Keith happens to be one of them.
“What are you smiling about?”
“Oh.” I shake myself out of my trance. “Nothing actually. Keith and I broke up. The end.” Then there was the box of dildos sent to his younger, very sweet (although no longer innocent) little sisters. I’ll have to talk tomysisters again, as in the ones at Alpha Kappa. Who the hell else would go so far? And that’s not even touching the tip of the perverse iceberg. It’s no wonder Keith is pissed. It’s the very reason I dropped out of Yeats for the time being. Somebody, somebody who is very much pretending to be Keith’s very disgruntled ex-girlfriend, is doing a great job of psychotic breakup revenge, and it is most certainly not me. Lie number four was buried somewhere in that mess. I’d offer you a wink if I could.
“I’d better get back.” I rise and dust the sand from my thighs.
“Kennedy Westfield,” he gravels it out, slow and depressed as if my name alone had the power to painfully puncture his heart.
“It’s Slade.” There. A kernel of truth. You have to tell the truth once in a while to remind yourself you care about the world. I’m ready to care about the world, about people. Maybe Caleb will be the divining rod to all things truth and light for me, after all he is a champion of justice. A tight smile comes and goes on my lips. It’s a well-known fact that the truth and a lie are just a breath away in the mouth of a very good attorney. I should know, I’m pre-law myself.
“Kennedy Slade.” He tests it out, his hand finding its way to the small of my back. “Kennedy Slade?” His head cocks as he puts together the pieces.
Of course, he should question this, I had told him long ago it was Westfield.
I nod. “As in Peter Slade.” My father is a razor-toothed prehistoric shark that’s been diving into icy legal waters before Caleb was a sperm waiting to take the swim of a lifetime. “He’s a piece of work isn’t he?” My father is your go-to man if you’ve just killed your significant other and don’t have it in you to do any time. He pulled some pretty amazing rabbits out of his hat and has succeeded in freeing even the most vile, guilt-riddled lowlifes and putting them back out on the street to live to offend society another day. “I’m hoping to study law myself. I plan on putting behind bars each of the scumbags he’s set free.” That’s only a partial lie. Although I have actually contemplated this.
“You get along that well with your dad, huh?” That light bulb flash goes off in his mouth again as his lips give me the full Monty—ear to ear, and I’m loving it. A rush of heat flushes through my body at the sight. I can feel that grin straight to my tingling bones. I’m beginning to suspect Caleb’s smile has healing properties.
“Fair warning, I’m all about the daddy issues, Caleb. Or maybe you’d like for me to callyouDaddy?” I bat my lashes, my lips holding the curve of a promise they never intend to keep.
“It’s okay, I’m not particularly a fan of my old man either.” There’s a sadness lingering in his eyes.
“Isn’t he an attorney, too?” I know he is. So is his brother. The other brother is a drunk, a crack head or something like that. Fun city.
“Yes, he is. He and my older brother are partners.”
“Oh? Is this the gathering of the black sheep?” I’m suddenly drunk off the idea of Caleb and I forging a bond over the disdain of our families, at least the patriarchal branch.
His jaw clenches tight, his eyes grow heavy and sedate as he needles his gaze into mine.
“Just might be.” He drags his lips into a forcible smile before that seductive look takes over, and my thighs tremble for a kiss.
We make our way back, walking at an even clip with me picking up speed every time I think he’s getting a little too close. If he does get a little bit closer, if his full lips come to cover mine, I won’t want to stop there. I’m not some love-struck teenager saving my starched vagina for my wedding night anymore. I waited six months for Caleb to claim me, save me, caveman style before giving it up to Keith in the back of his retro micro bus, one foot hanging out the window for all to see.
I’ve dreamed for endless nights of the things I could do to Caleb.
We come upon the party again. An anemic stream of drunken girls, drunk guys all stagger toward the lake like zombies.
“Kennedy!” A happy, all-too-familiar, voice calls from behind, and I cringe.
I pivot before confirming my embarrassing theory. My mother and my stepfather Charles—Chuck—stand in their matching white jogging suits, their freshly combed hair, their neat smiles. I’m glad my mother is finally happy. Her discontent with my father had been a festering wound for the both of us. It took some time for that laceration to encrust over. The lesion never fully healed. She keeps picking away at it, picking at that damn scab. One day there will be a bloody crater to deal with. For some people happiness just isn’t enough.
