“Her place, Sounds like you’ll be welcomed there.”
“Jesus, Becky, please? I want to stop.”
“Then I was really embarrassed when she started to cross lines, and?—”
“But you kissed her! What, were you were some kind of fucked up full-service escort?”
I choke on my next words as a wall of guilt and horror slams into me. “You just had that happen to you, and I. Oh my goodness. I justignoredyou, and kicked you out of—I told you to go to her!”
Tears are running freely down my face now, and I’m reaching for him. Wrapping my arms around his big stupid head and he wraps his arms carefully around me, before he tightens them solidly around me. I try to push out every ounce of understanding and acceptance in my arms and transfer it to him. We rock while I cry and cry but try and stop becauseit’s not about me. Because Taylor is truly a monster, and I let her hurt my gentle heart and soul andI didn’t protect him.
“Carter, listen.” I say, after my tears have abated and we are just sitting there holding each other in the darkening room.
“We still have so much to talk about, but I’d like for you to stay here tonight. I, I don’t think—I can’t share a room with you because everything is still so—I don’t know. But I know that I would like to be near you. I don’t want you going home to an empty house tonight.” I stop and check in with him. “I’d like you near me tonight, if that is something you’d like.”
“Yes. Please, always.” he says simply.
He’s lying on the couch where we were just sitting a few minutes later, while I lay near him thinking about everything I’ve learned tonight, and everything I’ve already known about the teacher’s assistant.
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t make you any promises about us. But I will promise you something else.” I take in his normally goofy happy face looking drained, exhausted, and stillhopeful. “I’m going to fucking destroy her.”
19
THE MEETING
BECKY
Iwake with a start, opening my dry as fuck eyes to a familiar, but out of place, set of open blinds. I grunt in dissatisfaction and squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them with the heel of my hands. They feel swollen, and my head is pounding—all from a mother fucking I-cried-all-night hangover. My eyes pop right back open at the reminder, and I blearily focus over at the other side of my massive sectional couch at my soundly sleeping companion.Carter.
Stunned at the night’s revelations, we sat in silence, then I broke the uneasy silence by extricating myself from his arms and asking if he wanted anything to drink. He shrugged his answer; however, I needed to do something with my hands, so I decided that was an agreement shrug.
The ritual of preparing the tea was an easy process to lose myself in. My hands worked through the familiar steps and my mind eased into focusing on the simple movements. First, the water in the kettle. Then, put the kettle on. I grabbed his mug, sifted through the selection in our tea drawer, grabbed his favorite, then when I had it in the cup, the water was ready. I poured the steaming liquid into the cup, the bag floating momentarily before it saturated and sunk back into the cup to steep properly. I took note of the time, then took care ofsome of the dishes in the sink and fed the obviously famished dogs. I checked the clock again after a bit and returned to the steaming cup. Thankfully, the string remained along the outside, providing me an easy hold to lift and dip the bag. I dipped it slowly up and back down, until the flavor thoroughly seeped into the hot water, darkening until I could no longer see the bottom. The imagery was an odd reflection of the darkness clouding my own thoughts. A small dribble of honey, and I knew it was perfect. The moon broke out from behind the clouds just as I returned to the living room with his mug and his favorite tea flawlessly prepared. My eyes fixed on the full, shockingly bright orb when I held Carter’s cup out to him. I was fixated enough that it took me a minute to realize he wasn't taking it. I resisted the urge to give it a little shake—because hot burning liquid—and finally checked if he was even looking.
Oh, he was looking. Carter was staring at the mug in my hands with an unreadable expression. His throat moved in an exaggerated swallow, but otherwise he didn’t make a move to take it. I didn’t budge, didn’t say a word. I watched him watch the cup, but his eyes grew unfocused. He opened his mouth to say something only to immediately shut it again. One of our dogs yelped at the other in the kitchen, causing him to blink a few times before his eyes refocused, and he was reaching out and taking his wrench mug from my hand. A tentative sip was followed by a softening of his features—exactly what I was aiming for.
What followed was a bunch of talking about pretty much nothing of importance late into the night. The change from one worded grunted responses to soft laughter and sharing our precious memories was subtle yet natural as breathing. It only ended when the man started snoring in the middle of one of my students’ shenanigans. We stayed far away from anything heavy. A tacit agreement that we’ve had enough heavy for awhile.
He slept, and I watched him, thinking about everything I learned. To say I have conflicted feelings would be a wild understatement.
Restless from last night’s memories, I sit up and stretch my arms high over my head, accidentally hitting the blinds and making themrattle. I freeze at the sound and shoot a quick glance at Carter. His mouth is wide open, and he doesn’t even flinch at the sound. Slowly, I bring my hand back down and finish my small stretch in a more contained way. A giant yawn comes over me and—I can’t think thoughts. Need coffee now.
With another quick peek at Carter, I gingerly ease up off the couch and creep to the coffee maker. There are way too many nuances involved in everything I’ve learned in the last ten hours for me to think aboutthisclusterfuck uncaffeinated.
I nab my perfect blend from the cabinet and frown. This bag is brand new. And—wait.I haven’thad to buy coffee in a month.I exclusively buy this brand in the smaller bags. It’s the one splurge I allow myself. Carter’s large body draped over the couch is all I need to solve the mystery. I shake my head, prep, and start the machine. Certain events from the previous night prevented me from having already freshly brewed coffee by this time, so now I scoop the optimal amount of grounds and start the slow drip of caffeinated perfection. The hypnotizing, slow drip of my coffee brewing lulls me into an easy state of contemplation. My eyes are on the coffee, but my mind is somewhere else. Namely, on Carter.
The jarring transition from being ninety-nine percent sure my ex-fiancé is a philandering fool to learning what actually happened over the summer is hard to compartmentalize. It’s nuanced and full of misunderstood and unknown depths. In some ways, I’m even more lost. Questions I would never ask outloud populate my head.Am I selfish for still being hurt by everything that he did have control over? What is his fault? Where do I draw the line? Can I hurt her the way she hurt us?
I believe that I’m going to struggle with what Icanbe upset over versus what was out of his hands. It makes me so angry, so sad, and so confused.
It also makes me want to wreck a bitch.
Violence foremost on my mind, I move over to my cabinet and find myStill here. Still bitter.mug.Perfect. Except the coffee isnotdone brewing. My head hits the counter with a soft, but still harder-than intended, thud. I learned at a Stewart family get-together thatone doesnot simplyinterrupt the brewing process to fill your cup.It is a cardinal sin in the Stewart household.
The pot continues dripping at a slow, uninterrupted pace. I can’t stop the heavy sigh that escapes me as my mind cycles through what I know now and what I knew then.
