Let's Try This Again Page 3

  That might’ve been what hurt the worst. Thinking about the day when Isaac would finally be able to let go of me because he should. Maybe he’d stay immature forever and never think about what was best for me? A girl can dream.

  What the girls were missing, though, was that this time I had a fool-proof out. I was moving. Lease-signed-stuff-sent moving. Even if something went wrong—if the plan didn’t work, if another piece of my heart got broken off, floated away, and popped a lung, I was leaving.

  If that doesn’t force you to get over someone, nothing will.

  Right?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  1 Month Before

  And things didn’t go wrong at first. I was definitely having a fine time not getting attached. We didn’t speak unless we were setting up a time to hook up. We didn’t snuggle…okay, there was a little snuggling but only just before we fell asleep. We always woke up un-intertwined and never took it upon ourselves to wrap our legs together or pull one another in so that I’d wake up in his arms, like I always had in the past. Mornings had been my favorite time with him once. Now, it was just waking up in a bed that wasn’t my own, getting dressed, and heading on my way. I felt in control of the situation for the most part. At least I had control over what I could feel and what I was doing.

  But it was hard to stay away for too long. I didn’t miss him when I wasn’t with him, and I wasn’t sad thinking about spending nights alone. I just craved him. Like when you take a sip of water and surprise yourself by drinking the whole glass, and you didn’t even realize you were that thirsty. Or taking the first bite then feeling the deep, nauseating rumble in your stomach and realizing you hadn’t known hungry you’d actually been. We were parched and starving. I needed him to want me; but I didn’t want him to need me.

  If that all makes me slutty, oh well, fuck me I guess. No pun intended. Pun kind of intended. Happy accident. Like I mentioned earlier, sex with Isaac was just so incredible. Usually it was incredible because of the connection; he could be so gentle and kind while still doing things that made me want to chew his clothes off. Now, it was incredible because I felt powerful. He wanted me, and I was in control. When I got up to leave, it was like I could feel his eyes on my ass. I felt like Beyoncé.

  Of course, things started to change. One of my favorite sayings is, “The good news is; nothing lasts forever. The bad news is; nothing lasts forever.” We had a fab thing going, one that simply couldn’t last forever if only because of the time limit placed upon it. So that was the good news. The bad news was that, while neither of us wanted to get attached, old habits began to creep in. So hard to explain. It’s not like either of us were, like, dead set, head over heels, madly sure that we would be together forever. Conversely, having to acknowledge that a day would come when we wouldn’t be able to just meet up casually, a day when he couldn’t kiss my neck, and I couldn’t bite his lip, was a real bummer. And, then, of course, Isaac started being Isaac. The good Isaac, not the evil one. The one that comes out to play and lures me in, just to kick me in the ovaries a few months later. I originally had only intended to get his dick up, not my hopes. But Isaac was the prince of mixed signals. I’d say king, but I don’t want to give him that much authority.

  It started one night when we were about a month into everything, and a month before I was supposed to leave. Smack dab in the fucking middle. I had come over after working ten hours at my current publishing job, reading manuscripts and getting yelled at by my devil boss, so I was really in the mood to relax. For all you losers out there who use stress as an anti-sex excuse, sex is one of the best de-stressors. Just tweet at Cosmo and ask.

  “How was your day?” Isaac asked—innocently—as I came in the door. The only problem was that we weren’t really doing the whole “small talk” thing.

  We would pretty much just strip when we both got home. In fact, as he talked, I was unbuttoning my shirt. I was taken off guard by the “talking,” so I paused the unbuttoning and let my black lace bra steal the spotlight. Maybe it would stop the noises coming from his mouth?

  I stepped out of one shoe, then the other. “It was fine.”

  “Really? You don’t look that fine.”

  I gave Isaac a disapproving look at that comment. I tried to hide it right away because that seemed awfully girlfriend-y, but he caught it anyway. “No, I mean you look great. But…your face. It didn’t say fine when you did.”

  “Are you still trying to have sex with me or…?” I was joking, obviously. It was fun to watch him squirm. Kinda like the old days. I undid another button, watching as his eyes roved down my chest. Then he shook his head weirdly, like a cartoon character trying to rewind something. His eyes focused again.

  “Oh please. I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”

  “FINE. My day was heinous. I spilled coffee on myself, then worse yet, on a manuscript. I read nothing of value. A girl who started working after I did got promoted to junior copyeditor. It sucked. Can we bone now?”

  “Bone? You sound like Molly.”

  “I’ve been getting that a lot lately.” I pulled the last of my shirt out of my skirt and unbuttoned the rest. My silk blouse slid off my shoulders onto his kitchen floor. I walked to him and kissed him, waiting for the familiar tug at the back of my bra.

  Like, honestly, no matter how old they get that never seems to come easily for them. The tug never came though, and he backed off.

  “Does it matter that someone else got promoted? You’re leaving anyway.”

  “Yeah, so? Still doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed that someone got a job they didn’t deserve. I can still have a crappy day.” He shut up, either accepting this as true or deciding he really didn’t feel like arguing with me. Besides I could see that he was finally ready to feel something else.

  He lifted me into the air. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling his shirt off as he walked me to his room. “Let’s see if I can fix that bad day,” he whispered. My hero (eye roll). Actually, at this point, they were rolling for a wildly different reason. Isaac put me down on the edge of his bed, sliding my skirt off as I leaned back on my elbows. I expected to feel his weight on top of me at any moment, so I just shut my eyes. By the grace of God, instead, I felt his tongue push my underwear to the side, then move between my legs. Crappy day? What crappy day? He was a goddamn artist. The Picasso of pussy—and I just want to point out that I despise that word, but it’s for the sake of alliteration, people. I’m sorry, I’m gagging.

  Isaac’s hands reached up to mine, and I knew what he was after. He’s got this thing about hands in his hair while he’s down there. He wants me to run my fingers through it, pulling when I can’t seem to stop myself. Sexy as hell (what did I tell you?). But instead he just held them. My eyes opened at this point, taking me out of the moment. He’s holding my hands. During sex. I wanted to be able to like it; it was a sweet gesture. But we were not in the market for sweet, here.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t hard for me to get back into things because Isaac lifted his head and pulled on my hands, gently dragging me down onto the floor with him. To some people, this may seem strange. There was a perfectly good, even perfectly perfect, bed less than a foot away from us and yet we were having sex on the floor. I cannot begin to tell you how hot it was. Like he couldn’t stand to walk even two more inches without me.

  It was different than the other times we’d been going at it for the past month though. Every kiss was a little longer. Every finger graze a little softer. At one point he even fully stopped everything just to look at me. Just stared into my eyes. It was a brief moment, but it happened.

  But that wasn’t even the worst, most telling part of it. After we finished, we found our way to the bed. Actually, Isaac scooped me up and dropped me there, lying down and sliding up next to me. He laid his head on my naked chest, tucking his arm behind me. It felt like home.

  “Have you always had this?” Isaac touched the side of my breast.

  Tracing a circle around somethi
ng.

  “Had what?” Craning my neck to see, I pulled my skin towards my face causing his head to lift. A freckle. “Uh…I guess? I’ve never noticed it before, but I don’t stare at my naked side boob that often,” I joked. I lay back down. He stayed propped up on his elbow, looking at me again. Then he rubbed the freckle like he was Columbus, and it was his newly discovered territory, finally marked down on a map.

  “I like the idea that there’s something about you I knew before you did,” he said, so softly I almost thought I hadn’t heard him right. He lay back down on me and went to sleep.

  ***

  We woke up still tangled together, the same way we had fallen to sleep. With a puddle of drool under my boob, but whatever, basically the same.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1 Day Less Than 1 Month Before

  “It’s happening. I told you it was going to happen, and I was right. I told…” Molly shook her finger self-righteously. I grabbed it.

  “Don’t you dare say I told you so. What is that, fifth grade? Get a life, dork.” I laughed, releasing her from my grip.

  “Is something funny about this to you?” Ellie dipped a chip into guac. We were having a Mexican themed slumber…aka tequila and guacamole. No one had thought to bring a sombrero, unfortunately. “You’re five seconds from getting your ass kicked back to where it was six months ago.”

  “You know what, ladies? I’m not. Just because he might be feeling a certain way doesn’t mean I have to be.”

  “That’s true if you were, say, me.” Molly raised her eyebrows at us. “But you are you, Josie. You don’t look before you leap. And then you put yourself back together with scotch tape and think everything’s fixed. I just don’t believe you’re not falling for this all over again.” She sipped her margarita. Ellie nodded at me while licking the sugar off the rim of hers.

  “That might have been true. It may even still be true. But right now, I feel fine,” I tried to reason with them.

  “Maybe you’re just subconsciously trying to hurt him the way he hurt you?” Ellie’s eyebrows rose.

  My subconscious could be one sneaky bitch. It was possible. “No. I mean, maybe. But no, I definitely care about Isaac, I’m not going to sit here and fucking deny that like a moron. But I don’t care about what’s going on in his head. I don’t care if I’m being stupid. I don’t care about anything.” I gulped my drink.

  “How?” Molly asked.

  “Why?” Ellie followed up.

  “Because heartbreak changes you. I won’t do it again. I can’t.”

  They both absorbed that, not wanting to add anything right away because there was certainly truth to this. They both knew that. But they knew better, too, ‘cause don’t we all—when the person needing the advice isn’t us?

  “And you want to run right back to the guy that broke you in the first place,” Molly finally spit out. Isn’t it fascinatingly tragic how the only thing powerful enough to keep you alive is also weak enough to let you feel things that made you wish you weren’t alive at all?

  ***

  Things continued to…change. Well, I’m hesitant to say change because things actually went back to the way they were before we had broken up, so they changed back to the way they had been before things changed. Get it? We cuddled longer and talked more. He’d text me funny, stupid pictures with cheesy pickup lines. Like a picture of a pile of sugar, and he’d ask, “Did you sit on this today?” When I’d respond no, why? confused as fuck, he’d respond, “Cause you’ve got a sweet ass.”

  I still felt strong enough to continue with the whole arrangement – or maybe I was too weak to leave it. But it did seem as if I had him wrapped around my finger; I wasn’t prepared to give up that power just yet. I’m a power-hungry, crazy bitch, just like any other girl.

  “Tell me something,” Isaac whispered into my collarbone one night after we’d had sex on just about every surface of his house. Here we go. Doing that annoyingly charming questions game that made me feel like he was desperate to be as close to me as possible.

  “Uh…I had a taco for lunch,” I sassed. I had to at least try to discourage this kind of behavior. Plus, I was really exhausted by all the boning and all the gymnastics and I kind of just wanted to go to sleep.

  “You know what I mean. Something I don’t know about you. Something most people don’t know.”

  “Why? Who cares?”

  He didn’t say, “I do,” like I might’ve been hoping he’d say…ahem…like I might’ve been hoping to hear before, I mean. He just nudged me under the covers, jutting his elbow into my hip. When I didn’t do anything, Isaac traced his fingers along the right side of my back—an infamously ticklish part of my body. I wriggled away from him, but he just held me closer. He didn’t say it, but it was like he had.

  “Fine. Fine!” The tickling stopped. “When I was little, like five maybe…my mom came into my room one day and saw me shaking my pillowcase. Like crazy, like a little psycho.”

  “That sounds about right,” he joked, poking my ribs once more.

  “Hey, funny guy, do you want to tell jokes or let me finish?”

  “I always want to let you finish.” He laughed at himself.

  The side-eye I sliced his way zipped his mouth right back up. “Anyway. She asked me what I was doing, obviously.” I paused for dramatic effect.

  “And? Why were you doing it?”

  I also kind of was pausing because this story was kind of stupid, and I was regretting having picked this detail to share with him. I wasn’t really sure why it had come to mind.

  “I told her that I was shaking out the dreams I had had that night. I told her I needed a new pillowcase every night from then on because I had so many dreams that they filled up my pillows and made them hard to sleep on.”

  I thought he would laugh, but he didn’t.

  “That’s…deep for a five year old,” he said instead. “You little weirdo. So how’d you shallow out over the years?” There it was. The laugh.

  I pounced on him, giving back some of that tickling torture he had inflicted on me. Except mine came with more pinches and punches. Oops. Sorry, not sorry.

  2 Weeks Before

  One day a week later, I was having dinner with my mom. She’d been in the mood to spoil me because she knew how much she’d miss me once I left. To be honest, that was turning out to be one of the best parts of leaving. I was excited to feel missed. I felt like I deserved to be missed. My friends, my family, they took me for granted. Knowing they would feel a little bit lost without me made me feel good. I know that sounds shitty.

  I was told once that being a female middle child with an older sister was the worst sibling position to grow up in. It lent itself to a fucked growing up. The person telling me this had no clue that I myself was a middle child. With an older sister. I never felt especially fucked up because of it; my sister and I are great friends. But she was loud and exuberant. I mean, it says it all that she won best personality in high school. Gets along with everybody. I don’t understand people that get along with everyone, and that includes my sister, Becca. Excluding my sister Becca, I don’t trust people that get along with everyone. To me it shows that you don’t have standards about the type of people you’ll allow in your life. It’s a goddamn privilege to be my friend; you have to earn it and prove that you’re worth investing in. Maybe that’s why I only have a few close friends. I don’t have time for pleasant acquaintances.

  Don’t get me wrong; it’s okay to be nice to people. Be caring. But don’t be everyone’s friend. Not everyone deserves to be your friend. And if you make everyone think that they do, they’ll run the fuck all over you. My face is too pretty for footprints, and I don’t feel bad knowing that.

  My little brother was the star, the incredible athlete that excelled at everything in school. He had a charm like Becca’s—he got along with everyone. Both of my siblings could’ve benefited from a little of my hard edge. I probably could’ve benefited from some of their vulnerability. H
e had a brain more like mine and because of that Becca usually felt like she was the loner sibling. But she had my mom; they were hardwired by the same programmer. She never let us forget it when she felt left out, unlike me or my brother, Ethan, who’d had his own black sheep moments being the only boy.

  Growing up with a talker like Becca and a pretty boy like Ethan helped me get overlooked here and there. I would just sit and observe, mostly. My mom kinda let me do my own thing. That was probably why I was considered the problem child for a short period of time. I drank before Becca did. Slept with boys before Becca did. Snuck out of the house (Becca never did). Maybe I wanted attention. Maybe that’s why I was so eager to feel missed now. Maybe being the baby girl stuck in the middle of two strong siblings did fuck me up. I guess we’ll see.

  Anyway, we were talking about my siblings, gossiping about my cousins, worrying about my grandparents, and rolling our eyes at passersby over salads at our favorite restaurant. A typical lunch date with Mom. Mostly it’s her talking at me, with me piping up with some witty one-liners here and there. It’s pretty much the same relationship I have with my sister.

  I got a text towards the end of the meal and hung my head to read it. It was just Isaac with a “hey you.” It would’ve been cute, except it shouldn’t have been there.

  “What?” My mother interrupted my typing back to him. I looked up, confused. “What…what?”

  “Is it one of the girls?” Meaning Ellie or Molly; we were always “the girls.” Nevertheless, I was still confused about her questioning.

  “No. What are you talking about?”

  “What are you smiling about? Who are you talking to?”

  Ah, here we go. Apparently (embarrassingly) I had been smiling (unintentionally), and that meant my mother felt like she was obligated to find out why. Or get in on the joke. Ever since my sister and I became old enough to actually be friends, Peggy (our mother), had felt the constant need to be included in our jokes and conversations. If that was going to be the extent of her midlife crisis, we decided it was manageable.