Blind Kiss Page 5

I looked at my watch. I had to be at the garage in fifty minutes.

  Screw it; give me the damn tights.

  “I can help, but I only have about twenty minutes before I have to bolt.”

  “Oh, bummer,” Penny said. “I was hoping you could look at my car in the parking lot. It’s broken down and I actually do need a ride.”

  Doug was confused.

  “Did I say twenty minutes? I meant an hour and twenty minutes.” Who cares if I was late? Pete could deal with it. I hadn’t been to work late in over a week.

  “Take off your boots,” Penny said as she stretched.

  “Gladly. Anything else you’d like me to take off?”

  God, I couldn’t stop looking at her underwear through her sheer tights, or were they pantyhose? Who cares.

  She smirked. “Gavin, get serious. This isn’t a social experiment. If you drop me, I’ll kill you.”

  “I won’t drop you.”

  “Work on the superman lift first,” Doug said.

  “God, that lift is hard,” she said under her breath. She was nervous. “Okay, stagger your legs like this.” She showed me and I mimicked her. “You need a solid center of gravity. I’ll jump and you’ll lift me over your head.”

  “Like Dirty Dancing?”

  “Kind of, yes. Just don’t drop me, Casanova. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  She placed my hands on her hips. “This is where you’ll be lifting me from, which means most of my body will be over your head and back. If you lift me too hard and fast, I’ll go flying and come crashing down, probably on my head. I could die or be paralyzed.”

  “No pressure,” I said.

  “How tall are you anyway?”

  “Six-two.”

  “Great.” She wasn’t smiling. “I don’t know why I’m agreeing to do this.”

  The music came on but it was different. I recognized it immediately. It was a cover of Bob Dylan’s “Just Like a Woman,” sung by Jeff Buckley. How fitting.

  “God, I love this song,” I said.

  “I love him, too. You ready?”

  “I can play this for you later if you want.”

  “I’d like that,” she said.

  “It’s such a perfect song for right now.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you someday.”

  We were five inches apart. Our chests were heaving. And we liked the same music. How the hell was this happening?

  “You ready to throw me in the air or what, Gavin?”

  Right at the lyric, “She makes love just like a woman,” she ran toward me, I picked her up, and a moment later she was over my head. I could feel her strength in my hands. We were steady. I knew she made love just like a woman; I could feel it in my fingertips.

  Doug clapped. “Beautiful. Hold it. Beautiful, just beautiful.”

  It felt like she weighed nothing.

  “Okay, Gavin, you’re going to cradle her now. Watch her knee.”

  When I dropped her into my arms, she giggled, but I was frozen . . . mesmerized.

  “What?” she said. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “I don’t know.” I held her.

  All of a sudden I didn’t want to fuck her anymore. I mean I did, but more than that, I wanted to get to know her.

  When I set her down, she said, “Well done. You’re an old pro.”

  “That was easy.”

  Doug came onto the stage. “Don’t worry, that was it,” he told me. “We’re not going to ask you to dance. I wanted Penny to test something. How’d you feel?” he asked her.

  “Strong,” she said.

  “Good. Keep your head up. I’ll bring Joey in for extra conditioning. He needs to regain his confidence.”

  Doug shook my hand and said, “Thanks a lot, Gavin. This whole thing is about trust. It seems like you two have it.”

  She trusted me?

  “Penny and Joey have struggled with their lifts lately. It’s not always easy to find the right partner. It requires a subtle alchemy. You know? A little bit of magic.”

  I looked over at Penny, who was squinting at me with the same peculiar look I’m sure I was giving her. I didn’t take my eyes off her when I responded to Doug. “Well, she is my best friend, so yeah, the trust is there.”

  Penny laughed and shook her head.

  After she gathered her stuff and we headed to the door, she turned to me. “Sure you don’t mind taking a look at my car and giving me a ride? I live really close by.”

  Giving me a ride?

  “I’m sure I don’t mind. Let’s hit it.”

  I was converting every word of our conversation into a sexual proposition. I needed to get a grip.

  6. Nine Months Ago

  PENNY

  Checking my calendar for the fifth time that morning, it occurred to me that it was the first day since my son was born that I didn’t have some obligation that had to do with raising a child, running a household, or being married. There were no soccer practices or guitar lessons after school. It wasn’t my carpool day. I didn’t have a grocery list to fulfill, or science project supplies to buy, or bills to pay, or laundry to do. I just had coffee to drink and a backyard to stare at.

  I kissed my son good-bye for the day, came back inside, and took a bubble bath. I knew it would be the highlight of my day, so I took my time. It was fall but sunny and warm out. I decided to shave my legs on the off chance that someone would see them. My husband had been at work since before I even woke up, and he’d be away for the next two days on business in Michigan or Minnesota. Some place colder than Fort Collins, was all I knew. He stopped telling me where he was going, and frankly, I stopped caring.

  My life was usually an exercise in completing the same list of responsibilities over and over again. It was mundane. I felt like I was losing myself, who I was, and what my dreams were. But I had my bed and a roof over my head—at least that’s what my mother would tell me. And magically, there were only a few things to do today.

  After turning up the heater to seventy-eight degrees, knowing it would piss off my husband, I walked around naked for a while and thought about masturbating, but I was too lazy. I weighed myself twice—once before I ate a bowl of cereal and once after. Then I went through all of Facebook . . . literally. I looked at the profile of every single person I was friends with from high school, and then I looked at the clock. It was only ten a.m.

  I threw on a pair of tattered sweats, put on some music, stretched, and did some dancing in our loft, which my husband had converted into a tiny studio for me. My only outlet for creativity.

  At eleven, Gavin texted me. This wasn’t unusual. He always texted me in the morning. He lived an hour away, in Denver, where he owned a garage and made his own hours so he could come and go as he pleased. The man had two college degrees but preferred working on cars and living in a studio apartment above a tattoo parlor. If Gavin wanted to add a new tattoo to his collection on a whim, he could easily do just that. There was no cohesiveness to his ink, no well-planned sleeve. Though most of his forearms were covered, it was by piecemeal artwork. He didn’t have health insurance but he had plenty of tattoos. That was Gavin.

  Not that I could judge him. I was thirty-five and had never had a job. I’d had some very random luck with stock investments but that wasn’t exactly a career.

  Gavin: Hey . . .

  Me: What’s up? I’m dancing.

  There was a long pause, so I took my phone downstairs to pour myself more coffee.

  Gavin: You’re dancing?

  Me: I was, now I’m drinking coffee. What’s up?

  Gavin: I’m lost, P. I need you.

  It had been a long time since Gavin had said anything like that to me.

  Me: Where are you?

  Gavin: In your driveway.

  I laughed in shock, then ran to the door and swung it open. It had been two months since I last saw him—almost the longest we’d gone since meeting e
ach other fourteen years ago in Ling’s psych study.

  He was standing on the porch right outside, looking at me with sad, tired eyes. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  He leaned his body to one side to look past me into the house. “Where’s whathisface?”

  “You were in our wedding, you know his name, and he’s away on business for two days. Tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Milo?”

  “He’s at school.”

  “I didn’t want to impose.”

  “How long have you been out in the driveway?”

  “An hour or so.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Staring at your house.”

  “That’s creepy. Get in here, dork.”

  I stood aside so he could come in. He didn’t move. He was wearing his usual boots, jeans, and a T-shirt, with no jacket or flannel. He had his hands deep in his pockets, his arms pressed to his body, and he was shaking.

  “What are you waiting for? Come in, you’re cold.” It wasn’t that cold out but he was practically shivering.

  He walked in and basically collapsed into my arms, his warm breath on my neck. “Fuck, Penny.”

  “What?”

  “He’s dying. For real.”

  I knew he was talking about his dad. He was the only man Gavin gave a shit about.

  “Oh no. No, no.” My heart was broken in an instant. Broken for Frank, Gavin’s dad, whom I loved, and for Gavin, my best friend, whom I also loved.

  His dad lived in the house at the end of our block, so when Gavin came to Fort Collins, he usually came to visit both his dad and my family . . . or his dad and me, rather. He loved Milo and got along fine with my husband, but when he came over, it was to see me. I knew that.

  “I’m so sorry,” I told him as I held him. He started to cry. “Talk to me.”

  I took his hand and led him to our living room. His eyes were puffy and red. He pointed to our couch and asked, “When did you get that?”

  “Recently. Buckley chewed up the other one.”

  Buckley, our yellow Lab—think Marley and Me—destroyed everything.

  “You have a white couch, P.” It was a statement of fact as well as an accusation.

  “Do you want coffee?” I asked him, ignoring the comment.

  “Espresso, please, though I’m afraid I’ll spill it on your white couch.” He was still emotional, but now he was laughing a little as he sat down.

  Inside the kitchen, I watched him as I turned on the espresso machine. He was running his hand over the white fabric.

  “Are you making fun of my couch?”

  “No. Well, kind of.”

  “I thought you were sad and lost. Not too sad and lost to make fun of my furniture, apparently?” I finished the drink and handed him the tiny mug of espresso.

  “I am sad.”

  I plopped down next to him and crossed my legs. He took a sip and set the mug down on the glass table in front of us before glancing out the big back window. “You have a way better yard than my dad. I should have helped him more over the years, with his yard and everything. I should have been here. I’m mad at myself.”

  Gavin’s dad had remarried a woman named Jackie when we were in our mid-twenties. She and Gavin didn’t get along. Gavin thought she was an alien . . . seriously. He said aside from her eyes being too big and far apart to be human, she also had no family and never shared her background with his dad. He got superstoned one night and called the FBI and reported her to them, saying she was using some woman’s body as a host. The next day, when the THC had worn off, he called everyone who knew the story and apologized. But later, when he was sober, he told me he still thought she was an alien.

  He didn’t talk to his dad for three years. It was only after the divorce that they finally made amends. Gavin regretted shutting out his dad during the Jackie phase. His mom still lived in Los Angeles, but he rarely spoke to her. The tension between them was much harder to get over.

  “Where is Buckley anyway?” he asked.

  “In the garage. I put him in there when I dance; otherwise he’ll jump all over me.”

  “I get it.”

  “I know. He’s hyper but he’s still a puppy. He’ll calm down.”

  “No, I mean I get why someone would want to jump all over you when you’re dancing.”

  I rolled my eyes. I either completely ignored his comments like that or I’d say something to shock him. “You wanna go fuck upstairs? I put these sweats on especially for you.”

  He looked at my tattered sweats and stained T-shirt. “You still look hot.”

  “Gavin.” I gave him my typical “time to change the subject” look.

  “Relax, I’m messing with you. Though you do still have that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Transcendent beauty.” He took a long breath and released it. “He has prostate cancer, stage four. It’s spread all over. He didn’t tell me. He fucking didn’t tell me, Penny. Not until he knew he only had months or weeks to live.”

  “Why? Why would he do that?”

  “Because he didn’t want to burden me, I guess.”

  His face fell. He swallowed. His eyes welled up again and mine did, too. “Oh Gavin, I’m so sorry.”

  He fell into me again and buried his face in my chest. “He’s all I have left. I have no family . . . nothing.”

  “But what about Jenn, and your mom?”

  “My mom’s a lost cause. In rehab again. Her stupid boyfriend is paying for it. And I broke up with Jenn. Six months ago.”

  “What?” I was shocked. All revelations to me. It had been his longest relationship to date. Three years, and they were about to move in with each other. “Why didn’t you tell me? You tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know. I thought you’d be mad. I knew you liked her.”

  “I am mad. She was sweet and kind and loving and—”

  “She was a soul crusher, P. She was like the joke police. She never laughed at a single one of my jokes.”

  “You broke up with your girlfriend of three years because she didn’t laugh at your jokes?”

  “Yes, that’s a deal breaker, don’t you think? Move your legs, I want to lie down.”

  He put his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his hair. It was intimate, but we were intimately close friends. He was truly my best friend, and there were a million reasons why he was—more than Kiki, more than Ling, more than my own husband.

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Move in with him and take care of him until he goes.” A stray tear ran down his cheek. I wiped it away.

  “What about the garage?”

  “I’ll hire someone to run it.”

  “And your apartment.”

  “Really, Penny? I’m pretty much the most untethered person you know. I could move to a mountain in fucking Bangladesh and no one would care. The garage runs itself. My apartment is a shithole. I’m moving here and taking care of my dad. The bonus is that I’ll get to see you more. If there’s a silver lining around this black cloud of doom, then that’s it.”

  “I’d care,” I said quietly.

  “What?” He squinted.

  “If you moved to Bangladesh. I’d care.”

  Having Gavin around more wasn’t going to be easy on my family for obvious reasons. I never lied to my husband or cheated on him, but he was jealous of what Gavin and I had. And Milo didn’t understand it either. Selfishly, I was happy Gavin would be down the street from me, but I could already feel the strain it would put on my family.

  I rubbed my hand over his forearm and noticed a new tattoo right next to the figure of a dancer and the words Pretty Girls Make Graves. He never admitted it to me before, but I knew that particular tattoo was one of several he had gotten in reference to our relationship. The new tattoo was of a feather with an arrow through it, and it was still scabbing, like he’d gotten it a day or two ago.

  “What’s this about?” I asked as I rubbed my thumb over it. />
  “Nothing. I don’t know. My dad likes archery.” He closed his eyes. “I just wanted to hurt yesterday. More than I was hurting already.”

  “Did it work? Did you hurt more?”

  “No. Nothing has ever hurt more.”

  “Then why do you keep getting them?” I asked.

  “I guess I’m not as much of a quitter as you think.”

  “I never thought you were a quitter.”

  “You don’t like my tattoos but half of them are about you.” Confrontational Gavin pulled no punches. He spoke the truth.

  “You’ve never told me that before.”

  “Did I have to?” He was choked up again. He took another deep, loud breath and released it like he was trying to blow pain out from the inside of his chest.

  “You’re not alone. You’ll always have me.”

  “You have your own family,” he said, his voice low and shaky.

  It pained me to see him like this. “You’re my best friend. You’re my family, too.”

  He sat up and tried to collect himself. “Penny, why isn’t your husband your best friend? Answer me that. I need to know.”

  He asked me this often, yet he referred to me as his best friend to everyone, including his girlfriend of three years. He had been calling me his best friend since the day we met. But he was angry and raising his voice at me, calling me out. “And why don’t you have female friends, besides Ling? Why don’t you hang out with your sister more? She lives right here in town.”

  “Come here.” I put my legs over his lap and held him to my chest again. “Because I love you, and I’m allowed to love you.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Be quiet.”

  A few minutes later, his breathing slowed and he fell asleep on my chest. After five minutes, I shimmied out from underneath him, got up, and covered him with a blanket. He was exhausted.

  There’s no way to explain to people what Gavin and I meant to each other. It was socially unacceptable for a woman to share that kind of intimacy with a man after she’d been married for fourteen years to someone else, even if it wasn’t sexual. Your husband is supposed to be your everything: your lover, your best friend, your financial partner, your confidant. I never understood that. How can you put all of that on one person? My relationship with Gavin had nothing to do with a single role my husband personally couldn’t fulfill. Or an emptiness in our marriage. My relationship with Gavin was rooted in love. Maybe a kind of love people would never understand.