I Take You Read online

  “People don’t change.” Diane points to the cocktail Freddy just handed me. “Are you going to drink that?”

  I give it to her. “You’re a psychiatrist, and you’re telling me I can’t change?”

  “Maybe a little, around the margins,” she replies. “But no, not really.”

  “I’m so screwed.”

  “You’re not screwed,” Diane says. “Your life is awesome. You’re marrying Indiana Jones!”

  I laugh. “Will is no Indiana Jones.”

  “He’s so fucking hot!” Diane cries. “Does he wear the hat in bed?”

  I put my arms around her. “Speaking of bed, I think we need to help you find yours, quick.”

  Instead, she staggers off, and Freddy brings me another drink. We sit down. Everyone is pink and tipsy, happily chatting about how they’ve been taking advantage of all that the island has to offer. My friends Leta and Caroline kayaked through the mangroves today. Another group went snorkeling. Will’s Aunt Dahlia won’t stop raving about the seafood. They’re all talking about dodging some snowstorm that’s barreling toward the East Coast, how relieved they are to be here in paradise, where it’s all warm breezes, fruity drinks and shimmering pool.

  My phone pings with a text.

  —What up?

  I reply:

  —nada

  —Bored?

  —maybe

  —Send me a picture

  —what of

  —Surprise me

  Freddy looks over my shoulder at the screen. “Why is your dry cleaner texting you right now?”

  “It’s not my actual dry cleaner,” I explain. “It’s a guy I met there. That’s how I keep track.”

  “Interesting,” she says. “I thought that’s why someone invented names.”

  “This way, Will won’t get suspicious if he looks at my phone.”

  Dry Cleaner writes:

  —I want u now

  “Because that’s not suspicious,” Freddy says. She puts down her drink and takes the phone from me, scrolling through my contacts. “Nails, Hair, Hardware Store …”

  I sigh. “Dumb, but so dreamy.”

  “Cleaning Lady, Pet Store.” She looks up. “What were you doing at a pet store?”

  I shrug. “I like to browse.”

  “Accountant, Dentist,” she reads. “These are all fake?”

  “No, Dentist is my actual dentist.”

  She drops the phone on the table. “I guess I should be relieved that you aren’t sleeping with your dentist.”

  “No.” I finish my drink. “Not anymore.”

  “Jesus, Lily!”

  “What? It was great. Until it got weird.”

  She picks up her drink. “I don’t get sexting. I’ve always found it skeevy.”

  “It’s only skeevy if you’re reading someone else’s,” I say. “But if you’re the one doing it? And know who’s on the other end, and what they can do? Sending one out, waiting for one to come back? Not sure what it’s going to say or what it’s going to show? There’s nothing more exciting.”

  “Eh,” Freddy says. “I like bodies.”

  “You’re analog. You’re lo-fi.”

  “I’m no-fi.” The phone pings, and she picks it up. “Your dry cleaning is ready. What’s the passcode?”

  “9455.”

  She types it in. “9455,” she says. “W-I-L-L. That’s either very sweet, or very twisted.”

  She hands me the phone.

  —where r u?

  —1000s of miles away

  —:(

  “Boring!” Freddy says.

  I toss the phone into my purse. “I think Will is hiding something,” I say. “Something big.”

  Freddy stretches out her legs, crossing her ankles. “Here we go.”

  “He’s been acting very agitated lately. Jumpy. Nervous. Not himself.”

  “Honey, if I were about to marry you, I wouldn’t just be jumpy,” she says. “I’d be shitting myself.”

  A waiter arrives with more drinks. “Get this,” I tell her. “Will said he’d never been to Key West before, but he knew exactly where the cemetery was.”

  “An archaeologist knew the location of a bunch of old stuff?” Her eyes widen. “That is so fucked up!”

  “And he lied about his name. It’s not William. It’s Wilberforce.”

  “No it isn’t,” she says automatically.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Wilberforce,” she says. “Wilberforce Field.”

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  “He’s a lost Star Wars character,” she says. “A reject from the cantina scene!”

  We about die laughing. Then Freddy stands and holds out her hand. “Come with me.”

  We go upstairs and sit on her balcony. We share a joint. She cracks open a couple of bottles of rum from the minibar. Then she positions her chair so that it faces mine.

  “It’s time for a little truth telling,” she informs me.

  “Oh boy.”

  “You know that I love you,” she says. “I speak my mind, but I never judge. I support you one hundred percent. And I will defend you to the death from morons like Nicole and their bogus ideas about what all women think and how we should all behave. You are who you are, and you do what you do—the texting, the guy Sunday night, whatever’s going on with your boss, everything—and it’s just you. Your … whatever-you-want-to-call-it. Appetite for life. Blithe abandon. But, honey? I’m starting to get a little worried.”

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. “Everything’s under control.”

  “For the last three days, you bring up your doubts every time we talk. It’s like you can’t help yourself. But as soon as we start actually discussing them, you retreat. You deflect. You make a joke, or change the subject, or start spinning your ridiculous theory that Will is some nefarious gold digger. And I’ve played along. I didn’t want to rush you. But it’s Tuesday night. You’re getting married on Saturday. Pardon my French, but Lily? It’s time to shit or get off the pot.”

  I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t know what I want, Freddy! I said yes, didn’t I? It was so romantic. So sudden. He swept me off my feet. He’s the kind of person a person like me should want to marry. He’s interesting, and intelligent, and kind, and steady, and loving.”

  “So he’s not a devious liar with a dark past?”

  “Of course not. And here’s the thing. When anyone suggests that I shouldn’t marry him, or offers any impediment, I become convinced that it’s the right thing to do. There’s some part of me that really wants this.”

  “Just not all of you,” she says gently.

  What happened to all my certainty, my conviction last night that this was what I wanted? I stare out at the sea and watch the lights of a cruise ship move slowly across the horizon.

  Freddy takes my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze. “You’re such an honest person,” she says. “You can speak your mind to anyone, about anything. But you can’t seem to level with the one person who should know everything. I don’t get it.”

  She doesn’t get it? She should try being me for a while.

  I finish my rum and lift my feet off the balcony railing. “Let’s go.”

  “Back to the party?”

  “No.” I stand up. “Out. Just you and me.”

  13

  As Freddy and I turn onto Duval, I see Teddy walking toward us, half a block away.

  “Dammit,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  He’s with a girl. Not touching her, but walking close. His hands in his pockets. He says something to her. She laughs.

  I look around, but there’s nowhere to hide. He finally notices me. It’s dark on the sidewalk, but I see him hesitate. Then he keeps walking.

  “Lily.” He nods. “Hi.”

  “Oh, hi!” I hold out my hand to the girl. “I’m Lily.”

  She smiles. “I’m Melanie.”

  She has long, strawberry-blond
e hair. She’s tall. Thin. Tan. Pretty.

  Bitch.

  What is wrong with me?

  I turn to Teddy. “I can’t believe we’re running into each other like this.”

  “It’s a small town,” he replies. He’s gazing at the ground, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  “Right,” I say. “Right.” I’m still shaking Melanie’s hand. I stop. “Are you guys on your way to dinner?”

  She looks puzzled. “It’s like one in the morning.”

  “No kidding!” I laugh. “That’s late!”

  “Yeah,” she says.

  “You shouldn’t have left so quickly last night,” I say to Teddy.

  He looks up at me, and his face is grim. I turn back to Melanie. “It’s not like that,” I tell her. “We’re old friends. We were talking at my hotel. Not my hotel—I don’t own it. I’m staying there. And we were in the lobby, not my room or any—”

  “Lily,” Teddy says quietly.

  “He was meeting someone else,” I continue, not able to stop myself. “Not a woman, of course. A witness. Who could have been a woman, I guess. But not me!”

  “Lily,” Teddy says again.

  “We’re old friends,” I say. “Did I say that already? So, yeah.” I turn back to Teddy. “It was so good to see you, and to meet you—”

  “And now we’re leaving!” Freddy says, taking my arm. “Bye!”

  We walk a few more blocks and come to a crowded bar. We go inside and find seats. The bartender comes over. “Two Jack Roses, please,” Freddy says. She turns to me. “What was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “Your violent attack of extreme stupidity. Who was that guy?”

  I don’t answer. She waits.

  “His name is Teddy,” I tell her. “We were best friends when we were kids.”

  “Just friends?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “Probably because of how you look at him,” she replies. “Who else is asking?”

  “Will. We ran into Teddy last night. How do I look at him? Wait,” I say. “Don’t answer that.”

  Our drinks arrive. We clink glasses.

  “How come you’ve never told me about him?” she asks.

  I raise my glass to eye level. I gaze at the cloudy red liquid inside. I turn my wrist, making it swirl gently.

  “We fell out of touch,” I say at last. “I haven’t seen him in thirteen years.”

  I down my drink in three quick swallows and set the glass on the bar. Freddy waits, but I don’t say anything more. I order another round. We turn on our stools with our fresh drinks and survey the crowd.

  “Do you see that guy over there?” I say. “By the jukebox?”

  She looks. “Dark hair?”

  “That’s my perfect man. Tall and thin. Slightly scruffy. Intelligent-looking. But drinking a beer. I like a man who drinks beer.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Is it hard, having such rarefied tastes?”

  “I mean he looks intellectual, but he’s doing something earthy. I like that,” I say. “I like hidden depths. Someone soulful, but lusty. Cultured and crude. Someone who takes me to see some old French film, but we end up making out in the back row of the theater.”

  “That sounds more like hidden shallows,” Freddy remarks.

  “Hidden shallows,” I repeat. “I want hidden shallows.” I gesture to the bartender. “Two more, when you get a chance?”

  “Here comes Perfect Man,” Freddy says.

  He walks up and grins at us. He’s a little drunk. I grin back. “Howdy, pardner.”

  He takes my hand and kisses it. “You are the most beautiful woman in here,” he says.

  I look around. “That’s not saying much.”

  “I can’t believe you’re alone. Wait.” He looks at Freddy. “Are you two …?”

  “Hell no!” Freddy says.

  “You never know these days,” he says. “Two lovely ladies such as yourselves. You might be … you know. Which is totally fine. Awesome, in fact.”

  “He seems to have the right amount of shallows,” Freddy observes.

  I take his face in my hands and kiss him on the lips. “He certainly does.”

  “You’re doing it again,” she says.

  “Please, Freddy. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Talk about what?” asks Perfect Man.

  “You’re distracting yourself so that you don’t have to deal with what you know you have to deal with,” she says. “You’ve done it over and over. Yesterday, the wedding finally became real to you, and what did you do? Got drunk and alienated your in-laws.”

  “In-laws?” Perfect Man says.

  “Saturday at the club,” she continues, “no sooner did we start talking about your impending nuptials than you headed in to work. Now you’re messing around with this random guy, right after everything we’ve been talking about? I bet it happened Sunday night too, when you took off on your own. Am I wrong?”

  I gesture for another round. “I have to tell you, Winifred, for someone who claims not to judge, you sound awfully judgmental right now.” Freddy takes my hand. “I’m not judging. Marry him, don’t marry him. I don’t care.”

  “Marry who?” says Perfect Man.

  “You know I’ll support you no matter what,” she continues. “But I think you should actually decide, and not just let it happen.”

  She’s right. Of course she’s right. And I will decide. Soon. Just … not now. I take Perfect Man’s hand and lead him through the crowd. We find a storeroom. I shut the door behind us. I grab him by the belt and pull him close. We stumble back against the shelves. An empty box falls on us, and we laugh. He’s pressing his hips into mine, his hands cupping my face, but I pull back a little, making both of us wait. I like the anticipation. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. He leans in again, but again I pull back. I kiss his eyes—left, then right. His cheeks. The line of his jaw. I take my time with his ears, biting the lobes. I press my cheek to his and inhale the scent of him. Swimming pool, lime, whiskey. I slip my hands under his shirt. I brush my closed lips against his, softly, right to left and back again. I kiss his top lip. I take his bottom lip between my teeth and tug on it gently. I kiss his throat. Finally I kiss him full on the mouth, opening his lips with mine. I give him my tongue. I taste his, which is sweet and smoky. I feel his hands on my hips, my waist, under my shirt and up my back. I put my hand between his legs and feel the hard outline of his cock. He presses into me. He bites my throat, then he’s back at my mouth, kissing me deeply.

  God, I love cute boys. They make all my problems disappear. I don’t have to think about anything. Just this, these mouths and tongues and lips and teeth and hands. These bodies. We’re crushing each other now, both breathing hard. He unhooks my bra and caresses my breasts, pinching my nipples gently with his fingers. I gasp a little, and he covers my mouth with his again. I’m about to ask him if he has a condom when he murmurs, “That was pretty funny, what you said.”

  I reach for his belt, begin to unbuckle it. “What?”

  “That you’re getting married.” He pushes aside the collar of my blouse and kisses my shoulder.

  “But it’s true,” I say. “I am getting married.”

  He pulls back. “When?”

  “Saturday.” I lean forward and kiss him again.

  Such a look of puzzlement on his handsome face. “What are you doing with me?”

  “What do you mean?” I laugh. “I’m doing … this. I’m having fun.”

  “But why?”

  At that moment, a bartender walks in and kicks us out. I’m glad. It spares me from bursting into tears.

  I lose Perfect Man and go back out front. Freddy’s talking to a girl. I start chatting with the guy on my left, but he doesn’t have anything interesting to say. I head for the bathroom. I trip and spill my drink on someone. “I’m so sorry!” I cry. I grab some napkins off a nearby table and offer them to him.r />
  That’s when I get a good look at him. He’s in his late thirties, red-faced and balding, golf shirt stretched tight around his sizable gut. He’s surrounded by three or four other drunk, sunburned men.

  He reaches out and strokes my arm. “Honey,” he says, leering, “you can spill a drink on me any day.”

  Suddenly, I’m filled with fury. Not at this random drunk, happy guy saying something dumb to a girl at a bar, but at myself. Still, I decide to take him up on his offer. I lift a full pint glass off a nearby table and throw it at him. He jumps off his stool and starts shouting at me, and his friends are upset, too. Then Freddy is at my side and hustles me out of the bar.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  “Home, love,” she says. “Home.”

  We head back to the hotel. I shouldn’t have thrown that drink. I shouldn’t have made out with Perfect Man. Obviously. Still, it’s okay. I had a hard day. Practically the whole thing consumed by work. Thank God I won’t have to deal with EnerGreen and its sweaty little accountant any longer. What a bunch of crooks. Think they can do exactly as they please, with no fear of repercussions. Those poor seagulls. EnerGreed. The protesters are right. EnerGreen deserves to be brought low. Lying and cheating with … what? Blithe abandon, that’s what.

  No. No no no no no.

  That’s not … I’m not … I’m not that bad.

  I trip on a root poking out of the sidewalk.

  I wish I could talk to Teddy about all this. Wish I could talk to him about anything. But he doesn’t want a thing to do with me. I don’t know how I looked at him, but I definitely know how he looked at me. His eyes gone opaque, like they used to when he was angry. Teddy. And Freddy. Hey, I never realized that before! Will all my best friends rhyme? Will I be sitting on the porch of some old-age home seventy years from now, Hetty and Betty on either side, rocking in my rocking chair, swapping tales of the good old days with Eddy and Neddy?

  Probably not. There won’t be porches on old-age homes when I’m old. Or windows. The olds will be stuck in little pods, tiny televisions strapped to their eyeballs. Or spewed into outer space, like—

  This is why I live in the moment. I think about the future and I become little-old-lady space garbage. I think about the past and … I don’t. I don’t think about the past.