I Made You My First (5 page)

“Judy,” I said softly.
 She jumped.

“Oh, did you call him?” she asked, continuing to make her bed.

“Yes, but I have a question for you,” and I slid my hands slowly into my back pant pockets, my eyes focused on her face.

She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me.
  “Did you speak to Irish while I was in the shower?”  Her look went to a confused stare.  

“No, why would I talk to him?” she asked curiously.
 

“Well, when I thanked him for the flowers, I asked him what the occasion was and he somehow knew that my birthday was ten days away.
  Judy, I never told him my birthday.”  I stared at her, waiting to see if I could read her body language, her guilty, blabber-mouth body language.  She gave me nothing.

She actually looked as surprised at the information as I was.
  “J.C., I didn’t talk to Irish other than yesterday when he was here.  I swear to you, I didn’t.”

I could tell she was being truthful.
  “Did you ever leave your purse alone with him?” she asked.

I
 searched through the steps in my head: airport, no; car ride, no; drive-through, no.  “Here he went to the bathroom,” I remembered.  “He put my bra under my pillow and my purse was on my bed,” I almost shouted.  Judy smiled with narrowed eyes.  I hadn’t told her about him putting my bra down his pants.  “So he opened my purse and looked in my wallet, really?”  I flew into my room to find my purse.  It was creepy.  I began searching through the items in my purse, meticulously inventorying everything.  Nothing was missing and everything looked the way I’d left it.  I felt confused and violated at the same time.   

Judy stood at the foot of my bed, her arms crossed in a typical motherly fashion.
 “Anything missing?” she asked. Her soft voice actually stopped my mind from racing so fast.  I was beginning to have crazy stalker thoughts.  

“No, everything seems to be here,” I answered.
 I took my wallet and opened it.  Everything was in its place.  “Why would he go in my purse?  It doesn’t make any sense.”  I looked up at her puzzled face and felt goose bumps cover my arms and a chill run through me.

“I don’t know, sweetie, maybe you should ask
him
?”  

Now I was starting
 to feel angry.  “Oh, I’m going to ask him, all right,” I muttered.  I was thoroughly upset and ready for a fight. 

“Maybe you should calm down before you call him.
  You’re just guessing that he went into your purse at this point.  At least give him a chance to explain,” she spoke calmly in her warm, mothering voice.

“Oh I’ll let him explain, all right,” I replied.
 
Let’s see him explain this one away
, I thought as I placed my wallet back in its designated place in my purse.    

“So, whadda you want to do tonight?” she asked, attempting to change my mood. It worked.

“Dinner and a game of rummy sounds good,” I faked a smile for her.  

Judy had taught me to play rummy when we were teenagers.
 After that first game, which she won, I’d never lost to her again.  She hated that, so I teased her after each game I won reminding her she shouldn’t have been such a great teacher.

“Why don’t you call Irish and invite him to dinner and our card game.
  He’d be here on your turf and you could feel him out about the way he knew your birthday instead of just getting angry at him over the phone.”   She was right.  Knowing my birthday wasn’t an unforgivable sin, but the way he acquired that information might very well be.  I grabbed my phone and punched in his number.

* * *

Dinner was delicious as always.  Judy was a much better cook than I.  She took the time to plan and follow directions whereas I was less patient and rarely read the step-by-step instructions.  And my cooking revealed as much.  More times than not, my creations were not edible.  Since Auntie had gotten sick, meals were never an issue in North Carolina.  Almost every day someone brought platters or casserole dishes filled with everything imaginable.  If it happened to be something I didn’t particularly like, I made a sandwich.  I’d eaten a lot of them in the last two years.  After dinner, Irish helped me with the dishes.  I’d almost forgotten I was upset with him, a
lmost
.  When Judy conveniently disappeared, I planned to talk to Irish and bring up the birthday issue.

“So Irish,” I said, trying at first to avoid those beautiful blue eyes.
 “How’d you know that my birthday is in ten days?”  I looked him straight in the eye, hoping to catch him off guard.  I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to tell if he was lying, but I was sure going to try.  Our eyes met.  Damn, how could I be strong, and serious, and as gooey as a marshmallow at the same time?  He didn’t look guilty or surprised; in fact, he just turned and went back to drying the dish in his hand.

“I have my ways,” he replied, with little emotion, but his body language was definitely screaming “uncomfortable.”

“Those
ways
wouldn’t include going through my purse, would they?”  I grabbed a handful of silverware and began placing it piece by piece into the drawer.  I could feel his stare, so I didn’t look at him.

“I know we don’t know each other that
well,
Jurnee, but I’d never go through your purse.  Do you really think I’d do that?”

I looked at him.
 His face was sincere; he was visibly hurt.  I stared into his face, searching for anything that would tell me I could believe him.  He finally broke our stare and turned away.

He tossed the towel on the counter.
 I watched closely for his next move.  Had I insulted him?  Was he angry?  The silence was heavy.  He finally turned slowly around, faced me and leaned on the counter, his arms crossed in front of him.  He was serious, staring directly into my eyes.  “I did
not
go through your purse; I can assure you of that.  I’d never do that, but….”  I hate
buts
.  I could feel my face getting warm.  “I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” he continued.  “We’ve met before, briefly; but it’s clearly evident you don’t remember.  I was at your parents’ funeral with my brother London.”  I continued to stare at him with suspicious eyes, and my mouth was probably gaping as wide as the Grand Canyon.

London, why does that name sound so familiar
?  I thought back to my parents’ burial.  I didn’t remember seeing Irish there.  Honestly, I couldn’t remember anyone there, other than my aunt and brother.  I stared at Irish, waiting for him to continue.  What was he trying to tell me?  What he
was
telling me wasn’t making any sense.  “So..,” and I watched his arms unfold and he held up his right hand stopping me abruptly.

“I knew you were flying in.
 I overheard John telling my brother the details and so it wasn’t an accident that I was there.”  I couldn’t read the look on his face. My mind was desperately trying to digest his words.  As the moments ticked by, I began to feel worse, even more violated than I had when I thought he’d gone through my purse. 

“London is my brother’s best friend,” I finally managed to say.
 He stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to finish putting it all together.  “So, you knew who I was this whole time?  You knew my name.  You knew that I’d be at the airport, and you let me believe you were some do-good
stranger
?”   I could hear my voice getting louder.  

His expression turned sheepish.
  “I wanted to tell you when we stopped for burgers, and I was ready but I guess I was just really having fun being your mysterious admirer, and then I realized I’d let it go on too long.”

I was at a loss.  I didn’t have any words to express my feelings.  I’d friggin’ made out with him and he’d known who I
was the whole time.  I turned and walked out to the patio. I reached for a chair, and dragged it behind me to the edge of the cement, turning it toward the sunset.  I sat there staring into the sky.  What had just happened?  I wasn’t sure if I could explain my emotions to myself coherently, let alone to anyone else.  Should I feel insulted or flattered?  Was it all a wild ambush or a huge compliment?  I heard footsteps behind me. Irish was setting a chair down beside me.  We were silent.  I continued to stare at the sky, lit a cigarette and waited patiently for something, anything logical, to come to me so I could explain to him, rationally, what I was feeling.  Absolutely nothing came.

“I’m really sorry I wasn’t honest with you yesterday at the airport.
 If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start over,” he said in a soft whisper.

I looked into his face.
  “Why weren’t you?”  I stopped when I heard the tone of my voice.  I wanted him to be honest with me, but losing my temper wasn’t the way to achieve that.

 
“Why didn’t you just tell me who you are?”  I said, keeping my voice level and calm.                He must have thought I was crying because there was a hint of emergency in his voice when he answered me.

“When I realized you didn’t recognize or remember me, I thought maybe it was because I wasn’t your type, and I really, really wanted to get to know you.
 This may sound stupid, but I’ve thought about you so many times since the funeral.”  He took a long breath while I processed what he’d just said. 

“And I knew you’d eventually find out who I am on your birthday, so I decided to enjoy being your mysterious gentleman caller until then.”
  I saw him smile a little.

“Why would I find that out on my birthday?”

“Aw, Jurnee, I can’t tell you that.  I’ve said too much already.  Please just leave that part alone,” he seemed to be begging.

“Okay, I won’t ask about
that
, but please just nod your head yes if it has anything to do with my brother.”  Reluctantly he nodded.  
Okay, where do I go with this conversation?
 
He’s opened up to me and is now being honest
, I thought.  He said he’d thought about me for years.  He’d also said I was beautiful and had kissed my chest.  I had a dream about this guy that I couldn’t get out of my head.  Looking at him now, with all that’d happened within forty-eight hours, did I really want to, as he’d said, start over?  Yes, yes I really did. 

From the kitchen
 I heard Judy yell, “Does anyone want a glass of wine?” 

“I do,” I said, getting out of my chair.
 “Do you want anything, Irish?” 

“No thanks, I’ll be driving,” he said,
looking up at me.

“Well if you’re up for it, I think we’re still planning to play rummy,” I reminded him.
  “One glass wouldn’t hurt, would it?” 

“Jurnee thanks, but I’m not a big drinker. I tend to lose my
 inhibitions and can usually be talked into things I wouldn’t ordinarily do.  Maybe we should wait awhile before you see that side of me.  I really want to start over, remember?”  I stared at him in total confusion.

“Okay, but now I’m curious about what that really means,” and I narrowed my eyes.

He winked at me.  I smiled back and walked toward the kitchen.  

Judy was standing out of Irish’s view, holding a glass of wine in each hand.
  In a whisper she asked, “So, did he go through your purse?” 

I took a glass from her hand and whispered back, “No, it’s even better than that.”
  I gave her my famous, I’ll-tell-you-later head bob and loudly asked her, “Are you ready to get your butt beaten in rummy?”  I was sure Irish had heard me.  She caught on quickly, rolled her eyes and slapped my shoulder.  I knew it was killing her not to know.  Hell, it was killing
m
e not to tell.  

Out of five hands, Judy won two and Irish two. I could’ve played better but my mind kept wandering back to things that Irish had told me.
 After the fifth hand, I caught Judy looking at the clock.  It was eleven-thirty and I knew she must be tired; I knew I was.  

She stood up, lifted her wine glass and said, “Well you two can battle it out next game.
 I’m going to bed.”  

Irish stood up and thanked her for dinner; she was gone before he’d sat back down.

“Do you want to play another game or are you rummied out too?”  I reached for my glass, waiting for his response.  His blue eyes pierced mine.

“I’d really like to talk some more, if it’s all right with you?
  I want to leave here tonight knowing everything’s okay between us.  Then I’ll let you get to bed.”  He was serious and sincere.  I hesitated with my reply for a long moment, using the opportunity to take in his handsome face.  He didn’t seem to mind.

“Okay, I’m going to get another glass of wine and I’ll meet you out on the patio.
 Are you sure you don’t want
anything
?” 

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
 

You’re fine all right
, I thought and headed for the kitchen.  I’d been gone only two minutes but when I stepped onto the patio, Irish wasn’t there.  I set my wine glass down and went to the sofa where I’d left him.  No Irish.  I was on my way to check the bathroom when I heard a faint knocking on the front door. Confused, I slowly and quietly opened the door.  Irish was standing on the doormat smiling.