The Good Life (13 page)

Then I remembered the Good Life List. One of the tasks was to go to a department store and create a divorce registry. I shrugged and headed towards Macy’s. It was as good a time as any.

The young salesgirl looked seriously confused when I asked.

“We have a wedding registry and a baby registry,” she told me. “But no divorce registry. I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She scrunched up her face like she thought a divorce registry was a bad idea.

Oh, what do you know anyway? What are you, like fifteen? Wait until you’re in my shoes before you judge, you little bitch!

She pointed me in the direction of the registry kiosk and told me to come back for a scanner when I was ready.

I hit the wedding button on the screen since I wasn’t going to be registering for baby bottles and bibs. When it asked for the groom’s name I typed in Dick Microphallus at 123 Douchebag Avenue. I believe I just proved a theory – a person coming from a failed marriage really was like a newly released prisoner.
I was now basically twenty-two again. Hmm, that might not be so bad!

I spent the next hour and a half registering for everything I would need to build a new home for myself. I registered for kitchen appliances, bath coordinates, wall art, candles. Nothing overpriced and extravagant either, just the basic stuff. I didn’t expect anyone to buy me a divorce gift, but it was a good way for me to keep track of what I still needed to set up a home of my own. And it was also a good way to remind me that being single meant being able to make all the decisions, and that wasn’t such a bad thing.

When I was done picking out stuff for my future home, I decided to have some fun with it. I took my scanner to the lingerie department. I didn’t think anyone would ever see the registry anyway – unless Hope did a search to check up on me. And in that case, I should make her proud, right?

I had a pretty good time in there. It was a relief being able to pick things out on my own for a change. When Caleb and I had done our wedding registry, it had been one argument after another.

“No rubber duck décor in the bathroom. We’re not Bert and Ernie.”

“Why do we need eight towels for two people? How often do you plan on doing laundry?”

“I don’t care if proceeds go to breast cancer research. We are not getting a pink toaster.”

“What do you need a stand-up mixer for? You’re not exactly Betty Crocker.”

Ugh. He really knew how to suck the fun out of everything.

Good thing I had a friend like Hope. She knew what she was doing when she made the Good Life List. I came to the mall feeling miserable, but by the time I left I had some pep to my step.

When I got home I saw Jake sitting at the patio table with his laptop. I figured he was editing photos, and headed out there to tell him his Jeep was home. I was about halfway out the patio doors when I saw his laptop screen and realized he wasn’t editing pictures after all. On his screen I saw a picture of a woman wearing nothing but black fishnet thigh-highs.

Seriously? Stop the madness! Reverse the curse! Why must I stumble upon one mortifying moment after another like I’m stuck in some terrible slapstick comedy?
I didn’t know who was in charge of this mess, but I was starting to get really pissed off! If I was on some kind of hidden camera show, it was time for the reveal already.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to … um, interrupt.” I put my head down to avoid eye contact and tried to escape back into the house but he called after me.

“Hey!” he called. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

I shrugged and avoided his eyes. “It looks like I am.”

He looked puzzled for a few moments until he glanced at the computer screen and realized what I was talking about. Then he burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he could barely even speak.

“You (snicker) thought (giggle) I was (snort) … Oh God. That’s great, Roxie. Thanks for the laugh.”

I just stood there like a dumbass. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.

“Hey,” he said. “
I’m
not the exhibitionist here.”

He doubled over in laughter. It took him several minutes to compose himself, and then he motioned at the patio chair across from him for me to sit. I sat.

“This,” he said, pointing to the picture on his screen of the woman in fishnets, “is a boudoir photograph.” He sounded like a professor giving a lecture. “It’s a style of photography that shows women in various stages of undress. It’s supposed to be elegant and tasteful, not pornographic.”

“I see.”

“It’s gotten pretty popular lately. Women have been getting these done to give as gifts to their husbands and boyfriends. I’m hoping to start doing some boudoir work myself so that’s why I was looking at these. To get some ideas.”

Yep. I felt like an ass. But what else was new? “Gosh, I’m so sorry,” I practically stuttered. “I feel so stupid.” I could literally feel my cheeks burning.

He sighed, closed the laptop screen, crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned forward like he had something important to say. “I think we need to throw some snowballs around, Rox.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“All of this weirdness and tension and excessive apologizing. If we need to hash something out, let’s do it and move on.”

All this time I’d thought he might not remember anything about
The Summer of Jake and Roxie
– like maybe he drank so much that summer that it was a three month long blackout. I know that sounds silly, but sometimes when something goes unmentioned for so long it seems like the other person forgot about it. But the comment about the snowballs told me otherwise.

Back then I kept things inside. When my feelings were hurt or I doubted myself and felt inadequate, I kept those feelings and insecurities inside, which sometimes caused me to do things I shouldn’t do. When someone hurt me, I would either withdraw from them completely or do something to hurt them in return. This usually left the other person confused since they didn’t know they’d hurt me to begin with and didn’t understand where my behavior was coming from. It was all very immature – I knew this now. But I didn’t think it was all that uncommon, especially for people that age.

The first time we “threw some snowballs” was a few nights after we started hooking up. We were at work, and I saw some girl at the bar give Jake her phone number. Jake smiled and looked at her appreciatively and I didn’t like it, especially being so fresh out of a relationship with a guy who had been lying to me the entire time we were together. I had some issues, that was for sure.

Instead of just saying to Jake, “Dude, that is not cool,” I started serving lemons to one of the guys in my section with my mouth. Once the bar closed, I told Jake I didn’t need a ride home because the guy was taking me to an after party.

“Dude, that is not cool,” he said, as we both sat at the bar counting out our banks. “Instead of getting a ride home from one of the girls and pretending you went to an after-hours just to piss me off, how ‘bout we throw some snowballs around right now?”

Jake is different than me in that way. He’s not afraid to say what he thinks or what he feels or what he wants. And he has a way of completely taking control of a situation with his bluntness. There I was thinking I was the one in charge, and I was really going to show him to flirt with other girls. And then he called me out on it and knocked out my whole plan. Typical.

“What are you talking about?” I asked with an eye roll. “There’s no snow.”

“It’s an expression. One that you made up a few years ago, remember? When things get weird we’re supposed to have a snowball fight. So let me hear it. What’s the issue here?”

“There’s no issue,” I said quietly. My anger started to melt away. How many guys remember something that was said one time like five years ago? Not too many.

“We will talk about the issue when
I
drive
you
home tonight.”

“Fine.”

It took a little while, but he eventually broke me down and got me to admit that seeing him flirt with that girl bothered me, and I’d only been trying to get him back by doing some flirting of my own. He nodded like he completely understood. That’s one thing I always liked about him. Even though he was different than me, he tried to see things from my perspective. He didn’t make me feel like an annoying, psycho, jealous girlfriend.

“I work for tips,” he said patiently. “If a girl is tipping me well, even if a
guy
is tipping me well, I’m gonna flirt a little. That’s what bartenders do. You need to get it in your head that it’s just part of my job. I know you’re doing the same thing out on the floor.”

I nodded.

“This can’t turn into anything messy,” he said. “We’ve been friends too long to screw it up over some dumb shit. I’m telling you right now that my intentions are not to hurt you, piss you off, screw you over, or anything like that. I just like being with you, Roxie. And I’m not gonna like you any less if you tell me what’s on your mind. If you ever have something to say, say it. If there’s something you want to know, ask me. If you’re mad about something, tell me. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Okay.”

“No mind-games, no secrets, no lies. Promise me.”

“Promise,” I said.

From that point on, there wasn’t any drama between us – unless we created it on purpose, which we did on occasion just to spice things up. Like the one time he caught me in the beer cooler.

One of the guys in my section that night had asked if he could do a shot out of my cleavage. Since he was drunk, and giving me $20 for each shot, I let him. Then his whole group of friends decided they wanted a body shot, too. I knew Jake was watching from the bar, but I figured it was okay since we’d already had the conversation about flirting for tips.

When the group left and the crowd started to thin out, I went into the beer cooler. I liked to stock the bar for Jake at night so we could get out earlier.

I was about to grab a case of Miller Lite when I heard the door open and felt him come up behind me. He pushed me up against the boxes, not forcefully, but firmly. He put his hands on my hips and his mouth really close to my ear.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” He asked. His voice sounded rough and a little jaded, nothing like the sweet and patient tone I was used to. And I kind of liked it. More than kind of, really. It was hot.

“Maybe,” I answered playfully. “Is it working?”

“I don’t care what you do out there,” he whispered into my ear, “because I know I’m the one who gets to fuck you when we get out of here.”

He pulled my hips back into him and kissed the back of my neck.

“Do I have to wait that long?” I asked innocently. “Can’t you fuck me right here? Just like this?”

I heard him gasp. “You’re being naughty tonight.”

He moved away from me just long enough to turn the lock on the door and then he was behind me again.

“I like it,” he said as he tugged my little black shorts down to my knees.

I never even noticed it was cold in there.

Thinking about that night while I sat across from him at the patio table made me so hot I looked over at the pool with desire. I wondered if Jake noticed the color that crept onto my face or the beads of sweat that appeared on my forehead suddenly? Could he hear the sound of my heart pounding?

I was too afraid to look at him, afraid that I would give myself away, and he would know that I’d never gotten over him. I didn’t want to be the one who cared more. No one ever wanted to be the one who cared more.

I already made it clear that our sex life was stellar, but there was more to it than that. After our first snowball fight, when he told me his intentions, things were easier.

Being able to be honest all the time was a whole new way of life for me and I loved it. Saying what was on my mind without fear of judgment was so liberating. I don’t think most people realize how much we keep to ourselves, either because we’re afraid of what people might think, or we’re afraid of hurting them. Jake gave me the freedom to be me and he
still
wanted to hang out with me, which I thought was pretty cool. He made me feel comfortable and confident. If only every relationship could be that easy. Unfortunately, when you’re that age, most of them are not. I was one of the lucky ones. For a little while anyway.

Just the thought of a snowball fight made me realize once again how much I had changed since I’d met Caleb. In the last few years I had stopped being honest, with other people as well as with myself. It was going to be hard for me to open up again. Opening up to someone would put me in a very vulnerable position, and that was scary. But Jake had never disrespected me, intentionally hurt me or made me feel like I didn’t matter, so I was willing to give it a try. I was willing to trust him because I remembered how simple life had been as an open person and I wanted to get back to that simplicity.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable being here,” Jake said.

I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. My life has been turned upside-down in the past week. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with anything right now.”

“Stop apologizing. That’s what I’m talking about. It’s weird.”

I picked at the cuticles around my fingernails and avoided his eyes. “Okay.”

He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Eventually I looked up to find him staring at me like he was waiting for me to speak again.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Are you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“What the deal is. Why you’re acting so weird.”

“I thought I just did!”

He shook his head. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Tell me the truth. What’s happening in that head?”

I concentrated on my cuticles so I didn’t have to look at him. And then I gave in. What did I have to lose, right?

I took a deep breath and began. “That day I got here, it wasn’t a good morning for me,” I started. “Leaving New York, not knowing what was going to happen to me. I was scared.”

He nodded.

“But when told me you bought me Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I felt so much better. You made me feel – I don’t know – taken care of, I guess. Like you were trying to protect me and I thought that was really nice of you. Then I hugged you, but you didn’t hug me back, and I got the idea that you didn’t want me here.”