It Started in June Page 15

  On the fifth snow day of the winter that the groundhog had predicted—surprise! —would last until mid-March, Bradley was particularly antsy about a day that would be spent doing nothing more exciting than working from home. He suggested going out for breakfast, but Grace had declined, citing a looming deadline and fear of the roads. She had been cautious—overly cautious, Bradley thought—since her accident in December, not wanting to venture out onto snow-covered roads without a compelling reason. The accident had changed her behavior in other areas, too. She had become obsessed with the health of the baby and of herself as it related to the baby. She no longer drank a half glass of wine on weekend nights. She no longer walked outside. And she no longer allowed his Romeo anywhere near her Juliet. She gave him hand jobs on a fairly regular basis, but any guy understood this was not the same thing. Satisfying on a superficial level? Sure. But it didn’t scratch that deep itch.

  Midmorning, Bradley and Grace were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, computers on their laps. He looked over at her; and all his selfish thoughts melted when she looked up at him and smiled. She was so serene, so comfortable with herself and with her pregnant body in a way that made Bradley feel foolish and immature. He moved closer to her on the couch. “Let’s do something tonight,” he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

  Grace, who had returned her attention to her e-mail, said, “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Go out somewhere. Get out of this house. Maybe a movie?”

  “I like the house,” said Grace, still focused on the screen.

  “I like the house, too, Grace. I just need to get out of it once in a while. With all the snow this winter, we’ve been like prisoners.”

  Grace moved her eyes to his face, giving him that look of superiority she sometimes wore like a badge when she was unruffled by life’s small challenges. He hated that look. “Prisoners?”

  Bradley closed his laptop and got up from the couch. “You know what I mean, Grace. We’ve haven’t been out of this house for days, except to go to work.”

  Typing again, she said, “This quiet life suits me, Bradley. In a few weeks, our life is going to be very different. Enjoy the peace.”

  “The peace is making me crazy!”

  Grace let out what Bradley had learned was an ocean-sounding breath. He liked that she practiced yoga because she often told him it relaxed her, but Bradley thought it also had turned her inward, closer to her center, farther from him. “Look,” she said. “Call some of your friends and go out tonight. Stay over at Kevin’s if it gets late. I can drive myself to work tomorrow.”

  Bradley was already mentally drinking his first beer. “You’re not worried about the roads?” he asked.

  “The Subaru has four-wheel drive, and there’s no snow in the forecast until the weekend.”

  “I’m still not used to that Subaru sitting in our driveway instead of the Cadillac.”

  “It’s great in the snow, Bradley. And it will be perfect for the baby’s car seat, which, by the way, we should purchase this weekend.”

  “Fine,” said Bradley. “But tell me you don’t miss your old car.”

  “I totally miss the Cadillac,” said Grace, shifting her eyes to Bradley’s face, giving him her full attention. “And I’ll miss it even more when it gets warm outside. Driving that car with the top down on the highway on a hot summer night was like cruising through calm seas in a speedboat. I always felt good in that car.”

  “Yeah,” said Bradley, “me too.” He thought about the night they had sex in the Cadillac. It was hot and sticky and sweet and urgent. He wondered if they could have that kind of sex in the Subaru. Maybe if they put the backseat down? He looked over at Grace to see if she might be thinking what he was thinking. But she had returned her laptop. His thoughts drifted back to his night out. “So, you’re really okay with me driving into the city tonight?” He was hoping Grace wasn’t testing him. And then he repeated, “Really?”

  A smile. “Yes,” she said. “Really.”

  “You’ll be okay here?” Bradley was already reaching into his pocket for his phone.

  “I’ll be okay here. Go and have a good time.”

  * * *

  In the bedroom, Bradley texted Kevin, Dan, and Isaac, and told them he was driving to the city and would be there by five o’clock. He didn’t care what they did, as long as they didn’t hang out in anyone’s apartment. He needed to be in a bar with some guys. All three texted back quickly; they were available and game. The snow was making everyone crazy, except, it seemed to Bradley, Grace. He returned to the couch motivated by his evening plans. He plowed through his most pressing e-mail, wrote a client position paper for Paul, and finished the PowerPoint slides he had been procrastinating on for a presentation the following week. At four o’clock, he closed his laptop, leapt up from the couch, and jogged into their bathroom for a shower. Fifteen minutes later, he had packed his suit bag and small duffel and was standing in front of Grace, who had not moved since she’d refilled her mug with decaffeinated coffee more than an hour ago. He grinned at her and then leaned down to kiss her lips. He grabbed his car keys from the basket on the kitchen countertop and headed for the door.

  His front-wheel-drive Honda was marginal in the snow, prompting Bradley to drive slowly on the back roads. However, once he drove onto the plowed and salted highway, he depressed the gas pedal and was soon speeding along as if it were June and not February. The radio was tuned to his favorite rap station, volume up, like it had been when he was a bachelor on his way to pick up a date. No boring classical music. No easy listening shit. He shouted the lyrics, his left fist punching the air, punctuating the beat!

  He parked his car in the lot across the street from the bar, a few blocks from Kevin’s apartment. He walked into Sports Fans, immediately energized by the dozen TVs showing college and pro games and the thump, thump, thump of Van Halen blasting from the sound system. This was not a place to bring a date or engage in philosophical conversation. This was a place to drink beer. He found his friends at the long stainless-steel bar, bought a round, and then dove into the zealous discussion they were having about whether Steph Curry was better than Kevin Durant.

  Two beers in, they pounced on a table that had opened up in the section adjacent to the bar. They all ordered bacon cheeseburgers and fries, no lettuce or tomato for Bradley. When their platters arrived, everyone dug in, as if they hadn’t eaten in days instead of hours. Bradley had just asked their server to bring another round of beers when someone tapped his right shoulder. Half expecting to see Grace, he wheeled around in his chair, already formulating an excuse as to why he skipped the vegetables. But it wasn’t Grace standing next to him; it was Rachel.

  “Hey,” she said, grinning at him. “What are you doing in my neighborhood?”

  “Hi, Rachel,” he said, returning the smile. “What’s happening with you?” He immediately noticed her body-hugging sweater and tight jeans.

  She pointed at a table in the booth area. “I’m here with some friends.” The women all stood and waved with enthusiasm when the guys looked over at their table.

  “Me too,” said Bradley. “Rachel, meet Kevin, Dan, and Isaac. Kevin, Dan, and Isaac, meet Rachel. We work together.”

  Rachel made eye contact with all of them as she shook their hands. “You guys looking for some company?”

  All eyes were on Bradley. “Sure!” he said, waving the women over.

  As soon as Rachel’s three friends surrounded the table and introductions were made all around, Rachel pulled up a chair and squeezed in next to Bradley. “It’s so nice to see you outside the office,” she said to him. “You look sexy in casual clothes.”

  Forgetting what he had chosen to wear in his haste to leave the house, Bradley looked down at his flannel shirt and jeans. He glanced back at Rachel, whose face was six inches from his. He could smell the beer on her breath. “Thanks, I guess,” he said.

  “There’s no guesswork in dressing well, my friend,” she
said. “You look great tonight. You always look great.”

  This was the kind of talk out of a woman that, just before he had started dating Grace, had turned Bradley off. He had grown tired of the platitudes, the flattery that women had lobbed at him from adjoining barstools and restaurant chairs, on coffeehouse couches and in his car to capture his attention. He appreciated genuine compliments, but had developed a strong aversion to what he considered to be obsequiousness, having endured enough fawning while dating in his twenties to fill his tank several times over. His friends didn’t understand Bradley’s disdain for suck-ups. What’s not to like? they’d ask. The insincerity, Bradley would tell them when trying to explain; it’s so transparent. Women act like this because they want something. They flatter you to advance their agenda. Still, his friends were baffled. Let them attempt the advance, they liked to say. We’ve got agendas of our own.

  But because Grace had been absorbed by the pregnancy and especially negligent lately in complimenting or praising Bradley, he hungered for and, therefore, did nothing to deflect Rachel’s attention. She was clearly and openly flirting with him, and he welcomed it. When he looked across the table to see if Kevin had noticed, Kevin simply nodded, a green light in Bradley’s opinion to relax and enjoy the presence of an attractive woman other than Grace. He and Kevin had talked just the other day about Bradley’s sexual frustration. Bradley didn’t often talk about his sex life, and Kevin was the only one he confided in.

  The conversation flowed through and around Rachel and Bradley, but they kept returning to each other. The next round of drinks emboldened Rachel to lean in when she talked with Bradley, enough that their shoulders were touching. She whispered caressing words in his ear, telling him how hot he was and that her apartment was not far away. Her roommate, she offered, after another round of drinks, was out of town for the night. And then came the words that had already made a pass through Bradley’s brain: “Grace will never know.”

  Rachel saying Grace’s name brought Grace’s face to his mind. He could see her, lying innocently in bed in her gingham nightgown, her face freshly washed and a sleepy look about her eyes. She’d be on her back, her very pregnant tummy doming upward. And he knew he had to get away from Rachel that very second. He stood with such force, that his chair tipped over onto the floor as soon as he was free from its seat. He turned and walked quickly toward the exit, with Rachel close on his heels. As soon as he was outside, not wearing the coat that had been draped on the back of the chair and was now sitting on the floor in beer-soaked sawdust, he realized what a complete fool he was being. He charged down the street toward the parking lot, toward his car. Rachel had to run to catch up with him. “Bradley!” she said. “Bradley, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

  He stopped and turned to her. “Nothing is going on, Rachel. I’m going to my car, and I’m going to get my stuff. And then I’m going to walk to Kevin’s place and get some sleep.”

  “But we were having so much fun, and it’s early, honey.”

  Bradley put his hand under her chin and lowered his face to within inches of hers. She closed her eyes, as though she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he said firmly, “I already have a honey,” and released her and resumed walking.

  She jogged after him, but he didn’t stop until he reached his car. As he was working on extracting his keys from his pocket, Rachel scooted around him and placed her body between him and the driver’s-side door. “This is okay,” she said in a soft voice he was able to hear outside the noisy bar. “I can see that you want this, that you want me.” An instant later, he was up against her, feeling the pressure of her breasts and allowing her to feel his erection in his pants. She put her hand on his crotch, and he covered her mouth with his, driving his tongue through her open lips.

  CHAPTER 30

  Bradley awoke early the next morning on Kevin’s couch, still in his clothes, a hot ball of pain filling the top half of his head and a thin layer of beer moss coating his tongue. All it took was two blinks of his eyes for the happenings of the previous evening to push their way into his brain, fuel for the inferno. “Shit,” he said. He sat up slowly and then eased his weight onto the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “Shit.”

  Kevin walked out of the bathroom and joined him on the couch. He assumed Bradley’s exact position, closing his eyes, too.

  “How did I let that happen?” asked Bradley.

  “What, getting shit-faced on a work night?”

  “No,” said Bradley. “The other thing, with Rachel.”

  Kevin opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. “You are not the first guy—nor will you be the last—to drink a few beers and flirt with a pretty girl.”

  “I understand that. But it’s such a shitty move when you already have a girlfriend, who is not only awesome but also pregnant with your child.”

  “That’s a valid argument.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “That depends on what you did.” When Bradley didn’t answer, Kevin lifted himself off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. He called from the other room: “I have never needed a cup of coffee more than I do right now.” Bradley laughed at this, even though the effort splintered the lower half of his brain. It was something they had said to each other when they were in college to describe any number of occasions: when they were hungover; when they were studying late into the night for exams; when they were road tripping to Florida for spring break. “You want some, right?”

  “Absolutely,” said Bradley. “And then I need a three-egg cheese omelet, four or five pieces of bacon, and a mountain of hash browns.”

  “Me too,” said Kevin. “Let’s go to Dave’s.”

  * * *

  After a tolerable ten-minute wait outside the restaurant, a badly needed head clearing opportunity for Bradley, they were ushered to a small booth and left with yellowed, laminated menus. When their server returned, they each ordered the omelet special and more coffee. “So what happened?” asked Kevin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You rocketed out of the restaurant. Rachel ran after you. And the next time I saw you, you were passed out on my couch.”

  Bradley put sugar and cream into his freshly poured coffee and stirred it. “You ought to lock your door.”

  Kevin shrugged. “I have nothing worth stealing.”

  “That’s true, I guess—with the possible exception of your flash bowling machine.”

  “I love that thing.”

  “I think I played before I passed out.”

  “Getting back to the topic on the table,” said Kevin. “What happened between the time that you and Rachel left and the time I saw you, like an hour later?”

  “I kissed her.”

  “In a big way?” asked Kevin. The server put their omelet platters down on the table in front of them.

  “In a fairly big way.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No,” said Bradley, shaking salt onto his omelet. It occurred to Bradley that Grace had no salt shaker on the dining table.

  “Okay,” said Kevin, biting into a piece of toast. “That’s not too bad, Bradley. It’s not nearly as bad as it could be. I mean, Rachel was looking for everything she could get.”

  “You think so?” asked Bradley, scooping some hash browns into his mouth.

  “I know so,” said Kevin, reaching for the salt.

  “Whatever was on her mind aside, what the hell was I doing? I’m with Grace. Why did this happen?”

  Kevin shook his head. “I don’t think you want to go too deep on this one. I think it just happened. Rachel was pushing hard, and you caved. That’s all it was. You caved.”

  “It still sucks.”

  Kevin lifted the white pottery coffee mug to his lips. “Yes, it does suck. But you have to keep in mind that you just kissed her. You didn’t have sex with her.”

  “I touched her.”

  Kevin set the mug back down on the table. “Wait, you just said there was nothin
g else.”

  “Just for a moment, Kev.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I guess this doesn’t surprise me—but only because you haven’t had sex with Grace for more than two months.”

  “Then I can blame it on Grace?”

  “No, you cannot blame it on Grace.”

  “Should I tell Grace?”

  “Not unless you want to break up with her.”

  “Shouldn’t I be honest with her?”

  “This is not the kind of honesty women want,” said Kevin. “Nothing good comes of this kind of conversation. Part of the penance for fooling around on a girlfriend is living with the guilt.”

  Bradley shoved his last forkful of potatoes in his mouth and chewed. “I’m already living with a ton of guilt, Kev. I look at Grace every day and feel guilty for getting her pregnant.”

  Kevin signaled the server for more coffee, and then said, “It takes two people to get pregnant, Bradley. She is choosing to keep the baby. You still have time to choose to let her do it on her own.”

  “This is supposed to relieve my guilt?”

  “No,” said Kevin. “You’re going to feel guilty no matter what you choose. But one option makes you a father, and the other one lets you continue living the life you planned.”

  Bradley doctored up his fresh coffee and took a sip. “You’re trying to talk me out of being a father.”

  “Maybe—yes. What happened with Rachel is an indication of something,” said Kevin, pouring cream into his coffee. “I’m trying to tell you there’s still time. Once Grace has the baby—in just a few weeks, Bradley—you are committed. It will be much harder to leave Grace once the baby is born.”