From His Lips (a 53 Letters short story) Page 3

  “You stick with Ryan and Ellen. I don’t want risk losing you too.”

  “But—”

  “Jayne.” Ryan tugged her away firmly. “Let’s go. You sure you don’t need help, Troy?”

  “I’ll find her.” I knew I would. Somehow. I’d always find her.

  Yeah, dickhead. Find her, so you can let her go. The dirty bastard I was brawling with laughed and threw me a nasty jab.

  Fuck off, fate. I’d forgotten about our sparring session.

  Screw you, Troy.

  I parted my way through the surging mass of strangers, looking for Shayda. It wasn’t too long before I spotted her. She was wearing a cream dress in a sea of shorts and tees, getting jostled around in the crowd. She didn’t seem to mind; it was as if she was used to being invisible, used to people having no regard for her.

  My blood boiled as I made my way over and spun her around.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “You found me.” She blinked, as if she couldn’t get around the fact that someone had come back for her.

  “Of course.” Had no-one told this girl how extra-ordinary she was? That she mattered? That it was okay to push back instead of being pushed around?

  I grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the crowd.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  I should have said, “My place,” and headed back to meet up with the rest of the gang. But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t taking her there. I was going to test this girl’s limits, push her until she pushed back, until I broke through that damn cocoon she’d built around herself. Maybe I just wanted to spend some time with her.

  Whatever. It didn’t matter. Because by the end of the night, I had succeeded. On both counts. I’d poked and prodded and goaded her until she lashed out. And god, was she ever magnificent when she was angry. All that fire and pain and bottled-up angst. I might have left a dent in her shell, a small chip where we collided, but in turn she cracked me wide open.

  We might have had a chance then, to do it right—a small bud of ‘perhaps’ that could have bloomed had we taken another path. But something happened that night, a discovery that shook me up as much as it did her. And it nipped whatever might have been. We were like clouds in the face of giants—little wisps of ‘maybe’ that had no business lingering over vast fields of family, and bonds, and molds that had already been set.

  “Goodbye, Shayda Hijazi,” I said as the elevator doors closed on me.

  “Goodbye, Troy Heathgate,” she replied.

  It was a few hours that one night, but I always remembered it as The Summer I Met Shayda Hijazi.

  5. ROSES

  PAST

  “I'd better see your sorry ass,” said Jayne.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I replied. “I want to pass on my condolences in person. What’s his name?”

  “Matt. And you’re just jealous because you lost out.”

  “Big time. And I know you’re inviting me just so you can roast my heart on your big day.”

  “You don’t have a heart.”

  “Ouch. Are you ever going to drop it?”

  “That you dated every girl but me? Never,” she laughed. “So shall I put you down for two?”

  “Could you make that three?”

  “Oh? I know it’s been a while, but I had no idea you’re a family man now.”

  “Not that kind of three.”

  “What other kind of three...?” Jayne trailed off. “Oh. That kind of three. Is that what’s going on?”

  “It is.”

  “I believe this is the first RSVP that’s made me blush.”

  “You? Impossible,” I teased.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “How’s Ryan?”

  “He’s great. You know he and Ellen have two kids now, right? He’ll be thrilled when I tell him you’re moving back. It’s been a while, huh?”

  “I moved here right after college.”

  “Well, Toronto’s waiting. We’ve missed you.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Jayne. Give my best to Bob and Lizzie.” I hung up and looked out at the New York skyline. I was going to miss this hustling, bustling centre—the noise, the smell, the constant, churning energy.

  *****

  I smiled as I entered the banquet hall. Jayne Worthing was a little minx. And she hadn’t changed one helluva bit.

  “Where did you go, handsome?” Felicia pulled me aside. She was wearing a jewel-collared halter dress that showed off her sexy, tanned shoulders.

  “I just checked in with the bride. I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Did you have a nice reunion?” asked Heather. She complemented Felicia perfectly in a black metallic sheath and dangling silver earrings.

  “We did.” I replied.

  “I’ll say.” She wiped my mouth with her cocktail napkin and handed it to me.

  Lipstick.

  “You’re a naughty boy,” said Felicia.

  “I think we should punish him tonight,” Heather whispered in her ear.

  “I think we should leave him out all together,” she replied.

  They turned their backs on me and walked off, hand in hand.

  It was all part of the delicious games they played.

  “Hey, Troy.” I heard Bob calling. “Troy!” He motioned me over. “I want you to meet Jayne’s friend, Shayda. Also my brilliant protégée. She started off as my assistant and is now one of my top realtors.”

  She was sitting facing the other way, with her back to me. But she got up and greeted me with a smile.

  Shayda Friggin’ Hijazi.

  I hope I handled it as well as she did—the shock of seeing each other again.

  “Dad, they’ve already met,” said Ryan. “Canada Day fireworks. Remember, Troy?”

  It was ironic that we were being officially introduced twelve years later. No-one had thought to do it then. Just as well, I thought. We were different people then. We are different people now.

  “Yes, I remember.” I shook hands with her.

  It was no different. Same amped up crackling, rattling current, same jolt of electricity. Not the kind that sent me into overdrive, but the kind that zapped me into super-still awareness, where everything was heightened—sight, sound, touch, taste.

  She looked brighter, shinier. Or perhaps it just felt that way—like putting a ‘before’ pic next to an ‘after’ pic. There were details I’d forgotten. Like the tiny scar that split her lower lip, and the way she averted her eyes if you looked at her too long. Her hair was up in a snug bun that would have looked severe, except for the way it highlighted the graceful curve where her ear met her jaw.

  “They’re here everyone!” said Lizzie, as Jayne and Matt made their entrance.

  My hand settled on Shayda’s back, nudging her forward so my frame wasn’t blocking her view. It was an unconscious move, but I felt her entire body tense.

  “There you are.” Heather showed up by my side. “Did you forget about me?”

  “Heather.” A woman who didn’t react to my touch like it was poison ivy. “Where’s Felicia?”

  “Right here, darling.” Felicia gave me a kiss.

  Apparently, they were done pouting.

  We took our seats once the bride and groom were seated at the head table. Our place cards were right across from Shayda, Bob, Lizzie and Ryan. I had two of the most beautiful women in the room on either side of me, and I was struggling to keep from looking at Shayda. Each time my eyes rested on her, I had to willfully deflect them onto something else. It was like trudging through a marsh with lead weights on my feet.

  What was she doing here alone? Where the hell was her husband? Did he even exist, or was he just a taunting specter, a shadow that had slipped on that golden ring, staked his claim, and then disappeared?

  I took another swig of my drink.

  “Slow down, babe.” Heather ran her hand down my thigh.

  “We’re almost done with the speeches,” said Felici
a.

  They thought my restlessness was catching up to me. I got up and headed to the bar for a refill.

  When dessert was done and the music started, I let Felicia and Heather drag me to the dance floor. They were fun and free and exactly who I should be dancing with. Helicia.

  “I wish you were flying back to New York with us,” said Heather.

  Felicia swayed provocatively against me. “We’re going to miss you.” Her hands slid under my jacket.

  “Let’s take it off.” Heather slid it off my shoulders and nipped my ear. “So much yum.”

  “Let’s keep it PG, girls,” I said, leading them back to the table. “For now.”

  They sank into their seats, with no intentions of behaving.

  “And why isn’t the mother of the bride kicking up her heels?” I asked Lizzie. She was the only other person seated at the table.

  “Food over frivolity,” she replied, finishing the last of her dinner. “I’m a slow eater.”

  “With great timing.” I held out my hand. “May I have the pleasure?”

  “Why, yes. You may, sir.” She smiled.

  “It’s so good to see you, Troy,” she said as we weaved between other couples on the dance floor. “How are Grace and Henry?”

  “Mum and Dad are doing great. I’m glad you guys stay in touch.”

  “We’re empty nesters. That’s what we do—get together and reminisce about our kids.”

  “Please. You’re too young to reminisce, Lizzie.”

  “And you are too old to keep cavorting with those...” She gestured towards Helicia.

  “Who’re you calling old? Thirty-three is prime time, woman!” I spun her into a series of dizzy turns.

  She laughed and shrieked and held on to me when it was done.

  “I think we’re making Bob jealous,” I said.

  “I don’t see him.” She looked around.

  One of the things about being taller than average is that I got to see more—including the things I was trying to ignore. Like Shayda Hijazi, dancing with Bob, at the edge of the dance floor. I kept catching myself drift off towards that spot, and I kept steering away.

  Fuck it. I’d had enough.

  “Mind if I cut it?” I said to Bob, very much aware of the how quickly the smile on Shayda’s face disappeared when she saw me.

  Too bad, Shayda. I’m done avoiding you.

  “Thank you for saving me a dance, Lizzie,” I said.

  “Oh no. Thank you.” She smiled as we switched partners.

  The moment I pulled Shayda into my arms (yes, I had to pull, because she left so much room between us that we could have fit a whole watermelon)—the moment she slipped into the circle of my arms, I fell silent. All the words left me—the clever quips, the sexy teasing, the charming banter. I had nothing. And neither did she. And so we just danced, pure and simple, to a slow, smooth ballad. I remember the song, but not the words. Because I couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe for having her near.

  She wore a soft coral dress with lace at the hem. It swirled around her knees as we moved across the floor. She kept her eyes fixed on my collar the whole time.

  “So,” I said after we'd circled the room. “Here we are, Mrs. Hijazi.”

  “You remember...” She seemed surprised.

  It’s strange how someone can walk into your life, shatter the windows, break down your doors, empty the rooms, scatter your belongings, and then walk away without having the slightest inkling of the storm they’d brought.

  Oh. You remember?

  “Of course.” Of-fucking-course, I remember.

  I thought of the last time I’d seen her, the girl who’d said goodbye to me at the elevator, and I wondered if she still looked at the world with the longing that broke my heart.

  “Was it a girl, with sunset red in her hair, like her mother?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “But she looks more like her father.”

  I tried to imagine his face, the man who got to touch her skin, make love to her, fall asleep with her in his arms. Maybe that’s what I needed—his face in my head every time I looked at her.

  “Are you happy, Shayda?” I asked.

  She was supposed to say yes.

  And I was supposed to thank her for the dance, escort her back to the table and leave—free, clear and cured. With Helicia in tow.

  She said nothing.

  And I inhaled her all over again.

  “Roses,” I said. “I smell roses.”

  “I’m not wearing any perfume.”

  “I know.”

  She had no idea what she smelled like. Maybe it wasn’t even real, the way she smelled to me. Maybe it was just me, digging for secret gardens in barren boneyards.

  “Your dates are waiting for you,” she said.

  “Let them wait.” You were supposed to say yes.

  “What?” she asked, when she felt my eyes on her.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I replied. “What. What is it about you, Shayda Hijazi? There’s nothing remarkable about the shape of your eyes or your nose or your face. And yet, when you put it all together, something extra-ordinary happens. Everything clashes. That cool rosebud mouth sets off whatever is percolating in your turkish-coffee eyes. Your eyebrows. Such a proud arch to them. Completely at odds with this demure nose. And when you look away, it’s as if some soot is going to fall off your lashes and smudge those chaste cheeks. You’re a mass of contradictions, Shayda. All these delicious curves, wrapped around a rod of steel.”

  “It’s called a backbone, Troy. And you don’t seem to have one. Or do you just have a thing for married women?”

  “I have a thing for women all right.” I chuckled. “Delicious creatures, every one of you. Married? Maybe one...”

  “Just Jayne then?”

  So. She’d seen it. The kiss Jayne and I had exchanged earlier.

  Would she be as quick to judge if she knew the truth? I didn’t think so, but a gentleman never tells. And I rather enjoyed the fact that it had crawled under her skin, bugging her, laying wormy little eggs that were making her squirm.

  “You saw that, did you?” I smiled at her indignation. “Did it offend your sensibilities, Shayda?”

  “You think it’s funny?” Her eyes flashed the way they had on the stairs that night, the night of the fireworks. “I wonder what Ryan or Bob would say if they knew.”

  “I wouldn’t mention it to anyone if I were you,” I warned.

  “I’d like to sit down now,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Fuck her. Fuck her for judging me. For being the one impossible thing in my life.

  “You know what I’d like to do?” I yanked her closer. “I’d like to loosen this tight little up-do of yours and let your curls fall free. I’d like to see what you’d be like if you weren’t so ruthless with yourself, Shayda.”

  “Stay away from me, Troy. And stay away from Jayne,” she said, tearing away from me and heading for the table.

  I followed with angry foosteps, a raging tempest brewing inside of me.

  It pretty much went downhill from there. I downed the dark, stormy clouds she’d stirred up in a succession of cocktail glasses. I stalked her with my eyes, openly, unapologetically. And if that made her uncomfortable and red-faced, good. I was back, I was shit-faced and I was done hiding behind some window across the street. I wasn’t going to let her hide anymore either, not from me, and not from whatever she had clammed up inside her.

  I stood outside, by the stairs to the entrance, and watched her drive away that night. Then I put out my cigarette and took a deep breath. A hint of roses still lingered in the air.

  That was The Summer I Seduced Shayda Hijazi.

  6. THREE DAYS

  And now here she was.

  Four years later.

  “Quit fucking with me, Beetroot,” I said.

  “I’m not. If you still...”

  And there it was again, the thing that drove me mad. The fac
t that she remained clueless.

  If you still...

  Like it was some personal interest course I’d enrolled in, part time. Landscapes for the Avid Painter, 101.

  “I don’t know, Shayda. I’d have to check my schedule.”

  Let her stew. Let her burn. For thinking I would just let her pick up where we’d left off. Under the sheets, me learning the shape of her toes, her trailing her nails down my back.

  I walked over to my desk and buzzed Tina.

  “I think I’ll just get going.” Her bottom lip quivered as she headed for the door.

  “Tina,” I said. “Clear my schedule for the day.”

  She whipped around so fast, it made me smile.

  I liked her face like that. Toppled over with delight because she couldn’t hold it straight.

  She gave me an impish grin and held up three fingers.

  “Hold on,” I said.

  ‘Three days?’ I mouthed, with my hand over the receiver. “Tina, clear my calendar for the next three days.”

  “But you have meetings...,” she reminded me.

  “I know. Reschedule them.”

  Nothing was going to come between me and the woman standing before me. That soft-toned watercolor dress she was wearing didn’t stand a chance either.

  “And Tina?” I continued. “Take the rest of the day off.”

  I hung up and contemplated Shayda. Maybe if I looked closely enough I might unearth the root of our gnarled connection. We knew better, we knew to stay away, and still we crashed into this glass window, again and again, trying to get to the other side, like a pair of lost, disoriented birds.

  “What?” she asked, squirming under my scrutiny.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Barge into my life and expect me to drop everything for you.”

  “Don’t send anonymous packages to my office then, and pretend like you didn’t mean to summon me.”

  She was right. I told myself I had sent her the umbrella simply to replace the one she’d lost when I’d hauled her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, out of the storm and into my car last night. That’s what I said to myself. Then again, I told myself all kinds of lies when it came to her.