Page 115 of Lovetown, USA
She laughs on the other end. “Are you kidding? I’m living for this shit. Men these days don’t fight for you. They ghost you, breadcrumb you, act all nonchalant and cavalier. This man right here? He’s fighting.Lovethat for you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m not interested, Nadia. For the thousandth time. I’m moving on. Matter of fact, I have a date tonight. I’m getting back on the horse. Fuck Trey.”
“Mmhm,” she hums. “You’re still in love with him. Just admit it and make it easier on all of us.”
The words land like a slap across the face. Anger roils inside me until I can’t even speak. I hang up on my best friend for the first time in our entire friendship.
Fuck Trey, and fuck her too.
“I don’t know, Shay. I don’t feel anything.”
I’m cross-legged on a yoga mat, my laptop open, Shayla’s face filling the screen. She’s playing soft, lilting tunes for me that feel emotional, but I can’t seem to connect to it.
“Let the melody do the talking,” she says softly. “No analyzing. No critiquing. No thinking. Just…feel.”
“I don’t know if I can feel my way out of this.”
“Try. For me.” She smiles. “Close your eyes.”
I do. The notes float around me, a gentle piano riff over subtle strings. At first, I resist, like I’m guarding a fragile part of myself. But Shayla’s onto something…the music reaches places I’ve barricaded, the corners way down deep where grief and anger and confusion fester. I feel my chest tighten, my fingers tapping along without realizing.
She switches tracks, and an acoustic guitar weaves the next melody. I let my head fall back against the couch cushions. I can almost hear Trey’s laugh, feel his hand on mine, remember how it felt to have someone who wanted me in every possible way. My chest aches, but it’s different this time. It’s less suffocating.
I feel safe letting go. A tear slips down my cheek. Then another. But instead of the usual defenses I build against them, I let them flow, and it feels cleansing. I’m giving my heart permission to remember without tearing itself apart. I dig all the way back to Reginald and the sting of grief and rejection I felt. More tears flow, and Shayla’s voice cuts through the music.
“You’re doing it,” she says softly.
I exhale, slow and steady, and for the first time in months, I feel a little lighter.
Preston Johnson’s head is between my thighs, his tongue working, his hands braced on my hips. It should feel good. It does feel good, actually, but not enough. It’s mechanical and flat. No spark. And horror of horrors, I can’t seem to finish. My mind betrays me, flashing back to Trey’s mouth, Trey’s tongue, Trey’s hands on me, Trey’s voice in my ear.
“Stop!” I blurt, louder than I meant to. “Just stop.”
He pulls back, confused, then offended. “What the hell?”
“Sorry. I’m just not feeling it.” I sit up, reaching for my robe. “Can you go? I’ll call you,” I lie.
He mutters something that’s probably offensive under his breath, but he collects his shit and goes, slamming my door behind him.
I stalk into the kitchen, yank open the pantry door, and pull out a package of soft-baked cookies. Store bought, and they taste like it. Too sweet. Too dry. Too…wrong. They crumble like sand in my mouth.
Frustrated, I hurl the package into the trash, staring at it in anger and disgust.
By the time I crawl into bed, the anger has drained away, leaving nothing but a hollow ache. I bury my face in my pillow and let the tears come, sobbing until sleep finally, mercifully swallows me whole.
43
Column
The Truth About Men.Or Maybe Just Me.
By Trey Montgomery
I’ve spent some time thinking about why men lie, why we withhold the truth, and why we often fail the people we love most. I want to be honest here, and to say this publicly, not because I’m proud of it, but because I need to take responsibility.
Men lie for many reasons, too many to name here, but I’ll tell you why I did. It’s cowardice, for one. I was afraid of the consequences of my honesty. But also, sexism. I didn’t trust that the woman I loved would have the “right” reaction to my confession.
And isn’t that layer upon layer of sexism? Because why wouldIbe the arbiter of rightness and not her?
