Page 24 of Delayed Intention

Karaoke Night

Stepping inside the bar, I notice it’s practically deserted, being a Monday afternoon in the off-season.

I chose it because it is within walking distance from both our places, but luckily, it does have a pretty decent selection of beer.

I’m sure it’s not anything like the type of high-end place she would find in Maryland.

It’s a dark, kind of grim-looking, barebones establishment that is meant for drinking, and not much else.

“You mind if we sit in that booth by the back wall?” Lily indicates the furthest booth away by nodding her head in that direction.

“Sure.” I follow her. She’s wearing a fitted green sweater with black jeans and white tennis shoes.

She looks incredible. When the waitress comes by, Lily orders some kind of cranberry cocktail and mozzarella sticks while I order chips and dip with a beer.

I smile, thinking her food selections have not changed much since the last time we hung out.

“So,” she begins, “I don’t date.”

“You mentioned it.”

She takes her time, pausing to take sips of the water before her.

“I’m not gay.” She searches my face for a reaction that I don’t give her. “My family thinks I am. I know because Roselyn asked me. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being gay. My best friend, Abbie, is. But I’m not.”

“Alright.” That wasn’t on my radar, but I don’t elaborate. She was so nervy earlier, and I figure the less I say, the more comfortable she will be to say whatever she feels she needs to tell me.

“I know I’m not asexual or anything. I just…

Well, something happened, back in 2005.” She gulps down the rest of her water when the waitress comes by with the appetizers and her cocktail.

She looks relieved at the sight of the drink and takes a swallow right away, closing her eyes as she does.

For my part, I try to keep from looking at her mouth when she does so.

When she opens her eyes, she begins again.

“I’ve only told two other people this, and one is my therapist. The other is Nona.

But I don’t know how else to make you understand the awkwardness.

And honestly, I know it’s part of why I ghosted you back then.

I didn’t answer your calls after I left—I meant to call you a few months later.

I thought I was having all these feelings, you didn’t reciprocate, and I wanted some space, and I was gonna call.

But then, everything got worse, at home. ”

“Okay.” God, what is she going to tell me?

I am freaking out while trying to appear calm, so I start drinking more of my beer.

I don’t want to scare her off, yet I feel this urgent need to get this conversation over with.

I work to remind myself that this isn’t about me.

I feel myself go into clinical mode to restrain myself from saying whatever pops into my head.

I need to let her say what she needs to say, in her own time.

She sips at her drink.

“When I was fifteen, my mother got me a job working in the office of a colleague of hers, Dr. Kellerman. He seemed cool at first, training me to do all this medical assistant stuff, taking me out for coffee.” She stops watching me and looks down at the ice in her nearly empty glass.

With a sense of foreboding, I start to feel the floor shifting under me.

There is only one way this story could go, and I’m torn between wanting to hear her and not wanting to know.

Lily is paused, lost in thought, and I take the opportunity to wave our waitress over and order two shots of whiskey.

Once the waitress moves out of earshot, she picks up the thread.

“I was such an idiot. I know I was a kid, and I know, intellectually, that I couldn’t have done anything differently, but it’s hard for me not to take responsibility.

Anyway, one day he had me in his office.

He said my mother had explained about my issues and my aversion to being touched.

” My beer tastes flat, and I push it to the side, half drunk.

Lily looks at me again and then looks down.

“At first, I was happy.” She looks so sad; my heart feels like it is cracking in half.

“He said my parents clearly didn’t understand I had an anxiety disorder.

I thought he was going to help me and explain it to her so she would finally see me and understand me.

So she would love me as I am.” She can’t meet my eyes, but I won’t look away despite the moisture I feel building in them.

I want to reach out for her hand, but I don’t dare presume to know what she needs, so I keep my hands below the table as they turn into fists.

My voice cracks from disuse or emotion when I open my mouth to speak. “Lily, you don’t have to tell me more. Unless you want to.”

“I know.” She’s looking down still, and I want to hug her, grab her hand, line up shots… anything but this. She goes on and I don’t drop my eyes off her face.

“So, we’re in his office one day, and he somehow got between me and the door.

” The waitress returns with our shots, and we throw them back.

Me, without taking my eyes off her; she, without lifting them from the table.

“He kissed me. No, that’s not right. It wasn’t anything like a kiss because I didn’t want that.

I mean, he was older than my father. What he did was he took me in his arms and pressed his lips to mine.

” She shudders. “That’s nothing like a kiss,” she whispers fiercely, almost to herself.

She swipes at her eyes with the back of her hands with more force than I’m comfortable with.

“He did more than that over the next year—I won’t go into more details.

I only admitted all of this to my therapist recently.

And the details, I can’t speak of that. I’m not entirely sure I remember everything correctly because I had to leave myself, you know? ”

With that question, she looks up at me, eyes bright with something—maybe determination?

“That wasn’t the worst part, though.” She smiles, half a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I tried to tell my mother, and she wouldn’t believe me.

She made me finish working at his office once a week for a year. ”

She closes her eyes. Before I can say a word, she adds, “He’s dead now. Killed himself when other girls came forward.”

“Did Ellen know that others came forward?” I cannot believe how calm my voice sounds because my vision is tunneling.

“Probably. She’s never admitted as much to me, but it was all over the news. His poor family.”

She’s worried about his family. Typical . Meanwhile, I don’t know how I’ll ever face Drs. Ray and Ellen Mendes without punching one of them in the face.

All I manage is, “I think I need another drink.”

“I feel that.” She turns to signal the waitress again, ordering us each two more shots.

“After that, I kind of went wild for a few years. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted to hook up with a bunch of different guys.

” She is looking at me, eyes shining. “I wanted control of my body back. So I thought I was taking charge by… working through more than a few one-night stands. Instead, I only succeeded in feeling more out of control and emptier than ever. After that, I just kind of shut down.”

What do I say? What can I say? That I’m sorry? Would that even mean anything to her? As if reading my mind, or maybe the look on my face, Lily surprises me by grabbing my hand. It’s so brief I almost wonder if I imagined it.

“You don’t have to say anything, Josh. Whatever needs to be said is not for you to say. I just wanted you to know what happened.”

“I wish…” But I don’t even know where to finish that thought.

“I know you do.”

And that is it. We avoid all serious topics after that.

At first, we were quiet, but then she started talking about the memories she had of being here, in Estes, with our families.

She talks me into karaoke, and we probably do the worst rendition of “Islands in the Stream” in the song’s history.

We can’t stop laughing, though. Then the DJ starts playing all 80’s hits, and we get out there and dance, also poorly.

Weirdly, I haven’t had this much fun with a woman in a long time.

It was either that or rage out. Without discussing it, we’re going with avoidance and laughter.

After tossing back a third shot, Lily starts to relax and gets more flirty.

Her chair moved next to mine at some point.

She puts her hand on my chest a few times while she’s laughing.

I let her, but each time she lingers, I move her hand away.

The DJ plays “Careless Whisper,” and now we are dancing a bit too close for comfort.

Halfway through, I excuse myself to the restroom.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have to follow through and step away.

Not only is Lily drop-dead gorgeous, but she also filled in to about an E cup, from what I can tell, and keeps leaning into me.

God, I needed a cold shower and a black coffee.

I wash my hands in the empty bathroom as I meet my eyes in the mirror. I know I’m buzzed, but I’m also disgusted with myself. Here she’s pouring her heart out to me, and all I can think about is objectifying her… I splash cold water on my face to stop my train of thought.

I walk out of the restroom, and Lily’s asleep at our table.

At this point, I’m kind of relieved. She passed out with her head down on her folded hands.

I call a cab to spare me from walking with her over my shoulder.

I pay our tab, grab her handbag, and fireman carry her out to the curb as the taxi pulls up.

Placing her in the back seat, I lay her down on her side before I walk around to sit up front.

I gave the driver my address, and took Lily home with me.

No way am I going to get her door code out of her, at this point.

After returning to my place, Ginger sniffed around us before realizing we were not fully functional and trotted back to her bed.

I bring Lily up to the closest guest room and lay her down on her side, tucking pillows behind her.

If she choked on her vomit tonight, I would never forgive myself.

I shove a bunch of extra pillows from my room behind her and put a trash can in front of her, hoping for the best. After looking her over, I grab a bath towel and throw it down under her head.

I set up camp in the armchair next to the bed and promptly passed out in it.

A few hours later, I woke to the sounds of Lily vomiting in the bathroom.

I stand up and try to stretch. Between the hike and sleeping in the chair, my back is tweaked.

Going back to my own room, I change into sweats and grab shorts and a T-shirt for her.

I brush my teeth, take naproxen for my back, and splash cold water on my face.

I grab a toothbrush from the closet and my toothpaste, and head back to the guest room.

Lily’s just coming out of the bathroom, looking more sober but not well.

“Got you a toothbrush. You, okay?” Ginger pads into the room sniffs the air, and promptly leaves again.

“Ugh,” She grabs onto her braid and takes a tentative sniff. “Managed to miss my hair. I’ll need to clean that bathroom in the morning.” She looks around. “Is this your house? Your room?” She looks mortified—I raise both my hands up in what I hope is a calming gesture.

“This is my home, but this is a guest room. One of them. My room’s down the hall. I slept on the chair because I was concerned about you, in case you got sick in your sleep.”

She puts both her hands over her face. “Oh God.” She peeks out between her fingers. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It was an impressive bender. I think you could give your Aunt Barbara a run for her money.”

“Did you say something about a toothbrush?”

“Yep. Here you go.”

She keeps one hand over her mouth and reaches with the other for the implements.

I gesture to the bed, “I’m leaving you a shirt and sweatpants that my sister left here, so they should fit.

I’m going to head to bed since we have that appointment in the morning.

Don’t worry, I’ll wake you—with coffee—in time to shower back at your cabin. ”

“Thanks, she says, still covering her mouth.” She gestures with the toothbrush and toothpaste toward the bathroom. “I’m just going to…”

“Yeah, sure. See you in the morning.”

“Josh.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening earlier, to everything.”

“Thank you for trusting me. And I’m sorry about everything.”

“Thanks.”

Walking to my bedroom, I think about Lily having to live through everything she described: what it’s done to her, and what it did to our friendship.

I consider what kind of mother could decide that her daughter is a liar and leave her in that position.

I realize my hands have curled back into fists when I walk into my room.

Ginger is fast asleep in her bed in the corner.

I feel almost overwhelmed by a sense of protectiveness.

While I do hope we continue to remain friends, I’m suddenly thankful for the physical distance between us.

The fact that we live in different towns, so far apart, really seems like it’s for the best.

I feel heartbroken over what she has experienced.

And angry that the young girl I knew was preyed upon—that she had no safe direction to turn to.

At least she’s getting help now, I think, climbing into bed.

My last thought is not about how she’s a survivor or that her mother failed her.

My last thought before I drift off is of what it felt like to dance with her body flush to mine. In a word, sensational.