The Space In Between(16)

He sat the napkin down and held up his index finger on his left hand. “Andrea. Over here is Chaos. Which we both know pretty well. And over here…” The right hand index finger flew up. “Over here is Order. I’m gonna assume both of us are pretty damn far from Order, yet we’ve already hit rock bottom Chaos. So how about we just explore the space in between the two?”
The space in between. The place where we wouldn’t have to talk about the past or worry about the future. The place where we didn’t get personal or talk about our dreams and fears. The place where any level of affection and tenderness was simply a way to forget about past hurts. A type of drug that drowned out the rest of the world. I could do the space in between.
“We can have a code word so we don’t have to call or text each other asking for…”
“Sex?” He smiled as he raised an eyebrow. I could feel my cheeks redden as I nodded.
His eyes shifted towards the table next to us, where a woman was holding her drink. “Soda pop.”
“Soda pop?”
As he lowered his voice, his eyes narrowed and zoned in on me. “Soda pop has a way of always being wet and with the right amount of pressure…with the right amount of constant shaking, it will suddenly…”
“—Explode…” I softly sighed. He was being overtly sexual. He sat back in his chair and sipped at his coffee. Crap, now I knew my whole face was the color of a freaking tomato. Back to the topic at hand and not how I was suddenly in need of a Coca-Cola.
“And when one wants out?” I asked.
“One walks away. It’s that simple. No strings. No commitment. No sitting by the telephone waiting for a call. If person A finds Order in their life first, then person B must respect that and move on.” He leaned across the table closer to me and his sexy southern sounds made my insides twist. “We need another safe word. If it gets too serious.”
“Panda,” I said.
With one eyebrow raised, he questioned my word choice. “Panda?”
“It’s my favorite animal.” I leaned closer to him as he moved a piece of my hair from my face.
“That sounds personal.”
Crap. He is right. Before I could respond, his lips were traveling over mine and I let him explore my palate awhile before pulling back. Somehow overnight I had grown quite addicted to his kisses. Perhaps it was his kisses alone that dragged me back into the café. He picked up a toothpick from the table as he stood up and placed it between his lips.
“Panda works for me.” He winked at me and walked out of the café leaving me sitting there, biting my bottom lip. I wanted to chase after him, push him up against a wall, and slide my tongue against his neck. I wanted to moan his name softly as his hands traveled to my butt and lightly squeezed it. I wanted him to lift me up. I wanted to wrap myself around him as I whispered the words soda pop into his ear over and over again.
But I figured I should play it cool. I didn’t want to seem needy. I’d wait for him to text me. There was no way I’d text him.
Crap, crap, crap. Panda, panda, panda.


Chapter Eight

THEY WERE PLAYING reruns of our reality show that night. I couldn’t help but watch. How did my life get like this? Shutting off the television, I sat in the dark hotel room and stared at my hand that had driven through a portrait a few months ago. The f*cked up truth was I appeared a lot more like my father than I ever wanted to. That thought was messing with my brain. Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out my wedding band and ran it through my fingers. I kept thinking about what Jesus had told me in the clinic about Iris. “What your wife did had nothing to do with you.” But was that true?
I wondered if I had been there for Iris after the two miscarriages, instead of at the bar drinking, how different things might have been.
My mom was an artist. Growing up in a house with an artist and an alcoholic, was quite interesting. I remember one night my father wanted her to stop painting her ‘f*cking pieces of shit’ and cook him dinner. It was three in the morning, which was when mom said she found her inspiration. Looking back, I realized she was really up at three a.m. to make sure the * came home from the bars and didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere. I’d sat and watched him yell at her, spit at her, and belittle her from the top of the stairs.
“You stupid bitch. Stop wasting our money on this garbage.” He yanked her from the canvas and started saying things that could f*ck up anyone’s mind. He threw her painting and raised his hand as if he were going to slap her across the face.
My stomach twisted as I watched my mom cry and beg him to stop drinking. When I saw that hand of his hovering over her, I leaped up and screamed, shoving him away from her. The taste of the blood dripping from my upper lip was a surprise to me when he shoved me across the living room floor. The way my father’s eyes shifted to a person I’d never known terrified the living hell out of me. “Stop it!” I heard Mom cry as she raced over to me and stroked my hair. “Are you all right, Cooper?” Tears were streaming down my face and I shook my head. That night and many other drunken nights, were forever captured in my brain. A memory photograph book I wished would vanish.
That was the first summer I went to stay in Wisconsin. My mom had packed me up and sent me on an airplane by myself. Ever since she’d met my * of a dad her connections to her family faded. He moved her away from everything she knew and kept her to himself in his home state of South Carolina. Mom didn’t think much of it—she was in love. But on the day she called my uncle for help, he was more than willing to allow me to spend the summers at their home. Before she sent me off the first year, she handed me a Polaroid camera—that camera changed my life.