I read the message twice to ensure I haven’t misread it, and even though it seems we’re no longer joking, I decide to humor her anyway.

What?

The wait in between replies is killing me, but thankfully I don’t have to wait too long.

Confused. Why didn’t you call?

Well, this punch line is worse than mine.

I really am an insensitive asshole to think I can just contact her after so many weeks and expect her to laugh and swoon at my lame-ass jokes. I owe her the truth, and I also owe her an apology.

I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.

She replies within seconds. Yes, you are.

Her simple reply is a clear indication of her leaving the ball in my court. Pondering on what to say, I know this is my moment of glory.

I was fucking but I quickly erase that and settle for, I was kind of seeing someone.

My finger hesitates over the send button, but I press it and hold my breath.

Minutes tick by and I’m just about to text her again when she replies.

Was?

I let out a relieved breath, glad that her response didn’t involve the words, “fuck you, asshat.”

Yes.

It’s too complicated to explain via text without sounding like a sick, sex-crazed maniac. So in this instance, yes will have to suffice.

Me too.

Oh? I reply quickly.

Well, seeing as I just saw him tonight.

No guessing whom.

Oh, you and Damon? I reply, not able to type his name without wanting to stab myself in the eyes.

You know his name is David, she replies, calling me out on my bluff.

And yes, she adds a second later.

My teeth clench at the thought of that giganotosaurus touching her, but I remain composed as I write back.

Congratulations, I reply, but in reality I really want to say, “I hope he catches yellow fever and dies.”

Thanks. He’s actually my Personal Trainer.

I clench my fingers around the phone as I picture David sporting serious wood while watching her work out in her skimpy tight gym clothes. But I decide to play it cool.

Explains a lot.

Was that a compliment or an insult? she replies, and I let out a chuckle.

Definitely a compliment.

I know, I know, she’s in a relationship, but a little harmless flirting won’t hurt.

Wanna elaborate?

I can just imagine her intuitive mind mulling over what I exactly mean by that comment. But she surely knows she’ll never win this mind play with me.

You can’t handle the truth! I text back, using the classic Jack Nicholson line.

But suddenly I realize she’s probably too young to know that movie, and I quickly tap out a text, not wanting her to think I’m being rude or aggressive, or just plain weird.

But before I have a chance to reply, my phone chimes.

Ooh, I love that movie. Jack Nicholson is a total hottie.

I read the message three times over, and my dick begins to stir, due to the fact she finds someone double my age “hot.” Maybe she likes older men? My dancing libido pipes up in interest, but I swiftly shut it down before I start getting stupid, or stupider ideas.

Deciding to steer this conversation in a totally different direction, I reply.

What’s your favorite movie?

I know it’s completely lame, but I find myself wanting to actually know what her favorite movie is. I also want to know what Madison’s favorite everything is.

E.T. Yours?

Wow, she knows who Jack Nicholson and E.T. are. And just like that, my lame joke wasn’t so lame after all.

Three hours and a bottle of scotch later, I found out what Madison’s favorite everything was.

We texted until the early hours of the morning, and not once did I feel bored, or want the conversion to end. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her, and by her probing questions, I dare say she felt the same way about me.

She steered clear of the topic of my father when I made it more than obvious he was a matter I was uncomfortable discussing. But there were elements to Madison’s past and present (like David the dickhead) that I sensed were also off limits, and I respected her, just as she did me.

But everything else was open for discussion, and I don’t think I’ve ever known this much about one human being.

Not even Lily.

If I had any doubts as to what I have to do in regards to Juliet and our “situation,” tonight cleared up any reservations, as I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with her that’s lasted longer than five minutes. I know all the bare essentials that separate us from being total strangers who fuck, but I don’t really know her, unlike I now know Madison.

But I don’t know how, or what to tell her. If I end things, it’s not like I can pursue Madison because she’s seeing Gigantor. Therefore, I’ll have to seek out the company of another lady friend, but mindless, faceless fucking has suddenly lost its appeal. I have Juliet, who is more than capable of satisfying all my needs, but can she? After yesterday, has our passion finally burned out? Did our “thing” come with an expiration date all along? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

But for now I’m going to sleep, and I plan on having sweet dreams about Madison and her Double Ds.

Yes, I asked her. I mean, how could I not?

16

Love is Merely a Madness

DIXON

I’ve hit the gym, gone for a run, and it’s only 9a.m. on a Sunday morning. There’s something I’ve been putting off, but today is the first day since I buried my mother that I’ve had the balls to pay her a visit.

I park my blue BMW, and taking a deep breath, I look at the gates of the Hillcrest Cemetery. I haven’t been back home since the day I admitted my father. Taking yet another deep breath, I look at my pale reflection in the rear-view mirror and tell myself to man up.

I walk through the manicured gardens, and the early June weather is bringing out some pretty flowers and plants. But no matter how visually appealing the foliage is, they can’t hide the fact there are headstones as far as the eye can see. I can’t help but feel a sense of sadness for all these souls that were once alive. Each gravestone represents a person’s life, and their life story is chipped away on stone for the world to see what a great person they once were.

I can’t help but wonder what my life story will entail. But more importantly, who will be the author behind my tale.

Shaking those thoughts aside, I give a polite smile to a woman dressed in black who, no doubt, is mourning her loved one. This place is filled with sadness, but it’s also a place for reflection. The living need to weep for the dead, and this is the place where one can do so.

When I reach my mother’s grave, I stop a few feet away, my aviators shielding my approaching tears. I can’t step any closer, and for now, this is close enough. Dropping to a squat, I stare at the marbled headstone and remember the care taken when I chose it. It had to be perfect for her because she was perfect in life, and I wanted to ensure that followed her into death.