Forget Me Not Read online

  As more old friends join our table the conversation flows easy, as does the wine. I’m laughing at something Brett has said when the table is interrupted by a pixie-haired blonde. She’s clutching a guestbook and pen and I recognize her immediately as Lizzie Jenks. She was the school busybody, always the first to know the gossip and the first to pass it on. Everyone takes turns signing and then continue with their conversations. Lizzie squeezes in beside me and hands me the book.

  "I thought you’d be here with Jesse," she quips, cutting right to the core.

  "No, just Emma. He’s not coming," I reply, writing in the book, trying to be as curt to her as she is to me.

  "What do you mean? He is here. Look." She snatches back the book and her fingers shuffle through pages, scanning the columns of names with her beady eyes. "Look, here." She points and tilts the book at an angle for me to see.

  Jesse Jenner. It's nice to be back.

  "Oh," I breathe.

  Emma must have been listening to our conversation because she grabs my hand and leans forward.

  "I need the bathroom. Will you come with me, Michaela?" This isn't a question.

  She pulls me gently from my chair and walks us both past the dance floor and towards the toilets, still holding her drink in her other hand. As we move I search every face for steely eyes, every man for signs of a Jesse I once knew, but nothing registers.

  Emma has navigated us into the disabled toilets and locked the door behind us. She neatly places her drink on the floor before lowering the lid on the toilet and maneuvering me onto the seat. I’m not entirely sure what she’s doing, but I never argue with Emma. You don’t argue with Emma. I wait for an explanation but when nothing comes my eyes glide expectantly to hers. She’s staring at me from underneath a tightly knitted brow.

  “Breathe,” she instructs, adopting her most motherly of tones.

  “What?”

  “In and out.” Her hands sway backwards and forwards, to and fro, mimicking the air as if conducting a Lamaze class.

  “Emma, what’re you doing?”

  “Helping you calm…d-down?” she stutters, slowly becoming aware that I am, in fact, calm. “I don’t understand. I thought you’d be freaking out.”

  “I think it’s the wine.”

  “Ah.” She grins, proudly, I think. I suppose I’ve given her many reasons to expect a full blown Michaela meltdown.

  I stand up and place my hands on her shoulders. “I’m fine, really. Nervous? Sure, feel free to give me that glass of vino down there, but I think I’ve got this. I actually really want to see him. Regardless of what happens, or whether he even wants to see me, I need to see him.”

  And I really do, but I have to be strong. Jesse’s memory has affected my life and ability to cope for too long. I can’t let his presence demolish the walls that I’ve worked so hard to erect. I won’t allow myself to be weak again.

  I just need to keep it real. Stop putting him on a pedestal. All of these years he’s just been a memory that my brain has fabricated into some mythical Adonis; a perfect being that no human could compare to. Now, in that room he drinks and eats with the rest of us mere mortals, because that is what he is. I can’t be victim to my inflated feelings for him anymore.

  “I just…be careful.”

  I smile gratefully and nod. “I love you.”

  “I love you, more than any Jesse fucking Jenner will,” she says, brandishing a mega-watt smile.

  I give her a quick squeeze and then turn to check my reflection in the mirror. Emma hands me her lip gloss, which I apply, and sprays me with her perfume. Just as we go to leave she picks up her wine from the floor and hands it to me. I take it from her and down it in one, exhaling to rid my throat from the sharp warmth.

  "Let's go," I order.

  Emma leads the way as we walk down the corridor to rejoin the party. She reaches back for my hand and I take it with gratitude. We cross the dance floor, which has finally gathered some dancers, and then pass by the bar. My eyes are still searching when Emma stops abruptly. I don’t have time to stop myself before I clumsily walk into her back. That last glass of wine seems to finally be taking effect because I’m momentarily disorientated. I regain some focus and look up to see Emma nod and smile politely towards the bar. As I turn to see the object of her attention, she squeezes my hand and let’s go, all the while studying me intently. It takes me a second to find that her eyes are not the only pair watching me. I will the alcohol induced blurriness to subside as my eyes strain to decipher the features of the man before me.

  I know it is him. I feel it is him. But I need to see him.

  Standing, he steps through the swarm of people gathered around him. It’s as if a spotlight is cast on him, singling him out amongst the crowd. He walks graciously towards me having grown into his height with broad shoulders that sway ever so slightly. His stride is intent, his piercing eyes focused on me, holding me still as I wait for the inevitable.

  "Hi." Oh, he speaks.

  I’m too mesmerized by his shy smile to respond immediately. His eyes are so much more prominent without the long hair to frame his face. His hair is now kept short and brushed fashionably to the side. I can’t help but wonder what it feels like.

  Several awkward seconds later I manage to whisper, "Hi."

  "Fancy seeing you here," he says, his smile stretching wider across perfectly placed dimples.

  "I know, right? Do you come here often?"

  "Nah, I was just in the neighborhood." He winks, forcing a goofy giggle from me before I cut myself off and take a much needed breath. In the corner of my eye I see Emma finally edging towards her seat, reluctant to leave us.

  "How are you…Michaela?" He speaks my name as if it gives him great relief, but it sounds odd falling from his lips. His words sound formal, but the way that his eyes flicker across my face feels anything but. Under his gaze I feel completely exposed and yet I can’t bear the thought of him looking away.

  “Good, I could do with a drink though," I hint, regretting it immediately. Too forward.

  "Me too," he laughs. Oh, that laugh. "Shall we?"

  He gestures towards the bar and as I comply he rests his hand on the small of my back. The heat is instantaneous and I almost push his hand away for fear of melting into the carpet. He doesn't move his hand until he passes me my drink, more wine, and as much as I long for his touch, I’m glad of the separation so that I can try to think clearly.

  We sit at the end of the bar with our backs to the people around us, effectively shutting them out, and lightly discuss the party and hotel. Nothing too pressing, but it's nice to talk pleasantries if only to get used to the sound of his deeper voice and study his grownup face.

  How foolish of me to compare Jesse to a mere mortal. My decade old memories must have faded like an old photograph because they haven’t done him justice. I never dreamt it possible that Jesse could be even better looking now than he was ten years ago. I wrongly assumed that his looks had hit their peak at eighteen. I couldn’t have been further from the truth. His face is kissed with a light tan and he has very slight laughter lines to the corners of his enticing eyes. At some point since we last saw each other his facial hair has arrived and he now sports fine designer stubble to go with his designer suit. He is dressed in head to toe black, his pants and jacket hugging snugly, and the top two buttons of his fitted shirt open to reveal a touch of dark chest hair. I swallow hard and look away, feeling myself blushing in the face of his appeal.

  "You're looking really good, Mickey," he says, leaning in so that I can hear him over the music.

  "You're kind," I reply, but he frowns. Even that doesn't detract from his exquisite beauty.

  "You still can't take a compliment."

  "Guess not.” I shrug. “Look at you though, wow!"

  He smiles, shyly. "It's just me."

  "Not the you that I remember."

  "What do you remember?" he asks, cocking his head inquisitively, looking amused.

  "Ev
erything," I retort. My words are heavy with a million meanings and he looks down uncomfortably. He sips his drink several times before continuing with the conversation.

  "So, tell me something about yourself. The Michaela of twenty twelve."

  He edges closer so that he’s perched on the rim of his stool. Our knees touch and I almost move away, but a moment passes and it starts to feel so natural. It's just Jesse, my mind reassures me. You’ve touched him thousands of times before.

  "What do you want to know?" I shrug.

  "Anything, everything. What do you do for a living?"

  "I'm a photographer," I explain, feeling confident in the easy subject matter. "Mainly weddings and bar mitzvahs and such, but I’m trying to branch out.”

  “Into music?”

  “Hopefully. I’ve done a little, but nothing mainstream.”

  "You always said that’s what you’d do. It’s what I imagined you’d do. Well done, not many people can say they stuck true to their ambitions. I bet you’re really great," he says, most genuinely.

  "Thanks," I reply, smiling a little proudly. "What about you? You look like you’ve done well for yourself." I gesture my hand up and down his body as if to hint at his expensive clothes.

  "Yeah, I guess I’ve done okay." He doesn't sound like he believes himself. "I run a few bars so it pays well, but it can be hard work."

  I would never have had him down for a bar manager, but I guess it makes sense. He probably fell into working in a bar when he left Starling. Looking at him now, it doesn’t look like he assists in the manual elements. For someone who scorned me for being unable to take a compliment he seems pretty reserved to discuss his obvious success.

  "You’re being modest. Look at you!" I commend, tugging on his collar to highlight my praise further. He takes my hand as if to brush away my compliment, but instead keeps hold of it, and rests both of our hands on his knee.

  All of a sudden the connection has stepped up a notch and I feel two things simultaneously. First, my body's reaction to his touch is to instantly heat up; the burn is back and now I ache to be even closer, impossibly closer. Second, my tangled mind unwinds; the only tension left in my body is of the sexual kind. It's as if all I’ve needed is to have this contact to know that everything will be alright.

  His thumb traces over my knuckles and I can't help but watch. Jesse’s been back in my life for an hour and yet the years we’ve spent apart are slipping away, fast. I’m a teenager again. I can already sense myself falling and I know that I should stop, but the feel of my hand back in his, where it belongs, is too powerful to deny.

  "Tell me more, Mickey. What do you do after work, what do you do to relax?"

  It feels weird telling him about myself when I feel like he should already know it all, like we’ve never been apart. But we have, for ten years, and a lot has happened that he doesn't know about, but.

  "Well," I hesitate, "I have a six year old son, so he doesn’t really leave a lot of time to relax. An undisturbed bath is the best I can get,” I joke.

  Jesse shifts in his seat and then the warmth of his hand on mine is gone. I look up and I’m startled to see his brow heavy and his eyes worriedly reading my face.

  "Are you married?" His voice is deep with a gravity I don't recognize.

  "N-no," I stutter, confused at his sudden disconnect.

  "Are you still with the father?"

  "No, he left before Benjamin was born." I look down, embarrassed and vulnerable without his hand on mine. Why is this important? Did he think I was going to wait for him? Heck, I have waited for him.

  "I'm sorry," he sighs.

  He tucks hair that is no longer there behind his ear. This minor act is a huge reminder that sat before me is my Jesse. His appearance isn't an exact match but the foundations are there. I ache to pull him near and bury myself in his arms, but instead, I shrug and shake my head dismissively at his apology. He takes my hand in his once more, but the connection is weak. The sudden change in atmosphere has cast a silence over us that I need to break. If I only have this one night with him then I need to make the most of it.

  "Let’s not waste our time being sorry. Do you want to dance?" I ask, hoping.

  He shakes his head gently. "It’s not wasting time. I have a million apologies to make to you and not one of them would be wasting my time.”

  Unable to digest his words, his apology, I navigate us away from the sudden shift in tension. While over-exaggerating a glance at my imaginary watch I mouth the words “time waster” and watch him smile in response.

  “Fine, we’ll dance. But only to one thing." He gets up from his stool and kisses my hand before letting go. "Stay here,” he commands as he rushes to speak to the DJ.

  Kissing my hand is something so Jesse, so young Jesse. He was never big on public displays of affection, claiming that our heated moments were for our pleasure only. Kissing my hand was his little way of letting me know that he wanted to kiss my mouth, but couldn’t. He’d kiss it endlessly throughout class, or in front of my parents. I wonder whether it means the same thing now. My fingertips trace where he kissed my hand and then travel up to my lips. Imagining where he might kiss next.

  I look across the room to check Emma’s still here. She’s sat with Smithy and the rest of the group at the same table I was on earlier. She’s laughing loudly and seems to be having a great time, thankfully, so I don't feel guilty for leaving her to it. She must sense my stare as she locks eyes with me and smiles questioningly, probably worried. I grin back and wave, conveying that I am more than okay, and then he’s back, standing in front of me with one hand behind him and the other hand between us both, palm up, inviting.

  "Milady?" His lips touch my knuckles once more before he assists me down from the stool. He escorts me over to the dance floor just as The Calling begin our song, ‘Wherever you will go’.

  Our arms cocoon our bodies in a more suggestive variation of a dancing stance, his hand too low on my back and my hand tracing the hard contours of his shoulder. Our other hands are paired between our chests, rather than to the side. It all feels overly familiar, too intimate, but I’m too much of a sucker to stop.

  His mouth is pressed lightly against my head, not exactly kissing it, but the technicalities are lost on my oversensitive body and mind. In this moment I am his. We have danced like this before, but this time, such a long time after the last, feels much more intense. This is where I am meant to be. This is what I have missed for ten years. My, how I have missed being in his arms this way, swaying gently to such a fitting song.

  "You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed this, Mickey," he whispers into my ear, sending a shiver down the length of my body. I stand up straighter, trying to mask the impact that his breathy words are having on me. They’re just words, I tell myself, the kind of words whispered at these reunions because that is what is expected from past loves.

  "No, I don't," I reply.

  He flinches a little at my honesty. "That’s understandable, I guess. But I have missed you, immensely. You’re the only reason I’m here," he whispers into my ear again, probably having learnt from the effect it had on my body the last time. My reaction doesn't fail to meet his intention.

  Despite my treacherous body I can’t allow my mind to accept his words. He may think he’s missed me now, while I’m in his arms, but if he had truly missed me then it would never have taken so long for him to come back. I shudder at the reminder. Do I really want to get into this now? I’ve waited so long to be back here, and if I say anything it might push him away. I bite my tongue and allow my head to rest against his shoulder.

  We have danced through several songs, I’m not even sure whether they were slow songs or whether we just slow danced through House Of Pain’s Jump Around. I don’t care, not when he feels like this and smells so good. He smells like Jesse. Well, like a more expensive Jesse. The raw manliness of his natural scent has been enhanced with cologne of the designer kind. The effect is intoxicating.

  He
owns my body as his fingers stroke tantalizing circles against my lower back and his heavenly breath blesses my neck. His intentions are suddenly very clear when his mouth puckers against my skin. My body weakens in response but I’m not ready to hand myself over to him. I can’t. Not so soon.

  Despite my body’s obvious need for this man I can’t forget what happened between us ten years ago. I owe it to the girl that had her heart ripped out to say no to this man. He doesn’t deserve it. Not so easily and not so soon.

  I open my eyes and pull away slightly, overcome by the sudden need for separation. He fights it, stiffening his arm around my waist.

  "Don't go."

  "I'm not. I-I just need to use the bathroom," I lie.

  "Oh, sure. Needs must." Jesse beams, broadcasting a Hollywood smile. He lets his one arm drop from around my waist but doesn't let his other hand release mine until I’ve walked away.

  I make my way to the bathroom and enter a cubicle, locking it behind me. Although I do need to go, I’m also in desperate need of space. Space that isn’t swamped with Jesse and his ability to have me forgetting everything that ever went down between us.

  This is all moving way too fast. He’s been back in my life for all of two hours and I’m ready to surrender myself to him. The alcohol has clearly lessened by inhibitions. I came here expecting answers and yet a million more questions have been thrown in my face. He is being so loving and sensual, acting as though he still cares for me, but it doesn't make sense. If he had even a fraction of the feelings I have had for him, and still do, then he would have come back for me. Back then, not now.

  I should go out there and tell him that he’s waited too long. That I’ve worked hard over the past ten years to forget about him. I’ve cried too many tears for our lost love and I can't do it again. I can't lock myself away in my bedroom and pine after him like I did when I was seventeen. I have a son and a job and responsibilities. I’m a woman now and I can't let myself fall so hard again.