TaylorA text alert ping startles me from my candlelight meditation. I reach from the soothing bubbles for my cell phone. Where did I put it? I crane my neck left then right around the entire master bathroom."Crap!"Tiny white bubbles race down my torso as I rise from the tub. I run through the hall to the kitchen. When I hit the tile floor, my feet slip out from under me."Shit!" I shout as my feet fly up, and my head falls down.Slowly, I assess myself.Legs, feet, and ankles? No pain.Arms, wrists, back, and neck? No pain.Butt? Smarts a bit, but not broken.I can just hear it now. The doctor at Urgent Care asking how I fell. Me explaining I was covered in bubbles, running naked through my house to find my cell phone because I received a text.I am such an idiot. I was relaxing in the tub, washing away all my stress. I was enjoying a moment of long-needed self care. Why do I care if I miss a text? Cell phone in hand, I return to the master suite.Deciding to read the text later, I
TaylorI close my eyes tightly as I withdraw my fingers from my folds. My orgasm will have to wait. Opening my eyes, I grasp the phone from the edge of the tub. I check the caller ID. It's Grace. I rise, grab my robe, and let voicemail take her call.Toweled off, I tap play and the loudspeaker on my new voicemail.“Taylor, are you there? Please pick up,” Grace urges then sighs. “I know it is all over now between the two of you, but I want us to get together one last time. I have something for you.”I press end and delete to block out the whiny pleas of my recently ex-mother-in-law-to-be. KC sounds even better now. I won't have to tell anyone, no one will find me there, and that is what I need right now. I quickly pack a carry-on bag with only my make-up, a change of clothes, pajamas, a bikini, a couple of pairs of Converse shoes, flip-flops, and my vibrators. I create a mental list as I pack. Gas, cash, gum, and download a book or two. I grab my favorite white, scoop neck tee, my favor
Taylor“Can I get your name and phone number? They are relentless.”My imagination is working overtime. There’s no way he asked for my numb - My eyes feel as though they might pop from my head. He keeps his eyes on the bar napkin with “The Three Wise Men” written on it, pen in hand. I recite, “Taylor T-A-F-T, 7-0-8-5-5-5-2-5-5-3.” I watch carefully as he transcribes on the napkin.“Now about that drink.” He grabs a glass. “We can’t serve shots, but I can pour you three glasses with a finger each.” His head tilts, and his dark brown eyes search mine for acceptance as he awaits my reply.“One glass is fine. You can serve it separately as three shots or as an all-in-one drink.” I smile, loving the weight of his dark eyes upon my face while he listens attentively. Hmm... Bartenders really are great listeners. “I’d like two fingers each, please.”“Hold up!” He looks left then right. He walks to the back then quickly returns behind the bar, his hands empty.I glance around, trying to under
TaylorDid I just cry with a stranger? Did I, looking at the unfolded bar napkin, accept his cellphone number and promise to see him next week? I haven’t been single for two months yet. This is not me. I don’t take these risks. I do not share private feelings with strangers. I do not meet men in bars. I don’t go to bars. I work. I plan. I scrutinize and calculate all my decisions before making them. I have at least three to-do lists going at any given time. I live to plan and organize everything. Deciding to fly to KC at a moment’s notice is not something I do. Accepting the number of a bartender I just met is even farther from the norm for me. What am I thinking?I find my gate just in time for boarding. The agent scans my first-class ticket, and I secure my carry-on in the overhead compartment before I plop into my spacious seat. I smile at the thought of seeing my friends. Jackson and Kennedy know about my screwed-up mom, my life with Grandma before she passed, my desperation for sc
Taylor“I didn’t change. I grew up,” I argue.“Bullshit!” Jackson states, his brown eyes wild with rage. “He was an abusive, overbearing, insecure ass. You changed everything to prevent his anger.”He’s cursing. That is rare for him, and I’m the reason. He’s fuming to the point of swearing, and it’s all because I didn’t have the balls to drop my loser boyfriend when I graduated college and moved to Chicago. I wish I had known then what I know now. The past two months proved I am capable of living on my own. I let the fear of adulting in a new state and large city get to me. I thought taking John with me would prevent my loneliness. It did not. I now know he made me lonelier than I would have been on my own. I neglected to make new friends, to go out, and to explore the city in order to avoid his wrath. “You couldn’t hide it all from us. We heard everything; we know everything he wouldn’t let you do,” Kennedy states, twirling her index finger nervously through a strand of her blonde h
TaylorI take the barstool across from Kennedy as she prepares the salad. “What can I do to help?” I ask.She slides three more saltines my way. Rolling my eyes, I push them aside.“No. Thank you. Five crackers was enough.” I see the concern in her eyes. “Ken, I’m okay. I was so excited to fly here when you called; food was the last thing on my mind.” I rise from my perch, pacing to the refrigerator and back to the island. I feel anxious, caged. I need to move. I pace while Kennedy rinses the lettuce. Her soft, natural blonde hair is swept into a messy ponytail. She’s still slender, just not emaciated as she once was. Her eye makeup accentuates her blue eyes. Her white blouse loosely conceals everything from neck to wrist. Her gray capris are at least one size too large for her frame. Cherry red polish draws my eyes toward her fingers and toes. She’s come so far, but some habits remain visible. I mentally add, ”Chat with Jackson about her eating disorder,” to my to-do list.On my way
Jackson“When did it get bad?” Kennedy asks.I inwardly cringe. I introduced John to Taylor. I did nothing when I first witnessed him controlling her, changing her. This will be an excruciating conversation for Taylor and me. Kennedy looks cool and calm in her corner of the sofa. I realize we rehearsed this conversation and brainstormed Taylor’s reactions, but I am a nervous wreck while Kennedy seems fine.“Where to begin...” Taylor repositions herself on the sofa, leaning on the arm. She clutches a blue throw pillow to her chest. I want to be the pillow. I want to be the comfort she needs. I will be. We will be. Kennedy and I are back in her life to stay. I will never let some guy come between the three of us again.“Last March, I chaperoned the eighth-grade trip to Washington D.C.” She swallows hard. “I do it every spring. I was gone for seven days. When I opened the door to my apartment, I nearly fainted. My words can never express the disaster I found.” She closes her eyes. “The mi
JacksonI shrug at Taylor. “Need more of the hard stuff?”Taylor shakes her head. A veil of sadness slides over her features. “I told him to get his ass in the shower before I could speak to him. I let him think it was to wash their scent from his skin.” Taylor’s blue eyes briefly connect with mine before looking away. “I really needed time to calm down and think.” She giggles to herself. “I made a list.”“You and your lists.” Kennedy laughs. Although I thought Taylor would brandish a knife and threaten to castrate him, making a list is not a surprise. Taylor continues, “I told him he had to clean up everything before I returned to talk to him at eight a.m. I couldn’t sit in the stink and filth. If I threw him out, I’d be stuck cleaning, and that was not going to happen.” Taylor shrugs. “I drove to a hotel for the night, and I visited the hotel bar.”Kennedy prompts, “Was it clean?”“Yes. He claims he did it all himself. I still don’t believe him. The jackass had picked up breakfast