31. Logic vs. Emotion

"So, I heard Addam saying something to Dan about going to Iraq?" Stephanie asked over breakfast one morning. Dan was one of Addam's friends. We tried to set Stephanie and Dan up, but long story short, it didn't work out.
"What? No, he's not even in the Navy anymore, so there's no way." She must have heard him wrong.
"Well, while you were getting ready last night they were on the couch talking about it. At least I'm pretty sure that's what I heard, but I could be wrong."
She better be wrong. She had to be wrong.
----
"So, what's this I hear about Iraq?" I asked as Addam and I were lying on his couch watching a movie.
"What? Where did you hear that?" He wasn't denying it.
"Is it true?" I was positive he was going to say, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Well, I applied for a contract job over there..."
Before he could finish his thought tears sprang to my eyes. I had no control of them. I didn't even know I was crying until he reached up to hold my face.
"Baby, don't cry. Please don't cry. I didn't get the job. Yet, anyway. Please don't cry. I didn't mean to upset you."
Tear after tear, they chased each other down my damp cheeks before Addam could wipe them away. He was panicking. He had no idea I'd react that way. I had no idea I'd react that way. But all of the feelings of being rejected by Cayden came pouring back. I was completely overwhelmed.
"Baby, please tell me why you're crying. I didn't get the job."
He didn't know about Cayden. I knew I had to explain so he didn't just think I was a crazy over-emotional girl, but the truth was, Addam had patched up the peice of my heart Cayden had broken. And right then, the patch was ripped off and I was crumbling.
"The last guy I fell for decided I wasn't worth a long-distance relationship. I can't go through this again. I can't do this." I was waiting for the hiccups and gasping that would inevitably come with my breakdown, but my voice was completely steady, almost calm. It was like my entire body was numb, but I could feel the hot tears pouring down my face.
"Brady?" Addam asked as he continued to wipe my face.
"No, Cayden." I didn't want to go into the whole story because I didn't want to hear the words come out of my mouth. But there was no easy way to sum him up. He looked confused.
"Well, please don't cry. I didn't get an offer yet, and I'd only go if I got an offer from the same place my friend works at. So chances are really slim. So please don't cry."
Addam hated Texas. He hated his job. But he liked me.
Within the next couple weeks, he talked about it more and more. If he got an offer, he'd move there for a year, and he'd make four times as much money as he was making here. "I'd have enough money buy a house when I came back!" He was so excited about it. He went from saying he probably wasn't going to get an offer to hoping and praying he was. The more he thought about the money, the more excited he got. As his girlfriend, I tried to be supportive. He wasn't choosing Iraq over me. "And I'll get TWO two-week vacations while I'm there," he said, his eyes lit up. "And they pay for the whole thing! I could take you to Greece or Bali. I hear they have great beaches in Bali!"
"Addam, you're forgetting something. I don't get that much vacation time. I only get 10 days a year, and I've already used two of those."
"Don't worry, I'll visit you for a week and then take you somewhere else for a week."
Sometimes when I thought about it that way, it sounded sort of exciting. I'd love to see the world with Addam. But was that really doable? Could I stay with him and only see him twice a year?
"I know this will be much harder for you than it is for me. I'll be in Iraq with only men. You'll be here, surrounded by men, so I understand if you don't want to do this." He was talking like he already got an offer. No, I was going to prove that he was worth it. I wasn't going to give up on this the way Cayden did.
"We'd be able to talk every day?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's not like I'd be fighting in the war or anything. We could talk on the phone every day."
I could do this if I needed to.
----
One night at my parents house, my mom and Addam got into a big discussion about it. Mom knew how crushed I'd be if he left.
"So this is about money? You think money is going to make you happy?" Mom asked him.
Meg, my younger sister, scooted closer to me and said, "Do you think we should save him?" I shrugged. I knew my mom would be able to say things to him I couldn't say, because I had to be the supportive girlfriend.
"I mean, it's a LOT of money. And I'm not happy right now. I'm struggling to get by," he explained.
"But when is it ever going to be enough? OK, so you go there for a year and you come back and buy a house, but then what? You'll spend the money, and then what?" Mom was on a roll.
"Then I'll have money to go back to school to learn something new. Air traffic control is the only thing on my resume. I don't even have a college degree, so I can't do anything else. And I hate air traffic control." He had a good point.
This went on, back and forth, until Meg stood up and said, "So, let's drink!"
On the way to the bar I asked him if I should have saved him from my mom's lecture.
"No, I loved it. She had good points."
"Why do you get mad when I try to talk you out of it?"
"Because your mom is being logical. You're just emotional."
"And you're being?"
"Smart."
This was the first night Addam had met Meg. We went to Pappa G's, one of the only bars in the city I grew up in. Addam rarely drank because he wasn't allowed to drink 12 hours before a shift. I was taking the next day off work. I had just finished a big cover story, and I hadn't missed a day yet, so I decided to take a day to myself. Another perk was that for once, Addam and I would get to sleep in together. He was off work also the next day.
"Why don't you drink tonight? I'll drive. You never get to drink."
"Are you sure?"
Ten mixed drinks and a Superman shot later, Addam was drunk. He's usually quiet, a little shy around new people. But with his liquid-courage, he was on a roll. He and Meg were cracking each other up. I loved drunk Addam. Who knew he was so outgoing and so damn funny? He wasn't slurring his words or acting belligerent, just relaxed and charismatic. Oh, and affectionate. He was usually shy about public displays of affection, but that night he had his arm around me, he kissed my neck in front of Meg and her friends. I started brainstorming ways to sneak him alcohol on a regular basis.
When we left the bar, I asked if we should sleep at his place or mine.
"Mine's closer. Want to stop at the gas station?"
My eyes lit up. I knew what this meant. It meant he was going to buy condoms. I was so excited I pulled into the first gas station I saw.
"OK, but if you pass out before we get back to your place, I'll kill you."
We went in and picked up a box of Trojans.
In the car he held my hand and talked about Iraq.
"Babe, if I go over there, all I'll do is work and work out. I'll get in such great shape, you won't even recognize me when I come back!"
I pictured him looking like Ronnie from Jersey Shore and gagged a little.
"But that means I'll have to get in shape, too," I complained.
"What are you talking about? I love your body. It's perfect," he said, then moved the seatbelt strap and turned to face me. "You're perfect, Whitney. You're everything I always wanted."
I loved drunk Addam. Even if we didn't have sex that night, those words were all I needed.
Good thing, because he spent the entire night and next day spooning the toilet.

22. Chills, They're Multiplying

We both stood facing the mirror in his bathroom, competing for sink space as we brushed our teeth. He hipchecked me and laughed as I nearly punctured my tonsil with my toothbrush. Clearly he had no idea he'd almost cockblocked himself. He was fresh out of the shower, wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. Guys are so sexy when they get out of the shower. It's like their mommies never taught them how to dry off properly, so their skin shines with a slick layer of clean and tiny water droplets cling to the ends of their hair. Brady was no different.
My head was fuzzy and I hadn't yet regained the feeling in my lips. I looked at his reflection, letting my eyes wander down to those inner-hip indentations I loved so much. I don't know what my obsession was with those indentations, but whenever I saw really defined ones I couldn't help but want to run my tongue across it, even if I'm not attracted to the guy. (It's weird, I know.) But I was attracted to Brady.
I tried to remember what he looked like without his shorts. I'd seen him fully naked a few times back in our college days, but that was years ago, so I had a hard time conjuring up an image. He bent over to spit. Then I remembered what I loved most about a naked Brady: He had the most perfect butt. Usually I don't like butts. I think they're gross. That, and the upper thigh area, all pale and hairy. No, thanks. If men lacked asses and upper thighs, I'd be perfectly happy. But I'd want Brady to keep his ass.
He caught me assessing him from behind and gave me a knowing smile.
"You brush your teeth for too long."
I shrugged and kept brushing, going back to my memories of our sleepovers. Everyone always told me I brush my teeth too long. I don't mean to, but that's when I get a lot of my best thinking done.
He smacked my ass and headed toward the bed.
"You coming?"
I nodded, afraid if I tried to talk I'd drool toothpaste foam all down my chin and make him regret asking me.
Suddenly, I was overcome with nerves. Was I sobering up or something? My heart started beating too fast and my chest felt tight. I spit out the toothpaste to avoid choking.
I walked over to the bed on wobbly knees. He pat the empty spot next to him.
At this point I wasn't sure if we were sharing the bed as good ol' pals or as good ol pals with benefits. Considering the amount of tequila involved, I hoped for the latter.
Either way, I still follow the no-demin-in-bed policy, even when I'm at someone else's place. So I unbuttoned my pants and tried to pull them off without any grunting or heaving or having my hand slip off and punch myself in the face. Damn skinny jeans. Once I was free of them, I took the place next to him in bed. Both of us on our backs, our arms almost touching.
He reached up and turned off the light, and I immediately started shivering.
"Are you cold?"
"No."
I shake like crazy when I'm nervous or anticipating something. The thought of being half naked and drunk in bed with Brady had my teeth chattering so hard my jaw started to hurt.
He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. He was trying to warm me up, but he only made it worse because now I could feel his warm breath close to my ear.
"Are you OK? You don't feel cold." He said, he had his hand on my stomach, under my shirt.
"I told you, I'm not cold," I said through clenched teeth so I wouldn't bite my tongue. "I'm excited." (It sounded better than "nervous as shit.")
With that, he pressed his lips against mine. Softly at first, probably afraid I'd bite him. Then I remembered what Brady kisses were like. They were soft and sweet at first, no tongue, just lips against lips. I realized the feeling was back in my lips, but I still had a drunk buzz radiating through the rest of my body. My jaw relaxed and the chattering stopped. I tried to force the rest of my body to lie still, but as his hand slid from my stomach to my bra, a wave of shivers followed it.
He kissed me harder and my body calmed.
His fingers grazed the top of my bra. Then I remembered something else about Brady. He's a boob guy. He loves boobs. I was reminded of this as he rolled me on top of him and unsnapped my bra on the first try.
"Let's get rid of this, too," he said as he pulled my shirt up over my head. I let my bra slide off my shoulders and he tossed it to the side of the bed. Then he just lied there staring up at them while I stared down at him. He'd get the cutest look on his face whenever we'd mess around, almost like he'd just eating five bites too many of a pot brownie. Eyelids at half mast, mouth parted slightly. Maybe if I slapped him he'd come back to reality.
Brady and I had never had sex because I was a big ol' virgin (unless you want to count the time we played a quick game of "Just the Tip, Just for A Second, Just to See How it Feels," during which I learned that I never wanted to play again because it hurt like a BITCH). But sitting there on top of him with his hands grasping my boobs, my body full of tequila and raging hormones, I wondered if we'd play the game again. Only for longer than a second (hopefully).


We didn't.

3. Fire Works

We were all gathered on my roof, staring out over Manhattan waiting for the Hudson River fireworks to kick off. We weren't sure exactly what we'd see from Brooklyn, but we were hoping for a kick-ass show. I was standing on a chair, my balcony railing about knee level. My head was buzzing from the two hours of drinking games we'd just wrapped up, and my lips were feeling numb. I smacked them together and felt a tingle move from my lips to my ears. That's when I know I'm drunk. My lips are the first to go. I looked behind me and saw everyone waiting patiently, the same buzzed expressions on their faces. Someone had killed the music so we could hear the first of the fireworks. Then I looked to my right and saw gatherings on every other rooftop in sight. I lifted my drink in cheers and saw multiple Solo cups move skyward from rooftops nearby. Who said New Yorkers weren't friendly?
I heard a pop and whipped my head to horizon to see if the fireworks had started. Too fast. I lost my balance and nearly toppled off the chair. A hand on my leg steadied me. Jon's hand.
"Are you OK?"
His little-boy face full of concern.
"A-OK, man! Good lookin' out."
Jon rarely drank, so he assumed people got wasted off a few beers. Little did he know I had once woken up after a house party wearing nothing but my bathing suit with no recollection of going to the hot tub. I was far from that point.
Cayden never showed. All night I had my eye on the stairway door, hoping he'd walk through it. Not likely, being that he told me he was going to the river. Oh, and then there was the whole he-thought-I-was-blowing-him-off thing.
"Hey, what's that?" Lea pointed toward the Hudson.
A big black cloud was billowing over what looked like Midtown.
"Is that a fire?"
My alcohol-buzzed brain jumped ahead to worst-case scenario: The barges holding the fireworks self detonated. Manhattan was on fire. The black cloud was going to take over Brooklyn. I should have been concerned about a lot of things, but the first thing on my mind was Cayden. Cayden was by the river. I clenched my Solo cup until the top rim cracked and warm beer splashed up in my face.
We all stood there staring as the black cloud grew bigger and bigger. I could see flames as the bottom of the cloud. That's when I realized the flames were coming from a building, not a barge. A building in Brooklyn.
"Someone better get that fire under control or it will block our whole view of the fireworks!" This from Lynn.
Fire truck sirens bounced off the buildings and drifted up to our roof. This wasn't exactly the Fourth of July I imagined.
Everyone started complaining. The fireworks better start soon, or this could turn into a black-out-in-a-bathing-suit kind of night.
As if on cue, a big, red firework lit up the sky, followed by another, and another. The entire horizon lit up in multi-colored sparkles. It was absolutely beautiful. I counted eight launching sites, stretching from what looked like SoHo to the Upper West Side. Everyone went silent. Jaws dropped. We ooooed, we awwed, we gasped. The actual sound of the explosions didn't reach our ears until a full four seconds after each color burst lit up the sky, leaving smoky streaks behind.
I bet it looked even better from where Cayden was standing.