Just One More Kiss: Based on the Motion Picture Read online

  No matter how prolific she is, it doesn’t make her any happier, catharsis impotent.

  I ask, “What are you doing over here all by yourself?” trying not to be disappointed.

  How many times have I told her to go to therapy?

  I went!

  I had to.

  After what we saw, and lost.

  Max suddenly appears behind me, wrapping protective arms around my middle, having heard her and knowing I need backup.

  Hell, everyone heard her.

  My sister’s lip curls, “Married a decade. Who does that?”

  “Lots of people.” My smile widens as Max points between us as the best examples.

  “Not in this city,” Lorna smirks, “and not happily.”

  Barry calls over, “Lorna!”

  Oh no.

  We look at Max’s best friend since childhood. I can feel my stomach tightening as I notice he’s behind the bar, of course, where booze is ample and free, his favorite combo. My heart sinks, and Max’s hand slides down my arm to silently reassure me, hang on, it won’t be that bad.

  Poor Barry.

  He’s crazy about her.

  It’s just sad.

  My father-in-law is with him, sophisticated in a suit, his hand on a glass of bourbon. But Henry’s drinks don’t disappear the way Barry’s do. Henry carries a glass in his hand because it feels close to a pipe, or cigar, his preference. But if he had one of those, Alice would remove it, out of love, not control. So Henry drinks from the glass wishing it billowed smoke and smelled of Cuba.

  Barry finishes, “I could make you happy if you'd give me the chance.”

  Lorna calls back, “For one night maybe.”

  His smile disappears. “For one more night you mean?”

  Lorna smirks with contempt, “You wish!”

  All eyes turn for Barry’s retort.

  Breathing isn’t possible.

  Not after the gasp the party swallowed.

  Did they sleep together?

  I’m staring at my sister wondering if that’s even possible. She loathes Barry, always makes it clear.

  Our eyes lock and she shakes her head — C’mon, you know me better than that.

  Barry decides his pride is made of the stuff of Shakespeare and announces, walking over to join us, bringing the entire party with him to hear what he’s about to say. “Henry, she doesn't remember it but one traumatically romantic evening,” Barry’s fingers dance through the air, “Lorna walked with me under a blanket of glittering stars on the aptly named 'Sandy Beach' in Honolulu, Oahu.” He stops beside where my sister is seated and appalled. “That's Hawaii.”

  Lorna dryly asks, “Oh, is that where Honolulu is?”

  “I pointed out the constellations—”

  “—Yeah right!”

  “I carried her flip flops for her.”

  She jumps up, tells everyone, “That never happened!”

  Max thinks it’s way too fun to tease my sister — especially since she gives me a hard time any chance she gets — so he tells the audience, “The four of us did go to Oahu two years ago!”

  Lorna glares at Max.

  Fuck it.

  I mean, she brings this on herself.

  And it’s our anniversary.

  I join in, “Max and I did go to bed earlier than you two!”

  Arthur calls out, “I'm sure it wasn't to sleep!”

  The party bursts into laughter.

  Except for Lorna who rarely thinks anything is funny unless it hurts. “If you all think for one second that I seriously hooked up with this schmoe—”

  Barry’s ego grabs his zipper, shouting, “Hey, hey hey, this schmoe's got a really big reason to hook up with him!”

  We all shout, “No!” “Stop!” averting our eyes and Alice, my mother-in-law, and a second mother to Barry since he was a fucked-up teen searching for answer, deflates the situation by jumping out. “Whoa whoa!” she laughs. “Hold on! You better calm down and be careful, or I might just leave my husband for you!”

  Barry drops his hand as everyone laughs, deflection successful.

  “I dare you, Barry.” Henry smirks, “She's a wildcat.”

  Alice cries out, “Oh God!” and tucks herself into her husband’s embrace. “You say the nicest things!”

  I whisper to my sister, “And them.”

  If Alice and Henry hadn’t taken the place of our parents over the last decade, and stepped up in so many ways, for both of us, Lorna would be jaded about them, just like every other human being besides me.

  But she can’t be.

  They’re kind, authentically good people who have never let anybody down when they were needed.

  Her eyelashes drop. “Mmhmm.”

  I smile, knowing that’s the best my baby sister can do.

  “See, that's what I'm talking about, Henry! Screw ten years! I'm going for forty-three! And I'm gonna start right now.” Barry strolls in front of Max and I, and gets down on one knee!

  I lean into my husband with a silent plea — help, oh please make him stop. This will not end well.

  “Lorna, you tight ass snob, would you please…”

  Max waves him up. “Alright Barry. Pull it back.”

  From his knee, Barry looks up, confused, even innocent. “What? I'm proposing!” His head swings back to my sister, innocence gone. “God help if I know why! Look at that judgment just staring back at me. Like you're better than me. Like you're better than everybody else here!”

  Lorna bends at the waist, green eyes cold, face dangerously close to his, and her middle finger jumps between them, inviting him to stick it.

  I close my eyes.

  Why can’t we have one party with these two where it doesn’t blow up in our faces?

  The audience dissipates, fun over.

  I hear Jennifer say, “Abby, we've gotta get going. Open your gift!”

  Great.

  Chapter 4

  Max

  Well, that got out of hand.

  Melted with disappointment, Abby asks her best friend, trying to keep her voice down since Barry is right behind her, his hand on the brick wall as he glares at where Lorna exited. “Oh no, is it because of…” subtly motioning to him and trailing off.

  The Millers emphatically shake their heads, taking turns and saying in rapid succession, “No!” “No!” “No.” “No.” “No.”

  Which means yes.

  Tom finally puts an end to their cover-up, leans forward to smirk, “Are you kidding? It’s not a party without Barry acting like a jackass.”

  I wince.

  Here we go.

  “Jackass?” Barry pushes off the wall.

  Abs touches my chest, another silent plea for help.

  There’s a competition between Tom and Barry, because Tom knows my best friend doesn’t like him and thinks he’s a douche. Which he’s not. Abby and I spend a lot of time with Tom and Jennifer doing couples-things. We like them, they’re good people. Jen’s a peach. Or maybe a strawberry.

  Sure, Tom’s not as fun to hang out with as Barry is, but he’s a good guy. Normally a passive type, but he would punch Barry in order to look good in front of his own wife, like most men would. Especially with the undeniable undercurrent of chemistry between Barry and Jen — mostly on her side — that Tom tries to pretend isn’t there, but fucking is.

  It just is.

  That’s why he had her on his lap while they listened to Arthur. So he could keep an eye on her.

  I’ve gotta get moving.

  “What did you call me, Tom? You're going to wear that vest, and call me a jackass?”

  I slide between them, gracefully push them apart. “C’mon, Barry. Let's get you some coffee.”

  Barry resists, glaring at Tom. “No no, I'm good. Yeah. I'm fine.” As I make him keep walking, he blows Tom a kiss.

  Jennifer says a quiet, “Sorry, Barry.”

  “Don't fucking apologize to him!” orders Tom.

  “Okay, okay,” I call out, “Ar
thur, another song?” my hand on Barry to lead him inside for some much needed space.

  We’re out of coffee.

  Behind me, Abby asks them to stay, but I don’t hear the rest of their conversation as the door shuts on our apartment.

  I ask, locking eyes with him, “You alright, Barry?”

  “I’m fine. I am!” He blinks at me, tugs his arm back. “I’m good, Max, I am.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m good!”

  We stare at each other until I’m satisfied he understands I won’t take more of his shit tonight.

  He’ll keep it together.

  I’m not worried.

  Mom is.

  She’s cleaning up our kitchen, scrubbing away in one of her best dresses. This is how I know she’s stressed out, cleaning her go-to. Every party we’ve had that Mom’s attended, she’s stayed to the end to help us restore our home to what it was. But we’re nowhere near the party ending, and she’s feverishly rinsing out glassware.

  I touch her upper back, voice low, “Ma, you okay?”

  So Barry can’t hear, she whispers, “He went too far.”

  “He’s good now. Don’t worry.”

  The sponge pauses in her hand. Mom throws me an I-hope-so look. I pat her back, and reach for a bottle of my best red I left here on the counter for the right time.

  Now is it.

  Behind me I hear the beginning of a new song from Arthur, his guitar soothing me and everybody. Man, that guy can play. And his voice! I wish I had a voice like that.

  Abby walks up behind me, her body really warm as she looks over my shoulder with a sexy smile in her voice. “What have you got there?”

  “Seghesio, 2012.” I lift to show her the bottle.

  Mom snatches it from my hands, excited but jokingly saying, “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  We all want to do anything to get this party back on a livelier tract.

  Especially Abby who pulls me close and slides her arms around my neck, smiling up at me. “I miss you.”

  I murmur, “Mmm, you smell good.”

  From out of nowhere Dad appears, interrupting us, “Tom wants to bet me the Falcons will win this weekend.”

  “What?” I balk, “That's crazy. Take it!” as Lorna walks in, too.

  Dad grins, “Oh, I did! You should get in on this.”

  A loud crash scares the shit out of us and we jump out of the way of breaking glass.

  Oh no.

  No no no.

  That vase, shattered on our kitchen tile, used to belong to Abby and Lorna’s mom. The heirloom is one of the last things she owns from them. Everything burned in the fire that took both parent’s lives.

  Getting Abs to trust me when we first started dating was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

  She was so independent, so afraid of letting me in. Terrified if she loved me I would leave.

  They’d gone to her friend’s birthday party, Lorna tagging along to be with the ‘big girls.’

  When at the end of the party, their parents didn’t show, the friend’s mother drove them home to find their house in flames, fire trucks outside. Abby sprang from the car, ran for the house, and one of the firemen caught her as she screamed for her Mom and Dad. Her friend’s mother held Lorna who, as the story goes, was covered in chocolate cake. They’d schemed to steal a couple slices for later, since she was basically ignored and could get away with it. When Lorna saw the fire, she crushed them in her little hands. The fireman told Abby it was too late. She shoved him away from her, grabbed Lorna from the woman like she knew her baby sister was her child now to raise.

  I can’t imagine that kind of loss.

  My folks and I are very close — I’m an only child. I know I’m lucky. Hell, I saw how Barry’s parents ignored his existence and what that did to his self-esteem.

  When I heard the story, my heart broke for Abs and I understood why she was so hard to get close to.

  Kept working at it.

  Had to.

  The night I met her I knew.

  So I was patient.

  My confidence was unwavering when Abby pulled away from me after we’d begun to spend time together.

  She wasn’t just playing hard to get.

  She was leaving.

  The idea of loving me was too scary for her. I weathered some intense shit back then, but I kept reminding myself of what she’d lost, what she’d seen, how the smell of ashes was still in her nose every time she got stressed out. I reminded myself of that every time she pulled away.

  Finally, the last time she backed out of a date, about eight months into our relationship, I told her I wasn’t going anywhere and she could either keep hurting me or cut it the fuck out.

  She burst into tears. “I’m hurting you?”

  “Yeah! You are.”

  “But you’re always so happy!”

  “I’m smiling because I’m with you. But in here,” I poked my heart. “You’re doin’ a number on me, Abs.”

  She crumbled into my arms and wouldn’t stop crying for what seemed like years. And I guess it was years, the scar tissue peeling away as I whispered that I loved her over and over and over. “I’m never going to leave.”

  We’re all staring at the broken vase.

  “I’m so sorry Abs.”

  My wife is a gem. “It's just a thing.”

  But Lorna can’t do that. “It was our mother’s.”

  Barry knows the history. So do Mom and Dad. He winces, “Oh shit. I'm so sorry!”

  I glance to Abby as she says again, “It's fine. It's just 'a thing.’”

  God I love her.

  But Lorna says, “Well done, Grace.”

  Barry snaps, “Can you give me a break for once in your fucking life?”

  My skin prickles, and I shake my head, “I think I'm about done with this,” motioning to the door, “Let's go, Barry. I'll make sure you get home okay.”

  “No, I’m fine!” He throws his hands up, looking pathetic, “I promise I won't touch anything.”

  A couple quick strides is all it takes for me to get to where he’s leaning against our counter, clamp my hands on his shoulders, and spin him around. If Abby can take the breaking of her truly precious vase and her best friend almost ditching an awkward yet very important evening, I can get rid of the out of control friend who’s here because of me. “Barry, I love you, but when you get like this…”

  As I spin him around he points at Lorna, “If she weren't such a fucking bitch!”

  I hold his eyes, as everyone watches us. “If you weren't so wasted, it wouldn't matter what Lorna did.”

  Barry glares at me, unconvinced. He scans the faces of Dad, Mom, and pauses on Abby, doing a double-take at her patience. Not once has Abs ever been rude or sarcastic to Barry, even as his drinking as become worse over the years. He loves her, respects this is her home, and now he feels like a jerk.

  “Fine. If I gotta go…” he walks to the fridge, “I’m taking a beer with me.”

  I pull my wife into my arms, surprising her because her mind is still on that vase. “Let's go to the cabin tomorrow.”

  Abby frowns, green eyes begging me not to make her go. “Oh! I just want to stay here for the weekend. You know, do nothing. Rest.”

  I offer the obvious solution, “You always complain there's nothing to do up there.”

  She grins, “I do not complain!” I raise my eyebrows and she rolls her eyes, saying dryly, “Okay, I complain a little bit,” quickly switching to an imploring tone, “But that's because there's nothing to do at the cabin! There's too much nothing. You know I think it's boring as hell up there.”

  I remind her, “I’ll keep you busy.”

  Abby’s smile spreads at the image of us fucking for a whole weekend.

  Dad cries out, “This family! We know too much! Too much!”

  I give her a peck goodbye, spin around for the door, holding it open, and motioning for Barry to walk through before me so I can keep my eye on h
im.

  He whispers to Abby, “I’m sorry.”

  She nods a forgiving smile.

  I blow her a kiss. She catches it and brings it to her lips.

  It’s our ‘thing’.

  And off I go.

  Chapter 5

  Max

  Barry grumbles as we walk up Mercer Street, heading to his place in NoHo on Broadway just above Houston, the same apartment we lived in when I met Abs. It’s a warm night, everyone out to enjoy it, pedestrian traffic particularly heavy in front of Fanelli’s, a popular joint for locals since it was established in 1847 and still has old-world New York appeal. Plus, the bartenders are always cool. Not stick their nose in the air, but laid back, easy going, funny yet won’t take your shit, cool.

  We cross Prince Street as Barry says, “Max, you don’t have to walk me like I’m a little kid. I can get home fine!”

  “I wanna make sure you don’t end up in a bar fight, because I won’t be there to have your back.”

  The cabin.

  It’s going to be beautiful.

  A whole weekend with Abs.

  Just us.

  No one interrupting.

  Might suggest more role-playing in New Paltz. Maybe check out the movie theater, arrive separately. I’ll sit a row back, throw popcorn at her until she flips me off. Then I’ll stroll around and introduce myself by putting my hand between her legs.

  Yeah.

  It’s perfect.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “Just happy.”

  Barry snorts, “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s my ten year, Bear. Ten whole years and I’m still in love with her.”

  He scoffs, and we walk by the Balenciaga store, and Dolce & Gabbana, plus a few more in silence as car wheels thump on cobblestone to our left.

  Barry finally remembers what he was thinking about. “Women are fucking crazy, Max.” He smacks his own head. “They’re nuts!”

  I smile, thinking of what Dad said to me a long time ago, my voice nostalgic as I repeat, “That’s what makes them so interesting, Barry.”

  Staring at me a second, my buddy shakes his head like I’m the one who doesn’t get it. That’s the thing about jaded people, they think you’re the one with the problem if you’re happy.