Stitches

“We need drinks,” I tell him. “One vodka martini, two whiskeys—no, you know what? Make that three whiskeys. Moira, what do you want?”

She glances back toward our table. “I still have some of that watermelon martini left.”

“Get her another watermelon martini,” I say, drawing out my wallet.

Moira leans in and nudges my arm playfully. “You don’t have to buy me a drink.”

My stomach tangles up, old feelings wrapping around my gut like a mess of fucking vines. I know she’s not flirting with me. I know that because I’ve known Moira for years, I’ve seen that sparkle in her blue eyes and that playful nudge, the touch of her hand on my arm—I’ve seen her do all that before, and it’s always innocent. I know she doesn’t mean anything by it. I know my innards are only responding like she is because my life is a fucking mess right now. Because I’m so fucking unhappy. Ashley’s eyes wander all over the place when she’s unhappy—she looks for something new. I don’t think she’d act on it at this point, but she likes attention, so she’ll flirt. It pisses me off, but at least when she pisses me off I can take it out on her in the bedroom. Then we both have a little fucking fun. It fizzles fast, though. One night of good, angry sex does not a marriage make.

My eyes wander sometimes, too, but they never wander far. They wander to the same place they wandered five years ago, when I was terrified I would lose the closest friend I’d ever had.

One sure way to fuck up a friendship? Falling in love with your best friend’s girlfriend.

I felt it happening so I pulled back. Not like I would ever act on it, not like I would try to take her away from Seb, but spending so much time with them together had me all twisted up. She’d make us dinner and drinks like some 50’s housewife, then she’d tell us naughty stories with her innocent blue eyes sparkling mischievously. Don’t know how she managed to look innocent, tossing around the words that tumbled out of that pretty little mouth when she got drunk, but she did.

Then she would lie down on top of Seb right there on the couch and gaze down at him like he’d hung the moon. She would kiss him, his hands would roam her body, and I’d feel lonelier than I ever had before, even before I met Seb.

Then I met Ashley. Then I had a girl of my own, and I could save my relationship with Seb. I could even spend time with him and Moira without thinking about what she looked like naked. I got them both back—and a girlfriend, to boot. It was perfect.

It was perfect, but it didn’t last. Our relationship moved fast, from dating to married in a little over a year. Seb and Moira weren’t even married yet, but they were engaged. Moira had a thing about not getting married until they’d been together for two years. She wanted to make sure when she got married, it was going to last.

That was smart. If I’d have done that, I probably wouldn’t be married now.

Ashley cheated on me before our first wedding anniversary, after all.

No one knows, not even Seb. It was just a mistake. Actually, it was the night of their fucking wedding. I tried to do better that night, I tried not to watch Moira so much, but I failed. I counted the dances until I thought it would be appropriate to ask if I could cut in. Then I gave myself a hit of my own temptation. I’d never cheat on Ashley, even if I wasn’t happy—I just wouldn’t do that to someone. I couldn’t deny the rush I felt holding her in my arms, though. I’d been the best man at her wedding. I watched her walk down the aisle in her big white gown, all soft smiles and loving eyes for Seb. I was happy for him, happy for her. I couldn’t shake the whisper at the back of my mind, though. The one that wondered, could that have been me? If I’d found her first? If things hadn’t worked out between them and I could’ve scooped her up?

It didn’t matter, though. I didn’t have Moira the way I daydreamed about before Ashley, but this way, I could have them both. I wouldn’t lose my best friend, but I could still have a relationship with his wife. A harmless relationship.

I told myself it was harmless to enjoy holding her more than I enjoyed holding my wife. That it was harmless to breathe in her scent and memorize the happy look on her face as I whisked her across the ballroom.

Ashley didn’t agree. That was what pushed her to go to the bar and drink too many drinks, what chased her into the arms of someone else.

I left the dance floor feeling good, and I left that wedding feeling fucking crushed. I went home with my wife, visions of another man’s hands pushing up her bridesmaid dress and fucking her.

I couldn’t touch her for two months.

I tried to forgive her, but I don’t know if I ever did. I don’t know if she ever forgave me, either. If we ever forgave one another, you certainly can’t tell.

Moira nudges me again, but this time she keeps her arm pressed against mine. I’m not sure if she knows quite how capable she is of torturing me, but she must have a little idea or she’d move her damn arm.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, more solemnly.

I look over at her now. She’s so concerned, so eager to listen, so eager to help. She’s happy to let me bend her ear. I could tell her I’m not happy, but it would hurt her heart to know that. She and Seb live in this blissful fucking bubble, and I’m left out in the cold like I always was. Only now I’m out in the cold with another person, and we both sit at the table not even wanting to look at each other while they sit there gazing at one another like two people in love.

Go figure.

“Sometimes…” I shake my head, trying to figure out how to tell her that sometimes being around them shows me all I’m missing out on. That sitting there and seeing them so interested in one another, touching like newlyweds, makes me feel so lonely I wish the floor would open up and swallow me.

Before I can find the words, Seb walks up behind Moira. He snakes his arms around her tiny waist and leans in, kissing the ball of her bare shoulder. “What are you two over here talking about?”

Moira smiles slyly. “Griff here is about to buy me a drink. Are you jealous?”

“So jealous,” he says dryly, his hand sliding down and running over her ass. I can’t help watching. I may be able to buy her a drink, but I sure as fuck can’t do that.

Seb quirks an eyebrow at me and I realize he just watched me watch him touching his wife. That was probably a little… eh, whatever. I need a fucking drink.