Rewired (The Progress Series) Read online

“What?”

  “Writing the book.”

  I bit at the inside of my cheek. “It would be quite the challenge,” I said, tugging at my lip.

  He laughed. “I’ve heard that before!” He leaned in and kissed me on the forehead.

  “You’d be okay with that?” I asked, nervously.

  He shrugged. “Well, I think you’d have to contact him and let him know. There’s probably some sort of privacy law or something.”

  “Well, I could always label it as fiction and he would never know.” My eyebrows rose and I smiled skittishly.

  Laughing, he wrapped his arms around me. “Now, now. That wouldn’t be a very noble thing to do.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I wouldn’t know where to find him even if I wanted.”

  Interrupting our conversation, Ren walked through the door. “Mama? I gotta potty!” he shouted, carrying his red plastic Lightning McQueen.

  I laughed, realizing the door wasn’t locked after all. “Oh, sure honey.” I jumped out of bed and walked toward my beautiful son.

  With his arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed and stretched out on the bed, Sam said, “Liar. I’m pretty sure you can find him. You always cared too much.”

  With shock, I nodded as Ren took my hand and dragged me to the bathroom.

  *

  Later that afternoon, I sat down at the computer and opened my email. I typed the letters J-E-S, and an email address popped up for Anders, Jesse. He hadn’t been on social media for years, but before he’d had time to deactivate his Facebook account, I had entered his email address into my Outlook. I’m no dummy, I know how shifty he can be. I’ve always tried to keep tabs on him, grimly checking the local obituaries once or twice a year.

  To: Anders, Jesse

  From: Bordeaux, Charlene

  July 18, 2:07pm

  Hi. It’s me. Is this still your email address?

  I tugged at my bottom lip, unsure of whether or not I wanted to embark on any more adventures involving Jesse. But I’m grateful. And happy. Overwhelmed at the amount of joy in my life, I’ve been reflective and couldn’t think of anything more that I wanted to do than to tell my story. Our story.

  Without much more hesitation, I hit Send. Waves of remorse, guilt, pleasure, and excitement ran their course over my skin at once. I burned, and I’m sure I flushed. But I walked away from the computer and tried not to think about whether or not he’d respond.

  But of course, he would.

  After mopping the kitchen floor and starting a load of laundry, I stared at my laptop from across the room. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I walked slowly over to the desk and sat down. With a quick swipe of the mouse, the screen saver flicked off and my email came into vision. One new message.

  I inhaled sharply and double clicked on the envelope.

  To: Bordeaux, Charlene

  From: Anders, Jesse

  July 18, 2:32pm

  Yezzz…this is still my email. What’s the question?

  Oh, okay. So I guess I hadn’t thought about how I’d phrase this. ‘Oh, hey Jess. Thanks for getting back to me so quick. I was thinking about writing a story about us, you know, all the shit we went through a decade ago? You cool with me spilling all your secrets?’

  This is so wrong.

  I think I’m going to puke.

  I stared at the screen for a few minutes contemplating. There are so many lessons that other people could take from our story. So many things I want to show them. And if he never wants to speak to me again, I guess it’s no worse than where we are now.

  To: Anders, Jesse

  From: Bordeaux, Charlene

  July 18, 3:02pm

  Well, I’ll be damned! Jesse Anders. How the hell ya been? Do you still live around here? Why did you delete your Facebook account?

  Okay, so I suppose that’s three questions. So I have one more…

  I was thinking about writing a book. It would be based on our friendship, and all the stuff that happened back then. I really don’t expect it to be successful, the market is crowded and I don’t really consider myself a writer. I, of course, would change our names and would market it as fiction, so no one would really know that we exist in real life. But I thought I’d ask you if you were okay with it.

  Oh, god. I still feel like I’m walking on eggshells with this guy. Should I just hit Send? My eyes hovered over the Send button for a few moments. I guess if he’s going to yell at me, I can be thankful that it’s in the form of a letter. I can always just delete it.

  Fuck it. I hit the Send button just as Ren and Scarlett woke from their afternoon naps.

  It wasn’t until after the kids went to bed that I was able to check my email again. Afraid, I hesitantly opened my one new message.

  To: Bordeaux, Charlene

  From: Anders, Jesse

  July 18, 3:12pm

  Don’t you think we should get together to talk about something like this?

  Yikes.

  Without responding, I turned off my computer for the night and joined Sam on the couch.

  “How was your day?” I asked, resting my head on his lap.

  “Busy,” he replied, turning off the TV with the remote and rubbing his hand through my hair. “How was yours?”

  “Good. Ren brought home a sand art thingy from school, of which he was very proud. We hung it on the fridge together. Scarlett is drooling like crazy, so I think those last two teeth on the top are pushing through.”

  “And, what about Jesse and the book?” he asked, still combing his fingers through my hair.

  I shrugged, trying to push away the sinking feeling. “I don’t think I’m going to do it.”

  “Write the book? Why not?”

  I let the air out of my lungs. “I emailed him today. He wants to get together to talk about it.” I shook my head. “I don’t think its fair of me to put you in that kind of a position. Plus, I don’t even know if I want to see him.”

  Sam nodded and looked down in thought. “Well, there are a lot of old wounds you’d be opening up if you started this. But don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” He grinned. “I got the girl in the end, remember?”

  I laughed. “Yes, you did.” I sat up and kissed Sam, draping my arms over his shoulders. “I still don’t think I want to see him, though.”

  “What are you nervous about?”

  “Honestly?” I laughed.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s been eight years. I’ve had two kids and eaten about four hundred mini donuts since I last saw him. I know it sounds silly and a little childish, but the extra weight I’m carrying doesn’t make me feel too great. Almost like I have something to prove, that I went on to be successful and I don’t struggle with anything anymore.”

  “Oh, come on. Charlie, you’re almost six feet tall. You’ve gained, what? Thirty pounds in the last decade? Thirty pounds might be a lot for someone who’s five-foot three, but not at your height. You’ve had children! You’re thirty-three years old, and, if I can brag about my wife for a second…you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  I flashed a shy smile. “I know, babe. I’ve never felt ugly with you. That’s why I’m not a whiny, insecure, nagging wife…” I giggled. “Well, most of the time.” I winked. “But there will always be something about Jess that makes me doubt myself. That’s why I think keeping everything in the past is the best thing to do.”

  Sam scratched his head. “Look, I’m not trying to talk you into doing anything. But don’t let silly things like a little bit of weight gain or being afraid of what your husband might think stop you. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’ve been a stay-at-home mom for the past three years and haven’t done anything for yourself. If you truly feel compelled to tell the story, I say do it.” He shrugged. “I may have been insecure with your relationship with him back then, but after I found out the whys, I understood. You were friends. You needed each other. And besides, Charlie, I trust you.”

&
nbsp; I nodded, and after a long silence Sam asked, “What do you think you’d call it?”

  “Huh?”

  “The book? What would the title be?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Well, whatever you decide to do, I’ll support your decision. You’ve proven yourself to be faithful over the past seven years.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, baby.” God, he’s the best, isn’t he?

  Falling asleep that night proved to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. The entire day had stirred emotion in me that I hadn’t felt for years. The excitement, the frustration, and the paralyzing journey we all took together.

  Why is this so important to me? Why do I feel this pull to write about it all? Besides telling people about how I gained my self-esteem? Or that even though people act erratically, we shouldn’t judge them? Or how about the fight that people go through as victims and how we overcome it all? God, there’s just so much there. There’s so much to tell. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  I got out of bed and sat at the desk in the living room. Opening my laptop, I pulled up a new Word document and began typing.

  Charlie was three weeks into her new job and loved it. It was simple and every time she sought out something to do, she was praised for it. Evidently all the hostesses in the past just stood there and fiddled with their lipstick and manicures.

  I giggled, remembering my job at The Crimson. To this day, I still have nightmares about serving. As I began typing the second paragraph, I heard my email ping and instantly felt a flutter in my stomach.

  I closed the Word document window and opened my Outlook folder.

  To: Bordeaux, Charlene

  From: Anders, Jesse

  July 19, 12:22am

  You’re nervous, aren’t you?

  I am too.

  I shook my head and grinned, scratching my chin.

  To: Anders, Jesse

  From: Bordeaux, Charlene

  July 19, 12:24am

  You have no idea. But let’s lay down some ground rules.

  One hug, nothing more. No fighting. No smart-ass remarks about my weight. And we meet in public. No drinking. No smoking weed. And no altercations between Jesse Anders and innocent patrons. Are we understood? ;)

  Tell me when and where. I’ll try to find a babysitter.

  I hit Send and within a minute, received his reply.

  To: Bordeaux, Charlene

  From: Anders, Jesse

  July 19 12:30am

  You have no idea how hard you just made me laugh. Thanks, I needed that.

  Monday. Noon. Cantina’s off Cliff Rd.

  I smiled at his response, and after sending a quick message to my babysitter, I sent him one last email.

  To: Anders, Jesse

  From: Bordeaux, Charlene

  July 19, 12:40am

  If for some reason my babysitter can’t make it Monday, I’ll send you an email. Otherwise, I’ll see you then.

  I bit my bottom lip and shut down my computer for the night. Crawling back into bed, I wrapped my arms around Sam with a wide smile.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. Are the kiddos okay?”

  “Yes, they’re fine. Go back to sleep,” I said, nestling my face into his neck. I heard him smile.

  “Are you sure you’d be okay with it all?” I asked after a moment.

  “What, the book?”

  “Yes. I just feel like it’s too risky. I mean, what if he hits on me? Or what if he’s mean or tries to hurt me? I don’t know if he takes medication, and he was always so unpredictable—”

  “Hey, take it easy, babe,” he began softly and turned to face me. “Okay, let’s look at this rationally for a minute. One, what if he hits on you—well, what would you do? You’d stop it, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “So it’s not like he’s going to try to have sex with you in the middle of a public place, which is where I’d assume you’d be meeting. If he does anything inappropriate, just leave.”

  “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought about that. I would just feel incredibly guilty for going in the first place.”

  He shrugged and sat up, turning on the lamp. “I didn’t tell you, but the other day I ran into Tammy.”

  I shot up. “What? Tammy, your ex-girlfriend, Tammy?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “Where were you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want you to feel bad, or jealous, or angry with me. Nothing happened. I was on my way into Minneapolis to visit a client and I stopped for a coffee. She was there.” He shrugged. “I had a few minutes to kill before my meeting so we sat and caught up.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you upset?”

  “Actually, surprisingly no, I’m not.”

  “See? Here’s the thing, babe: I dated Tammy for about six months. We had a few good times and I remember her fondly. But the reason there was no sexual tension between us when I saw her last week is because,” he paused, “…my life is complete with you. Here. In this house and with the kids. I’m not looking for anyone else to fill a void.”

  I nodded.

  “So I think you should be asking yourself the same question. Why are you really going to write this book? Do you trust yourself, after all this time, with him? Are you looking for something else? Because if the answers to those questions are innocent and have nothing to do with some kind of pull he has on you, then you’ll be writing the book for all the right reasons.” He laughed and continued. “On the other hand, if you’re just doing this to stir up some drama and want to get in the guy’s pants again, we’ve got a problem.”

  I laughed. “No. That’s the furthest thing from my mind.” I scratched my head and exhaled. “I’m not going to lie to you. I just made arrangements to meet him on Monday, and there’s a part of me that’s really excited to see my old friend. But I’d have to be the most unintelligent person on the planet to jeopardize what we have here.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “I love you and the kids way too much. But to be honest, part of me is really scared to see him.”

  “Why? Because you think you’ll want to sleep with him?”

  “Ha! No. Not that. Part of me is scared because I’ve lost some of that thick skin that was created back then.”

  Sam laughed. “Well then this should be perfect,” he said.

  I looked at him, confused.

  “You’re going to need a thick skin when you start submitting your work to publishing agents and review blogs. You think Jesse was bad? Those people can be brutal.”

  *

  The weekend sped by, and I devoted every moment to writing the most memorable times with Jesse. All I had was my old journal entries, and I tried to piece together what I could remember. But it was choppy and there were so many things I couldn’t recall.

  Monday morning had come and gone, and I had been typing up until the babysitter rang the doorbell.

  “I should be back around two o’clock, give or take. Is that okay?”

  “Take your time.”

  “Thanks, Kaitlyn. Oh! There’s whole milk in the fridge for Scarlett in case she wakes before I get home. And Ren will ask you for cookies as soon as he gets up, but give him a Nutri-Grain instead.”

  “I know the drill.” Kaitlyn smiled.

  “I have my cell on me…”

  “I got it Mrs. B. Go, have a good time.”

  I swallowed and hesitantly walked out the door.

  I pulled into the parking lot of Cantina’s at 11:57am, taking a deep breath. Exiting my car, I peered around the parking lot and saw a red bike chained to the railing outside the restaurant. My heart leapt for a moment and felt my face flush. You can do this, Charlie.

  Just as I entered, the hostess approached me. “How many?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m meeting someone.” I glanced around the re
staurant, but didn’t see him. “Um, do you have a bar, perhaps?”

  “Yes, it’s right around the corner.”

  “Thanks.”

  I quickly assessed myself, making sure there was no toilet paper stuck to my shoe or spit-up on my sweater, and walked in the direction of the bar. Just before reaching the corner, I took a deep breath and fixed my worried expression.

  Three steps forward and there he was.

  Jesse’s arms were resting on the black granite as he finished off his beer. With his posture slouched and his knee bouncing, he looked up and swallowed. Setting the empty mug down on the bar, he stood and closed his eyes briefly. I gave him a mischievous smile just as his eyes opened. He cocked his head to one side and reached his hand out, smiling in return.

  “Hi,” I murmured as he pulled me close for a hug.

  “Hi,” he said, inhaling my perfume. He held on for a fraction of a second longer than I anticipated, and I was the first to pull away.

  “Have a seat.” He pulled out a barstool and gestured for me to sit.

  I avoided his eyes for a few seconds, unsure of how to begin the conversation. I had been running it over in my mind all weekend, trying to predict the things he might say, all the things I hoped for him, and of course a dreaded outcome that nothing had changed in a decade. I held my breath for a moment before I spoke.

  “You look great, Jess,” I said, smiling and pulling my hair behind my ear.

  He nodded. “You too.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  “So…” we said in unison, then laughed. “You first,” I said.

  “I could really use a smoke.”

  I giggled. “I knew it. I knew you would never quit.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I quit when I got pregnant the first time.”

  His posture straightened as he perked up. “The first time.” He smiled. “How many?” he asked, looking relieved.

  “Kids? Two. One boy and one girl.”