Cabin Affairs

Step 4. Insecurities Ahead

Step 4. Insecurities Ahead.

Playlist: “Hands On You” by Ashley Monroe

Silver glints off the overhead light before disappearing under Eric's tight black t-shirt. He used to wear dog tags, an accessory I fervently admired. Eric gave me a set with his information on it before he deployed early on. A slightly odd gift, but one that I cherish nonetheless. For a long while, I wore the smaller toe tag clipped around the side of my panties under my clothes every day. It was my secret way to keep him close despite the miles that separated us. That was before Matthew, before I released Eric from my juvenile crush, and before I grew up.

After leaving the Air Force, Eric traded the dog tags in for a silver chain with a cross. He isn't very religious, yet this chain belonged to his grandfather. As head of the family, his grandfather greatly influenced the five boys into men. He died of cancer five years ago. I remember because I helped Eric’s mother cater for the wake. This silver chain is a symbol of both the family and its past. And the glinting of it bouncing off the light taunts me now.

What is it about a chain on a man's neck that has me literally gushing? I love a defined collarbone just made for my tongue to find that sweet spot in the crook of his neck and upper shoulder, but there's got to be more to it than that lusty thought. The knowledge that he is a protector, through and through. Proof that he can commit to something bigger than himself. Or perhaps I am just shallow and it's all about the way it typically tends to rest on a well-muscled set of pecs. Whatever the reason, the magical disappearing act of Eric’s chain has me captivated. Congratulations, Mr. Cooperfield.

I do my best not to stare, though my best is still equivalent to that of a teenager watching the football team warm up. Heaven help me! I do not usually have this problem. We were best friends most of our lives. My girlish infatuation with this man ended long ago. It wasn’t until the flirty texting that any of these thoughts entered my mind. Still, I can not sit here on the couch next to Eric without wondering what the end of that chain looks like. For memory’s sake only, I delude myself.

When Eric finishes his tendies - great, now he has me calling them that - he sits back against the couch next to me and the remnants of my superfruit smoothie. He pulls at his face, rubbing his eyes, as if trying to wake himself up. I find myself hoping he isn't that tired my first night here at this cabin. With a heavy and frustrated sigh, Eric turns his attention to me.

I begin to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze. The heat I had hoped to see in his eyes is missing though, replaced by… is that anger? I'm jarred into the realization that my friend is most definitely mad. Is Eric upset - with me? All I did was bring you chicken tenders, dude! We have talked and talked the past few weeks until I thought everything was out in the open. I can not fathom where this conversation is about to go.

"Alright, Jenny Lynn," Eric begins. By the use of my full name, I know he is disappointed in me. In the decades we have been friends, he has only used my full name a handful of times. When I broke his new remote control car in third grade. When I let Greg drag me into a game of spin-the-bottle so he could kiss me in seventh grade. When I accidentally crashed Eric's car in sophomore year of high school the night before my driving test. And now, apparently.

While I love my name, the way he says it never sits well with me. I prefer to be his J, or Jen, or Jenny, or beautiful. Hell, right now I'll take pal, sport, chief, or buddy. But my full name from Eric is practically an insult after thirty years of not hearing it. I may as well be getting dressed down in a stern talking to by a father or a principal. I instinctually shrink inwards. Clearly, it was a mistake coming to this cabin with him.

"So, what the f**k are you doing here?" he blurts out. Eric is not one to sugar coat things. At least, he never used those skills with me.

It's not the question that unnerves me. I half expected this. It's the disillusionment in my character that Eric is expressing which makes me wish the couch would swallow me whole. Somehow, he has re-measured me, and I no longer add up.

The couch remains steadfast, however, leaving me vulnerably upright and visible. f*****g universe. I am a generally good person. I do for others as much as possible, and I ask for nothing in return. I have had both misfortune and grace bestowed upon me in the past. Yet, the one time I need the universe to save me from this moment, I am abandoned to face my embarrassment alone. I have no choice but to face him.

No, Eric. Don't narrow your eyebrows down at me like that. I lose the ability to think, move, breathe when you do. I may as well be naked, my soul laid bare to him right now. Please Eric, look away, I scream inside.

And since he doesn't, I do. I can't take that look. Tears sting at my eyes, welling up against my wishes. I remember reading an article once that said if you look up, it can keep you from crying. That is an impossible task, though, as my eyes remain as low as my heart.

"You can talk to me about anything. You're safe here. Matthew is far away. What is really going on with you?"

Matthew? What does my husband have to do with Eric's anger? My face screws up, finally daring to look at Eric. I have to solve this puzzle.

"What do you mean?" I demand.

He grabs the Styrofoam smoothie cup from my hand and sets it down on the coffee table instead. Then, his large hands take hold of my shoulders, squaring me to his intense gaze. "I mean, that you are happily married, J. I know you love Matthew. I can even understand your wanting to make him happy, but this? This isn't you. You’ve always been a straight-laced kid. So, why did you come here? Did he talk you into this? Is he forcing you to do things you aren't comfortable with? Because you don't have to sacrifice your happiness for his. Just talk to me. I'm not going to judge you. I promise, you can trust me. I'm always here for you."

I actually shake my head, moving backwards, away from his accusations. I run his words over in my mind, contemplating the magnitude of them. Eric is angry - at Matthew - for putting me in an uncomfortable situation. He is disappointed - in me - for not standing up for myself or confiding in him. He thinks I am being manipulated and used for someone else’s pleasure alone, despite over a month of sexting between us. He doesn't realize how easy it truly was for Matthew to talk me into coming here, to this remote hunting cabin. Nor how much I've always secretly wanted him.

"Matthew didn't trick me or force me into anything." I hate my voice. It’s shaking when I need to sound most confident.

He's still attempting to inject me with truth serum through his staring contest, and I fear I will lose. I know my cheeks are bright red, matching the burn from his glare. He wants to break me. He wants me to blame Matthew, as if I'm in some kind of abusive relationship where my husband holds all the control.

Then it clicks. The last piece of this upended puzzle falls into place, completing the picture of Eric's question. He didn't come here to be with me. He came here to be there for me. He thinks of me as just another woman in distress who needs a big, strong man to step in and save her. Why the hell did I let Matthew convince me this jackass wanted me? This is beyond mortifying.

Still, Eric is trying to choke the honesty out of me with his eyes. The hypocrisy of this man! He believes I should tell him the supposed 'truth' about my marriage, yet he came here under false pretenses. The blow to my ego is overshadowed by my fury at being duped. Eric may have over a hundred pounds on me, but as my temper rises, I bet I can take him.

"Stop looking at me like that! I came here of my own volition. Matthew may have wanted this, but so do I. How dare you call me a liar all these weeks! You really think I came here because I needed saving? That I am some weakling who would go against my own convictions and self-respect because I was told to? It’s as if you don’t know me at all, friend."

My sudden defiance strikes him like a blow to the face. My last word spits at him like venom. This was obviously not the reaction he expected.

"You want to have s*x?" he asks suspiciously.

"Yes." My tone is now challenging and aggressive. I may just as well have told him to screw himself, because that's how it sounds.

"Alright, J. Fine. I believe you." Eric takes his hands off my shoulders, raising them in surrender. “Now, tell me why.”

I am not so easily placated by his actions. "Why? You want to know why I want to have s*x. Because I want to isn't a good enough reason? Women like s*x, too, E."

"No, J. I meant, why me?"

Oh. That question gives me pause. I take a couple of deep breaths to bring my anger down a notch.

"You? Why not you?” I shrug as nonchalantly as I know how. Then I start counting the logical reasons on my fingers. “I know you. I'm comfortable with you. I know I can trust you."

We are still face to face sitting sideways on a lumpy couch in the main room of this small cabin. I want Eric to accept this simple math equation, but he is looking for the variable in my accounting. Again, I feel myself squirming further into the cushions.

Now is my moment of truth. This is the moment I have to decide whether to be an honest person or a phony, a person of courage or a coward. "Listen E, I have been attracted to you nearly my whole life. I assumed you saw it so many times, and meant to shrug me off as an adopted little sister. Apparently, I'm a better actress than I give myself credit for. I was telling the truth in those text messages. You are one of the most handsome men I have ever met. Just the way you look into my eyes, the smell on your clothes, the deep sound of your voice... Even the annoyance I get at the fact that I can't see the bottom of the chain around your neck because of that damn shirt that I just want ripped off your body…"

I gulp in the air. I've gone too far. Time to backtrack.

"I'm sorry if I just made things uncomfortable for you. But I'm not the one who came here under false pretenses," I huff. So much for backtracking. If anything, I've just doubled down. Great job, Jenny Lynn!

Entrenched into both this position and the lumpy sofa, I look away and begin struggling to stand up. I have to get away from Eric. I can't even see the line I just crossed in our friendship as it's so far behind me.

"Stop moving and sit down, J," he insists.

I could be the big bad wolf from the fairytale for all the huffing and puffing I'm doing this conversation. "I'm sorry, ok? For real this time. I guess you were right and I shouldn't have come here. I knew better. I just wanted to believe there was a chance you meant all those flirty text messages, the same as I do. Please, let's just forget it. This doesn't have to change everything between us. We can just hang out for a few days and catch up as friends."

I can't see his expression with my eyes cast back to my feet, but his attention still threatens to burn me alive where I sit. Eric's silence is crushing. Maybe... maybe that friendly option is off the table. So, as much as I don't want to abandon our friendship in this tattered state, I give him an out, "Unless you'd rather I left now."

That's when he puts his hand on my upper thigh.