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After: Take Me Back


Ashley

The two hours I spent with Nick in the car heading to Las Vegas that night were two of the happiest hours of my entire life. I felt complete for the first time, like the puzzle pieces had fallen into place, like the world was finally making itself right. The sky seemed deeper, the stars seemed brighter, and everything was magic, like waking up on Christmas morning when you're five years old.

Nick pulled into the 7-Eleven at about 3:45 AM, parked the car by the gas pump, and we both got out. We kissed, leaning against the car while the gasoline filled up the tank, and I put my hands on either side of his face and he had his hands on my hips and the gas pump clicked to inform us it was finished.

"I'm gonna run inside," he said, "You want anything?"

"Altoids," I said, "The cinnamon ones?"

He nodded and jogged into the store. I sat in the car, looking in the visor mirror and applying lip gloss on my mouth. My eyes caught sight of the garment bag - my wedding dress - hanging from the dry cleaner clip behind Nick's seat. I smiled at it. I'd remembered it on the outskirts of Los Angeles and Nick had graciously turned around and I'd run inside to grab it and my make up bag.

I had felt a little bit like a Ninja going into the hotel for my dress. I'd slipped into the elevator and snuck to my room and grabbed the dress off the bed, terrified that I'd bump into Chris or one of his parents or one of the other wedding guests. I was scared to have to explain myself, afraid that if I tried to it wouldn't make as much sense to be running away with Nick to Las Vegas in words spoken outloud as it did in my heart and mouth.

I was afraid to wake up and find that this had all been a dream.

But Chris wasn't anywhere to be seen.

So I just grabbed the dress, my curling iron, and my make-up bag, and rushed back down to where Nick was waiting in the car, tossing all my stuff in the backseat before we peeled out like Bonnie and Clyde.

Imagine, I almost got married without make-up.

I looked down and rooted around for my eyeliner. It was buried at the very bottom, with a little pocket calendar I kept in there with kittens on the cover.

I looked back up at the mirror, a nagging feeling coming over me, like I was forgetting something, like something wasn't right. I smeared the eyeliner along the rims of my eyes, swiped my lashes with mascara, and just a tiny bit of powder over my nose.

My phone vibrated.

It was a text from Chris.

And as I read it, that's when I realized what was bothering me.

I climbed out of the car and headed into the gas station.




Nick

I had the strangest assortment of shit imaginable. I put it all down on the counter and the cashier started ringing it up one by one. Altoids, a bag of Cheetos, two bottles of cranberry juice, a pack of Lifesavers, and a box of condoms.

"I'm getting married today," I told the cashier as he rung up the condoms.

He didn't answer.

"Twenty two thirty six," he said.

The door dinged and Ashley came in the gas station, typing a text out on her cell phone.

"Hey," I called to her, pulling my wallet out of my pocket. "You think of something else you need?"

"A bathroom?" she asked, looking up from her message.

The guy pointed to the back of the store.

"Thanks," she said.

"I got us condoms," I grinned. Ashley didn't answer. "I'll be in the car," I called to her as she disappeared toward the bathroom he'd pointed her off to. I turned to the cashier, "Protect ya 'tings, y'know? I plan on making whoopie, not makin' babies."

He didn't answer, either.

I handed the cashier two twenties. "Thanks," I told the guy, grabbing my change from his outstretched hand. I took my paper bag of crap and headed out the door to the car. Ashley had left her make-up all over the dashboard and I realized she probably needed a mirror or something to see better what she was doing as she put stuff on. I yawned and took my shit out of the paper bag. I popped open the Cheetos and shoved one in my mouth.

Ashley seemed to be taking forever.

When she finally came back out, she got in the car and pulled on her seat belt. I waved the Cheetos bag at her. She shook her head. "You sure? They're fresh. Super crunchy," I bribed her.

Ashley shook her head again.

I reached for the ignition, and turned the key, pushing the bag to the backseat.

Ashley waited until the car was at the curb, blinker on, ready to continue East.

"Nick," she said, her voice quiet.

"What?" I asked.

She looked over at me, her face was pale, and I realized that her eyes were red. "Take me back."

"What?"

Ashley's voice was strangled, "We have to go back to California."

"What? Why? Did you forget something else?"

She shook her head, "Nick, this is wrong," she said.

"Wrong? What's wrong?"

"This. Us. You and me running off to Las Vegas."

I stared at her, dumbfounded. "Ashley, it's us," I said. "We're... meant to be. We're us. How can that be wrong?"

"It just is."

"But --"

"Nick, I can't do this, okay? I can't marry you. I -- I... love... Chris...and I need to go back. I need to marry Chris."

I felt like I'd been gutted, like a wild animal. I couldn't breathe. "Ashley, was that Chris that texted you?" I asked, imagining him somehow knowing, somehow talking her out of marrying me. I wanted to defend myself, I wanted to argue any points he'd made that had made her change her mind. "What did he say to you?"

"Nick, this was a great fantasy, okay? But this doesn't work in the real world." She waved in the space between us, then out at the horizon line. "It doesn't really happen this way."

"It could," I argued.

"Maybe in movies and TV shows and storybooks, but not in real life. In real life we make sensible choices based on facts and evidence from the past. Nick you don't really want to marry me. You want to marry me because you don't want Chris to have me."

"That's shit," I said, "Ashley, I want to marry you because I love you! And you love me, too."
Her eyes flickered. "For a very, very long time I loved you... And it was so easy to make myself think that I could be with you...."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want to go back."

"You're trying to say you don't love me?"

"Nick."

"Say it!"

"Nick! Just take me back!"

"SAY IT!"

"No! Just take me back. Walk me down the aisle. Give me away. And we'll pretend this never happened between us."

"I can't pretend that," I said thickly.

"Nick-- please--"

"No, I can't pretend you don't love me anymore. I can't pretend that we don't have it all at our finger tips right now, that fate is like a two hour drive East and you're asking me to turn my back on that... on us."

Ashley swiped tears from her eyes.

"I won't give up that easily," I said.

"Nick..." her voice was trembling, fighting to stay level.

The car was silent for a second. Neither of us spoke. "You really don't love me anymore?" I asked, struggling to get the words out. The term broken hearted had never seemed so incredibly literal than at that very moment.

Ashley was quiet.

"I think you're lying," I accused. "You're afraid, and you're lying."

She let out a stream of air. "Just take me back."

"Why are you doing this? Why are you purposely making a mistake?"

"JUST TAKE ME BACK GOD DAMN IT!" she screamed.

So we went back.