Third Wheel

TaylorI close my eyes tightly as I withdraw my fingers from my folds. My orgasm will have to wait. Opening my eyes, I grasp the phone from the edge of the tub. I check the caller ID. It's Grace. I rise, grab my robe, and let voicemail take her call.Toweled off, I tap play and the loudspeaker on my new voicemail.“Taylor, are you there? Please pick up,” Grace urges then sighs. “I know it is all over now between the two of you, but I want us to get together one last time. I have something for you.”I press end and delete to block out the whiny pleas of my recently ex-mother-in-law-to-be. KC sounds even better now. I won't have to tell anyone, no one will find me there, and that is what I need right now. I quickly pack a carry-on bag with only my make-up, a change of clothes, pajamas, a bikini, a couple of pairs of Converse shoes, flip-flops, and my vibrators. I create a mental list as I pack. Gas, cash, gum, and download a book or two. I grab my favorite white, scoop neck tee, my favor

TaylorDid I just cry with a stranger? Did I, looking at the unfolded bar napkin, accept his cellphone number and promise to see him next week? I haven’t been single for two months yet. This is not me. I don’t take these risks. I do not share private feelings with strangers. I do not meet men in bars. I don’t go to bars. I work. I plan. I scrutinize and calculate all my decisions before making them. I have at least three to-do lists going at any given time. I live to plan and organize everything. Deciding to fly to KC at a moment’s notice is not something I do. Accepting the number of a bartender I just met is even farther from the norm for me. What am I thinking?I find my gate just in time for boarding. The agent scans my first-class ticket, and I secure my carry-on in the overhead compartment before I plop into my spacious seat. I smile at the thought of seeing my friends. Jackson and Kennedy know about my screwed-up mom, my life with Grandma before she passed, my desperation for sc

TaylorI take the barstool across from Kennedy as she prepares the salad. “What can I do to help?” I ask.She slides three more saltines my way. Rolling my eyes, I push them aside.“No. Thank you. Five crackers was enough.” I see the concern in her eyes. “Ken, I’m okay. I was so excited to fly here when you called; food was the last thing on my mind.” I rise from my perch, pacing to the refrigerator and back to the island. I feel anxious, caged. I need to move. I pace while Kennedy rinses the lettuce. Her soft, natural blonde hair is swept into a messy ponytail. She’s still slender, just not emaciated as she once was. Her eye makeup accentuates her blue eyes. Her white blouse loosely conceals everything from neck to wrist. Her gray capris are at least one size too large for her frame. Cherry red polish draws my eyes toward her fingers and toes. She’s come so far, but some habits remain visible. I mentally add, ”Chat with Jackson about her eating disorder,” to my to-do list.On my way

JacksonI shrug at Taylor. “Need more of the hard stuff?”Taylor shakes her head. A veil of sadness slides over her features. “I told him to get his ass in the shower before I could speak to him. I let him think it was to wash their scent from his skin.” Taylor’s blue eyes briefly connect with mine before looking away. “I really needed time to calm down and think.” She giggles to herself. “I made a list.”“You and your lists.” Kennedy laughs. Although I thought Taylor would brandish a knife and threaten to castrate him, making a list is not a surprise. Taylor continues, “I told him he had to clean up everything before I returned to talk to him at eight a.m. I couldn’t sit in the stink and filth. If I threw him out, I’d be stuck cleaning, and that was not going to happen.” Taylor shrugs. “I drove to a hotel for the night, and I visited the hotel bar.”Kennedy prompts, “Was it clean?”“Yes. He claims he did it all himself. I still don’t believe him. The jackass had picked up breakfast

TaylorMy iPhone vibrates in my pocket. It's a text from Jackson.Jackson: Song of the Day time.Me: Not fair on phone. U can look up lyrics to cheat.My phone immediately rings. “Hi, Jackson,” I greet.“Song of the Day time,” he states.“Not all of the males grab a gorgeous female...” I start.“Keep going,” he prompts.“And conceal female from everyone on earth,” I continue.“A little more,” he prompts. “It's on the tip of my tongue.”I know that, when I continue, he will guess correctly. “I desire to be the one to stroll in the daylight...” I pause. When he doesn’t respond, I finish, “Oh females, want to have entertainment.”“Madonna, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun,’” Jackson professes.“Well,” I start, “you are only half right. It's not Madonna.”“Then who?” he challenges.“Cyndi Lauper,” I state proudly. “Have fun grocery shopping,” I tease. Jackson hangs up while Kennedy holds open Dillard's door to let me in.“I was thinking shorts, capris, and shirts first,” she starts, “then san