by Julie Olivia
“What is this, Duck, Duck, Goose?” Wes laughs. “And why is the strip club first?”
“To get it out of the way,” I say with a raised eyebrow.
“Good call,” he replies, a bit too quickly.
“Agreed,” Cam interjects. I can see the relief in both his and Wes’s eyes, and I wonder why the heck we’re even choosing to go if none of us want to.
“I mean, we can skip it—” I start before immediately being interrupted by the others.
“It wouldn’t be a bachelor party without it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Have to.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, looking between them then back down at my phone again. “So, strip club, bar, then pier?”
“Did you take out a bar?”
“Why is the pier last and not a bar?”
SNAP!
I look over and down goes Wes, butt flat on the floor with the chair splayed under him in various chunks and splinters, a full-on gregarious laugh erupting from his throat.
“This is…going…to be…a shit show, isn’t it?” he asks between laughs, and both Cam and I look at each other with a smirk.
Absolutely.
I spend most of the late morning and early afternoon trying to relax by the pool with my most recent read, but it’s hard to concentrate when I keep wondering what time Nia will arrive. It’s almost three o’clock before she wanders out of the resort’s sliding glass doors and, good lord, she’s as gorgeous as ever. No other woman can pull off a conservative bikini like this woman, and I never really thought I’d say that. It’s probably those long legs still on display. Even at her shorter height, she’s seventy percent legs. Couldn’t hide those even if she tried.
I pop out of my pool chair with my book placed under my arm once she passes, following right behind her as her blue skirt billows next to me.
“Afternoon, Polly,” I say, sidestepping the fabric. “How are you feeling?”
“Not dead. At least there’s that.” Her tone lacks the familiar underlying bite of irritation that I’m used to. Dare I say it has a slight sweetness to it? I can get behind this change.
We walk down the stairs that lead to the beach. She removes her sandals to pocket them in her tote bag. She eyes me for a bit then slightly opens the bag as if to invite my own sandals in as well. It’s weird how such a simple gesture can cause my heart to swell three times as big.
“Wow.” I slip my sandals off. “I like this new politeness. What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m trying this new thing where I try not to completely hate you,” she says, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Is she flirting with me?
I use my hand to widen the bag’s opening and drop the sandals inside. Just as they plop in, I catch a glimpse of a DVD. The DVD. My jaw drops.
“So, you do still have it,” I say, and her head jerks toward me, face flushing red.
Her eyebrows rise above her dark sunglasses. “I take it back,” she says, her mouth twitching into a constrained half-smile. “I still hate you.”
“Tell me why you have it,” I prod, a grin spreading across my face.
This woman is effectively carrying pornography just a foot or two away from me. This entire situation feels like contraband that has been caged and locked away from me, and I finally have a piece of the key.
“There’s a story, I swear.”
“And…” I urge as we begin to walk once more.
I’m getting hard just thinking about Nia sitting on her bed watching it, and I trip over some sand. My mind can barely register anything past the idea of her watching that goddamn movie.
She laughs at my stumble. “Grace told me you guys would like it as a bachelor party present. So, I was going to give it to you.” Her tone is all business.
“Were you, now?” I say, quirking an eyebrow. “And did you and Grace watch it together?”
“You pig.”
“I feel that’s a legitimate question.”
She stops mid-step and I’m so close to her that my chest bumps against her back. Then she stays there, unmoving, her head tilting to face me. We’re maybe an inch or two apart, my head hovering next to hers, both of us looking straight ahead.
“You’re starting this again,” she whispers. Her breath is so close it makes my hair stand on end. Every bit of pressure in my body rushes directly down to my crotch.
“Starting what?” I ask.
“The suggestive, seductive whispering.”
“You started the whispering.”
“Listen, I told you things I shouldn’t have last night,” she says. “Let’s get over it.”
I chuckle, my breath moving a tendril of hair hanging next to her ear. She inhales sharply at this. Does she really regret everything? I take a step back.
“Stop that,” she says.
“Stop what?” I whisper back. I’m starting to feel like a yo-yo being thrown down and wound back up, just wrapped around this woman’s finger.
“That weird grumble guttural sound you make,” she says. “I heard enough of that last night.”
I didn’t even know I made a sound.
“I liked finding out more about you,” I say, and I mean it. I loved the honesty, the raw admissions about our personal lives, and everything in between. There’s a moment now where she stares into my eyes. She steals a glance down to my lips. It reminds me of how she looked last night—hungry and wanting.
“We don’t talk about that,” she whispers.
“What?” I whisper back.
“You know what.”
What is she referring to? I open my mouth to ask, but I feel a quick slap on my back that jolts me away from my focus on Nia’s smooth lips.
“Corinne,” Nia says through a shaky breath, a large grin spreading on her face. It’s fake and I could sense that from a mile away. I wonder if Corinne can too, but even if it’s possible, her own face doesn’t give a hint of being any the wiser.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “Are we sharing secrets?” I have never wanted to hear Corinne’s peppy voice less in my entire life. In fact, I’ll even go so far as to say I’ve never wanted to see a tall perky blonde in a small pink bikini as little as I do now.
Corinne is much smarter than she lets on. I swear I can see mischief lurking behind those absurdly large, winged black sunglasses.
I try to speak again, but a loud ringing from Nia’s tote bag interrupts.
“Do you always keep that at max volume?” Corinne asks. Nia tries to flash another fake smile, but I roll my eyes at the ridiculous effort of it all.
“It restarted and I guess the volume triggered back to a default,” Nia says, digging through her bag, pushing past items as the ringtone wails on. How do women find anything in bags that big?
“The bottomless bag,” I comment to Nia, smirking.
“I keep forgetting to check it this morning,” she says before yelling, “Finally!” once she locates the phone. Then, with a quick glance at the screen, her face shifts from triumph to shock.
“Woah, uh, I should probably take this.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“I have about ten missed calls from my brother.”
I try to see what’s on her screen because I’m a nosy fucker, but the light of the sun and my lack of sunglasses causes me to squint and only be able to make out vague details. All I know is when she goes to her messages, I see paragraph upon paragraph of texts sent from the other person.
Finally, with a small twist of her wrist, the sun stops reflecting off the screen just long enough for me to see one simple and clear text at the bottom: Call me now.
18
Nia
Five years ago
Some childhood games never die, and making blanket forts with your siblings is one of them, though building them in a hospital waiting room when one sibling could become a parent at any moment might be when the term “grow up” is applicable, which is exactly what my sister Sarah is whining
to all of us as we pass pillows around.
It’s late at night—or maybe early in the morning—on Christmas Day, and all the Smith children are throwing hospital sheets and pillows across aisles of chairs to create a blanket palace fit for the arrival of Harry’s daughter, Cara.
“Lawrence, pillow me!” Harry yells, causing a pop to his head when the fluffy brick hits him square in the jaw.
The nurse at the window tsks, but that’s the extent of her reprimand. It’s Christmas, after all, and other waiting room occupants in the maternity ward are helping with our pillow neighborhood.
I pile the final blanket on a stack meant to form the ceiling of a very sad parapet.
“You tried,” Harry says with a smile.
“Don’t insult my pillow genius,” I say. “And what are you working on anyway?”
He points to the area nestled between two couch cushions as walls, a tiny throw tucked around the edges.
“A nursery,” he says. I grin back but instead of a sweet moment, we have Jamie and Lawrence crawling their way over, bypassing other makeshift “rooms” in the palace.
“You’re such a sap,” Lawrence says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Who guessed baby brother Harry would be the first of us to have a kid?”
I smile to Harry. It’s a happy moment, one none of us expected but exciting all the same. Who isn’t excited to be an aunt or uncle? A grandparent? My heart swells and a buzz runs through me, but then it centers on my butt and I realize it’s just the phone in my back pocket, begging to be answered.
I tug it out and see an email in my work inbox. My stomach drops at the name. It’s been doing that a lot lately. Maybe I’m just desperate. Maybe my dry spell is finally catching up with me. All I know is that I have an email from Ian Chambers on a Sunday morning, and it just made me feel a bit tipsy.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Congrats!
Nia,
Good luck being an aunt. I’m sure you’ll be great. Or you’ll be bad. Who really knows since it’s your first niece? But I bet you’ll be great. Congratulations!
See ya tomorrow,
Ian
It’s a simple message. Unexpected, but weirdly welcome. Maybe it’s the atmosphere of this waiting room or my raging hormones, or maybe it’s that he’s the only person from work who congratulated the family—the only one who remembered. Whatever it is, my face lights up.
“Is that your work husband?” Harry asks, peering over my shoulder.
“God no,” I say, forcing out a laugh and pocketing my phone.
“Nia has a work husband?” Lawrence gasps. “Scandalous. Nia, who even are you now?”
“Stop,” I demand. “It’s just a co-worker congratulating Harry.”
“He congratulated you,” Harry says.
“Stop reading my emails.”
“Did I hear work husband?” a voice says. Sarah pokes her head in and crawls into the fort. She pushes a stack of pillows out of her way and plops down beside us.
“Hey, that was the kitchen!” Jamie says, one hand palm up as if to point out the stove that is now in shambles.
“Whoops,” she says. Her eyes go wide but with zero apology. “But what’s this about Nia being a harlot at work?”
I groan loudly, grabbing a pillow and shoving my face into it.
“And that’s the microwave too.” Jamie exhales. “No respect.”
“Nia is a harlot?” Another voice greets us from the entrance, but it’s a much deeper one this time. When the face turns the corner, we all gasp as if in some B-rated horror film.
This killer was Mr. Grant Smith all along!
My chest is rising and falling, and I’m beginning to think I have the Twilight Zone ride imbedded in me for the night.
“Grant, wow…uh, you made it!” Harry’s tone gives off vibes of being both happy and apprehensive. I’d say I only have the latter emotion coursing through me.
Grant has been overseas for two years. What’s going on in his life? Good question. If you find out, let me know. How he knows about this even happening is beyond me. He hasn’t spoken a word to any of us since his move, at least not as far as I’m aware.
“Yeah, I figured I would,” he says. “Girlfriend is out of town and all.” His grins, and something about it rubs me the wrong way.
“Been a couple years,” Lawrence says. “I thought we were only stuck with the better half of the twins.”
Sarah chokes out a laugh, covering her mouth immediately. She’s reveling in the compliment.
“Can’t miss the first nephew, can I?” Grant says, flashing a grin to all of us.
“Niece,” I correct. My eyes narrow of their own accord.
“Oh-kay, I’ll go check on Mom and Dad,” Jamie says. He’s never been one to engage in awkward conversation. Give him a cabin and a fishing rod and he would hide from the world for years. It’s a wonder he emerged from Alaska for this, but not as surprising as the other brother in front of us flying in from who knows where.
“I’ll join you. One per parent,” Lawrence says. They crawl their way out, leaving only me, Harry, and the twins: one smiling, the other with a look of casual ignorance. He even has the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. I want to slap it off.
“Sure, right, so who’s the mother?”
“Rude,” I mutter.
“Her name is Riley,” Harry says.
“Yeah, but who is she?” Grant asks, laughing under his breath. “How have I never heard of her?”
Harry and I are quiet, but he clears his throat and straightens his posture. I wonder if he consciously meant to.
“I met her nine months ago,” Harry says. “We don’t date now, but it’s still my daughter, dude.” His good nature is faltering, slowly shifting its way back to the frown.
“We’re all chipping in on a present for her,” I say.
“What is this? Some charity case?”
I want to fight my way over every single pillow and strangle him with scratchiest hospital blanket I can find.
“God, Grant, you just got here and you’re already being the worst,” I say.
Then, with the shift of the blankets overhead, a sliver of hospital light shines in and I see his eyes: bloodshot, glazed over.
“Wait—are you drunk?” My tone is harsh, demanding, and unabashedly judgmental. I am totally judging the hell out of him.
He smiles wider and shrugs. “No, but why are we changing the subject from Harry’s baby mama to me?”
“Riley,” Harry corrects. His eyebrows are pulled together, a deep frown on his face. There’s no shame. It’s all defiance.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“Seeing my family.”
“Since when is that something you do?”
“Girlfriend on a business trip—does that mean nothing? Well, I guess it does to you, Harry.” He nudges Harry, only to be shoved off.
“Dude, come on.”
Grant throws his hands up. “Where is your sense of humor, people? I’m joking!”
“Sorry for not getting the joke.” No, I’m not. I don’t want to understand. I want this interaction to end. And, as if like clockwork, the blanket fort is torn apart, and hovering over us are the heads of our siblings, grinning down at Harry.
“You’re a dad,” Lawrence says.
Harry smiles ear to ear, cheeky and almost tear-filled. I’ve never seen such a look of pride, not even when he opened his mechanic shop.
“Go get your baby mama, brother.” The moment disappears like the snap of a finger.
Harry’s eyebrows pull together and he stands, staring at the oblivious brother in front of him. “Why are you even here?” he demands.
Grant shrugs with a chuckle. He’s not really here, unaware of the family he’s quickly abandoning once again even though he’s done it several times before.
Grant doesn’t even register Harry’s bold middle finger as the new father leave
s to go see his newborn daughter.
19
Nia
Present day
I should have known better than to think the majority of my problems started and ended with Ian.
“Holy shit, Nia, where the hell have you been?” Harry says immediately upon answering.
“My phone died,” I say. I want to glance to Ian as if to blame him for the other events that took place, but I hold back.
“Well, I’m about two hours away from you, and Grant is probably about thirty minutes ahead of me.”
The sentence causes me to pause, and then a thousand questions come barreling in all at once. It’s like the bottom third of a news channel. Breaking news! Here’s an alarming article, here’s another, and here’s why you will die young!
And here’s the news that will usher in my own personal hell.
“E-Excuse me?” I stammer out.
“Maybe he’s already there,” Harry says. “Hell if I know. I haven’t been able to catch up with him.”
“Why the… I don’t…” I pinch the bridge of my nose and squint my eyes closed. Zero part of my body is processing this news well because my heart is pounding, my feet are planted like cement, and, quite frankly, I think I might vomit.
“What’s going on?” a voice asks. I look up to see Ian and Corinne. I forgot they were in front of me. Corinne’s arms are crossed, and Ian’s eyebrows are pulled together, head tilted to the side. It’s genuine concern, and my heart melts.
No, now isn’t the time for admiration, Nia.
I hold my hand up to them as if to signal to give me a moment.
“What?” I ask.
“He saw the invite on your fridge and stole my car.” My fridge? Harry’s car?
“I have so many questions,” I say.
“Your conversation with him yesterday put him on edge. I figured he needed to get out of the house. So, I took him to your house. I was trying to fix your car.”
“You took him to the house of the one person he didn’t like at the time?” I scoff.
