The Designated +1

by Ellie Cahill

  Then I squeezed in a stop at favorite pet store to get a refill of my favorite treats before I going back and pick up Black Tea.

  It was after five when I got back to the Brady house that evening. My legs were definitely feeling all the walking, and all I wanted to do was crash on the couch for the rest of the day. Estelle and Getty did their usual thing, hopping up on either side of me and resting their furry white heads on my thighs.

  I was going to turn on the TV, but the remote was further away that I could reach without moving a dog, and that suddenly seemed too hard to fix. So, I just let my head drop back on the cushions and closed my eyes. I could just rest for a few minutes. Gather the strength to reach for the remote.

  I don’t know how long I was out, but when the front door opened, I was instantly and completely awake. The dogs leapt up, barking. It was like déjà vu from a different angle.

  It was Will, I told myself. It had to be Will. There was no way it had been Will the night before, but tonight it was a home invader.

  Still, the urge to hop up and grab that trusty kitchen knife was strong.

  “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Will’s voice, admonishing the dogs.

  “Hello?” I called out, tentatively, just to be sure.

  There was no answer, but footsteps coming toward me, and then Will appeared in the archway. “Hey, Hadley Bradley. You’re still here.”

  “What are you doing here, again?”

  He looked around like he was confused. “I…live here?”

  “No you don’t!” I hopped to my feet. “Your parents live here.”

  He grinned. “Then what are you doing here?”

  That was it. I growled in frustration and stormed over to him, hands on my hips and glaring up at him. “Why are you being so obnoxious?” When he opened his mouth to reply, I pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t say you aren’t! You know you are!”

  He knocked my hand away like it was nothing more than an annoying mosquito, still smiling. “You just make it so easy.”

  I growled again. “Well stop it! We haven’t even seen each other in years. Why are you still treating me like I’m a little kid?”

  He made a face, and ran a level hand over the top of my head to indicate that I was less than shoulder height to him.

  I wanted to punch him. Right in his smug face. Make his perfect nose bleed, or chip a perfect tooth. Maybe give him a big ol’ bruise under one of his perfect hazel eyes. He didn’t look that much like his brother, who had dark hair and blue eyes, but there was enough Brady in that smile that it would still feel awfully good to deck him one.

  But I didn’t. Just like I didn’t all the times that he, Mason, and James, and all the other older boys in the neighborhood deserved a serious fist in the nose when I was a kid. Because I was littler and I knew in my heart that I couldn’t hurt them. Not enough. Not the way I wanted to when they would tease me. As a little girl, I could run away and tell on them.

  Now, as an adult, I had to do something better. So I forced myself to keep an even tone and I said through gritted teeth, “Please don’t call me Hadley Bradley anymore.”

  The glint of humor went out of Will’s eyes, and he appeared to be inspecting me. Finally he spoke. “Okay.”

  That was it. Not the apology I would have hoped for. But at least it wasn’t a fight.

  I nodded. “Okay, then.”

  “I’m gonna go upstairs and grab a shower,” he said. “You want to order a pizza or something?”

  I blinked at him, unable to process the sudden shift.

  “You know, pizza?” He mimed the shape of a flat circle. “The crusty thing with the sauce and the cheese? Pizza?”

  “I know what a pizza is,” I snapped.

  “Good to hear. You order. It’s on me.” He turned then, and headed for the stairs, calling, “And none of that pineapple shit.”

  I made a disgusted noise. “Who puts pineapple on pizza?”

  He didn’t look back, but said, “People who are wrong.”

  Apparently I was spending another evening with Will Brady.

  4

  Getting to Re-Know You

  Will was as good as his word, paying the delivery girl in cash when the pizza arrived. I’d considered ordering something I didn’t think he’d like, but other than pineapple, I didn’t even remember what kind of toppings Will liked. And I was hungry, too, so I ended up sticking with a classic pepperoni.

  “Is that okay?” I asked when Will opened the box.

  “As long as there’s no pineapple or anchovies, I’ll eat anything.”

  “You didn’t say anything about anchovies,” I said. “What if I’d ordered them?”

  He gave me a look of disdain. “Please. No one orders anchovies.”

  We set the box on the coffee table and took up positions on the couch. We had to be a little closer than the night before to be in reach of the pizza box, but there was still plenty of room between us for Estelle and Getty to get comfy.

  “So, we finishing this Robert Durst thing, or what?” Will asked.

  “Sure.” I found the remote and clicked my way into the streaming service once more.

  We didn’t talk while we ate and watched, except to occasionally warn the dogs away from the pizza when they got too bold. It should have been uncomfortable to go from not seeing each other for years to spending two evening together in relative silence. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. Rather it was clear that we were both interested in what was happening on the screen.

  When the episode ended, we both reached for the remote at the same time, bumping hands and knocking the slim silver device to the floor. Will scrambled for it first, grabbing it and stabbing the pause button.

  He looked at me in disbelief. “Did you catch that?”

  “I did!”

  The big revelation at the end of the episode had my True Crime feelers up and perky.

  “Unbelievable.” Will rewound the last minute, so we could watch the reveal again.

  We stared at the screen, and then each other.

  “He just buried himself, right?” Will said.

  “It sure seems like it.”

  He grinned. “Let’s keep going.”

  So we watched another episode, thrilled to learn that the reveal hadn’t been a red herring after all. The pizza was long gone, and we each had a dog snuggled on our laps by the time we finished the series.

  “That was nuts,” Will said.

  “Have you seen Making a Murderer?” I asked.

  He scoffed. “Are you kidding? I binged that thing the week it came out.”

  We went back and forth, comparing notes on various True Crime TV shows we’d watched. I couldn’t believe Will Brady was into this stuff like I was. Some people are scared by it, or grossed out by the crime scene photos, but I can’t get enough. I love the mystery and the puzzle-solving aspect of it. And there’s something about staring death in the face that makes me feel like I don’t have to be as afraid of it.

  On the other hand, I do spend a lot of time triple-checking the locks on doors and windows, so maybe I’m a little more afraid than I want to admit.

  “Do you actually sleep in that RV?” I asked, nodding in the direction of the driveway.

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged.

  “That would freak me out,” I said. “Being out in the woods, or whatever? Might as well put up a sign that says, ‘Ax Murderers Welcome.’”

  Will laughed. “On second thought, maybe you need to lay off these shows.”

  “I’m serious!” I protested. “I need thick walls and locks.”

  “I’m not exactly a classic serial killer victim.” Will gestured to himself. He was right. At 6’4” with a muscular build, he wasn’t someone that the average criminal would pick a fight with.

  “BTK would kill you,” I said. “So would The Night Stalker.”

  “Nah, I live alone,” he said. “They only kill the men to get to their wives.”

  “So by staying in the house last
night, you admit you put me in danger.”

  He laughed. “I promise if The Night Stalker time travels and comes back from the ‘70s, and breaks in to kill me first, I’ll be sure to tell him you’re not my wife.”

  I considered the promise. “Thank you.”

  “I got your back.”

  After a pause to consider whether or not it was safe to probe into his personal life further, I decided to forge ahead. “Why did you stay here last night?”

  He sighed. “The shower in the RV was not up to the challenge of me after yesterday.”

  “What happened to you?”

  He shook his head with a grunt of annoyance. “This place we’re working on…somebody cut one of the irrigation lines and there was a fucking swamp in the front yard. We had to dig the whole thing up to find the damn leak.”

  “Wow. That sounds…”

  “It sucked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We found it, anyway.” He twirled one finger in the air limply, a pathetic celebration.

  “How did you end up doing all the dirty work?” I asked. “Aren’t you the boss’s son? Seems like you should have minions for that kind of thing.”

  “James is the boss’s son,” he said. “I am a crew boss. But I don’t think it’s fair for my guys to do a bunch of work I’m not willing to do myself.”

  I smiled. “That’s good of you.”

  “It’s not good, it’s just fair.” He looked away. I got the feeling this was somehow a sore subject.

  “So…what’s with the RV then? Why don’t you just stay here?”

  He laughed. “I’m too old to live with my parents.”

  I flinched.

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Livin’ the dream.” I lifted a half-hearted fist in the air.

  “Yeah, well, you’re probably smarter than me. I’m living in a piece of shit RV I bought off Craig’s List and sneaking into my parents’ house when they’re not around to get a decent shower.”

  “I’m sure you don’t have to sneak in,” I said. “Your parents are great.”

  “Yeah, they’re great,” he said. There was something left unsaid here, but I didn’t want to press too hard.

  “I get it, though. I like it when I get these dog-sitting gigs. It’s nice not to be reminded that I’m 22 years old and still living at home.”

  He smiled. “What do you do for work, anyway?”

  “This.” I gestured to the bichon on my lap. “Dogs.”

  “You just stay in people’s houses?” he looked dubious. “You can make a living at that?”

  “It’s not just that.” I explained about my dog walking clients, and gave him a rundown of my day as an example.

  “Huh.” He looked surprised. “That’s, like, a business.”

  “Yeah.” I got up and found one of my report cards to show him. “See?”

  “‘Hadley’s Hounds?’” he read.

  My cheeks were hot with embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s cute.” He held the card out for me.

  “Thanks.”

  I took the card and we looked at each other. I don’t know if he felt as awkward as I did, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. So, I went with the most obvious, idiotic thing I could think of. I yawned. “I’m getting tired. I should probably head to bed.”

  I expected a teasing response. I deserved a teasing response. But instead, Will nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll…just go let the dogs out.”

  I tapped my thigh and called for the dogs to follow me to the back door. We did our final trip outside for the night and I followed my usual path around the house, making sure all the doors and windows were secured.

  Upstairs, the light wasn’t showing under Will’s bedroom door yet, and for a moment, I wondered if he’d left for the night. I hadn’t asked him if he was staying, and he didn’t volunteer the answer. It seemed odd that he would have left without a word, but maybe that’s what he’d done.

  Then the bathroom door opened and Will emerged, wearing nothing but athletic shorts. His chest was bare, showing off what a couple years of doing construction work could do to a man.

  “Oh!” I threw a hand up to block my view. “Sorry, I—”

  “No problem.” He laughed softly. “What are you doing?”

  I let my hand droop and unscrewed my tightly closed eyes. “Nothing. I thought—nothing.”

  He smirked.

  That urge to pop him in the nose rose up briefly, but I tamped it down. Instead, I straightened up to my full 5’4” height with my shoulders back and my chin lifted. If he thought I was ridiculous for looking away from his half-naked body, then I would show him otherwise. I would look straight at him and not react in the slightest.

  Even though his extra twelve inches put my eyes pretty much directly in line with his pecs. Which were pretty damn nice looking, if I were the sort of person who cared about Will Brady’s pecs. Which I was not.

  I kept my jaw set and forced the most neutral expression I could possibly muster. “Are you finished in the bathroom?”

  “Mmm hmm. It’s all yours.” He stepped slightly out of the way, but not enough to give me a clear path. I had to twist a little as I passed him, my bare shoulder bumping into his bicep.

  He was still being deliberately annoying, I was certain. And I was not going to let him know I knew it. Nope. I’d just pretend everything was normal.

  When I was safely in the bathroom, I turned to close the door and found Will with one shoulder propped against the jamb.

  “What?” I asked, a little more snappish than someone who was as calm, cool, and collected as I was pretending to be.

  “Good night, Hadley.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good night.”

  It wasn’t until I had the door closed that I realized he hadn’t called me Hadley Bradley.

  5

  The Singles’ Table and Other Instruments of Torture

  The ceremony for Maddie Weiss’s wedding was one of those that had the full church service associated with it. Which meant by the time the vows rolled around, I was dozing off hardcore. My head hadn’t bobbed so hard since Stats class three years ago. My mom elbowed me in the ribs a few times to keep me awake.

  I felt awful. Maddie and I had been playmates as children. I was truly happy for her. But between the heat of the church and the drone of a very dull minister, it was a wonder that Maddie and her fiancé were able to stay awake, much less the rest of us I’d never been so happy to stand up and applaud for a new bride and groom.

  Maddie did look beautiful. Her dress was perfect for her, with sheer sleeves and a row of buttons at the waist. She had a simple sprig of flowers in her hair tucked into her twisted/braided hair, and her smile positively beamed. She and her groom gave each other the most conspiratorial look of joy on their way down the aisle and I had to instantly forgive her for the soporific ceremony.

  Outside the church, the sun was shining and the bells were ringing and it was basically every cliché of a wedding imaginable. The flower girl and ring bearer ran around in circles while the guests moved through the receiving line. Instead of throwing rice, we all blew bubbles, and the bride and groom waved and smiled and generally looked like the picture of wedded bliss.

  I regretted wearing my tallest high heels and tried to avoid standing in one place for too long for fear that I might be located me too easily. See, Maddy’s husband’s cousin, Dan had already announced to me that we were both seated at table number 18 together. There had been a waggling of the eyebrows that accompanied the announcement that made me instantly sure I didn’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary. The feeling was only reinforced when Maddie squeezed me close in the receiving line and said, “I’m sorry about Dan’s cousin at your table! He’s harmless, I swear.” I knew better than to interrogate the bride in the middle of her own wedding, so I just smiled and told her she looked beautiful and assured her that everything would
be fine.

  But I didn’t think it would be fine at all.

  Great.

  My mom drove me to the reception location—nothing like getting a ride from your momo make you feel like a real grown-up—and then promptly ditched me at the cocktail hour when she spotted some friends.

  I made my way to the bar, sighing with relief when I heard it was an open bar. If I was going to endure Dan, I was definitely going to want something with a little more kick than a glass of chardonnay.

  And endure was the right word, because Dan found me before I even had my drink in my hand.

  “There you are,” he said, propping his elbows on the bar next to me. “I was going to offer you a ride from the church, but you disappeared.”

  “Oh, thanks, but I had a ride all set.”

  “When Ben told me you were a redhead, I knew this was going to be a great night.” Ben was Maddy’s fiancé, er, husband, and although I didn’t know him super well, I had a hard time imagining him selling me down the river because of my hair color.

  “It’s just hair,” I said, scanning the crowd for any familiar face.

  “There’s just something about redheads, though, you know?” Dan sucked air through his teeth and let out a whistle on the exhale. “Fiery.”

  I’d been hearing this bullshit most of my life. People absolutely lose their minds over red hair. Whether they love it, or hate it, they’ve got an opinion about it. And for some reason, they feel like they get to say whatever they want to me about my hair.

  Now I knew the sensible thing to do was to laugh it off. Not just because I was at a wedding reception where it wouldn’t be ideal to make a scene. Not just because I didn’t know this guy, and it wasn’t likely I’d ever see him again after this. But also because losing my temper would only confirm his belief that redheads were “fiery,” and the very last thing I wanted to do was prove this jerk right about anything.

  So rather than scream at him to leave me alone, or kick him in the balls like I wanted to, I lowered my voice and said fiercely, “It’s just hair, and I’m going to ask you one time nicely not to mention it again or you and I are going to have a problem, got it?”