The Trouble With Before

by Portia Moore

  “Grams said you’d be home soon,” she continues, standing aside for me to walk in.

  I wonder if she can see the complete shock on my face, not only from her being here but the fact that she’s calling Grams Grams.

  “I bet you didn’t expect me back so soon, huh?” she asks. Her long blond hair is up in a bun with noticeable purple streaks. I approve. They look really good.

  “I don’t know what to expect nowadays,” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “You just come from church or something?” she asks, giving me a once-over.

  That makes me chuckle. “No, a sort of job interview actually.”

  “Cool. How do you think you did?” she asks as if I’m one of her oldest friends.

  “I sort of got it, technically. It’s subbing where I used to work, but it helps.”

  “That’s great . . . so you plan on staying here a while?” She squints at me as she asks, but she keeps her plastered-on smile and her peppy tone.

  But I understand the undercurrent of her statement. She wants me out, and that’s why she’s back. Not that I blame her. I’m the girl who slept with Hillary’s best friend’s husband’s dad, so I can’t really blame her for not believing I’m no threat, but she has nothing to worry about. “In Michigan or here?”

  “Both.” She sort of cocks her head to the side, and I let out an audible sigh.

  “Didn’t we just speak her up earlier?” Grams bounces in, looking at Hillary as if she’s her best friend.

  Hillary smiles back in the same buddy-buddy way, and I fight against rolling my eyes. “Yeah, we sure did. I guess.”

  “I can’t believe Aidan has finally introduced me to her. She’s crazy. I love it!” Grams slaps her thigh.

  I smile and nod. Maybe Aidan is more serious about her than I thought.

  “Wow,” Grams says her face full of realization. “You girls look a lot alike.”

  Hillary and I smile at each other tightly.

  “You’re both beautiful and blond and tall, and you used to wear those crazy colors in your hair too,” Grams continues.

  I glance at Hillary, who has an annoyed smirk on her face.

  “You don’t see it?” Grams asks, apparently oblivious to the tension in the air.

  “Um, you’re really pretty. It’s a total compliment,” I say, playing the peacemaker.

  “Oh, so are you. I actually sort of thought the same thing when I first met you at Chris’s parents’ house,” she says quickly.

  I swallow hard. I can’t wait for the day Chris’s name doesn’t give me a mild panic attack.

  “So you guys met before?” Grams asks, sounding surprised.

  “Long, long story,” I say before Hillary can respond.

  I don’t know exactly what all Hillary knows, but I’m pretty sure Grams doesn’t know the exact details of my past and I’d much prefer to keep it that way. It’d be really great to have someone who used to know me and doesn’t look at me as if I’m the devil.

  “I have your stuff for you,” I say to Hillary, sounding more nervous than I intend.

  “Oh, yeah? It’s fine, I don’t need it back.” Hillary waves me off.

  “No, I can’t keep your things. If you follow me to my room, I can give them to you.” I hope she picks up on the fact that I’d like to speak to her alone.

  Her eyebrows lift a bit, then she nods and shrugs. “Okay, sure.”

  “Be right back, Grams,” I say, hoping she’s not offended.

  “I was actually heading out. Hillary, it was so good to meet you. Don’t let Aidan keep you hidden again,” she says.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t,” she says with absolute certainty.

  “Bye, Grams,” I call, and she says the same before leaving.

  “I haven’t said anything to her,” Hillary answers as soon as the door shuts. “I-I don’t know what all she knows, and I just wanted you to know I’d never say anything about . . . well you know.”

  I let out a small relieved sigh. “It’s not that I want to lie to her . . .” I scratch my head.

  “No, I get it. No worries,” she says reassuringly.

  “Thank you, Hillary. I really appreciate that,” I tell her, hoping she hears the sincerity in my voice. I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming to her. Usually I love meeting new people and am the first on the welcome wagon, but I’ve been so stressed lately I think I’ve come off as a complete bitch.

  “I meant what I said the other day about us being friends,” Hillary continues. “I know I can come off a little . . . brash, but it’s just how I am. I don’t mean to be.”

  “It’s cool. I can come off the same way.”

  “And Lauren said you’re really cool. I totally grilled her about you as soon as I got back to Chicago,” she admits.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Lauren was really awesome. I wish . . .” I don’t want to get into all the past stuff, but my friendship with Lauren is one of the many things that went up in smoke when the truth came out about Will and me.

  “She’s not mad at you or anything. Lauren’s not really one to judge, none one of us are,” she continues.

  “It’d just be kind of awkward to call her up when her husband pretty much wishes I was dead.” I add a laugh to make myself feel better.

  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” she says through an awkward chuckle.

  “How is she doing?” I ask a little apprehensively.

  I miss my old life when I was a part of the know. I wish I knew what the babies’ names are. I wish I knew what Chris and Lauren are doing with their lives, but I almost feel as if talking about them with Aiden is off-limits. So if Hillary is willing to share, I’ll take whatever she gives me.

  “Honey! Going crazy. Did you know she’s having twins?” She laughs.

  I nod. That was the one snippet Aidan shared. “Yeah, that’s amazing.”

  “So it’ll be like she has four kids. The twins, Caylen, and Chris.”

  I’m about to ask about Chris when Aidan opens the door.

  “Hey, babe!” Hillary says, jumping into his arms.

  His eyes dart to mine, confusion written all over his face. Before he can answer, her lips are on his like a vacuum cleaner. I look away, feeling my face turning red, and excuse myself, realizing that this is probably a prelude to their all-night bang-fest.

  Maybe I’ll just sleep in my car tonight.

  HILLARY IS HERE. She’s fucking here. Again. It’s like she doesn’t understand English. Do men and women speak two different languages?

  Before she left, I told her I had feelings for her but I needed to sort them out. That I was tired of fighting and just needed to clear my head. Now less than a week later, she’s back at my house, uninvited, and she has the nerve to look hurt when I ask her what she’s doing here?

  “You can be an insensitive asshole, you know that?” she screeches.

  I let out a deep breath and throw my head back. “I told you I needed some space and then we could pick up where we left off,” I tell her slowly so that she understands this time.

  “I gave you a week. Have you not noticed that I haven’t called or texted you?” she asks.

  I feel my face scrunch up. I really hadn’t noticed that, but even I know not to say that out loud.

  “Look, Aidan, I’m just going to ask you flat out. Am I what you want or not?”

  It’s a simple question. It should be simple. I’m a simple guy, but when it comes to relationships and girls and anything outside of sex, figuring out what I want is like putting together a puzzle written in a foreign language. Do I like Hillary? Yeah. Do I like a lot of Hillary? No. Would I be pissed if I saw her with another guy? Yes. Do I want to be able to date other girls? Yes.

  Things weren’t supposed to get like this with her. We were supposed to be fun—like have a good time and “oh my God, the sex is so good I think I’ve died and gone to heaven” fun—but instead we’re this painfully irritating mess because she wants too much and I wan
t too little. Even worse, our mess has tangled around my entire life due to our mutual friends.

  Her eyes are on me, and her stare makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I feel as if I’m on a game show and the clock is ticking and if I don’t give the right answer, I’m going to be dropped into a pit of sharks.

  “Yes and no,” I finally answer, and she scoffs.

  “What the hell does that mean?” she screeches, adding a stomp.

  She’s way too animated. When she said she wanted to move to Hollywood and be an actress, I always thought that she had a good shot. She is the queen of drama.

  “I don’t know, but I think it means that. We probably shouldn’t be . . .” I’m afraid to say the next words. As a soldier who’s faced more horrors than the average person can imagine, that says a lot.

  “You know what? Don’t say anything. I have had enough bad news today, and you know what I want to do?” She’s surprisingly calm for someone who just spazzed out. She walks toward me, her hips swaying, and bends down so her tits are only inches away from me. “I want to go get a drink, maybe more than a few, and then I’d like to screw. Slow and long. Then maybe we can talk about it afterward.”

  Even though my head is confused, my dick definitely isn’t. This isn’t how this is supposed to work. I’m an adult; I tell him what to do, not the other way around.

  “And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky . . .” She moves her lips to my ear. “It’ll be you that I do it to!”

  She pulls back with a wide smile. I swallow hard and let out a deep breath. She saunters out of the room, and I can’t help but smirk.

  “Lisa, babe, we’re going out to celebrate you. Get sexy. We’re partying tonight!”

  “Huh?” Lisa calls, sounding a little surprised.

  “Drinks and food on me,” Hillary adds.

  I scratch my head. Since when are Lisa and Hillary friends? And why are we celebrating? Lisa can’t even drink.

  Hillary stops in the hall. “I’m going to hop in the shower. Don’t join me.” She says the last part pointedly before heading up the stairs.

  I head into Lisa’s room, and she looks at me with an amused grin as she shuffles through her clothes.

  “Don’t look at me.” She laughs.

  I frown, closing the door behind me. “Why did she say we’re celebrating you? Did you tell her about the . . .”

  Her eyes widen in horror. “God, no. I just sort of mentioned I got the job at the school. Well, sort of. I landed a permanent position for at least a month or two, and I’ll sub after that.”

  “That’s great!”

  She nods and smiles lazily.

  “You’re happy, right?” I ask.

  She looks up at me, and I can tell something’s bothering her because her eyes look past me instead of at me.

  She rolls her eyes at herself. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. What’s up?” I tell her, folding my arms. I spot something glittery on the bed behind her. “What’s that?” I walk toward it, but she snatches it up before I can see. “Now I really want to see it!” I reach behind her, and she scoots back. I hold up my hands. “Okay, you don’t have to show me.”

  She relaxes, and I snatch it out of her hand.

  “It’s stupid, Aidan. Gosh,” she huffs.

  I open up the book with glitter all over the cover. On the inside, I see a title page saying Falling Princess.

  “What’s this?” I ask, flipping through the pages.

  “It’s stupid, I told you,” she mumbles.

  “Is this what Willa was talking about?” I glance at her, and she nods. “Leese, this is really good.” I look at the drawings, skimming the story.

  She grabs it back from me. “Don’t be a jerk, Aidan.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “You haven’t even read it,” she mutters.

  “Well, the drawings are pretty awesome. Let me read it,” I say, and she looks at me in disbelief. “No, really.”

  She looks surprised. “Well, you could, but . . . if your life is so boring and you have to read something of mine, I’ve been working on this story, kind of.”

  Lisa’s nervous about my opinion? I never would have thought it. “Like a book?”

  “Yeah, I write here and there. I don’t do it as much as I used to, but seeing as I’ve been unemployed until today, it’s been helping me sort of.”

  “I’ll read it, and you know I’ll tell you if it sucks or not,” I admit, and she giggles.

  “Okay. Text me your email address, and I’ll send it,” she says begrudgingly.

  I start to head out of the room. “Oh, and are you hanging out with Hillary?” I’m sort of annoyed but intrigued to see the two of them hanging out, especially with alcohol thrown in. Well, only one will be drinking . . .

  “I’m sort of afraid to say no to her.” Lisa giggles, and I nod.

  “I know what you mean.”

  I CONVINCED HILLARY that instead of a night club, we should head out to a bar and grill. I know without a doubt that Lisa won’t be drinking, so a club probably isn’t the best place for her to be right now.

  “Oh my God, we are going to have so much fun tonight,” Hillary squeals. She turns to Lisa. “If I end up dancing on a table or two, don’t let him pull me down.”

  Lisa just laughs.

  The restaurant isn’t packed since it’s a Tuesday night. We tell the hostess that it’ll be the three of us, and we’re seated pretty quickly in a booth. Hillary slides in first, I sit next to her, and Lisa sits opposite of her.

  “I’m so glad you came out with us, girl. I am so ready to let loose,” Hillary announces.

  I roll my eyes. “Let’s just keep in mind this place is Michigan laid-back not Chicago laid back. If you get on a table, you probably will end up arrested.”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Whelp, it’s a good thing you’re not my boyfriend and don’t get to tell me what to do.” She gives me a bright smile, but her tone is sweet as an angel’s.

  “Hi, guys. Welcome to Jack’s Place. Can I start you off with something to drink?” the waitress asks. She’s cute, with naturally curly hair pulled up in a ponytail and soft brown eyes.

  I want to kill myself. Hillary can act psycho if we go out and get a waitress, especially a halfway decent one. Apparently in Hillary’s head, every girl wants to screw me and in actuality it’s only more like 80 percent that want to screw me.

  “We’ll start with three shots off Patron,” she tells the waitress shortly.

  “I’ll have a coke,” Lisa adds.

  “A beer. Tap’s fine,” I tell her.

  “Our tap’s pretty good,” the waitress says.

  I swallow, knowing Hillary is staring a hole into the side of my head.

  The server looks between the three of us. “And any food?”

  “I’ll take some wings,” I say quickly.

  “Quesadillas,” Lisa adds.

  “They’re amazing,” Lisa tells Hillary.

  “I’ll have an order of those then,” Hillary says, nicer than she’s ever been to a waitress before.

  The tension leaves my chest. Maybe this will be a good night.

  After the server leaves, Lisa breaks the tension at the table by saying to Hillary, “I really like your color. Did you do it?”

  “Yeah. I get so bored though. I don’t use anything permanent, so I’ll have to redo it soon.”

  “You did a really good job. I miss my color,” Lisa says solemnly.

  “I could do it for you. It’s super easy,”

  “Oh my gosh, that would be . . . no, actually I can’t get any color.”

  “Why not? You think your job will be weird about it?”

  Lisa nods. “Probably.”

  Hillary and Lisa talk about all the colors they’ve worn. Between the two of them, they’ve hit almost the whole rainbow. Then they talk about California, where Hillary lived for a few months before starting college. Their conversation is easy, not tense or awkw
ard like it was at breakfast, and I’m barely able to get a word in.

  The waitress appears with our shots and passes them out to each of us.

  “Oh no, I’m not going to have any,” Lisa says, sliding hers to the middle of the table.

  “Oh yes, you are. We’re celebrating!” Hillary protests.

  “I’ll take hers.” I pull hers toward me.

  Hillary scowls at me. “She’s an adult. She can take her own freakin’ shot!”

  “I can take it back,” the waitress offers.

  Hillary eyes her and says sarcastically, “I bet you would love to take his shot.”

  Here we go.

  The waitress looks confused.

  “Um, we’ll figure this out. Thank you,” Lisa frees the poor waitress, who scurries from the table as fast as she can.

  “Don’t do this today, Hillary,” I mutter.

  “Do what? She was totally ogling you. You’re so oblivious. ‘Our tap is so good,’” she mimics the girl’s voice before taking the shot from me and giving it back to Lisa. “We’re doing this, hon.”

  “As much as I’d love to, I’m on medication where I can’t drink,” Lisa says regretfully.

  Hillary pouts. “Ugh. Well, Aidan and I will toast for you. This would be so much more fun if you could drink though.” She lifts her shot glass, so I lift mine too. “To Lisa and her new job.”

  “Hear, hear,” I add.

  Lisa grins at me, lifting her Coke.

  I down the first shot, and Hillary does the same. I pick up the second shot glass and toss it back too.

  “And to me getting fired,” Hillary says cheerily, almost making me choke.

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  Lisa looks between us, obviously uncomfortable.

  “I sort of got fired from the club. It’s no big deal. I can work at any club in Chicago. You’ve seen this body?” She laughs.

  “You’re a stripper?” Lisa asks, seemingly serious.

  “She means fitness club,” I tell Lisa.

  “Hell, maybe not. One of my clients dances, and she told me she’s bringing in over ten grand a month,” Hillary exclaims.

  She can’t be serious.

  She must be able to tell I don’t like that idea, because she says, “What? It’s my body and I don’t have a ring on this finger.”