Walking Disaster

by Jamie McGuire

  Instantly, my temper began to boil.

  "Trav," Shepley warned.

  Shepley's words from earlier in the day replayed in my head. Parker was playing the game, and I had to play it better. My adrenaline died down, and I relaxed against the couch cushion. It was time to put my game face on.

  The whining sound of the bathroom pipes signaled Abby's intent to take a shower. America stood, and then nearly danced into my bathroom. I could hear their voices banter back and forth but couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

  I walked softly into the hall, and held my ear close to the door.

  "I'm not thrilled about you listening to my girl urinate," Shepley said in a loud whisper.

  I held my middle finger up to my lips, and then turned my attention back to their voices.

  "I explained it to him," Abby said.

  The toilet flushed, and the faucet turned on, and then suddenly Abby cried out. Without thinking, I grabbed the doorknob and shoved it open.

  "Pidge?"

  America laughed. "I just flushed the toilet, Trav, calm down."

  "Oh. You all right, Pigeon?"

  "I'm great. Get out." I shut the door again and sighed. That was stupid. After a few tense seconds, I realized neither of the girls knew I was just on the other side of the door, so I touched my ear to the wood again.

  "Is it too much to ask for locks on the doors?" Abby asked. "Mare?"

  "It's really too bad you two couldn't get on the same page. You're the only girl that could have . . ." She sighed. "Never mind. It doesn't matter, now."

  The water turned of. "You're as bad as he is," Abby said, her voice thick with frustration. "It's a sickness . . . no one here makes sense. You're pissed at him, remember?"

  "I know," America replied.

  That was my cue to get back to the living room, but my heart was beating a million miles an hour. For whatever reason, if America thought it was okay, I felt like I had the green light, that I wasn't a total dick for trying to be in Abby's life.

  As soon as I sat on the couch, America came out of the bathroom.

  "What?" she asked, sensing something was amiss.

  "Nothing, baby. Come sit," Shepley said, patting the empty space next to him.

  America happily complied, sprawling out next to him, her torso leaning against his chest.

  The hairdryer turned on in the bathroom, and I looked at the clock. The only thing worse than having to be okay with Abby leaving on a date with Parker, was Parker having to wait on Abby in my apartment. Keeping my cool for a few minutes while she got her purse and left was one thing. Looking at his ugly mug while he sat on my couch, knowing he was planning how to get into her pants at the end of the night, was another.

  A small bit of my anxiety was relieved when Abby walked out of the bathroom. She wore a red dress, and her lips matched perfectly. Her hair in curls, she reminded me of one of those 1950s pinup girls. But, better. Way . . . way better.

  I smiled, and it wasn't even forced. "You . . . are beautiful."

  "Thank you," she said, clearly taken off guard.

  The doorbell rang, and instantly adrenaline surged through my veins. I took a deep breath, determined to keep my cool.

  Abby opened the door, and it took Parker several seconds to speak.

  "You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," he cooed.

  Yep, I was definitely going to vomit before I ended up throwing a punch. What a loser.

  America's grin spread from one ear to the other. Shepley seemed really happy, too. Refusing to turn around, I kept my eyes on the TV. If I saw the smug look on Parker's face, I would climb over the couch and knock him to the first floor without him hitting a step.

  The door closed, and I came forward, my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

  "You did good, Trav," Shepley said.

  "I need a drink."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Virgin

  LESS THAN A WEEK LATER, I HAD EMPTIED MY SECOND bottle of whiskey. Between trying to cope with Abby spending more and more time with Parker, and her asking me to release her from the bet so she could leave, my lips were touching the mouth of the bottle more than they were my cigarettes.

  Parker had ruined the surprise of Abby's surprise birthday party Thursday at lunch, so I had to scramble to move it to Friday night instead of Sunday. I was thankful for the distraction, but it wasn't enough.

  Thursday night, Abby and America were chattering in the bathroom. Abby's demeanor toward America was a stark contrast to the way she regarded me: she'd barely spoken to me that evening since I refused to let her out of the bet earlier that day.

  Hoping to smooth things over, I popped into the bathroom. "Wanna grab dinner?"

  "Shep wants to check out that new Mexican place downtown if you guys wanna go," America said, absently combing through her hair.

  "I thought me and Pidge could go alone tonight."

  Abby perfected her lipstick. "I'm going out with Parker."

  "Again?" I said, feeling my face compress into a frown.

  "Again," she lilted.

  The doorbell rang, and Abby burst out of the bathroom and rushed across the living room floor to open the front door.

  I followed and stood behind her, making a point to give Parker my best death glare.

  "Do you ever look less than gorgeous?" Parker asked.

  "Based on the first time she came over here, I'm going to say yes," I deadpanned.

  Abby held up a finger to Parker, and turned around. I expected her to snap back something shitty, but she was smiling. She threw her arms around my neck and squeezed.

  At first I braced myself, thinking she was trying to hit me, but once I recognized she was hugging me, I relaxed, and then pulled her into me.

  She pulled away and smiled. "Thanks for organizing my birthday party," she said, genuine appreciation in her voice. "Can I take a rain check on dinner?"

  She had the warmth in her eyes I'd missed, but mostly I was surprised that after not speaking to me all afternoon and evening, she was in my arms.

  "Tomorrow?"

  She hugged me again. "Absolutely." She waved to me as she took Parker's hand and closed the door behind her.

  I turned around and rubbed the back of my neck. "I . . . I need a . . ."

  "A drink?" Shepley asked, an edge of worry in his voice. He looked to the kitchen. "We're out of everything but beer."

  "Then I guess I'm making a trip to the liquor store."

  "I'll go with you," America said, jumping up to grab her coat.

  "Why don't you drive him in the Charger?" Shepley said, tossing her the keys.

  America looked down at the collection of metal in her hand. "You sure?"

  Shepley sighed. "I don't think Travis should drive. Anywhere . . . if you get my meaning."

  America nodded enthusiastically. "Gotcha." She grabbed my hand. "C'mon, Trav. Let's get you liquored up." I began to follow her out the door, but she stopped abruptly, turning on her heels. "But! You have to promise me something. No fighting tonight. Drowning your sorrows, yes," she said, grabbing my chin and forcing me to nod my head. "Mean drunk, no." She pushed my chin back and forth.

  I pulled back, waving her hand away.

  "Promise?" She raised one eyebrow.

  "Yes."

  She smiled. "Then off we go."

  My fingers against my lips, my elbow leaning against the door, I watched the world pass my window. The cold front brought with it wild wind, whipping through the trees and bushes, and causing the hanging streetlights to swing back and forth. The skirt of Abby's dress was pretty short. Parker's eyes had better stay in his head if it happened to fly up. The way Abby's bare knees look when she sat next to me in the backseat of the Charger came to mind, and I imagined Parker noticing her soft, shiny skin as I had, but with less appreciation and more salaciousness.

  Just as the anger welled up within me, America pulled on the emergency brake. "We're here."

  The soft glow of U
gly Fixer Liquor's sign lit the entrance. America was my shadow down aisle three. It only took me a moment to find what I was looking for. The only bottle that would do for a night like tonight: Jim Beam.

  "You sure you wanna go there?" America asked, her voice tinged with warning. "You do have a surprise birthday party to set up tomorrow."

  "I'm sure," I said, taking the bottle to the counter.

  The second my ass hit the passenger seat of the Charger, I twisted the cap and took a swig, leaning my head back against the headrest.

  America watched me for a moment, and then shoved the gear into reverse. "This is going to be fun, I can tell."

  By the time we reached the apartment, I'd drunk the whiskey in the neck of the bottle, and made headway at the top.

  "You didn't," Shepley said, spotting the bottle.

  "I did," I said, taking another swig. "You want some?" I asked, pointing the glass mouth in his direction.

  Shepley made a face. "God no. I need to stay sober so I can react fast enough when you go all Travis-on-Jim-Beam on Parker later."

  "No, he won't," America said. "He promised."

  "I did," I said with a smile, already feeling better. "I promised."

  The next hour Shepley and America did their best to keep my mind off things. Mr. Beam did his best to keep me numb. Halfway into hour two, Shepley's words seemed slower. America giggled at the stupid grin on my face.

  "See? He's a happy drunk."

  I blew air through my lips, and they made a puff sound. "I'm not drunk. Not yet."

  Shepley pointed to the diminishing amber liquid. "If you drink the rest of that, you will be."

  I held up the bottle, and then looked at the clock. "Three hours. Must be a good date." I lifted the bottle to Shepley, and then touched it to my lips, tilting it all the way back. The rest of the contents passed my numb lips and teeth, and burned all the way to my stomach.

  "Jesus, Travis," Shepley said with a frown. "You should go pass out. You don't want to be up when she gets home."

  The sound of an engine grew louder as it approached the apartment and then idled outside. I knew the sound well--it was Parker's Porsche.

  A sloppy smile spread across my lips. "What for? This is where the magic happens."

  America watched me warily. "Trav . . . you promised."

  I nodded. "I did. I promised. I'm just going to help her out of the car." My legs were under me, but I couldn't feel them. The back of the couch proved to be a great stabilizer for my drunken attempt at walking.

  My hand encompassed the knob, but America gently covered it with her hand. "I'm going to go with you. To make sure you don't break your promise."

  "Good idea," I said. I opened the door, and instantly adrenaline burned through the last half of the whiskey. The Porsche rocked once, and the windows were fogged.

  Unsure of how my legs moved so fast in my condition, I was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs. America took a fistful of my shirt. As small as she was, she was surprisingly sturdy.

  "Travis," she said in a loud whisper. "Abby's not going to let it go too far. Try to calm down, first."

  "I'm just going to check that she's okay," I said, taking the few steps to Parker's car. The side of my hand hit the passenger-side window so hard, I was surprised it didn't break. When they didn't open the door, I opened it for them.

  Abby was fidgeting with her dress. Her hair a mess and gloss-less lips, a telltale sign of what they'd been doing.

  Parker's face tensed. "What the hell, Travis?"

  My hands balled into fists, but I could feel America's hand on my shoulder.

  "C'mon, Abby. I need to talk to you," America said.

  Abby blinked a few times. "About what?"

  "Just come on!" America snapped.

  Abby looked to Parker. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

  Parker shook his head, angry. "No, it's fine. Go ahead."

  I took Abby's hand as she stepped from the Porsche, and then kicked the door shut. Abby flipped around and stood between me and the car, shoving my shoulder. "What is wrong with you? Knock it off!"

  The Porsche squealed out of the parking lot. I pulled my cigs out of my shirt pocket and lit one up. "You can go in, now, Mare."

  "C'mon, Abby."

  "Why don't you stay, Abs," I said. The word felt ridiculous to say. How Parker could utter it with a straight face was a feat in itself.

  Abby nodded for America to go ahead, and she reluctantly complied.

  I watched her for a moment, taking a drag or two from my cigarette.

  Abby crossed her arms. "Why did you do that?"

  "Why? Because he was mauling you in front of my apartment!"

  "I may be staying with you, but what I do, and who I do it with, is my business."

  I flicked my cigarette to the ground. "You're so much better than that, Pidge. Don't let him fuck you in a car like a cheap prom date."

  "I wasn't going to have sex with him!"

  I waved my hand toward the empty space where Parker's car sat. "What were you doing, then?"

  "Haven't you ever made out with someone, Travis? Haven't you just messed around without letting it get that far?"

  That was stupidest thing I'd ever heard. "What's the point in that?" Blue balls and disappointment. Sounded like a ball.

  "The concept exists for a lot of people. Especially those that date."

  "The windows were all fogged up, the car was bouncing . . . how was I supposed to know?"

  "Maybe you shouldn't spy on me!"

  Spy on her? She knows we can hear every car that pulls up to the apartment, and she decided that right outside my door was a good place to suck face with a guy I can't stand? I rubbed my face in frustration, trying to keep my cool. "I can't stand this, Pigeon. I feel like I'm going crazy."

  "You can't stand what?"

  "If you sleep with him, I don't wanna know about it. I'll go to prison for a long time if I find out he . . . just don't tell me."

  "Travis." She seethed. "I can't believe you just said that! That's a big step for me!"

  "That's what all girls say!"

  "I don't mean the sluts you deal with! I mean me!" She held her hand to her chest. "I haven't . . . ugh! Never mind." She took a few steps, but I grabbed her arm, turning her to face me.

  "You haven't what?" Even in my current state, the answer came to me. "You're a virgin?"

  "So what?" she said, blushing.

  "That's why America was so sure it wouldn't get too far."

  "I had the same boyfriend all four years of high school. He was an aspiring Baptist youth minister! It never came up!"

  "A youth minister? What happened after all that hard-earned abstinence?"

  "He wanted to get married and stay in . . . Kansas. I didn't."

  I couldn't believe what Abby was saying. She was almost nineteen, and still a virgin? That was almost unheard of these days. I couldn't remember meeting one since the beginning of high school.

  I held each side of her face. "A virgin. I would have never guessed, with the way you danced at the Red."

  "Very funny," she said, stomping up the stairs.

  I went after her but busted my ass on one of the steps. My elbow cracked against the corner of the concrete stair, but the pain never came. I rolled onto my back, laughing hysterically.

  "What are you doing? Get up!" Abby said as she tugged on me until I was upright.

  My eyes turned fuzzy, and then we were in Chaney's class. Abby was sitting on his desk wearing something that looked like a prom dress, and I was in my boxer shorts. The room was empty, and it was either dusk or dawn.

  "Going somewhere?" I asked, not particularly concerned that I wasn't dressed.

  Abby smiled, reaching out to touch my face. "Nope. Not going anywhere. I'm here to stay."

  "You promise?" I asked, touching her knees. I spread her legs just enough to fit snugly between her thighs.

  "At the end of it all, I'm yours."

  I wasn't exactly sure what she meant
, but Abby was all over me. Her lips traveled down my neck, and I closed my eyes, in a complete and total state of euphoria. Everything I had worked for was happening. Her fingers traveled down my torso, and I sucked in a bit just as she slipped them between my boxers and settled on my junk.

  Whatever awesomeness I'd felt before, it had just been surpassed. I twisted my fingers in her hair, and pressed my lips against hers, wasting no time to caress the inside of her mouth with my tongue.

  One of her heels fell to the floor, and I looked down.

  "I have to go," Abby said, sad.

  "What? I thought you said you weren't going anywhere."

  Abby smiled. "Try harder."

  "What?"

  "Try harder," she echoed, touching my face.

  "Wait," I said, not wanting it to end. "I love you, Pigeon."

  My eyes blinked slowly. When my eyes focused, I recognized my ceiling fan. My body hurt everywhere, and my head was thumping with every beat of my heart.

  From somewhere down the hall, America's excited, shrill voice filled my ears. In contrast, Shepley's low voice was then peppered between America's and Abby's voices.

  I closed my eyes, falling into a deep depression. It was just a dream. None of that happiness was real. I rubbed my face, trying to produce enough motivation to drag my ass outta bed.

  Whatever party I'd crashed the night before, I hoped it was worth feeling like pulverized meat in the bottom of a trash can.

  My feet felt heavy as I dragged them across the floor to pick up a pair of jeans crumpled in the corner. I pulled them on, and then stumbled into the kitchen, recoiling at the sound of their voices.

  "You guys are loud as fuck," I said, buttoning my jeans.

  "Sorry," Abby said, barely looking at me. No doubt I'd probably done something stupid to embarrass her the night before.

  "Who in the hell let me drink that much last night?"

  America's face screwed into disgust. "You did. You went and bought a fifth after Abby left with Parker, and killed the whole thing by the time she got back."

  Bits of memories came back to me in scrambled pieces. Abby left with Parker. I was depressed. Liquor store stop with America.

  "Damn," I said, shaking my head. "Did you have fun?" I asked Abby.

  Her cheeks flushed red.

  Oh, shit. It must have been worse than I thought.

  "Are you serious?" she asked.