Wrong Man

by Aurora, Lexi

  “So, I’m assuming this means no Two Musketeers, now that I’m here?” Grayson said.

  Kyle didn’t even look at him. “What do you think?”

  Grayson let out a lugubrious sigh. “My, how times have changed in only a few short years.”

  “Sure have,” Kyle said amiably, as he pulled into a parking spot.

  “You know,” Grayson said, glaring at the exuberant sun outside. “This time, two years ago, during my annual visit, we were watching ‘Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood’, and then going out to Absinthe and getting laid.”

  “You coming, or you going to stage a car protest?” Kyle had Grayson’s car door open and was eyeing him with an expectant smirk.

  “Don’t tempt me,” Grayson said, dryly, as he came out.

  He took in his friend’s cheery moon face like the rosy-cheeked, squiggle-eyed emoticon that was way too happy for its own good. He was like a cute bunny about to hop into the patient jaws of an alley cat.

  “Seriously, though, how much do you know about this girl?”

  “Hmm, let’s see.” Kyle tapped the side of his head, screwing up his face like he was deep in thought. “I do know that her favorite color is purple.”

  “Hilarious. But really, what’s the big rush anyway? Pretty sure you have a 50/50 chance of making it, and even then, most married people secretly hate their spouse anyway.”

  “Don’t use your parents to stereotype for the greater population,” Kyle said, flatly.

  Grayson frowned. Although his parents were notorious for their sporadic World War Three bouts (his mom had once smashed all the plates in their house during one such fight), it still didn’t mean he was wrong.

  “Just remember me when you’re in your room, pissing in an old Ben and Jerry’s Cookies and Cream container because you can’t even bring yourself, in your sorrow, to drag yourself to the bathroom.”

  “Dude,” Kyle was actually starting to look pissed now. “That was...”

  “One time, I know. But still, mark my words, you’re making a mistake.”

  Just then, a woman shoved by him.

  Grayson glared at her ugly, grey sweatpants back. He wanted them to go to Hooters not only to give Kyle one last final reminder of all that he was, very soon, going to miss out on, but to avoid her type – the lazy, conservative bitches.

  As they neared the place, Kyle squinted. “So, do they have them inside?”

  Grayson grinned. Maybe they were getting somewhere. “Oh, you bet they do.”

  Excitement shone in Kyle’s eyes. “It’s really all owl-themed? Damn, Kyla’s gonna love this. I bought her a pendant and everything.”

  Grayson stopped in his tracks. He rotated on his heels to gape at his friend incredulously. “You’re shitting me, right?”

  Chapter 3: Annie

  Annie arrived to the booth just as Kyla did.

  “Did you see them?” Kyla’s ski-slope nose was crinkled with eagerness.

  “Um. Not sure.”

  That much was true, at least. Annie wasn’t sure if the blond smiley guy who looked like Kyle, and his dark-haired asshole friend, really were Kyle and his asshole friend. At least, she hoped not.

  “Eee, I’m so excited.” Kyla was practically bouncing on her heels. “I hear his friend is quite the character; they’ve been friends since they were super little, like us.”

  Yeah, a character alright.

  Sure enough, as she and Kyla sat down, they walked up - blond guy and asshole.

  “Baby!” Kyla launched herself into Kyle’s arms. As their lips connected, Annie snuck a glare at the asshole. He looked like he recognized her too, and fit the type to the T. Arrogant jaw, narrow high-set eyes, good-looking in the I’m-a-Sociopath-Lawyer way; basically the kind of guy to remain an ass-hat until the day he was buried.

  “Annie, this is Kyle.” Already having separated, Kyla pressed Kyle’s chest as she made the introductions, looking like a giddy schoolgirl. “I’ve told you tons about him already.”

  “All good, I hope,” Kyle said, smiling shyly as Annie locked hands with him.

  “So far,” Annie said, with a genuine smile.

  He, at least, seemed to be as infatuated with Kyla as she was with him, unable to take his eyes off her.

  “And this is Grayson,” Kyle said, gesturing to the tight-shirted, toned man.

  “Nice to meet you,” Kyla said, grinning as she shook his hand.

  “You might not say that after I’m done with you,” Grayson said, with a wolfish grin.

  While Kyla, Kyle, and Annie laughed good-humoredly, Grayson’s smile disappeared. “I’m not joking, though.”

  This time, Annie was the only one forcing a smile. “Should we sit down?”

  No way was she letting him ruin this dinner. As they got into their seats, Kyle turned to Kyla with an apologetic look in his eyes. “So, honey, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but...”

  “Hooters doesn’t have owls,” Kyla finished for him, grinning.

  “You knew?”

  She laughed. “I couldn’t believe you didn’t!”

  Kyle’s cheeks reddened as he threw out a dismissive arm at Grayson, whose expression was unrepentant. “Sue me for wanting to go somewhere not filled with rich, old people.”

  “Shakespeare’s is not filled with rich, old...” Annie trailed off, catching Kyla’s nervous thumbnail biting. “You’ve been there before?”

  “You kidding me?” he slapped Kyle on the shoulder. “We went to McMaster together, though this guy was in psychology and I was in engineering. Not to mention, I grew up here too.”

  There was silence while Annie and the asshole glared daggers at each other. He was, basically, the textbook definition of a prick.

  The quiet lasted for all of three minutes while they scanned the menus. Then, Grayson broke it.

  “So, Kyla.” His eyes rested on her like a knife to the neck. “Why are you good for Kyle?”

  “Dude,” Kyle closed the menu to glare at him. “Not cool.”

  Grayson took a sip of water. “What? Just trying to make pleasant conversation.”

  “Well, Judge Gray,” Kyla said, smiling as if this was all some big joke. “I could tell you how we have the same sense of humor, we’re great in bed, and fight like once a month. But, I think I’ll be straight with you – I make a mean peach pie.”

  Kyle and Annie laughed while Grayson’s lips moved in a way that indicated he was thinking about it. “And what about him? What do you like about him?”

  Geez, what’s this guy’s problem?

  “Dude, seriously,” Kyle looked almost as pissed as Annie felt. “Can we just order wings in peace?”

  “It’s fine, babe,” Kyla said. She and Kyle held hands on the table. Although Kyle kissed her cheek, her eyes were locked on Grayson.

  “What I like about Kyle is that he is a good man. He never does anything to hurt me, at least purposely. I like his sense of humor. I like his back rubs. I like the way he grins more with the left than the right side of his mouth. I like his too-blond hair and albino eyelashes. I like him.”

  Grayson nodded, probably realizing he wasn’t getting anywhere with this. He cocked his head at her. “How many times did you practice saying that?”

  Kyla giggled. “Oh, me? Well, Annie and I practiced at least four hundred and fifty-seven times before coming here, didn’t we? Tell him, Anns.”

  Despite Kyla’s use of Annie’s kid nickname, Annie wasn’t having it.

  “You’re being rude,” she said straight up to Grayson.

  His shrug was as good as a middle finger. “Just looking out for my friend.”

  At Kyla’s kick under the table, Annie kept silent.

  “Hi, y’all. Welcome to Hooters,” their waitress sing-songed. She had waist-length glossy blonde hair, a 100-watt smile and generous hooters that had probably gotten her the job.

  Kyle smiled. “Just in time.”

  As the others ordered, Annie
reflected that he wasn’t right. Not really. ‘Just in time’ would’ve been the waitress arriving the moment they’d sat down.

  Chapter 4: Grayson

  The next day, Grayson basically slept from morning until afternoon. Then, he played some Diablo on his old PC, ate a grilled cheese sandwich his mom offered him, and it was dinner all too soon.

  His mom had set it up all nice, with the matching blue jay print napkins, wooden napkin holders and cutlery on the right-hand side of the table. The food, by itself, was delish, too. The roast beef was succulent, the carrots buttery crispy, and the mashed potatoes just the right amount of gooey. His parents chatted with him amiably, asking if he’d heard about the monthly Hamilton flea (“not yet”), how Kyle was doing (“crazy in love”), and what his plans for the next few days were (“some more blessed sweet nothing”).

  As he swilled his delicious meal down with milk (his mom’s orders), he reflected on Kyle and Kyla’s news at the end of their dinner last night. Apparently, they were off to a relationship conference in Toronto (damn, was Kyle thirsty to have this marriage thing work). Anyway, the best part was just who they’d left in charge – the bitchy maid of honor – Anna, was it?

  So, basically, Grayson himself was free as a bird.

  It made him enjoy the glorious apple pie his mom had set for dessert in front of him. As he swallowed the last piece, he paused to take in the scene. Someone looking in would’ve thought this is the ideal picture of homely tranquility. With the kitchen all done up in its usual sunny splendor – egg yolk-yellow cupboards and smiley ceramic sparrows on every other surface, his mom in gingham, his dad in one of his mauve button-ups, everyone smiling – this was, well, nice. It made him wonder if, maybe, he’d misjudged them in his critical youth; been too hard on them.

  And then, rising with a smile that suddenly looked hardened, like chinaware about to spontaneously combust, his mom spoke as she collected the plates.

  “Here’s a new development. Grayson, I’m not sure you know this, but your father has been cheating on me.”

  She said all of this in a what-do-you-know casual voice as she placed the plate stack beside the sink.

  The silence was the ticking of a bomb about to go off.

  “Alice, really?” Grayson’s dad said, in a low voice.

  “Just making conversation,” she said, cheerily, while starting to load dishes into the dishwasher.

  His scowl contorted into a sneer. “Well, how’s this for conversation. This isn’t a new development. Grayson, you probably already know this, but your mother hasn’t been sleeping with me.”

  Grayson stood up, his eyes already on the door. “Guys, seriously?”

  The way the dishes were rattling, his mom was clearly shoving them into the racks with more force than needed. “Thirty-five years,” she said, her voice shaking. “Thirty-five years.”

  He heard the scrape of wood on wood as his dad pushed back his chair, standing up.

  “And now you’re throwing Grayson into this, too? On the first long trip he’s had back in years?”

  “He deserves to know,” his mom insisted.

  Grayson walked to the entranceway, pausing, looking from one parent to the other. Would they notice?

  “He deserves not to have to deal with your nagging and drama, like I have had to,” his father said.

  “Don’t you dare presume to know what my boy needs,” his mom said, indignantly.

  As Grayson left the room, he felt an ironic scowl creep over his face. Yes, he knew the answer; not a chance.

  Clearly, things at home weren’t different at all. He hadn’t misjudged his parents in his critical youth. It was the same old, same old.

  Up in his room, blasting Slipknot from his old Sharp boom box, he couldn’t manage to blare out the odd crash, nor the yelling that echoed from below.

  Grayson walked over to his window. The leftover duct tape, from the time when his mom had tried taping it shut, was still there, its seal long broken. If he opened the window, would he still be able to...

  Hell yeah.

  Access to the roof was as easy as... well, access to the roof. Climbing out, Grayson made sure to close the window behind him. There, looking upon the sleepy, cookie-cutter neighbourhood, he sighed. There. That’s more like it.

  Sitting on his ass on the roof tile, he could’ve sworn he was seventeen again; it was the last year he’d endured life at home. Since then, he’d made the odd visit or two to Hamilton, spent a handful of days here, but never stayed in his parents’ house, or his old, pretty much untouched room like this.

  Hearing some dubious crash downstairs, Grayson sighed. And people thought this – marriage– was the answer. Why couldn’t Kyle see the fatal jaws of the trap he was walking straight into?

  Maybe it was Kyle’s parents. They were pasty-white and as bland as two data entry specialists could be expected to be. Their marriage was happy, if you considered ‘happy’ to be swapping pointless remarks once or twice every hour or so and responding to whatever the other said with a vague smile.

  Down the street from Grayson’s house, a black cat was creeping. Looking like an on-mission ninja, its spine stiffened as it neared Grayson’s house.

  It froze.

  Some more yelling, and then another particularly expensive-sounding crash, reverberated from downstairs. The cat turned on its heel and ran off in the opposite direction.

  Grayson watched it go with his brows lowering. What the hell was he doing?

  Back in his room, he didn’t have much to unpack; he’d only unzipped his Eddie Harop suitcase for a change of clothes, and his toothbrush.

  His walk downstairs and went out the door absolutely unnoticed. As he pulled his Tesla out of the driveway, he reflected, grimly, that his absence would probably go unnoticed until midday tomorrow.

  No matter. Grayson knew just the place he could stay at – maybe.

  When he pulled up and into her driveway, there was space behind her blue Volkswagen. There were two halves to the pagoda-style house, but he was pretty sure they were both hers. As a graphic designer, Jenny had it made.

  Grayson stood in the middle of the driveway, smirking as he looked from one slate grey door to the other.

  Which one to take?

  He chose the right, even though he wasn’t sure he was making the right decision coming here. During his last visit, a few months’ back, things with Jenny had gotten... intense.

  Sure enough, as if she’d been waiting on a spring by the right door, it seemed only seconds separated Grayson’s finger pressing the ding-dong-dang-dong doorbell and the door being thrown open.

  “You’re here!” she cried, trapping him in her arms.

  Grayson let himself sink into the hug, taking in her overpowering scent – cherries. He’d always wondered if that was on purpose, how her clothes and every part of her seemed to share the smell – or if it was just a natural result of all the cherries she consumed.

  He’d never gotten a chance to ask, especially since the few times he’d seen Jenny over the years, they had never done much talking – at least using words.

  Grayson let his eyes rove over her. Her blonde hair was collected in a high pony, her blue eyes bright and smile wet-glossy. She had a lilac button-up and high-waisted skirt on, and she looked damn good.

  “So, you must be super psyched about the wedding...” she said.

  “I guess.”

  She’d changed the interior of the place, somehow; made it more modern and cold. It was all black and white, and clean to the point of making him overly aware that he’d walked in with his dirty shoes.

  “And it’s been so long...”

  The scolding in her voice was almost imperceptible. Almost.

  It’d been months since Grayson had seen her; months since they’d talked, too.

  When her mouth lifted to his, and he reacted instinctively into the kiss, Grayson closed his eyes and let himself imagine it.

  Jenny was his date for the wedding and his gir
lfriend for the next few months. He knew she’d want it, because she had hinted as much during their sporadic pillow encounters over the years. Yes, they’d be long-distance for a bit with lots of Skype dates. She’d probably sent him those oatmeal raisin muffins she was so good at making. Then, one of them would move to the other, probably her to him. Then, he and Jenny, his wife, would have a nice vacation to Grand Bend, or Montreal, if they were feeling exotic. Maybe a few years later, when they got bored, he and Jenny would have a child, maybe even two, if they were feeling ambitious. And then, at night, when the scrumptious apple pie was eaten and the plates cleared, while they did their parental duty of yelling at each other for trivial bullshit, their little boy – Ryan, let’s call him – would sit up on the roof, death metal blaring as he stared into the future knowing just what ‘love’ was.

  Grayson peeled himself away from those lips and all they wanted from him. No, he couldn’t do this. Just look at her downturned eyes.

  Doing this again, this doomed couple of nights, this forceful make-believe, it wasn’t fair to her. Not this time.

  He drew back to the door. “I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go,” he said, and left before she could say anything, before he could feel her burning, disappointed eyes, into his back.

  Yup, looks like it was going to be the nicest hotel Hamilton had.

  10 PM BY NOW, GRAYSON was in better straits, although that didn’t last long.

  At the ringing of his phone, Grayson picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and then put it back down again. Great, a call from her.

  At the end of dinner the other night, when the happy couple had insisted he and Sweatpants Bitch exchange phone numbers just in case of a wedding planning emergency while they were away, he’d been less than enthusiastic, although not overly worried. Kyle was the most organized person he knew.

  But now she was actually calling him?

  Grayson may have been bored, but he wasn’t that bored. Whatever “emergency” her uptight ass thought was going down, it was probably nothing.

  He opened up his laptop, his gaze falling on the Skype icon in the bottom right of his MacBook screen. Yeah, why the hell not? Call up Piper.