Every Girl Gets Confused

by Janice Thompson

  “Does her move to the Presbyterian church have the Baptists in an uproar?”

  I paused to think through my response, though this small talk was really wearing on me. “Not really.” I shifted the phone to my other ear and noticed my hands were a little sweaty. “I think everyone is happy for her, to be honest. So no uproar.” Except the obvious one you caused in my heart when you skipped out on me five months ago.

  Where did that come from?

  “Are you coming home for the wedding?” he asked.

  “Home? You mean Fairfield?” Was this some sort of joke? Did he really think I’d miss my grandmother’s big day?

  “Of course Fairfield.”

  The surprise in his voice threw me a little. I poked my finger in my free ear to drown out the sound of Madge hollering something to Brady just outside the office door. “I’m just surprised to hear you call Fairfield home, Casey. You live in Oklahoma now, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes.” He hesitated. “Anyway, just wondered if I’d see you at the wedding.”

  Okay, now this had reached a ridiculous point. “She’s my grandmother. I wouldn’t miss her wedding for the world, Casey. You know that. I’m headed back to Fairfield this coming Saturday to help plan her shower. I’m even helping her pick out a gown.”

  “Right. You do the wedding gown thing now.”

  “The wedding gown thing?”

  “Well, you know. You work at that shop,” he said. “And you’re living with your aunt Alva, Queenie’s sister. Heard about that too. I just wondered if you were coming home for the big day, is all. But you’ve answered that question . . . and I’m glad. Really glad. It’ll be great to see you again. I mean that. I really do.”

  This whole conversation was beyond strange. Why would Casey Lawson care if I worked at a bridal shop, or if I came home for my grandmother’s wedding? Why did it matter if I was living with my aunt in Dallas? The guy couldn’t care less about me. He’d made that obvious months ago . . . hadn’t he?

  “So, are you bringing that guy with you?” Casey’s words startled me back to attention.

  “Brady?” Now I hesitated. “Not sure if he can come to the wedding. He’ll be having another surgery on his knee soon, so I guess it depends on how he’s healing. If he’s well enough I’m sure he’d love to come. He adores Queenie, and vice versa.”

  “Right. I read all about it online.” He laughed. “I mean, I heard that he’s having surgery, not that he adores Queenie. I guess we can count the Mavericks out for the playoffs this year if Brady’s not coming back to the game.” Off Casey went on a tangent, talking about basketball. As if this call had anything to do with that.

  I waited until I just couldn’t take it anymore before interrupting him. “Why did you call again, Casey?”

  “I . . . I just miss your voice, Katie. We used to do everything together. We were the dynamic duo. Now I’m stuck here in Oklahoma in the middle of an oil field and I’m—”

  “Lonely.” We spoke the word together.

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess it was inevitable. Or maybe I had it coming to me.”

  He had it coming to him, all right. But that was none of my business. Not anymore. Still, maybe I should encourage the guy. “I happen to know there are a ton of available girls in Tulsa. We get a lot of bridesmaids from that area. Just look around you, Casey. God will bring the right person.”

  “He did.” Casey cleared his throat. “I mean, he will.”

  That first part totally threw me. If my ex was trying to send me some sort of signals, they were mixed at best.

  At that moment the hallway outside my office door came alive with activity. Dahlia and her team of sewing aficionados came out of the studio at the back of the hallway, voices raised in some sort of argument. Nothing unusual about that these days. From the doorway, I heard Brady talking to them. Scolding, really. No doubt he was ready to leave. And though the sound of my ex-boyfriend’s voice held some appeal, I found far more reason to end the call when I turned and saw the “come hither” look in Brady’s eyes.

  So I ditched Casey. Quickly. And after a couple of deep breaths I wondered why I’d even bothered to take the call in the first place. Everything about it just felt wrong.

  “Do I even want to know?” Brady stepped into the room and I could read the concern in his eyes.

  I tossed my phone into my purse and tidied up my desk, preparing to leave. “Casey.”

  “Yeah, gathered that much. What’s his deal?” Brady’s gorgeous blue eyes narrowed a bit.

  “I think he’s lonely.”

  “Lonely?” Brady pulled me into his arms and planted kisses in my hair. “He’s going to have to call someone else to ease his pain. Want me to tell him that? I’ll be happy to.” He ran his fingertips along my hairline and I rested my head against his shoulder.

  I shook my head and didn’t respond. Doggone it. I didn’t want to be affected by Casey’s call, but something about the sound of his voice still got to me.

  “We’ve been best friends since we were little,” I said. “It’s hard to shake off a best friend.”

  “I don’t mind a little friendship, but if he thinks . . .” Brady’s voice tightened. “If he thinks . . .”

  “Surely not.”

  Then again, Casey had sounded odd. And what was up with that stuff about being lonely? Some sort of subliminal message?

  “When you’re used to talking to someone every day and then you don’t talk anymore, it gets weird.” I gave a little shrug. “I think he’s just at that inevitable stage where he’s adjusting to his new normal.”

  Brady still didn’t look convinced. “I’m perfectly adjusted to my new normal, and he’d better not mess it up. He had his chance and he blew it. His loss is my gain.”

  “Mine too.” I smiled up at him, my heart feeling more at home than ever before. Ah, that handsome face! It won me over, not just because of the perfect job God had done in creating it, but because of the emotion behind it. The edges of my sweetie’s lips curled up in a delicious grin, and a little shiver ran through me as he leaned down, his breath warm against my cheek.

  “Good. Because I’m laying claim to you, Katie Sue.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sounds like a country song. Someone reach for a guitar.”

  “Yep.” He faked a heavy drawl as he warbled, “I’m layin’ claim to you, Katie Sue. Yer purty face makes me want to . . . to . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never been very good at rhyming, sorry.”

  “Ha-ha. It’s okay.”

  “What do you think? Will they play my song on the radio?”

  “Well, you are Brady James, basketball star. Maybe they’ll play it on the Dallas stations because you’re already famous in these here parts.” I winked.

  In an instant his expression shifted from lighthearted to sad. Ack.

  “I guess it’s time to stop calling me a basketball player, don’t you think?” He gestured to his left knee. “Once I have the second surgery on this knee, I’ll be out of commission for a long time. Maybe for good. You know what’s going to happen. They’ll release me from my contract for this season, at the very least. No going back.”

  “More time to work on the lyrics of my song?” I forced a smile but he only shrugged. “I’m sorry, Brady. I’m just trying to make things less painful.”

  “Here’s one thing that can help make things less painful: if I know that Casey isn’t trying to force his way back into your life. You don’t think he will, do you?”

  “He’s never been one to commit to anything. Learned that the hard way. Maybe he’s at the wishy-washy stage with his new job. Surely it’s just a phase.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to show him a phase.” Brady’s eyes narrowed and he raised his fists as if ready for a fight. For whatever reason, the image of the two guys in the ring got me tickled.

  “What?” Brady feigned surprise. “You don’t think I can take him?”

  “Oh, you could take him,
all right. But right now, I’d rather you take me . . . to dinner.”

  “Mmm. Dinner.” He reached to grab my coat off the rack and slipped it over my shoulders. “You had me at chicken-fried steak.”

  “Um, I never said ‘chicken-fried steak.’”

  “Yes you did. Just this minute.” He grinned and kissed me. “And I’m all in, trust me.”

  Okay then. I’d eat two platefuls of chicken-fried steak for this guy. I might even throw in some mashed potatoes, gravy, and a biscuit. As long as he kept kissing me like that, we’d burn off the calories in no time.

  3

  Everybody Loves a Lover

  Wrinkles are hereditary. Parents get them from their children.

  Doris Day

  No one loved my hometown of Fairfield as much as my grandmother, Queenie Fisher. She never left unless one of two things happened: the Lord spoke in an audible voice or she had to visit her orthopedist in Dallas to tend to her titanium knee. On the first Thursday in November she had an appointment with the knee doctor. Ironic, since her knee doc was Brady’s knee doc too. Small world, orthopedics.

  She’d deliberately scheduled her appointment on the same day as Brady’s so we could all meet up. Her plan? Visit the doc, grab lunch, and then pick out her wedding gown. With my help, of course. I couldn’t get over the fact that my grandmother was getting married. Crazy! I couldn’t wait to spend time with her and with her groom-to-be.

  It would take some getting used to, seeing Reverend Bradford with her, but there he was, his eyes shimmering with adoration for my grandmother as he helped her out of the car and into the building. Minutes later, the four of us sat in the rather sterile waiting room of Metroplex Orthopedics, Queenie and I catching up on the goings-on back in Fairfield while the fellas talked about basketball.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the pained expression on Brady’s face as the good reverend talked about the Mavericks. Missing out on this was killing him, especially since the team seemed to be struggling. I sensed Brady’s pain, though he rarely spoke of it. The fans were missing him too, if one could judge from the outpouring of love and concern every time Brady went out in public.

  “Dr. Jennings will get him fixed up in a hurry.” Queenie’s words startled me back to the present. I turned to her, my spirits lifting as I picked up on her zeal. The edges of her lips had curled up in a soft smile, emphasizing the wrinkles on her cheeks. At eighty-two years of age she still had the prettiest skin of anyone I knew, though it was tissue-paper thin. And she was a whiz with the makeup brush, adding just the right amount of blush and lipstick. As always, practically perfect in every way.

  “Oh, I know, Queenie. This next surgery should take care of everything.”

  Reverend Bradford glanced our way. “Hoping she doesn’t have to have a second surgery, Katie.”

  “We weren’t talking about me, Paul.” Queenie patted her titanium knee. “I’m just here for a checkup. Gotta figure out why these metal parts are giving me such fits. Do you think it’s possible to be allergic to titanium?”

  “I suppose anything’s possible, but let’s hope it’s not that.” I glanced up as a new patient entered the waiting room. He approached the sliding glass window and carried on a conversation with the receptionist, then took a seat.

  “Just got to make sure before the big day.” Queenie’s voice reminded me that we were mid-conversation. “I don’t want my right knee to lock up while I’m cruising down the aisle toward Prince Charming here.” She gave Reverend Bradford a little wink, which he returned. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped. I’d witnessed the stern side of my grandmother for years. And the bossy side. But the romantic side? This was a new one. And the image of her cruising down the aisle on her titanium knee got me tickled. I’d seen her hobbling, but never cruising.

  Brady chimed in, talking about a friend of his, a guy from church, who had a titanium knee. Reverend Bradford countered with a story about a guy who had a prosthetic hip. Before long we were all cracking jokes about mechanical body parts. Then the nurse called my grandmother’s name.

  She rose, albeit slowly—no cruising whatsoever. “Let’s see what he’s got to say about this old gal, whether she’s fit to travel down the aisle or not.”

  “Or—or not?” Reverend Bradford looked alarmed as he stood and took her arm, pointing her toward the inner office door. “Do you really think he’ll advise you not to marry?”

  “Kidding, kidding!” Queenie gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Just wanted to see the look on your face. You’re getting me, Paul Bradford, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And I’m fit as a fiddle.” She took a couple of steps toward the nurse, but her knee didn’t cooperate, so she stopped. “Maybe not fit as a fiddle, but alive and well.”

  Seconds later they disappeared back into the doctor’s inner sanctum, and we awaited Brady’s turn. He centered his conversation on Queenie, but I had a feeling there was more going on in that anxious brain of his.

  After a few moments I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached for his hand. “Brady? Can I ask a question?”

  He gave me a thoughtful look. “Of course, Katie. I don’t have any secrets from you.”

  I hesitated to think through my next words. “Dr. Jennings is going to do a second surgery on your knee, right?”

  Brady fidgeted in his seat. “Well, he suggested it at my last visit if the tear wasn’t healing up. The knee keeps giving out on me. So . . . ” A look of sadness came over him. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “You said we could talk about anything, and we do. But not that. We hardly ever talk about your knee. Or basketball. I mean, you talk about the other players and about Stan.”

  “Stan? That old coot? You know how he is, Katie. It’s an agent’s job to worry about his players.”

  “Who said anything about worrying? And just for the record, he’s not the only one who’s anxious.” I leaned in close to whisper those words so as not to draw the attention of others around us. “I want you to be okay, Brady, and I don’t just mean your knee. I want to know for sure that you’re okay not playing this season. Emotionally, I mean. If you ever opened up and talked about it, I wouldn’t fret, but you’re so . . . so . . . closed off.”

  He shrugged and I saw his expression harden. “I’ve reconciled myself to the fact that I can’t play, so I’ll stay at Cosmopolitan and work. It’s a pretty sedentary job. I’m handling it all right.” He lowered his voice as the fellow in the seat across from us looked our way.

  “There’s a difference between handling something and enjoying it,” I said in a strained whisper. “I hope you’ll reach the point where you’re okay at the bridal shop. I don’t want it to be something you just tolerate. You know?”

  “Yeah.”

  I felt the sting of tears as I added, “I just worry about you. I want you to be happy.”

  When Brady looked me in the eyes, I saw the most reflective expression there. He reached over and gripped my hand. “I’m learning to be happy no matter my circumstances. We don’t always get what we want, but God promises to make all things work together for our good. And look at what he’s done. If I hadn’t come to work at Cosmopolitan, I would never have gotten to know you. And knowing you has changed my life forever. I’m crazy about basketball. Always have been. But I’ve found something I’m a lot crazier about, Katie, so put your mind at ease. I can tolerate just about anything if you’re with me.”

  If that didn’t make a girl feel good about herself, nothing would! And the kiss that followed—right there in the waiting room of Metroplex Orthopedics—certainly did. Must’ve been a doozy even for the onlookers, because applause broke out when he stopped kissing me. The guy across from us hollered, “Three-point shot!” and then let out a whoop.

  An older woman to our left called out, “Looks like the lips aren’t broken, even if the knee is.”

  Brady laughed, then went on to describe his knee injury. “It’s a torn meniscus. Doc Jennings operate
d months ago, but it’s still not stable.”

  “Looks like you’ve found something a little more stable, eh?” The woman’s eyes shimmered with mischief and we all laughed. This opened up the floor to conversation, and soon Brady was himself again, chatting with the other patients as if they were old friends. I drew in a cleansing breath, happy to have my fella back to normal.

  Minutes later the nurse called Brady back. “Do . . . do you want me to go with you?” I asked.

  “Of course.” He raised his voice, making quite the production out of his next statement. “He’s not a proctologist. He’s just examining my knee.”

  This got another laugh out of the other patients, who were all looking and feeling more like family now.

  Turned out the doctor might as well have been a proctologist. Brady had to change into a gown before being examined, something he clearly hadn’t counted on. I stepped outside of the room while he made the transition from pants to hospital gown, then came back in when he called out, “You may enter.”

  I’d seen my very tall, very handsome fella in just about every kind of clothing, but not this. The gown, obviously meant for someone much shorter, came up to mid-thigh. With his legs exposed, the scar on his left knee from the previous surgery jumped out at me. I’d never paid much attention to it before—really, I rarely saw it unless Brady happened to be wearing shorts—but today it seemed to grab my attention.

  Brady took a seat on the table and groaned. “Promise you won’t take any pictures of me in this getup. Stan would have a field day if anyone released this image to the press.”

  “I promise, I promise.” I winked. “But you are awfully cute, if my opinion means anything.”

  “Cute?” He looked surprised.

  “Er, handsome. Very, very handsome. And great legs.” I gave a little whistle.

  “If you don’t count the knee.” He ran his fingers along his knee as he tried to flex it. My gaze shifted to his face as he grimaced.

  “Sorry, Brady. And I promise, no photos.”

  He turned his attention to a poster on the wall—a detailed look at the human knee—then looked back at me. “I just don’t think I’m ready for photos of me in this getup to hit the airwaves.”