When she finally spoke, her words were measured. “What did you say when Hubert talked about getting married?”
“Of course I said no way. The whole thing was ridiculous.”
“And his reaction?”
“He looked a little disappointed, frankly. He was obviously still drunk and upset, because marriage proposals don’t come out of nowhere.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it nowhere,” she muttered, almost as if to herself.
“What does that mean?”
Now Brandon was making a vibrating noise—brum, brum, brum, brum—like she was bouncing him on her lap. “I always thought Hubert had a thing for you in high school.”
“He did not.”
“He did too. Remember junior year when he asked you to prom?”
“He did that to be nice. He knew I really wanted to go with Luke Sorenson, but Luke never asked me.” Luke had, in fact, asked a girl in my grade named Allison, who coincidentally was the older sister of Mindy’s friend Jessica. After that I didn’t like Luke anymore. His taste in girls sucked.
“No, there was more to it than being nice. I picked up definite crush vibes. He had a thing for you.”
“If that’s so, why is this the first time you’ve mentioned it?”
“I did try to tell you back then. Remember me saying I thought Hubert wanted to be more than friends?”
That phrase resonated. Funny how memory works. As soon as she said it, I could recall hearing it the first time and even remembered where we were: in Piper’s bedroom listening to her stereo and flipping through a stack of People magazines. She’d looked at me sideways and said, “I have a feeling Hubert wants to be more than friends with you.” She told me she could tell by the way he looked at me. I thought she was joking, or worse yet, throwing me, the undesirable one, a bone.
She continued. “I tried to tell you, but you just kept brushing it off, saying he was just being nice and you didn’t want a pity date to the prom.”
So instead of going to the prom, Hubert and I had gone to see a movie and gotten something to eat, and then we drove around afterwards singing along to the car radio. I thought back to that evening and tried to examine it through a different lens. He had liked me? Like that? No way. I would have known. Wouldn’t I?
“You were so insecure,” Piper said. “And you always liked the guys who weren’t interested in you. I always wondered if you did that on purpose subconsciously. You know what I mean—picked an impossibility so you wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of a relationship.”
She’d been psychoanalyzing me? WTF? Please. “Stop already, that was a long time ago.” I hated talking about high school. I hated even thinking about high school. “Even if Hubert had a little crush on me, and I’m only saying if, I’m sure he hasn’t carried it all this time.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said. “But I’m pretty certain he isn’t randomly asking women to marry him. There’s got to be something there. And just for the record, I always thought you two would make a good couple.”
“What?” A good couple, Hubert and me? A better fit than Hubert and Kelly maybe, but that wasn’t saying much. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know.” I pictured her shrugging on the other end of the line. She exhaled loudly. “OK, I do know. You get along well. You like the same music and movies. Your parents like him, his parents like you. You both laugh at the same stupid stuff.”
That last part was true. Like a movie montage playing in my head, I pictured the hundreds of times Hubert and I had cracked up while Piper looked on straight-faced and perplexed. One time, when we were just out of college, the three of us had eaten at an outdoor café. When a young couple was seated next to us, we watched as they discovered their table was uneven. Without skipping a beat, Hubert leaned forward and whispered, “Watch. In one second they’ll both look underneath it.”
Just as he predicted, both the guy and girl, without discussing it, stuck their heads under the table, searching for the cause of the wobble. It was a perfectly logical sequence of events, but something about Hubert calling it before it happened made it funny to both of us. We both burst out laughing. Piper had looked at us as if we were insane, and then she got up and offered the couple some sugar packets to prop up the short leg. Even now the memory made me smile. “We do have things in common, and he really makes me laugh,” I agreed, “but marriage requires a lot more than that.”
Piper sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t argue with me. “Yes, marriage requires more than that,” she said, “but it’s a really good start.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The only good thing about Hubert’s sickness was that we got out of eating kimchi over at the Chos’ house. I, quite honestly, had forgotten all about the invitation Hubert had accepted on our behalf, so when I hung up after talking to Piper and heard the doorbell ring, for one excited moment I thought it might be Ryan. When I opened the door to see Ben Cho standing there, all I could think was that he was so not Ryan.
“Hello,” Ben said. “Here’s something for you.” He held a large Bath & Body Works bag, which he thrust forward for me to take. If he weren’t my neighbor, I would have thought he was a door-to-door salesman. “My mother said to tell you she’s sorry you can’t join us for dinner. We all hope Hubert feels better soon.” News traveled fast on King Street. It reminded me of an ancient joke that I mentally modified to fit the situation. What are the three best ways to spread news quickly? Telegraph, telephone, and tell-a-neighbor. Ha! I smiled at my own cleverness, and Ben smiled back thinking it was for him.
I took the bag and peered in to see the shiny tops of what looked like canning jars. “What have we here?”
“My mother says since you can’t come to dinner, she’s sending the dinner to you.”
“How nice,” I said. “Tell her thank you.” We stood for a moment, and I gestured backward. “Would you like to come in?” I hoped not.
“No thanks, I still have a few more deliveries to make. Just tell Hubert to give me a call when he’s up and about.”
“Will do.” I closed the door and went into the kitchen, where I unloaded the four glass jars. Apparently the Chos hadn’t heard of Ziploc bags or GladWare. Now I’d have to return the empties, which involved more personal contact with the neighbors. I could feel myself getting sucked into their little vortex. Bit by bit, I was losing ground.
Aunt May had kept a radio on the kitchen counter, the old type with the circular dial. She’d been partial to an oldies station, mostly music from the forties and fifties, and I’d gotten in the habit of listening to it when I was emptying the dishwasher or putting away groceries. I turned it on now and smiled when I heard Frank Sinatra singing “New York, New York.” After adjusting the dial to get rid of the static, I turned back to the jars on the kitchen table. They weren’t labeled. I held one up to the light of the window and wondered about the contents. I lined them up in a row on the table as if that would help, but I came up with nothing. One I knew was kimchi, but the rest were a mystery. Unidentifiable chunks were as close as I could come to labeling them.
“What’s that?” Fresh from the shower, Hubert stood in the doorway of the kitchen in his bathrobe. Even though we were heading into the summer months, the robe was a heavier terrycloth type, with a knotted tie that looked substantial enough to be used for a mountain climbing rescue. I had a fleeting unwelcome thought that right behind that flap of fabric hung an example of what separated the men from the boys. My mind flashed back to my former roommate, the Celtic music fan, comparing the private parts of every guy she ever slept with. Andrea could be disgusting. She’d say things like, “Most women complain about the smaller ones, but the cocks I really hate are the ones that are long and skinny, like Dodger dogs.” I had huge problems with hot dogs for about three years after hearing that. Even Italian sausages and brats bothered me if I thought about it too much. And forget about condiments—that was a whole other area. Remembering Andrea’s assessments ma
de me wonder what category Hubert’s would fit under.
Had he asked me a question? “Excuse me?”
“What’s in the jars? It looks like a science experiment.”
Did he notice my face was turning red? “Ben Cho dropped off dinner because you were too sick to come over.” When I noticed the confused look on his face, I prompted him with, “Kimchi night?”
His face flooded with recognition upon hearing the word. “Oh, of course. You were smart to cancel for us. I’m not up for that today.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t call. Ben just dropped by a minute ago. They must have heard from Brother Jasper or Myra. Or else they saw you come home.” I regretted my words as soon as I saw his wince of embarrassment. Nothing like the day after to make a person fully understand the meaning of regret.
Hubert absentmindedly tugged on the end of his bathrobe tie, then let it go slack. “I guess I owe everybody for taking care of me yesterday. Talk about doing someone a favor. I’m really indebted to you and Piper and Brother Jasper and Myra.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” I said. “That’s what friends are for. And when you feel up to picking up your car, just say the word.” I ran my index finger around the lid of the closest jar. The metal was cold to the touch. Hubert nodded but stood silent, so I turned to put the jars away in the refrigerator. I wasn’t sure what any of this stuff was or how it was supposed to be eaten, but keeping it cool was a safe bet. No need to keep the food poisoning cycle going. When I looked back, Hubert was still standing in the doorway as motionless as a palace guard. “Can I get you anything? Pepto Bismol? Water?” I held my hands out questioningly.
“No, I don’t need anything,” he said slowly. “Thank you. But I did want to say…I mean, I wanted to tell you—” He stopped and smiled wanly.
“Yes?”
He cleared his throat. “You know last night when I talked about us getting married?”
“I remember.” Who could forget?
“I know it made you really uncomfortable.” He fidgeted now with the robe belt as if he were the one who was really uncomfortable. “It was just, I was pretty upset and I’d been drinking, so my filters weren’t on. I’m not even sure why I said what I did, but I don’t want it to get in the way of our friendship.” He looked at me to gauge my reaction. “Just forget that I ever brought it up.”
“I pretty much have,” I said, to make him feel better. I waved a hand over my head to simulate a thought flying out of my brain. “Zoop. It’s completely gone.”
“Good, because I’d hate to have it come between us.”
“What would you hate to come between us?” I joked. “I don’t even remember what you’re talking about. What conversation?”
He exhaled in relief. “I’m glad that’s resolved. We’re OK then?”
“We’re more than OK—we’re best friends, and we always will be.” OK, I might have been laying it on a little thick, but the guy was trying so hard to smooth things over. To emphasize the OK-edness of the situation, I made the A-OK sign—thumb and pointer together, the remaining fingers splayed like a peacock’s feathers. It was the kind of thing my grandpa did—my dad was partial to the thumbs-up. Every generation comes up with variations of the same thing.
“Forgive me?” he said, reaching out with his arms.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” I walked into his embrace, and he wrapped his arms tightly around me. My face was chest level, so I had to turn my head to one side with my nose toward his armpit. The terrycloth fabric was softer than I would have thought, and he smelled like Ivory soap. I glanced up and noticed we were positioned under the doorframe, the safest place to be in the event of an earthquake. Not that Wisconsin had earthquakes.
After about ten seconds, the meter for a casual hug had expired, but Hubert hadn’t let go. In fact, he’d shuffled even closer, moving his feet on either side of mine so that I was pressed up against him. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was a little weird, especially with him being in his bathrobe and all. “Uh, Hubert?”
“Yes, Lola?” His voice was above my head and out of my line of vision, like God speaking from a cloud.
“We’re still hugging.”
“I know that. Do you mind? It’s nice.” I could hear his breathing right above my ear—he sounded relaxed.
I held on and patted his back a little bit, wondering how much longer this would go on. Hubert and I had hugged before, many times in fact, but this was a new one. After a minute passed, I found that I didn’t mind so much. I didn’t have plans for the day, and since he’d brushed his teeth and taken a shower, there was nothing objectionable aroma-wise. And he was a comfortable man.
I found myself relaxing into him, like we were partners in a dance marathon and I needed him to hold me up. I thought back to the article I’d written about the importance of human touch, and I wondered how long it had been since I’d had my share.
Hubert was definitely a good hugger. Much better than Danny, the guy I’d dated for two years in college. Danny insisted on resting his chin on the top of my head, leaving me with the sensation of a railroad spike being driven into my skull. Who could believe a chin could feel so sharp? To avoid it, I’d lower my head, causing my neck to compress in an uncomfortable way. He’d respond by shifting his head downward so that his chin was back on my head. Thinking about it even now gave me a headache.
“We fit well together,” Hubert said, stroking my hair.
His fingers running through my hair set off my inner alarm system. Was he having a momentary lapse and thinking I was Kelly? Or just being extra friendly? Either way, it was awkward and suggestive. I tried to think of a way to break the seal and get things back on the right track. I looked up at him. “Hubert, I have to—” But before I could finish my statement about the necessity of emptying the dishwasher, he took the hand that had been caressing my hair and moved it under my chin to tilt my head back. It was a pretty slick move, and if I were being completely honest, I’d have to admit that the suddenness of it made me a little breathless. He lowered his face toward mine, and I saw it coming. I knew he was going to kiss me. It occurred to me to pull back, but part of me was curious to see how it all turned out. I felt like I was watching a play that had taken an unexpected turn during act two.
At first his lips just brushed against mine, and I thought he might be giving me the kind of quick hello kiss my Uncle Stu used to give me and Mindy—smack dab on the lips—until my mother asked him to stop doing it. But this kiss lasted longer than a hello kiss. When I didn’t pull back, he pressed harder. All I could think was, Oh my God, Hubert’s kissing me. He was so smooth—who knew? I considered stopping it before we went any further, but the hedonistic, just-one-more-drink side of my brain wanted to see it through.
I lifted my hands to cradle the back of his head. Oh my God, I’m kissing Hubert. My mouth parted to let him in. Hubert. What an unbelievably good feeling.
“Oh, Lola,” he murmured, pulling me close.
We stood there making out for a few minutes, the radio playing Nat King Cole’s “For All We Know” like a soundtrack to our own personal movie. It crossed my mind to insist we quit, but that would have required stopping, and I wasn’t ready to do that yet. Just one more minute, just one more minute.
My brain raced with alternating viewpoints. My internal sensible advisor was all, You shouldn’t be kissing Hubert. Once that line is crossed, you can’t be just friends anymore. My free-spirited hippie side, whom I almost never heard from, said, Don’t over-analyze it. Live a little. If it feels good, do it. And then Piper’s voice chimed in: I always thought you two would make a good couple.
The inner conference was interrupted by a rapping noise coming from behind me. A noise like a bird hitting the window. I tried to pull away, but Hubert didn’t see the need. “Ignore it,” he whispered, holding me tight. “They’ll go away.”
He had me in such a firm squeeze I couldn’t have made a complete turn even if I wanted
to. But I didn’t particularly want to. If it were a neighbor kid or the meter man at the window, let them see. We weren’t doing anything illegal. I did wonder though. “Who is it?”
He whispered, “Just Mindy and that Ryan guy.”
“What?!” I pushed Hubert back with a force that caused him to rock back on his heels. I caught the look of shock on his face right before I whirled around and saw Mindy and Ryan’s faces peering through my kitchen window. Ryan had a hand held up to his forehead like a visor. Mindy gave me her trademark wave—her fingers fluttering one by one. She had a smug look on her cute little face.
Score one for Mindy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Go get dressed,” I hissed at Hubert. “I’ll think of some explanation.”
“What’s to explain?” He glanced over at the window. “It’s not their business, is it?” He waited for me to agree, but instead I gave him a pleading look. For a second I thought he might stand his ground, but he must have realized the enormity of the situation, because he left the room with a sigh.
I motioned for Ryan and Mindy to go to the back door and went to let them in. “What a surprise,” I said, leading them into the kitchen.
“We could tell.” Mindy smirked. “Did we interrupt something special, or is this how things always are around here?” She tossed her head, and her curls glistened, reminding me of the posters hanging on the wall of my hair salon. Further proof that life was unfair. “You and Hubert—who would have thought?”
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