Wedding Bands

by Ev Bishop

  “I guess.” Whatever that means, thought Jo.

  “Okay, well . . . I’ll see you. Have fun with Samantha tonight.”

  Jo watched Callum’s departing taillights until they disappeared around the corner. Not even a rain check? Wow. Something had changed between them within minutes.

  She bit her lip, a worm of shame and embarrassment squirming through her. Really nothing had changed between them. This was just her, yet again, imagining a connection or attraction between her and Callum where none—or at least none strong enough to merit the weight she gave it—existed. She sighed heavily on her way into the house to wash up. Would she ever learn?

  Chapter 10

  Dave reeked and sweat darkened the armpits and the back of his blue T-shirt. He dropped his racket on the bench. The clatter made Callum flinch. “You a glutton for punishment or what? I’m always going to beat your ass, Archer.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Callum gulped from his water bottle, then picked up his towel and looped it around his own sweaty neck. He’d really thought he might win when he agreed to a second match. “You suck.”

  Dave laughed. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand how best of three works. You don’t play again when the other guy’s already shown you he’s the better man.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Callum said again.

  “Look, I’m sorry I’m an asshole when I always win.”

  “Oh, trust me, buddy, it’s not just when you win.”

  “Ha.” Dave shoved Callum, and Callum was more than happy to shove him back.

  After they’d showered and changed back into street clothes, they met up in the café next door to Dave’s gym.

  “So what’s up with you these days anyway?” Dave asked over one of the green energy juices he’d ordered for both of them, while they waited for salad rolls and Udon soup.

  Callum took a big mouthful and set his glass down. “Ugh, that tastes like something a lawn mower spit out. Not much, why?”

  “Eat to live, man. Don’t live to eat.”

  “Save your motivational health-speak for your health groupies, okay?”

  Dave splayed his hands in front of him and leaned back. “Bit more green juice and a lot more gym time, and you might win a game once in a while—and you’ll live longer—just saying.”

  “Who says I want to live longer?” Callum said, but he did take another slurp of the green swamp-mess. “And anytime you want a real challenge, to do some actual physical labor instead of just playing with your balls, let me know.”

  “Funny,” Dave said, but both he and Callum grinned at the continuation of their ongoing argument about what was better for overall strength and fitness—concentrated gym workouts or manual work like pounding nails, building fences, etc.

  “I’m serious about the labor. I want to make a shed before the snow flies.”

  Dave waved the invitation away. “Brian says you’re obsessed with some woman.”

  “That’s what I love about this town, gossip at the speed of light.”

  “So there is someone?”

  “I don’t really know . . . maybe.” Jo’s face flashed into Callum’s mind and he grinned a little. But then he remembered the confused, hurt expression he’d put in her eyes during their last conversation. He sighed.

  Dave didn’t seem to notice. “You kissed her yet—or more?”

  “What are we, sixteen?”

  “So you have!” Dave finished the rest of his green swill in one big gulp, obviously finding it less unpalatable than Callum did. Nothing new there. For good friends, they’d always had divergent tastes.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Dave grinned. “You’re not updating your Facebook status here. Give me details.”

  Callum finished off a salad roll in two bites. “It kind of blew me away actually. I know her—knew her before. We just reconnected recently, but I’ve never been with anyone like her.”

  “Been with as in—”

  “No, dipshit. As I’ve said a hundred times, not everything is about sex.”

  “Not everything,” Dave agreed, seeming sad about the fact.

  “She’s . . . totally different from most people in this town.”

  “She’s not from around here?”

  “Used to be. She was the one who got away—”

  “Really? Mine too.” Dave launched into a big tale about a girl he’d crushed on in high school—and that explained his question about Callum’s love life; he had one of his own he wanted to talk about.

  “Did I know her?” Callum asked.

  “No idea—but have no fear. I want you to meet her this weekend.”

  Wow, it was serious then.

  “She’s throwing a dinner party Saturday night with her sister. It’s perfect, hey? If things don’t work out with your lady, my girl’s sister can be your back up.”

  “Oh, great. Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Dave replied, completely oblivious to Callum’s obvious sarcasm.

  Callum shook his head. Poor guy had it bad.

  “So you’re in?” Dave asked.

  “In?”

  “To going. I said I’d bring a friend.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Even better.” Callum grinned. “Unless you wanna get kazooed—then I’ll take over.”

  They set a time, and Dave headed back to work—to teach a relaxation yoga class or something. The idea of Dave leading anyone, let alone a group of people, through relaxing anything was always hilarious to Callum. Dave was one of the most hyper, most competitive guys he knew.

  It wasn’t until Callum was back at his desk, staring at a stack of files he needed to refresh himself about, that it hit him. Sisters. Used to live in town, newly moved back. A dinner party. Hadn’t Jo mentioned something about a dinner party, too? Dave had a thing for Samantha? Now that was a couple he never would’ve predicted in a million years. But opposites attract and all that—and it wasn’t like he had any track record picking a relationship that worked, so why not? And if Dave was smitten, maybe Callum was wrong about her. Maybe Samantha wasn’t the spitting emotional replica of his ex-wife Nina. He wanted to call Jo and ask her what she knew about Dave and Samantha, but it wasn’t the right time. He’d ask her at the party—the party he was suddenly really looking forward to.

  Chapter 11

  Jo opened the door before Samantha finished knocking, but Samantha didn’t enter right away. Instead she placed an arm casually against the doorframe and posed, as if considering the crush of noise and bodies and stringed lights twinkling in the house.

  In a fitted black dress with a plunging neckline and sky high heels with ribbons that crisscrossed her ankles like the ties in a bustier, Samantha was gorgeous and perfectly put together as always—but maybe a tad overdressed for a small town, back road get together. Jo welcomed her warmly and motioned her inside.

  “Good grief,” Samantha said, still not moving. “You really went all out. How much is this little shindig going to set you back? What’s on the menu?”

  Leave it to Samantha to kill the casual, fun party mood right off.

  “I told you it was a dinner party, get-to-know-the-townsfolk kind of thing. What were you expecting? Canned soup for six?”

  “There are close to twenty cars out there!”

  “The event grew. What can I say?”

  “You? You can say nothing. I can say plenty.” Samantha’s voice softened. “Come on, Jo. . . . Didn’t Callum talk to you? There’s no way you can hold onto this thing. It’s not going to happen. You shouldn’t have moved in. It’s gone to your head.”

  Jo nodded. The last sentence was true anyway. “Get in here, so I can shut the door. You’re letting the cold air in.” You are the cold air, is what she wanted to say.

  “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  “Why can’t you let yourself dream a little? We could run it together—”

  “No. I like a nice fat bank account—something no on
e can foreclose on. You’re making the same mistake you made all those years ago, just in a different way.”

  “Sam—”

  “No,” Samantha said again. “You’re happy to be just Jo. I’m Samantha. And you know I’m right. Hasn’t Callum talked to you at all?”

  Jo didn’t like how it was the second time Samantha had asked that. Had she and Callum reached some set-in-stone conclusion?

  “Talked about what?”

  “The will and selling, of course. I know you guys chat about God knows what else, but I don’t care about that. What I do care about is—”

  Whatever else Samantha was going to say was cut off by another knock on the door.

  “You’ve invited more people?”

  Jo shrugged and smiled even more broadly.

  “I’m getting a drink,” Samantha said in a tone that made it sound like a threat.

  “Knock yourself out,” Jo said and opened the door.

  Dave beamed, big, blond and bearish. “Hello!”

  Callum slouched behind him, glowering—almost as tall, but leaner and dark and brooding, like a sexy vampire—albeit a huggable looking vampire in his oatmeal-soft sweater.

  “You’re the sister having the dinner party,” Callum growled in response to her cheerful greeting.

  Dave turned to stare at Callum. “I told you that in the car, man. Jo Archer.”

  “I thought you had them mixed up,” Callum said, bafflingly.

  Jo laughed lightly, trying to lighten the tension that she in no way understood.

  “Well, now that we’ve established I’m me and I’m having a party, won’t you come in?”

  “Wait a minute—” Dave’s eyebrows shot up as he studied Callum’s surly expression, then he shot a glance at Jo and changed his mind about whatever he was going to say. “Later, man,” he added cryptically.

  They all stood awkwardly for another moment or two. What on earth had happened that she wasn’t privy to? Well, whatever it was, it was going to stop. She had guests to attend to.

  “Just toss your coats on the bed in the room to your left, and follow the noise to the living room. I’ll be right on your heels. I just need to check on something.”

  The guys removed their coats and disappeared as ordered.

  Jo slipped into the nearby bathroom, leaned against the door, and exhaled slowly. “You can do this, Jo. You can totally do this,” she muttered.

  She wasn’t sure if she’d convinced herself, but her words gave her the boost she needed to at least step away from the door. She didn’t need to use the toilet, but she washed her hands to give herself the extra bit of time, then dampened a washcloth with cold water and pressed it to her burning cheeks and brow.

  “Regardless of what comes of it,” she whispered at her too-pink self, “business connections, future reservations, or just a nice one-time evening, eating great food and making friends, this was a good idea.” That line finally broke through her insecurity.

  People would have fun. That was good enough for her. And should she manage to bring Samantha over from the dark side—a possibility that seemed more and more unlikely—well, nothing could be better for potential business than memories of a great party, right?”

  The dining room was humming with laughter and chat.

  “Omigoodness, Jo. These are to die for. Did you make them yourself?” Selina, one the few other people Jo remembered from school, now a reporter with the local paper, waved a smoked salmon and cream cheese stuffed pastry.

  Jo nodded. Another woman, one whom Jo had just met—Beth from the bookstore—also gave raving praises of the appetizers, then added, “Thanks so much for inviting me.”

  “No, thank you for coming,” Jo said. “I’m so happy you’re here. I hardly know anyone yet, so I invited tons of people because I was scared no one would come.”

  The three of them surveyed the crowded room, and Selina giggled. “Guess you miscalled that one.”

  “Yeah, you didn’t need to worry,” Beth added. “There’s no nightlife here, so your invitations will always draw a crowd.”

  “Sheesh, make her feel special or what?” Selina laughed again.

  Beth blushed. “I’m sorry. That’s not how I meant it. I just meant people are pretty friendly here, and who wouldn’t be flattered to get invited out?”

  “That’s sweet, Beth. Thanks,” Jo said.

  “Jo?” a male voice asked at her ear.

  She turned. “Glen—hello! I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Me, too. I’ve always been intrigued by this old homestead. Your uncle was forever buying tools.”

  “You’re telling me.” Jo laughed. “The shed’s packed with them—and the bedrooms, and the crawlspace!”

  “Yep, that was Ray all right.” Glen tugged the arm of a plump, pretty woman with short red curls. “And this is my wife, Melanie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Melanie. Glen talks about you all the time.”

  “Yeah, stuff like, ‘Where’d that woman put the blue slip,’ and ‘Hey, if you want to charge stuff you can’t afford, talk to the wife,’” Melanie joked.

  And so the night went, full of small talk, and enough food and drink that no one got bored. Jo congratulated herself on forgoing a formal sit-down meal. The buffet-style courses encouraged mingling, and if someone wasn’t seated near someone they enjoyed talking to—or who didn’t talk—they weren’t stuck in one spot, miserable, all evening.

  Dave shadowed her most of the night which was helpful because he had the kind of easygoing, life-of-the-party personality that joined small cliques of chatters into larger ones and left quiet groups noisily joking. He also appointed himself her “kitchen slave” and helped her bring out new dishes and carry empty ones away—something Jo found both kind and practical, so she wasn’t sure why he was rubbing her the wrong way.

  Callum remained cool and distant, though he did laugh once or twice at things she said. . . . Maybe he was just shy in a group? Or maybe her gut—that she foolishly kept fighting—was right and he was an ass. Maybe he was still the kind of guy who declared interest where none really existed, and she was still the same dope who fell for it. She needed to stop giving him the benefit of a doubt!

  Later, as couples started to trickle away, calling cheery good-byes with promises to visit again or to have her over, and the house slowly emptied, Jo was ready to call the night a full-blown success.

  And then Samantha struck.

  Jo had noticed her social butterfly sister was in her heyday all night. Yes, she hit the drink table a bit heavily, but that was just Samantha. The woman could hold her liquor like no one’s business—so shock practically knocked Jo down when Samantha staggered over. Literally staggered. Then raised a glass.

  “I’d like to raisa toassst,” she slurred. “To my sister.”

  The few people still there complied merrily, lifting their glasses in salute.

  “Only my sister—” The last word came out sisssstah. Samantha burped, then giggled, holding one hand over her mouth.

  Jo was by the door to the kitchen, too far away to grab Samantha by the arm (or hair!) and drag her out of the room before she completely embarrassed herself. Jo’s armpits prickled with sweat.

  From where he was leaned against one of the wide cedar pillars that marked the dining room’s change into living room space, Callum met Jo’s eyes. He nodded once, then moved toward Samantha.

  Too late.

  “Only Josephine could think of opening this place. Sure her food’s good, the best maybe, but she doesn’t have any money.” Samantha laughed like she’d told a hilarious joke. Callum took her arm gently, but she shook him off and snarled, “I’m not done my toast!” She raised her glass again. Its amber contents sloshed, but didn’t spill. “And have you seen the rooms? There are holes in the floor in some’em. You can see dirt! And the room she slept in when she was a kid? Gaps around the window big enough to stick stuff through.”

  Callum started, and his eyes narrowed at Samantha.<
br />
  The cheerful hush that had greeted Samantha’s first line, “I have a toast,” changed to a watchful, uncomfortable silence. Then someone whispered, “Well, I guess we know who got poor old Ray’s genes.” There was a very slight, very uncomfortable titter.

  If Jo’s face burned any hotter, she’d burst into flames—but honestly that would be preferable to the gush of tears filling her sinuses. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry!

  Jo put the heavy crockpot of mulled apple cider she’d been about to carry into the kitchen down on a side table, and readied herself to take on Samantha.

  Dave stepped forward then, his voice cheerful and booming. “Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, Sammy. Any monkey can do a bit of fix up. It just needs elbow grease—and look at what Jo’s done already. Give her the winter and none of us will be able to afford to stay in the place.”

  “Don’t call me Sammy!” Samantha shrieked.

  Jo appreciated what Dave was trying to do, but he was missing the point. Jo could care less what Samantha said in regards to her plans; she only cared that her sister would be mortified the next day. She didn’t need Samantha to stop bashing her. She needed her to stop slurring, to not have a melt down—to say something funny or gracious that pushed away the wary, growing-judgmental expressions appearing on the surrounding faces.

  Callum’s intense blue eyes met hers again, and she remembered something long forgotten. He’d helped her out during a similar crazy Samantha moment when they were teens. That was actually how they’d met for real, in a way deeper than being aware they attended the same school. Was that the first time they’d gone for coffee? Such a grown up thing that had seemed, going for coffee.

  Despite the current situation and stress, Jo’s stomach tightened with remembered excitement. How flattered and exhilarated she’d been—

  Her inner reminiscences were cut short by two guests who raced for the door, citing the time and a babysitter they needed to get home as their reason for leaving. Another couple jumped on that inspiration for their equally quick exit.

  The room was down to about nine people—including her, Samantha, Callum, and Dave.