When They Do

by Sara Breaker

  “Okay…but not before you tell me about being the ‘Chippiest Chipper at Kipper Clothiers’ for…five, six, seven months in a row—” she remarked, sounding highly amused. “Whatever happened to the eighth month, Alex?”

  I made a face, my jaw dropping in exasperation. “Seriously, Claire,” I called out firmly. “Get out of my stuff!”

  Her melodious laugh echoed down the hallway and I looked up in time to see her shadowy figure come out of the room. “If you must know,” I informed her as-a-matter-of-factly, “that was my first job, and on month eight, I got a promotion. Not all of us were born of money like Mr. Marco Welling,” I remarked offhand, whom in hindsight I probably should not have brought up, since the mention of him changed the entire expression on Claire’s face for a moment as she came out to the kitchen.

  But I was stopped short, struck by how hot she still managed to look wearing my big plaid flannel shirt. Claire’s beauty was absolutely effortless. She took my breath away, and for a moment I couldn’t say anything.

  But then Claire’s gaze fell on the kitchen counter and her expression changed again, to shock this time. “Wha—what—?” Initially, she couldn’t even complete her question, but she recovered quickly, wryly. “Exactly how many hung over girls have you got hiding in your apartment right now?” she wanted to know. “You look like you’re about to feed an army!”

  I blinked at the counter and shrugged dismissively. “It’s just toast and some fruit.” A lot of fruit. I guessed I hadn’t realized how much I had started to prepare. “Well, I’m eating too anyway,” I said, popping an orange slice in my mouth.

  She let out a light laugh, shaking her head as she came up to the counter beside me to survey the options, then she reached for a piece of toast and took a bite, before walking off and wandering into the lounge.

  I washed my hands, watching her take in the space for the first time.

  “Why don’t you put up some of those pictures your mom sent? Look at this place,” she gestured around the very bare lounge. “At least make it look like an actual human being lives here.”

  “Aw, thanks Claire,” I put my hand to my chest, pretending to be touched, as I followed her into the lounge, “you finally acknowledged that I’m a human being.”

  Her eyes lit up suddenly, before she took off back towards the room, and when she came back, the framed photo of a ten-year old me and Bunker was in her hand. Then she pointedly plunked the picture on the center of my otherwise empty living room bookshelf.

  I shook my head to myself again in silent laughter. “Claire, this is not your apartment.”

  But she just pursed her lips, looking triumphant, before she walked past the shelf and spotted a book on the coffee table. She let out a short laugh, sounding amused, as she picked it up. “I remember this.” It was the Carl Sagan book that she had given me a long time ago. She nodded shortly, noting the bookmark I had used was wedged into some one-third of the book, “And I see you’re still in the middle of reading this book I gave you—four years ago.”

  “Oh,” I sheepishly walked up to take the book from her, “actually, I finished it last spring. I’m just reading it again, ‘cause there were some things I didn’t understand.” I shoved the book up on the shelf beside the photo frame.

  She blinked at me as though in astonished disbelief, then she gave me a weird wrinkled-nose look, swallowing her mouthful before she started to turn away, I assumed towards the kitchen to get some more food. But I caught her shoulder lightly to stop her, coming closer. My heart started to pound in my chest again, and she looked up to meet my gaze, almost questioningly. I studied her eyes for a moment, then when I lifted my hand up to touch her face, she moved to press her cheek against my palm. The gesture was so sweet, I felt my chest constrict, before I leaned down to cover her lips with mine.

  And as I kissed her, there was something nagging in the back of mind, as though something deeply repressed screaming to get out, perhaps something I didn’t even want to admit to myself. I broke off, a bit disoriented, and gestured back to the kitchen. “Um, there’s also tomato juice in the kitchen,” I began. “It’s…a great cure for hangovers.”

  But Claire’s mouth turned up in a slight smirk. “You know what else is a great cure for hangovers?” she asked, raising her eyebrow mischievously.

  “What?” I prompted, except I realized what the answer was as soon as I’d asked.

  She simply grinned in reply, already helping me out of my t-shirt.

  And we did it again. Twice.

  I was careful not to wake Claire up as I went out to the balcony with the rest of her bottle of Gatorade. I glanced back at her through the window, feeling a massive disquiet. I blew out a heavy sigh as I turned back to look out to the city. All I needed to do was close my eyes and I could see Claire’s face. Whenever we were together, all I ever wanted to do was to make her smile. And I always felt at ease around Claire, like there was never any need to pretend to be more or less of who I was.

  Then again, maybe it was the knowledge that Claire expected absolutely nothing more from me that was particularly liberating. Otherwise, everything with her just seemed so…simple. I shook my head briskly to clear it. Jesus Christ. I was starting to sound like Tyler. What was Claire trying to do to me? And why the hell was I letting her? I felt absolutely ill-equipped to even be having some of these thoughts.

  It felt like such a cliché scene from the movies. I was imagining how Claire would walk out to the balcony, put her arms around me from behind, and tell me I was the only man she would ever want to be with. And for some reason, I found that thought oddly pleasing.

  I sighed again, blinking out of my trance. I heard a soft creak and I turned around quickly to see if it was Claire coming out to see me. But the balcony door was still shut. I creased my forehead, peering in through the glass to try to see.

  The bed was empty. Claire had left.

  Marco’s Bachelor Party

  “Well, one thing is definitely clear,” Tyler said to me at the end of the night. “I’m glad I didn’t get you to plan my bachelor party.”

  Gambling, cigars, booze, high-class—if not a bit on the racy end type of—entertainment, as well as I had managed to score the most awesome penthouse strip club venue on The Strip—all the best for Marco’s legendary bachelor party.

  I had to laugh, looking around as the rest of the guys were dispersing towards the exits. I saw Marco across the way saying goodbye and having some last minute chats with some people. “Hey,” I reminded Tyler, “I distinctly remember having had a good time at your bachelor party too, even with your super strict, super stupid ‘no strippers’ rule,” I said, with a roll of my eyes.

  “Well, of course you did,” he pointed out ruefully, “because you managed to hook up with the catering chick.” He shook his head, “I seriously don’t know how you do it sometimes. Personally, I would be so exhausted getting chased by all these girls, man.”

  I was going to chuckle in satisfaction, except that time, I had to blow out my breath in exasperated agreement. Tyler had no idea how my day had actually gone. The entire bridal party, and then some, had all flown into Vegas together, and I had spent all afternoon in the casino trying to fend off advances made by Alyssa and Bridgette and a couple of Nina’s other sorority sisters. Normally I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but I just wasn’t feeling it that day. And besides, something about being in Vegas just drove these girls nuts. It was also made slightly worse since Claire had brought Wayne along as well, as her plus one to the wedding, and he kept letting her through doors first and pulling out her chair like a damn gentleman, and pissing me the hell off. My only reprieve was when the girls finally all had to go to their spa appointment at the hotel, and I had to get everything ready for the bachelor party.

  “Dudes!” Marco called out as he came back to our table, plunking himself between Tyler and me. “Now was that a party or was that a party?” he asked, sounding a bit giddy as he downed his nth bottle of beer
.

  “Oh man, good luck with him,” Tyler told me as he finished his drink and started to stand up. “I’m afraid this old married man will have to retire now before the wife thinks I actually enjoyed this.”

  “Oh boo!” Marco hissed at him. “You suck, Ty.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks a lot, Ty.”

  Tyler wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Don’t you boys stay out too late,” he bid, before he turned to leave.

  I groaned in exhaustion as I turned to Marco. “Marco, man,” I patted his back, “how about we play a little game of shut-eye next?” I started to stand myself.

  “No, no, hey, I say one more drink. Come on, Alex. You owe me, man. You owe me,” Marco told me.

  I shot him a look. “Oh, for what?” I prompted.

  “You skipped out on a lot of my awesome parties this year,” he reminded me, starting to slur a bit. “You disappeared for like months. You owe me so many beers and drinks. Waiter!” he called out. “Two more beers!”

  I sighed, begrudgingly sitting back down to wait for the beers.

  Naturally, I’d seen Marco super drunk before. It was almost a tradition between the two of us to take turns getting shit-faced. That way, the (mostly) sober one would always manage to keep us both out of trouble. It (mostly) worked. And that night, Marco was in an all-time-high level of drunkenness. His clothes had beer stains on them and his hair was completely dishevelled, combining sweat with undoubtedly more beer.

  I settled back in my seat to watch him, as I couldn’t, for the life of me, comprehend what the hell it was about Marco that had Claire so damn hooked that she would need both me and Wayne to get over him. Like, what in the flipping world could Marco Welling possibly have that I did not?

  “What’s so great about you anyway?” I asked, suddenly and annoyingly inexplicably jealous of him.

  “What?” Marco turned to ask.

  I shook my head quickly to dismiss my ire. “I mean,” I rephrased graciously, “how are you holding up? You’re getting married in two days—,” I stopped short to glance at my phone clock, seeing that it was past midnight, “—check that, tomorrow!”

  Marco wheezed. “It’s awesome, man. Everything’s awesome right now.”

  I gave him a measured look. “No second thoughts?”

  The beers arrived and he took a swig of one, shaking his head swiftly, before he asked, “Why? Nina is the hottest thing on the planet. And she loves me.”

  I creased my forehead. So simple. I took a deep breath. “That’s great, man. Good for you.”

  “I mean, you know,” Marco went on, “sure our apartment has too many pink things,” he remarked, making me smirk, “but she’s the only one for me. I knew it right away.”

  I watched him for a moment, narrow-eyed. “How did you know?” I asked, a little more than curious.

  “She’s totally hot!” Marco exclaimed.

  “Yeah, but so is Claire—,” I stopped short, having not meant to say that.

  “Claire?” Marco looked surprised at the mention.

  “Uh, yeah,” I tried to cover up my slip, “didn’t you…also go out before?”

  “Claire, Claire, Claire,” Marco had more beer. “Well,” he shrugged, “you know Claire. Claire is…great. Maybe a little too serious, like she would just never get my jokes, you know?”

  I tilted my head slightly, wanting to respond. Well, that’s because Claire’s humor is intricate and clever. But Marco went on.

  “She has her moments though,” he added with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows at me. “Why? Are you planning to hit that? I wouldn’t blame you. I have very good memories of Claire…especially in the sack, whoo—she makes a real effort.”

  I didn’t realize I was gritting my teeth. Dude, your information is four years old. As clearly, Claire was now an expert in the sack. I resisted the powerful urge to say anything more.

  “And if you’re worried about me, don’t be. You two crazy kids totally have my blessing.”

  “It’s not like that,” I shook my head again, trying to dismiss it and change the subject. I absolutely didn’t want any more details about his and Claire’s sexual exploits. And for some reason, I didn’t want the knowledge that Marco was absolutely fine with me hitting that. Somehow I felt like having Marco’s blessing implied too much right then. “Look,” I started pointedly, “we better make a move. You look like shit.”

  “I have this theory. Do you want to hear my theory?” Marco started.

  I rolled my eyes. “Dude, you are so drunk.”

  “No, no, my theory is really good. It’s about commitment.”

  “Already winning material, bro,” I put my hand up to call for the check.

  “I think commitment is like…a food truck park,” Marco ventured. “And let’s say, you want a hotdog, like the park could have like burgers and ice cream, but no, you want a hotdog. And the park could have tons of hotdog trucks, and you pass a few,” he relayed carelessly, “some look really good, but you’re not quite that hungry yet. So what do you do?” he prompted me.

  I blinked at him, blankly. But before I could even attempt to understand where he was going with this, he replied to his own question.

  “You keep on walking!” he exclaimed. “I mean you could have been hungry, but not like hungry, you know? Then—finally—you get to that one food truck. Maybe the hotdogs aren’t the fanciest, or it could even be the exact same hotdog you passed on the first food truck, but it just hits you, now you’re hungry.” He thumped my back. “And you eat that hotdog, man. You commit to the hotdog because that’s your hotdog. It’s all about timing. And that’s when you were ready. That’s when you were hungry. And then you leave the food truck park. And then you get married. The end.”

  I had to shake my head to myself in stifled laughter, in wonder and disbelief and incredulity. I just patted his back again. “I missed you, man,” I told him.

  “Yes!” Marco exclaimed, suddenly standing up to hug me, before instantly almost passing out.

  ***

  I sat up in bed restless, blowing out my breath frustratedly. After having dropped Marco off in his room, literally leaving him on top of his bed, I had gone straight to my room. But I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was Claire, and dwelling on the fact that I knew Claire was in another room, with Wayne.

  There was a firm knocking at the door and I straightened up, alerted, my heartbeat already pounding in my chest. I got up and walked cautiously towards the door, but when I opened the door a crack, I saw it wasn’t Claire.

  It was Alyssa. She was already smiling when she pushed the door open to let herself in. “Hi Alex.”

  “Uh, hi, Alyssa,” I said with a slight nod.

  “Mm,” Alyssa pursed her lips, coming up to me to press her hands against my bare chest, making me back up into the room and against the armrest of the leather desk chair. “I’ve been waiting all day for a chance that we could be alone,” she said, before giving me a slight nudge and I plunked down on the seat.

  I blinked up at her, as she unwound her scarf from her neck and put it aside. I knew exactly what she was planning to do. “Um, hey, listen Alyssa—,” I stopped short when she moved to straddle my knee and began to unbutton her coat. “Heeyy…look,” I shifted uneasily and put my hand on hers to make her stop, meeting her gaze, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I’m really flattered, but—,” I shook my head.

  Alyssa’s face was still bright, like she didn’t understand what I was trying to say at all. “But what?” she echoed with a devious smile.

  That’s when I heard a soft knock at the door, and my eyes widened in alert when I instantly recognized her voice.

  “Hello? Alex? The door is open…”

  Claire stopped short abruptly, short of skidding on her heels, upon catching sight of us, her jaw dropping instantly in shock.

  Alyssa turned to look over at her. She smiled, but didn’t move otherwise as she greeted, “Oh hi, Claire. How’s it going?” she asked br
ightly.

  Claire blinked a few times, speechless as fuck. I saw her take a deep breath, then she met my gaze for a split-second, before whirling around to bolt.

  I creased my forehead, my heart pounding in my chest again. “Claire! Wait!” I called out, unceremoniously pushing Alyssa off of me, before I took off after Claire, grabbing my coat from beside the door as I went.

  “Hey—Alex!” Alyssa complained behind me. “Where the hell are you going?”

  Claire was already shaking her head when she saw me walking up to her by the elevators. “Don’t,” she put her hand up.

  “Claire,” I came closer.

  “No, no,” she kept shaking her head, still looking in shock. “Don’t. Just—just leave me alone.”

  The elevator doors opened just then and she got on but I followed in after her, clumsily putting on my coat as I let the doors close behind me.

  She gave me a desperately exasperated look. “Alex, please.”

  My frown deepened again. “I-I’m sorry—,” I began.

  For some reason, that earned me a strange look from her. “What?” she looked puzzled.

  I cocked my head to one side, studying her expression, before it hit me. “I thought…” Obviously, I had thought that the reason she had bolted was because she was jealous of Alyssa being with me. But of course that wasn’t. I heaved slightly in disappointment, at a loss for words. “I…”

  She gave me a meaningful look. “This is not about you, Alex,” she told me. “I’m the one with the problem. It’s—only just dawned on me what I’ve become,” her sudden laugh sounded strangled. “I used to be so high and mighty on my pedestal, judging girls like Alyssa for being dumb booty-call girls. And I’ve only just realized…that’s exactly what I’ve been doing,” she shook her head. “I am now no different than those floozies,” she concluded, looking revolted.

  I studied her face intently, aching to comfort her. “Yes, you are. You are totally different,” I told her resolutely, wishing I could explain exactly how, if she would let me.