I stood in the street staring into the darkness after him long after he’d driven away. Bradley was the best guy I’d ever known.
So why couldn’t I love him back?
Fifteen
WHEN I GOT HOME from the coffee shop to get ready for my night out with Bradley, the worst thing imaginable happened.
Alex was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a magazine. And she was wearing my bustier, the insanely flattering one with the black lace edging.
For one wild moment I panicked, thinking she’d uncovered my secret stash of clothes and makeup in the back of my closet. But of course, the bustier she was wearing was three sizes smaller than mine. I looked down at the plain gray suit and white silk blouse I’d changed into at May’s house before heading to the coffee shop, and inexplicably, a hot shot of anger fired through me.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Dad, who was foraging through a cabinet, jerked upright and cracked his head on the edge of the cabinet door.
Perhaps my tone had been a touch shrill.
“Nice to see you, too,” Alex said, sounding hurt.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just surprised to see you.”
I glanced at my watch. It was almost five-thirty, and Bradley was coming by at eight. If Alex didn’t leave soon, I’d call Bradley and suggest we meet at a restaurant instead.
“I just wanted to see everyone,” Alex said. “And you ran out on me so quickly yesterday. What was up with that?”
“Forgot about a meeting,” I said, opening the refrigerator and burying my head inside. I didn’t want her to see my face. She’d know I was lying.
“Are you girls hungry?” Mom asked, coming into the kitchen. “I can make us some dinner.”
“No,” Alex and I shouted in unison.
“I was thinking I’d treat everyone to takeout,” Alex said. “Chinese or Indian sound good?”
I looked at her in surprise. A cozy night at home with her parents and sister? Was Alex really that hard up for entertainment? The last time the four of us had spent a quiet night together at home was . . . I wrinkled my nose, thinking back, and came up blank. Maybe Christmas two years ago, before we realized Mom had forgotten to turn on the oven when she’d put in the turkey and we ended up going out for pizza at a joint with a neon sign in the window and a sullen teenager who monopolized the pinball machine in the corner. Our holiday meal was punctuated by his shouted curses whenever a ball dropped into the gutter. He wasn’t very good, and he seemed to have an endless supply of quarters. All in all, it wasn’t the holiest way of celebrating the baby Jesus’ birth.
“That sounds lovely,” Mom said. “The whole family together for a nice dinner.”
“Where’s Gary tonight?” I asked.
“He’s taking the red-eye back from L.A.,” Alex said. “I’m picking him up at the airport tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t park next to any vans with dark windows,” Dad warned.
“He watched Dr. Phil today,” Mom confided. “It was about a woman who was kidnapped in a parking lot twelve years ago.”
Her voice dropped to an ominous whisper: “Disappeared without a trace.”
“I didn’t watch it,” Dad objected, but everyone ignored him.
“So Chinese or Indian?” Alex asked.
“Chinese,” Mom said, at the exact moment Dad said, “Indian.”
Tonight I could wear my new jeans and Marilyn boots with one of my classic sweaters—the white cashmere turtleneck would look nice, and its demureness would offset the fuck-me factor of my painted-on jeans—and maybe I’d even put on lipstick. I wanted to look pretty. I wanted Bradley to stare at me the way he used to.
“What are you thinking about?” Alex demanded. “Your special friend in New York?”
“You’ve got a special friend in New York?” Mom squealed.
“No, I do not,” I said, shooting Alex a death glare.
“Is something in your eye?” she asked me innocently. “It’s all squinty.”
“I’ll get some drops,” Dad said, rocketing off toward the bathroom. “Don’t touch it! Eyes are very susceptible to infection!”
I couldn’t help laughing, and Alex laughed along with me.
Then she leaned closer to me. “Did you pluck your eyebrows since the last time I saw you?”
“Just a little,” I admitted.
“They look good,” she said.
I think it may have been the first heartfelt compliment Alex had ever paid me. It felt odd. She must’ve realized it, too, because she immediately said, “The guys from The Sopranos were getting jealous.”
“Nice,” I told her. “Have your boobs gotten smaller?”
There, that felt better.
“Now, girls,” Mom said.
“We’re just kidding around,” Alex said. “Right, Linds?”
“Right,” I said. And in the same spirit of playfulness and fun, would it be wrong to hope that she dripped some moo shu sauce down the front of the bustier she’d all but stolen from me?
“Oh, Lindsey, I almost forgot,” Mom said. “Mrs. Williams wants to know if you’ll talk to her son about the SATs.”
“Talk about what?” I asked.
“Just tips on how to take the test,” Mom said vaguely. “I told her how you scored a nine hundred on the math part of the test, and she was really impressed.”
“Mom,” I said, “the test only goes up to eight hundred.”
Mom flapped her hand, as though physically squashing my point. “Will you be home for dinner tomorrow, honey?” she asked me. “I could ask them to come by after that.”
“Fine.” I sighed.
“Perfect,” Mom said. “I’ll bake cookies.”
Alex winked at me, and I couldn’t help smiling. I’d have to remember to pick up some cookies, just in case.
“I’m going to pick up dinner,” Alex said. “Want to come get it with me, Sis?”
I looked at her sprawled in the kitchen chair, one long leg hooked over the armrest. Sunlight was streaming in from the window behind her, turning her hair into a wild riot of reds and golds. As always, the gentle planes and graceful curves of her face were expertly made up to look completely natural and flawless. Or maybe she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all—it was hard to tell.
“Sure,” I said after a moment.
But I couldn’t help wondering why she’d asked. Alex had never been eager to spend time with me before. Even when I’d lived in New York, she’d only called when she happened to be passing through. Sometimes we grabbed a quick drink or a cup of coffee, but more often than not I was out of town or too busy to see her. If either of us had made an effort—if she’d called me in advance, or if I’d rescheduled my meetings—we could’ve spent more time together. But neither of us had bothered.
So why was Alex trying now, when the space between us had grown so vast that it seemed almost impossible to traverse?
“Ready?” she asked, jingling her keys in her hand.
“I’ll meet you in your car,” I said. I glanced at my watch. I’d better call Bradley and suggest we meet somewhere near the theater, just in case. “I have to make a quick call.”
We were finishing up dinner (Chinese; by the time Mom was through with him, Dad was certain that it had been his preference all along and that she was doing him a favor) when the doorbell chimed.
“I’ll get it,” Alex said, hopping up.
I looked at my watch: almost seven-thirty. I was itching to get ready for my night out with Bradley. I’d left him a message saying I’d meet him at the coffee shop next to the theater at eight, which meant I’d need to pack up my clothes and go find a gas station where I could change. I didn’t want Alex to see me in my new clothes. I knew she’d circle me like a shark, then she’d make some crack, maybe something snide about me finally shopping in the twenty-first century. I’d feel silly under her scrutiny, and the magic of my new look would disappear.
Alex came back to the tab
le just as I stood up, and I realized the worst thing imaginable hadn’t happened yet. It was happening now.
Bradley was two steps behind Alex.
“Oops,” Mom said, looking at me.
“Hey, everyone,” Bradley said.
I looked back at Mom.
“I forgot to tell you Bradley called while you and Alex were out getting dinner,” Mom said.
“No big deal,” Bradley told me. “I can hang out and wait if you’re not ready. I just happened to be doing a shoot nearby, so I came straight here after work.”
“No, this is great,” I said, forcing a smile as I looked down at my suit. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to start. Bradley was supposed to open his door and see me in my new boots and jeans, with my hair loose and pretty. The smile was supposed to slide away from his face, like it had all those years ago.
“Want a beer?” Alex offered.
“No, I’m good,” Bradley said.
If I took down my hair or put on lipstick now, everyone would notice. Worse, it would look like I was making an effort for Bradley. Besides, I couldn’t take the time to change. I had to get out of here, fast, before Bradley and Alex started talking. They’d already gotten to know each other plenty well enough.
“Ready to go?” I asked, just as Alex said, “Hey, Bradley, how about some Chinese?”
Suddenly, she was filling a plate with egg rolls and garlic chicken and Mom was fetching him a glass of water and Bradley was sitting down at the table.
“You won’t believe how great Bradley’s photos are,” Alex said, sitting down next to him. Why not just climb in his lap? I thought bitterly. No, no, not bitterly. Bitterly conjures up images of a pursed-lip maiden aunt. Sassily, that was the word I was striving for.
“I’ll drop off some copies for you next week,” Bradley told my parents. “Alex finished picking out the ones she liked best last night.”
I felt like I was in a boat that had become unmoored and was drifting out to sea. I had to regain control. I quickly pulled over a chair and sat on the other side of Bradley.
“Remember that picture you took for the school yearbook?” I asked him. “The one where you climbed up into the rafters to get shots of the school play?”
I’d helped Bradley develop those photos; I wanted him to think about us spending those hours together in the darkroom.
“That was when I knew I wanted to be a photographer,” Bradley told me, smiling.
“More rice?” Alex asked him, and he turned to look at her.
“More water?” I asked him, and his head jerked back.
“I’m good,” he said, looking a little startled. And possibly whiplashed.
“So Bradley, tell me what else you’re up to these days,” Mom said. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s doing great,” Bradley said. “Still working at the law firm, but he cut down his hours a few years ago.”
“And what else is going on with you?” Mom asked. “Are you dating anyone?”
Oh, Christ. Why? Why? Mom even gave me a little wink. Once again, the bar for the worst imaginable thing was raised. It was like playing limbo in reverse.
“Not right now,” Bradley said. “Actually, my girlfriend and I broke up a few months ago.”
“Which movie do you want to see?” I asked. Not the best segue ever, but Mom had to be stopped at all costs.
“Oh, are you guys going to the movies?” Alex asked, and I realized I’d walked into a trap. But I had no one to blame; I’d laid it for myself.
“Yeah, the new one with Orlando Bloom,” Bradley said. “Want to join us?”
Of course Bradley would say that. He was a nice guy; what else could he say when Alex left her question hanging there and stared at us with puppy-dog eyes?
“Love to,” Alex said. “Sure you guys don’t mind?”
She looked directly at me, and I choked out, “Of course not.”
What else could I do? Leap across the table and throttle her? Yank her hair? Kick her in the shins? Put Nair in her shampoo bottle? Make her—
“What time do we need to go?” Alex asked, rudely interrupting my thoughts just as they were getting creative.
Bradley looked at his watch. “We should probably head out,” he said. “Parking is always a pain in Bethesda.”
“Should we drive separately?” I suggested helpfully. Strategic planning has always been my forte. “I mean so you won’t have to come back here afterward to pick up your car, Alex.”
“No, I’ll just squeeze in with you guys,” Alex said cheerfully.
I dashed upstairs, ripped off my suit but left on my silk shirt, and threw on some tan pants and flat shoes. I forced myself not to think of my new, pretty outfit in the trunk of my car. I made it downstairs just in time for the tail end of Bradley’s tussle with Mom over whether he could put his dishes in the sink. Then Alex and I headed out for my dream date with Bradley.
“Don’t keep my daughters out too late!” Dad yelled after us, chortling and slapping his knee.
Oh, Christ.
When you can’t give your full attention to Orlando Bloom’s bare buttocks, you know there’s a problem. I sat in my seat, fuming. Bad enough that Alex was tagging along tonight. Bad enough that the guy at the concession stand had flirted outrageously with her and even given her free popcorn while he mixed up my order—and the only thing I’d ordered was a bottle of water. But now, despite the fact that I’d planned our seating arrangement with more zeal than any Bridezilla, everything had gone wrong.
I’d run plays through my head like a football coach as we bought our tickets. If Bradley walked down the theater aisle first, followed by me and then Alex, then he’d naturally take the innermost seat in the row. I’d sit next to him, and Alex would be on the outside. Perfect. So all I had to do was get Bradley to go down the aisle first.
But what if Bradley went first, then stood aside to let me and Alex file into the row of seats first? Then Alex would be in the middle, and I’d be forced to kill her if she gripped his arm during the scary parts. Especially since we were seeing a romantic comedy.
“Bradley? Want butter?” Alex asked, accepting the free jumbo tub of popcorn from the concession guy. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the little plastic packets of honey I’d pilfered from a coffeehouse. Bradley’s eyes met mine, and we both smiled.
“No thanks,” Bradley said, and the tightness in my chest eased the slightest bit.
Luck seemed to be with me for once when we went into the theater. The place was packed, but we found seats in the very last row, and I ended up between Alex and Bradley with no scuffling necessary. Perfect. Well, as perfect as things could be, considering I was out on a date with a guy who didn’t know it was a date and my sister was leaning over me to grab a handful of the popcorn from the bucket he was gripping between his manly thighs.
Should I let my knee accidentally brush against Bradley’s when the movie started, or would that be too obvious? Maybe I should whisper something to him during the credits instead. I felt around in my purse for a breath mint.
Was this how Bradley had felt all those years ago, wanting desperately to touch me but not knowing how I’d respond? I felt a pang of sympathy for that skinny, sensitive, teenage Bradley. I wished so much I’d returned his feelings back then. But then again, how many high school romances survive into adulthood? It was better this way, better that I was discovering Bradley later in life, when our relationship would have a real chance.
I sat back in my seat and tried to think of something funny to whisper to Bradley. Maybe I could casually put my hand on his arm when I leaned over, too. Just to emphasize my point.
A preview for a movie about a mass murderer came on. Probably best if I didn’t crack a joke about it; not everyone saw the slapstick humor in cannibalism. The next preview rolled. Ah, here we go: This one was about a wedding where everything went wrong. Excellent. I was testing out punch lines in my head when the door to the theater opened and two women came in
. One had a broken leg and was using crutches. They waited in the aisle next to Alex’s seat, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the change in the light.
“Here, do you want my seat? Then you’ll have two together,” Alex offered, gesturing to the empty aisle seat next to her. “I can move over.”
“That’s so kind of you,” the younger woman said.
“No problem,” Alex said, flashing them a smile. She hopped up and slipped past me, into the empty seat on the other side of Bradley.
And just like that, my night was officially ruined. But little did I know the bar was about to be lowered again.
“I’m never eating popcorn with butter again,” Alex said as we exited the theater. “The honey’s worth the sticky fingers.”
She sucked her index finger, and a guy walking toward us nearly smashed into a tree.
“Need a wet wipe?” I asked sweetly, handing her one.
She looked at me, then threw back her head and laughed. “Always prepared, aren’t you? Hey, do you guys want to grab a drink? There’s a place right across the street.”
“I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” I said quickly. I wanted nothing more than to go home, to try to forget the memory of Alex leaning over to whisper to Bradley during the movie. To erase the sounds of their low laughter.
During one part of the movie, when Orlando was reading a letter from his ex-girlfriend, Alex had even put her hand on Bradley’s knee. “What does it say?” she’d whispered, like she couldn’t read the giant letters on the screen. I’d barely held back a snort.
“C’mon, Lindsey,” Alex said now. “Live a little.”
“Just one drink?” Bradley suggested. “We’ll make it a quick one.”
“Sure,” I finally agreed. What else could I say?
The bar was full; a DJ even held court in a corner, and a few people had ventured onto the dance floor. We stood near a booth where a couple was sitting with an empty beer pitcher in front of them, pouncing when they left a few minutes later. Bradley and I slipped into one side, and Alex sat across from us. I took a bit of comfort in the fact that he’d chosen to sit next to me. But just a bit. After all, he was looking across at Alex.
The Opposite of Me Page 18
