Going Wild

by Gretchen Galway

  “I don’t want you to share it with me,” she said. “I know more than enough about you already.”

  After a pause—was he doing meditative breathing exercises?—he said, “My therapist said you might react that way at first. I’m prepared to accept it. I forgive you.”

  “You forgive me?”

  “For pushing me away. For not giving me a chance. I’m learning to understand and not let it bother me.”

  All her life, Jane had been told she was the calm, cerebral type. But at that moment, she was experiencing the overwhelming urge to dig her thumbs into Andrew’s eyeballs like the hero in a violent action movie. Normally she couldn’t stand the sight of blood, but in this case she’d find a way to work through it. Maybe the loud screaming she’d be doing as his fluids spurted over her hands and trailed down her forearms would give her strength.

  Grant’s deep voice made both of them look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but Jane’s dinner is getting cold.” He held up one of his reusable bags. “And so’s mine.”

  It gave her just the break she needed to retract her thumbs into her fists, stride past Andrew, and unlock the front door without once cursing or crying or even rolling her eyes. She was an ice queen. She would let it go. Without singing the song.

  “Come on in, Grant,” she said. “I’ll bring you another set of plates. I forgot to put them in your suite earlier.”

  Grant was thankfully right at her side, following her and lingering just enough to block the doorway in case Andrew tried to rush in.

  But Andrew wasn’t the rushing type. He stayed where he was on the sidewalk, staring up at them with a sour scowl on his face, as if he’d done what he was told, it hadn’t worked, and somebody was going to hear about it.

  Not her. Oh, how could she have wasted so many days of her life with that toad?

  “How could you have dated that guy?” Grant asked. “Not to be rude, but…”

  “Excuse me, I’ve had a long day. Good night.” She went through the door and left him there with his ecologically aware bag filled with lukewarm Chinese food that would never recover from the delay in eating it.

  8

  Holding the bags of takeout just inside the front door, Grant watched Jane stride away and disappear at the far end of the hallway.

  “Jane,” he called out as he kicked off his shoes. “I can’t eat this all by myself.”

  After a pause, her voice returned, “Sure you can.”

  He looked into his room, then back down the hall. The cat sprawled halfway between them, licking herself.

  To hell with it. There wasn’t a door yet. “I’m putting yours in the kitchen. And I’m leaving it on the table, so you better come get it.” It took him a few seconds to find the kitchen light switch, an old-fashioned one that made a snapping sound. He reached into the bags, found her containers, and arranged them on the table.

  Her voice grew louder. “Put it in the fridge— No, just leave it, I don’t want you coming into my—” She cut off. A moment later she appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “Please don’t come into my side of the house.”

  “It would be a crime to waste Szechuan eggplant this good.”

  “You could’ve eaten it yourself.”

  “Eggplant gives me loose stools,” he said.

  She pressed her lips together, and he wondered if she was truly angry or maybe, just maybe, trying not to laugh. “I did not need to know that.”

  “Apparently you did.” He turned to the cabinets. “Where are the plates?”

  She walked over and swatted him between the shoulder blades. “I can get my own plate.”

  “Did you just hit me?”

  “I told you, I need my space. You’re invading it in a big way, and I need it now more than ever.”

  He didn’t really want to know about her sister or her ex-boyfriend, because that would be too personal and he had a book to write, but he hated seeing anyone suffer alone. And she wouldn’t get her food. Thinking about that would make it impossible for him to sleep or get another writing session done.

  “I was looking for a plate for myself,” he said. “You were going to get me—”

  “Oh, right, so I was. Sorry.” She reached past him and took a few dishes out of the cabinet. “You can keep these in your kitchenette when you’re done. I put dish soap in the cabinet beneath the microwave.”

  He took the dishes from her, three heavy plates in bright primary colors. “Are you going to eat? It really isn’t as good as leftovers.”

  She gave him a pained look, glancing at the door, still unhappy with him being there. “I’ll enjoy it more tomorrow. Thank you, Grant.”

  Convinced now that he’d done his best, he nodded and left the kitchen with the plates and the remaining bag of takeout. “Sorry to bug you.”

  After a moment, she followed him into the hall. “I’m sorry too.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ll have the door put in. Then we won’t have any misunderstandings.”

  “I understood you,” he said. “I just didn’t agree you should waste good Chinese food, no matter how bad your life is.”

  “My life isn’t bad.”

  He cleared his throat. In the day and a half he’d known her, she’d lost her job, been forced to rush a tenant into her home, and found her creepy, stalkerish ex-boyfriend lurking at her front door.

  And she was jealous about her sister being pregnant. If he were wrong about that, he’d lick the seat of a campground pit toilet.

  “Let me know if my check doesn’t clear,” he said with a smile and strode to his own room.

  Just as he was closing the door, he heard her say, “It better. It’s paying for that door.”

  Jane woke up Monday morning at her usual time, climbed out from the covers, and made the bed as she always did—replacing the midnight-blue velvet throw pillows that spent the night on the chair next to the bed and smoothing out the folded faux-fur blanket at the foot—and went into the bathroom to complete her full routine of self-care.

  Shampoo, shaving, moisturizing, clipping and buffing, brushing and drying. The only step she skipped on her days off was foundation and eye makeup. After breakfast, she’d put on lipstick or gloss, and if she went out, she’d add a few quick swipes of mascara.

  At six forty-five, she was ready for the day. If it were January instead of July, it would still be dark. Then again, if it were January, she’d still have a job to go to and being up would be necessary.

  She walked to the kitchen with Shadow mewling at her heels for her breakfast.

  What was she going to do today? It was too early to call Nicole or Troy, and she didn’t go to the gym on Mondays. She didn’t want to call her brother-in-law-to-be about installing a door because…

  Because he was going to be a dad. With her sister.

  She wasn’t ready to see them just yet, all happy and stupid with their unplanned joy.

  She filled Shadow’s bowl and watched her dig in. She always attacked her food like a stray dog, not the pampered kitty she was. She smiled down at her, enjoying the show she didn’t usually have time to watch.

  Now would be the perfect time to make a full breakfast, not just a quick spoonful of cream cheese and a travel mug of coffee. That would take some time, and she could make extra, share it with Grant—

  Only if he barged in and asked for some, which he probably would. She’d make a plate and put it aside as thanks for the dinner last night. It had been excellent. And it had not, knock on wood, given her the runs.

  Shaking her head, she got out the flour container and other ingredients, laughing silently. The runs. Very funny. She was pretty sure he’d been joking about that to cheer her up.

  Making waffle batter was her specialty, and she could get it together without even consulting a recipe. Soon the first waffle was steaming away in the waffle iron and she was lifting her first cup of coffee to her lips.

  Before she tasted it, her phone chirped
with a text message from her mother.

  Don’t ruin this for Billie, Mom wrote.

  To Billie, Jane was the perfect, brilliant older sister who achieved great things and could do no wrong. But to their mother, Jane was the most insensitive, stubborn, and generally difficult of all her children.

  Ruin what? Jane texted back.

  If you can’t be happy, find an excuse for the party.

  Jane sighed. What party?

  I’m sending invitations this week, her mother wrote. If you can’t find a date, I think you should send your regrets. Out of love.

  Jane knew her mother didn’t mean to be cruel. In fact, she wasn’t being mean at all. They both knew Billie was the sweet, emotional one in the family, who would be crushed if Jane couldn’t be happy for her. Jane could be happy for her—she would—but she understood why her mom would worry.

  But Jane wasn’t going to make it easy for her mother to treat her callously, not when she had real problems of her own—even if her skin was thick enough to handle it.

  What party? Jane repeated. Which event shall we be celebrating?

  Oh, Jane! Her mother texted. It wasn’t enthusiasm but a rebuke. Ian is going to be a wonderful father.

  Jane flinched. Yeah, her high school ex probably would be a good dad. And he and Billie adored each other. The kid would be very lucky. That wasn’t the issue.

  Jane’s shit life was the issue.

  So it’s a baby shower? Jane texted.

  If you can’t show up with a smile, don’t show up at all. Please, sweetheart.

  The endearment was a nice touch. Sweet. Heart. Her mom didn’t associate Jane with either one.

  Wedding AND baby? Just need to know if I bring one gift or two, Jane replied.

  Don’t be stingy.

  Jane swore and set the phone on the counter. God damn it…

  She unfurled a few choice curses—verbally, where her mother couldn’t read them or screen-cap and send them to her friends as an example of how difficult her eldest daughter was.

  And the dig about bringing a date…

  “Fuck!” Jane shouted. Muttering more curses, she picked up the phone and stabbed in her reply.

  I will bring my new bf and many gifts. Looking forward to it. xoxoxo

  And then she turned off her phone, shoved it in her pocket, and noticed the waffle was smoking.

  “Damn it, damn it.” She pierced the burned waffle with a fork and flung it onto the counter.

  “You’re kind of like Gordon Ramsay,” Grant said behind her.

  “Fuck.” She poured fresh batter into the iron and banged it shut. “What the hell are you doing in here again?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just bringing you the paper.” He held it out.

  “You just wanted to see what I was swearing about this time.”

  “I figured it was because of whatever was on fire.”

  “It wasn’t on fire,” she said.

  “Smoking, then.”

  She paused, then went over and took the paper from him. Andrew had mocked her for having a subscription to a physical paper, but her coffee tasted better with it. And she used the sports section to line the compost bucket. “Maybe it was smoking a little.” She pointed at the caramel-colored waffle. “Want it? It probably tastes OK.”

  “Will I get a refund for part of my rent if I eat it and survive?”

  “Ooh, you’re asking for it.”

  “Actually, no. I’d rather not have it.” He rubbed his jaw, scratched his beard. “Do you always get up this early, by the way?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded. Yawned. “Thought so.” He turned, displaying his bare lower back under the gap between his pink T-shirt and black-and-white polka-dot pajama pants. Her gaze fixed on the low-slung waistband, willing it lower, just a little. He had a nice butt. Backpacking for months had done obvious miracles for the glutes.

  But the man wore pink. And knitted. It hadn’t occurred to her before that he might be gay, but maybe she was being obtuse, blinded by her own problems and, she had to admit, appreciation of his perfect, well-muscled gluteus maximus.

  “I have a favor to ask,” she said, surprising herself.

  He turned in the doorway. “Fine, I’ll eat it if you really can’t bear to throw it—”

  “No, this is a big favor.”

  Eyebrow lifted, he eyed the waffle warily. “Bigger than eating that?”

  “Much.”

  He shrugged. “You can ask. Can’t guarantee anything.”

  “For this I will give you a refund on some of the rent. Say…” Her desperation went to war with her frugality. She had to make it tempting. “A month’s worth.”

  “That’s really not necessary—”

  “Will you come with me to a family party?” she asked.

  “Yours or mine?”

  She smiled briefly. Either sounded pretty bad. “Mine.”

  “This has something to do with your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do we have to fly? I’d rather not fly,” he said.

  “God, no. It’s just up in Sonoma County.” But she hadn’t received an invitation yet, had she? With Ian’s millions, they could throw a party anywhere in the world. “At least I think so. Probably. My mom and her husband and kids live in Rohnert Park.”

  “Practically neighbors with my family,” he said with a smile.

  “Not quite. They have a three-bedroom split-level from the seventies on a quarter acre.”

  “Some of my grandfather’s place was built in the seventies,” he said. “And there are multiple levels.”

  This time she saw the iron light turn green, and she removed the waffle and set it on a plate with a generous helping of cream cheese and fresh strawberries. She added a fork and held it out to him. “Will you do it?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You don’t have to give me any rent money back. I’m not that kind of boy.”

  “Maybe I should tell you all about my family and the, uh, happy couple before you decide.”

  He sawed a corner off the waffle and made a face. “No, no. Ignorance is bliss. I’d rather be oblivious and just have a good time.”

  “I told my mother you’re my boyfriend,” she said. “You or whomever I can get to go with me. She told me…” Jane decided not to elaborate. He didn’t need to know her mother would rather she didn’t show up at all if she didn’t have a date.

  Holding his plate in the doorway, chewing his food, Grant watched her for a moment until he realized she wasn’t going to say more. “Will we kiss a lot?” he asked, his mouth still full.

  Oh God. What was she getting into? She knew he was joking, but…

  “Depends,” she said. “Are you gay?”

  “You only kiss gay guys?”

  She smiled, overwhelmed by the ridiculousness of it all. “I was just wondering.”

  “But you said ‘depends.’ Like it influenced how we would behave.”

  “I’m just— I’m sorry— This is crazy. The truth is, the groom and father-to-be is somebody I dated in high school, and everybody is afraid I’m going to be weird about it. If I have a man on my arm, they can relax and not watch me, wondering if—or hoping, let’s be honest—I’ll start weeping into my Champagne.”

  “If I’m straight, do you still want me as your date?”

  “Yes.”

  “Phew. I’d love to come.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “I’m a writer on a deadline. I’m happy to have an excuse to blow it off for a day. I’ll be doing you a favor, right?”

  She sighed. “Afraid so. I don’t have a stable of potential mates waiting by. And you met my latest ex. Imagine how he’d react if I invited him.”

  “I only met him once, and I think I’d have a reaction if you invited him.” He jabbed his fork into a strawberry. “Good waffle. I accept all bribes in this format, just so you know.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “When’s the shindig?” he asked. �
�I hope you don’t expect me to dress up. You’ve already seen me at my most formal.”

  “Don’t know when it is yet, but I’m guessing next month, which would give my mother time to plan things but not too much time for her to wait for something she really wants,” she said. “And it won’t be formal. I’ll probably wear a dress, but…”

  “Why will you wear a dress?”

  Jane bit her lip. She always wore a dress around Ian. Kind of a promise she’d made to herself long ago. “August up there is pretty hot. We’ll probably be outside.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’ve got a new pair of cargo shorts I can wear.”

  “You’re really going to do this for me?”

  “Free food, no Whitmans, are you kidding?”

  “If you change your mind, could you let me know in time to make other arrangements?” she asked.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Jane. I don’t have a life. This is it.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”

  With a smile, he handed her the empty plate, not a crumb left on its slick surface. “Maybe you should try.”

  9

  Grant came back from his morning hike in the regional park up the street—a huge network of trails through redwood and oak, ravines and hills—to find Troy walking out of Jane’s house.

  An odd, irrational wave of irritation spiked through him. What was he doing here?

  Grant waited at the bottom of the driveway, arms crossed, as his brother approached. The extra seconds gave him time to realize it had to be about Jane’s job at Whitman. His first crazy thought had been that Troy was here to question his decision to be Jane’s date at a family event, a decision he was questioning himself.

  Under any other circumstances, he wouldn’t have had second thoughts. Why not enjoy the company of an attractive woman for a few hours with people he’d never see again? He spent more time alone than he should, even more than he preferred. As long as it wasn’t a corporate thing, like the one at his grandfather’s house over the weekend, he never refused a party. Other people were interesting, and it was good for him to socialize. So much time alone in the wilderness eroded his social skills.