The Wilson Mooney Box Set

by Gretchen de La O

  “My grandparents’ house is empty. We could go up there for my birthday.” I swallowed; he noticed.

  “You want to go there instead of Aspen?” He looked at me, touched with disappointment. What am I doing? I don’t want to go up north for my birthday.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I was just thinking—because I haven’t heard you say anything concrete about going to Colorado,” I backpedaled, trying to keep him from being hurt by my suggestion.

  “I’m so sorry, Wilson. I was gonna surprise you that we were flying out on your birthday.” His hands hid into his pockets, his head tilted to one side, gesturing to be forgiven. I couldn’t get mad; this was new for both of us.

  “It’s fine.” I slid my hands across the desk and leaned in toward him. Our eyes held each other in a fierce trance. His eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. I could feel that he wanted to reach over and touch me, but he didn’t.

  “So you’re still going to the dance with Brandon, right?” he whispered.

  I nodded reluctantly.

  The door swung open and voices filled the room again, mingling with the first warning bell. As we leaned away from each other, the butterflies dive-bombed into my gut. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and filled out a hall pass. I had about two minutes to get across campus to trig.

  “Here—you’d better get to class, we’ll talk later.” He held out the pass in front of me and I reached for it, rubbing my fingers across the back side of his hand. I wanted him to know I understood his frustration. I shoved the hall pass into my pocket and hustled out the door.

  Suddenly my dream morphed and I was lying on my bed in my dorm room with Joanie. She was twisting and turning as she checked herself out in the full-length mirror. Her dress was elegant—a rich red strapless chenille which stopped just at mid thigh. It molded and accentuated her best parts and made her skin look like flawless porcelain. She was nothing less than beautiful.

  “Everything okay?” Joanie asked.

  “Yeah, I guess; it’s just that I wish I wasn’t going to the dance with Brandon.” I grabbed the dress that hung on the closet door and held it in front of me. “I didn’t even try and coordinate with him. I am so not into this.” I fell back on my bed, taking the emerald green strapless dress down with me.

  “Oh, come on, just suck it up and have some fun.” She picked up my dress and unzipped it.

  “Why? Max won’t be at the dance. Calvin’s coming into town and he has to pick him up at the airport.”

  “I know that really blows. I’m sorry, Wilson.” She shook the dress, waiting for me to put it on.

  “J, come on. What’s the point? I can’t sneak off and dance with Max if he isn’t there. Don’t make me go.” I stood up and gave her my best attempt at a pathetic look.

  “Wilson, you’ve gotta go. Besides, I’ve got a great idea.” She tossed me the dress.

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to send a picture of you all dressed up—to Max.” She grabbed her phone.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea tonight.” I dropped the dress on the bed.

  “It’s a great idea. Don’t you think he wants to see how beautiful you look? He’d like that. And what better motivation for Saturday?” she argued.

  Joanie always made total sense when common sense failed me. When I thought about it, why wouldn’t Max want a picture of me in the sexy dress he would never see?

  “Okay, but you have to take it from my waist up. And here, use my phone.” I snatched it from my pocket and tossed it to her. Stretching my top off over my head, I slid the dress down my body, leaving my jeans on underneath. I then magically removed my bra and waited for Joanie to zip me up.

  “Suck in,” she grunted and pulled up the zipper. She twirled me around and started knotting my hair.

  “J, stop. Just take the picture.” I threw my hands up around my head, trying to protect my hair from the damage her fingers were itching to inflict.

  “But wait, just…right…here—let me get this one strand.”

  “Joanie!”

  Okay, okay; ready…set…smile!” She sang as she held my phone out an arm’s length away from herself. I heard the recorded sound of a camera click before she pulled it to her chest to look at the picture. She looked up smiling.

  “Let me see,” I said.

  “You look so pretty. He won’t be able to stay home after getting this picture,” Joanie crooned.

  She handed me the phone and of course I didn’t like what I saw.

  “J—my hair is way too poufy, my eyes are at half mast and I look so pale. He’ll mistake me for the ghost of Christmas past; and he’s Jewish! How could you think that was a good picture? What am I doing?” It made me wonder if everyone saw me that way. Am I really pretty enough for someone like Max?

  “Wilson, just shut up! You are so beautiful, why wouldn’t he be with you? Why can’t you see how amazing you are? You’re the strongest person I know. You’re funny and so smart. Come on, Willie, we know you belong with him.” Joanie shoulder-bumped me, trying to knock me out of my funk.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that! But thanks for cheering me on.” I looked back at the picture on my phone. “I could use some color.” I tapped my hands across my cheeks and looked into the mirror. “Retake the picture,” I said as I twisted my shoulders sideways, pushed out my chest, and dropped my chin with my lips plumped. There, now he’ll see what he’s missing.

  “Perfect.” Joanie snapped another picture.

  Cindy busted in the door then with Jacky Burlington in tow. She huffed over to the closet, the same one that housed all of her clothes, and started to rummage through the huge collection of dresses she had at her disposal. She muttered under her breath as she threw dresses out onto the floor.

  “No, won’t work…can’t stand that one…why did I even buy that color? …God, what was I thinking? …Why bother? Okay, here—this is it.” Cindy pulled out a dress and held it up. Jacky clapped her hands like a baby whose mom had just found her favorite doll in the bottom of the toy box. Besides the fact that Cindy used to make fun of Jacky for being chunky, it had always been a well-known fact that she couldn’t stand the immaturity Jacky always seemed to embody. It’s funny how things had changed, especially after I dropped the F-bomb on her. I mean, come on, I’d already tried several times to apologize for my sharp tongue and for cursing at her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with it. So now, I guess it’s a battle of wills.

  “Oh Cindy, you’re going to be super-licious in that dress,” Jacky said.

  “Yeah, I know. Let me grab my makeup and stilettos so we can go somewhere less crowded,” Cindy said glaring at me.

  Whatever. First off, what the hell is super-licious? And secondly, I am totally done trying to make up with her. She needed to compromise and bend a little. Instead, she focused her energy into being as mean to me as she possibly could. And hanging out with Jacky—well, that was just weird.

  Cindy came out of her closet with the highest, spikiest, blackest stilettos I’d ever seen. Hooker shoes, that’s what they are. And her dress—oh…my…God—the skimpiest, thinnest fabric; it looks like a nightgown. It was a dark, blood-red, halter-top type thingy. It looked like it wasn’t long enough to cover her “secret place,” not that it was very secret. I tell you, if I was in an ornery mood, I would have said something. But it was best to let that boat set sail. Trust me on that one.

  She slammed the door behind her. Both Joanie and I took a huge sigh of relief. The energy in the room immediately returned back to normal.

  “God, why can’t she just accept my apology and move on already?” I plopped down on my bed; my dress pulled and cut tight across my stomach. Great, not only is Max not going to be there, now I am going to be uncomfortable on top of it. I guess I’ll be standing all night.

  “Come on, Wilson, do you really think it’s about the F-bomb? Really? She won’t move on because finally someone called her out on her shit and you d
idn’t bend to her manipulating crap. Everyone knows she’s a bitch; she’s always been out for herself and she will never change. You put Cindy exactly where she belonged and she didn’t like it. That’s just her, so let it go. Besides, we only have six more months with the vengeful bitch, and then we are free of her F-ing shit—forever.” Joanie kicked the pile of Cindy’s dresses back into the closet and shut the door.

  “Wow, J. That is so not like you. After nine years you’re starting to sound like me. What happened to the perpetual optimist?” I teased.

  “She’s tired of kissing ass.” Joanie grabbed her dress off her bed. “Perpetual optimist—that’s the best you could come up with?” She gave me a smirk.

  “We’d better finish getting ready, it’s already five-thirty and the guys are going to be here at six.”

  A loud knuckle rapping in a quick tempo echoed through our dorm room. Six o’clock, right on the dot. As I yanked the door open I caught my breath; I didn’t expect Brandon to look so good. He wore tailored black slacks and a honey mustard-colored, snug fitting button-down shirt. He held out a clear plastic box with a beautiful white rose resting on a bed of dainty green fronds. The faint aroma of his cologne wafted across with the breeze, causing me to tingle and think of Max.

  “This is for you, Wilson; my sister said I had to bring you a boutonniere. I hope you like white roses.”

  “Thanks, Brandon, it’s a beautiful corsage.” He released the lid and I pulled it out of the box. It didn’t have any elastic for my wrist, so it was obviously going to have to be pinned on my dress. I glanced at Brandon, holding the flower delicately in my hands. We both looked confused as to what we were supposed to do with it.

  “Hi, Brandon. Wilson, let me help you.” Joanie grabbed the corsage, held it up to my chest, pulled the pins out, and poked them into my dress. He’d made the perfect choice going with white flowers and it gave Joanie a good excuse to keep busy until her date showed up.

  “Oh, that is so beautiful. You look stunning,” Joanie said as she hugged me.

  “Thanks, J. And thank you, Brandon. I’m sorry I didn’t get you a boutonniere.” I ran my hands up and down the sides of my hips. To be honest, I didn’t think it was that type of dance; fancy and all like that.

  “Please don’t worry about it, Wilson. Thanks for coming to the dance with me.” He bent down and pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back; he didn’t let go.

  “Well, it’s about time to head over to the dance,” Joanie reminded us. She pulled me away from Brandon and toward the bathroom. “Excuse us, we’ll be right back. We need to freshen up before we go.”

  “Take your time, ladies,” Brandon mumbled.

  Joanie pushed me into the bathroom.

  “Did you text your picture to Max?” she asked.

  “No, not yet,” I said.

  “Do it now. He needs to see how good you look!” She pulled lipstick from her purse and started to apply a deep, purplish red. I watched her paint her lips, smacking them together to even the tone before she mouthed to me to send the picture.

  “Fine.” I grabbed my phone. My hands were sweaty and my heart pounded feverishly.

  A PIC JUST 4U--WISH U WERE HERE! XOXO. My fingers typed as fast as they could. I took a deep breath, hit SEND, and then slid my phone back in my purse. I couldn’t wait for him to text me back, even though I was on my way to the dance with Brandon. I checked my teeth in the mirror, blended my eye shadow with the tips of my fingers, and even ran my hands through my hair. This was about as good as Brandon was gonna get.

  “Did you send it?” Joanie asked under her breath as we came out of the bathroom. The minty mouthwash she’d swished lingered between us. I pushed my hand to my mouth and checked my breath; not minty fresh, but not bad either.

  “Yeah, now we just have to wait and see,” I said to her, my hand still holding the space in front of my mouth. Joanie squealed and jumped up and down.

  “You guys okay?” Brandon asked. His eyes alternated between Joanie and me before he pointed to Joanie’s date that finally showed up.

  “Pah, yeah. Joanie tends to do that every once in a while.” I walked over to Brandon. “You ready to go?” I asked him.

  “Yep.” He held out his arm, I weaved mine through, and we walked out the door.

  Right on the threshold, I felt my phone vibrate relentlessly against my hip; excitement simmered in my gut. It had to be Max responding to my text.

  I felt it vibrate again and heard Max’s voice calling my name. I felt warmth radiate down my arm and snatch my hand.

  “Wilson, sweetheart; we’re about to land.”

  My eyes sprung open; gasping for air, I came to and realized I wasn’t at school standing around at the dance but in a 747 heading to Aspen with the guy I had fallen in love with.

  The plane bounced and banged, tousling its tires with the runway that welcomed us to Denver, Colorado. Max grabbed my hand. My heart pounded high in my throat, and for a moment, I forgot about the four hour drive ahead of us to Aspen. Not that I minded; any time alone with Max was fine with me. I was more than excited to get to his cabin. I couldn’t wait to start our week-long vacation together. I know I should have believed our vacation started the moment we’d gotten in the car to drive to the airport, but I couldn’t rationalize the feelings that swelled in my heart and tricked my mind into thinking it wasn’t official until we were comfy and safe in his family’s cabin.

  Max leaned into me, nudging his nose against my temple; his breath tickled against my hair. “Wilson, I got you something else for your birthday. I hope you like it.” His hand, resting on my thigh, slid inward as his pinky pressed against me. A deep throbbing rushed between my legs.

  I exhaled slowly, our eyes met, and I had to ask, “Really? Are you going to tell me what it is before we get off the plane?”

  “Nope, you have to wait. But trust me, you’ll love it,” he answered with a grin on his face before he pressed his lips against mine for a quick kiss.

  He was so good looking; sometimes I wondered what he saw in me. I often watched people look at us, and I wanted to know what they thought about him—being with me. Not that I was fugly or anything, it was just that he was so strikingly handsome. He had the most gorgeous, warm complexion and shiny jet-black hair, which more times than not, reached toward his unimaginably earthy green eyes. When Max looked at me, he had a way of making me feel like I could crawl into his soul and get lost in his expression—forever.

  With a winding hiss, the plane taxied to the gate and jerked to a stop. The hum of the engines dimmed, and automatically people began to stand and jockey for positions. The voice of the pilot came over the speakers, welcoming us to Denver and telling us that the weather outside was a frosty 32 degrees, chilly enough to have a white Christmas. Suddenly it hit me again: today is Christmas. I was so absorbed by my birthday and being with Max, it didn’t cross my mind that, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t going to celebrate Christmas.

  I guess I didn’t have time to react to the realization that Christmas was a holiday for people who worshipped Jesus. And for Max’s family, being Jewish meant no wreath on the door, no Christmas lights outlining their roof, no Christmas tree flickering in the huge picturesque living room window, and no cookies for Santa Claus or carrots for his reindeer. And most of all no Jingle Bells or other Christmas music.

  Max popped up and pulled open the overhead compartment; lowering our bags onto his seat, he maneuvered my backpack onto his shoulders and re-adjusted the grip on his duffle bag before shuffling back to create a small gap I could squeeze into.

  “Wilson, sneak in front of me. We have to hurry to the baggage claim.” He hooked his finger through the belt loop of my jeans and pulled me into the aisle.

  “Why?” I teased.

  He took a breath before pressing his chest against my back and whispered, “Nice try. You’ll see.”

  Damn, he’s as tight-lipped as a preacher’s wife. What does Max have up his sleeve? As he pushed aga
inst me, I pressed back against him. It was the perfect way to arouse the waiting butterflies in my gut. This was such a natural habit for us, sneaking our touches; it was almost subconscious.

  Eventually, the scrunched line of people trying to collect their crap and get off the plane began to move. Our spooning touch broke to an uninvited space between us. My baby steps eventually evolved to half steps, and once we were out of the plane, they became full length strides up into the airport. Max snatched my hand and my strides became hurried gallops as he pulled me along.

  “What’s the rush?” I teased, yanking him back. “Aren’t we on vacation now?”

  Max stumbled. Glancing back he winked, dropped his duffle bag, and grabbed my other hand.

  “Of course we are on vacation. And the best part of it is, I get to spoil you on your birthday. So, if you don’t mind, can you pick up the pace? We really don’t wanna miss our ride.” He kissed my nose, scooped up the handles of the duffle bag, and sped us toward the baggage claim. Yeah, well even picking up my pace, he is still dragging me through the airport. What could he possibly have waiting for me at baggage claim?

  “Oh, good, here we go,” Max said as he spotted the electronic numbers of our flight blinking on the screen above the gigantic baggage claim belt. I swear, it looked like a ride from Disneyland. He dropped our bags and planted himself right at the mouth of the machine.

  “Do you know which way it’s going to roll?” I said, giving him a slightly smart-ass grin.

  “Of course, they only go one way; to my right.” He pointed before smiling back.

  “Are you certain?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “So if you know, for certain, that the belt is going to go to the right, then I should know, for certain, how we are getting to the cabin. It’s only fair.”

  “No it isn’t, one has nothing to do with the other,” he laughed and grabbed my hand. “Besides, don’t you want to be surprised on your birthday?” he asked as he lowered his head and gave me the biggest puppy dog eyes ever.