Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  I don’t know how to reply to that. How can I be anything other than serious when my brother, my best friend, is sick? Really sick.

  “I just don’t want you to spend so much time focusing on me that you forget you have a whole life outside of Mara and me.” He claps me on the shoulder and I move with the motion. “Give the girl another chance. Maybe she’s not so bad when you’re not pissed off.”

  Nope. Never going to happen.

  Chapter Nine

  Kenadie

  Shana and I are having a Friday fun night in. Which means we’re sipping wine, baking cookies—these ones are all for us, not my obnoxious asshole of a neighbor—and watching cheesy romantic comedies as we lament our singleness.

  It’s kind of a weekend tradition at this point.

  It’s a lot more fun than it sounds.

  I’m in the middle of transferring my fifth tray of cookies to the cooling rack—the secret to a perfect cookie is pulling them out of the oven a minute early and allowing them to bake that final sixty seconds on the tray before you move them. Anyway, that’s what I’m doing when Shana jumps off the couch and books ass to the door. She swings it open wide and peeks her head out, looking left, then right, then left again.

  I stand in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, spatula in hand, confused because I didn’t hear a knock.

  “What are you doing?” I call. “Who’s here?” I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. My hair is in a loose braid, strands hanging messily around my face and neck. I’m also makeup-free and sporting my comfy jammies—the ones with the hole in the crotch and bleach stain on the matching top. Gross. I tug at my hair, tucking chunks behind my ears.

  Shana steps back inside, shutting and bolting the door. “I didn’t see anyone, but somebody slipped a letter under the door. She scoops up a sheet of paper from the floor and unfolds it. Her eyes skim over whatever is there and I release an annoyed huff.

  “Is it from him?” I spit. Everything has been quiet for over a week. He’s left me alone and I’ve been leaving him be. I thought we had a silent truce. An agreement to ignore the other’s existence.

  Shana nods, her lips lifting in a wicked smirk. “The guy’s got some big balls.”

  I toss the spatula on the counter and brush my hands off on my pajama pants before grabbing the note out of her fingers. I recognize Rawn’s handwriting immediately.

  Princess,

  I’ve checked my mail every day this week. The mailman must have lost my check.

  No harm. You can just write me a new one, right? Two hundred, in case you forgot. Slide it under my door for me when you’re done.

  Forgivingly,

  Rawn

  My face grows increasingly warm and my stomach muscles knot. The paper crumples under my fist. This odd hybrid growl-like scream climbs upward and rips from my lips.

  “Whoa,” Shana breathes as she plops down onto the couch. “Calm down, Killer.”

  “Shana. Do not tell me—”

  “To calm down. I know you hate that, but for real, K, you shouldn’t let him get to you like that. One might start to think you like him. You know, since he evokes so much passion in you?” She picks at her nail, eyebrows cocked.

  “Hatred is a passionate emotion.” I find my wine and gulp it down.

  “Is that all it is? Because I’m pretty sure I saw you fixing your hair.”

  I snap my mouth shut and roll my eyes. “That wasn’t for his benefit. I thought someone important was at the door.” I narrow my eyes at her unconvinced stare. “And,” I add sternly, “if he thinks I’m going to give him a dime after everything he’s done…” Well, he’s got another thing coming, that’s what.

  “What exactly is it that he did again?” Shana asks, her voice barely over a whisper.

  I shoot her a disbelieving look. “What has he done?”

  She nods slowly, unsure. “I mean…” She lifts one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “From an outsider’s vantage point, it kind of seems like he hasn’t really done anything wrong.” She scrunches her face and cringes. Probably because the anger boiling in my veins is making my face twitch.

  “First of all, you are not an outsider. You’re my best friend, so that means you have to be on my side. It’s best friend code. And second of all…” I angle my hip, and lift my hand so I can tick off each infraction. “He blocked my car, slammed his door in my face—twice—left me mean notes, said I have a big fat mouth, called me Princess in a callous manner, insulted my cookies, insisted I pay for the tow, but refuses to offer up a receipt…I’m sure there’s more…”

  There is more, right? There has to be more.

  “He’s a jerk…” I say in a rush, spirit-fingering all ten digits.

  Shana sips her wine, attempting and failing to fight off a smile. “Best friend code also dictates I should tell you when you’re in the wrong. Obviously, I have your back on this whole situation. But, Kenadie, you’re wrong this time. And, all of this could have easily been avoided if—”

  “If my parking space hadn’t been stolen by my roommate? Yeah, I know. This should be your mess.”

  “I think he and I could have worked something out,” she quips, wagging her perfectly formed eyebrows dramatically.

  Eww.

  “You’re not right.”

  She grins behind her wine glass. “I’m not wrong, either.”

  Still eww.

  My eyes fall to the note and I read over his words again. He knows damn well the mailman didn’t lose the check. He knows there is no check.

  And Forgivingly, Rawn? Forgivingly? Really? What does he have to forgive me for? Okay, okay. Never mind.

  Ugh.

  “He is our neighbor,” Shana trills. “And technically, you do owe him the money. Just pay him and move on. I mean, if you’re tired of arguing with him and getting these notes…”

  Chapter Ten

  Rawn

  Rawn (See how I used your actual name?)

  Here is a check for one hundred dollars. Half of what you claim the tow cost, though I can’t be sure since you have never provided me with the receipt.

  Half because I feel partially responsible. I’m sure you can agree you are also somewhat responsible since you refused to move your vehicle.

  Now we’re even.

  Graciously,

  Kenadie

  Chapter Eleven

  Kenadie

  Princess Kenadie (I can use your actual name as well.)

  I would like to remind you that even though I could have called the police and pressed charges against you for having my car illegally towed, essentially stealing it, I chose not to. That was my half.

  You owe me another hundred bucks, Precious.

  Cash would be best. I have a busy schedule and find it difficult to get to the bank.

  Frustratingly,

  Rawn

  Chapter Twelve

  Rawn

  Asshole,

  Fuck you.

  I owe you nothing.

  Loathingly,

  Kenadie

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kenadie

  We’re name-calling now? Tsk, tsk, tsk, Princess. So volatile.

  I’m pretty sure we’ve already discussed this. I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last breathing female on the planet. I have standards. Granted, they aren’t always the highest, but I think that says more about you than me here. You need to stop humiliating yourself. It’s starting to make me uncomfortable.

  Let’s just forget the hundred you owe me. I feel like you’re just using it as an excuse to flirt with me.

  Uninterestedly,Rawn

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rawn

  “How is my Mare-Bear?” I ask, swinging my niece onto my hip.

  She clutches my shirt, a drowsy smile playing on the corners of her mouth. “Sweep,” she murmurs.

  “Oh, you want to go sweep the kitchen?” I tease. “Sure, go ahead. It’s time you start earning your keep.” I act as if I
’m going to set her on her feet and she tightens her grip.

  Rhys stops chucking toys in the basket to grin up at his daughter. She’s not amused with me at the moment, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing. Sometimes a pissed off little girl is quite entertaining. What can I say? I know how to pull the right strings.

  “Noooo,” Mara cries. “Sweep.” She points to the hallway, indicating her room.

  “Ohhhh. You want me to put you to bed?”

  She nods, sliding her thumb between her lips.

  After forcing a cranky two-year-old to brush her teeth and put her pajamas on, I get her tucked tightly into bed with her favorite stuffed puppy, and then head straight for the kitchen. I pop the top off a beer and guzzle half of it down.

  “Long day?” Rhys asks.

  “Long life.”

  He lifts his almost nonexistent brows. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Work?” he asks, fishing for information.

  “Nope.” Though these days, it’s starting to feel like work.

  “Is it the neighbor?”

  I divert my gaze and swallow back the other half of my drink. I equally dread and look forward to her daily malicious notes, especially the really nasty ones because then I know I’m getting to her too. At this point, I’m a glutton for her punishment.

  Rhys chuckles, thoroughly pleased. “I don’t know why you fight it.”

  “Fight what?” I question, pulling a chair away from the table before heaving myself down. I’m not in the mood for another round of Brother Knows Best, or more accurately, Brother Knows ME Best.

  “You like her.”

  I lift my eyes to meet his, waiting for more. I’m not sure if I like her or her foul-mouthed letters. I definitely like her ass. But a friendship this does not make.

  “Holy shit. You do. You like her.”

  “I don’t dislike her,” I correct. She’s funny as hell. Bitchy too, but like I said, I have a way of bringing that out in a girl. And to be honest, the bitchier she acts, the more I want to shut her mouth. With my mouth. And other parts of my body.

  Damn. Just thinking about it has me discreetly adjusting myself under the table.

  He rubs his palms together, thrilled with the premise. “So what’s holding you back from making a move?”

  “Maybe because she hates my guts. I mean. Hates. My. Guts. If I were on fire, she wouldn’t piss on me to put me out. She’d probably just douse me in gasoline.” I shake my head at my brother. “Why are you grinning like a dirty bastard?”

  He rests his arms against the table and picks at a loose thread on the placemat in front of him. “You don’t have to marry her. Just channel all that ferocity into something more…fun.”

  I rub my face, not willing to discuss this with him any further. Fun with Kenadie would be as much a reward as it would be a punishment. And I’ve already admitted, I’m a glutton for it.

  I slap my alarm clock four times before I realize it’s not my clock making the god-awful sound.

  Stumbling to the window in my half-sleep daze, I pull back the blinds to see my car lit up with lights flashing.

  What the hell? Forgoing shoes, I grab my keys and burst out the door, both hands on the railing for support as I run down the stairs as fast as I can. I click the button on my fob, silencing the alarm as I move closer. That’s when I realize what set my alarm off.

  Dozens of eggshells rest broken on the ground, my car covered in mucusy egg white and yolk, empty cartons discarded in the grass. Slime slowly oozes down my windows. I nearly gag on the stench of rotten eggs as I look around, my eyes shifting wildly, trying to locate the culprits. I expect to find a group of preteens hiding behind another car, but there is nothing but the electric buzz of the lampposts and an eerily empty parking lot.

  As the adrenaline begins to slow in my veins, logical thought creeps back in. This wasn’t the work of punk-ass kids. This has Kenadie Forbes written all over it. We went from vicious notes to vandalism overnight. Not that I can really blame her. My last reply may have warranted this response. I was an ass, purposely inciting a reaction.

  I just didn’t expect it to be like this.

  I rest my hands on my hips and lift my head to the clear night sky. I’m too tired to deal with this shit. This is a whole new level for us.

  There are a few different options here. I could call the police and tell them of my assumptions, but what good would that do? It would come down to her word against mine. And really, I’m not looking to get her in trouble with the cops. I could confront her, but again, to what outcome? More notes?

  No. This calls for the big guns.

  If Kenadie wants to play dirty, we’ll play dirty.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kenadie

  This has to be a form of hell.

  I’m cold and my pants are damp from dew as I sit, knees to chest, concealed behind the overgrown bushes lining the parking lot. Remember the ones I said an axe murderer could hide behind? Yep. Those same bushes. And I was right. Someone could definitely go unseen back here.

  So here I sit just a few feet away from Rawn’s car, but instead of an axe, I’m armed with a half-empty carton of eggs.

  I know what you’re thinking, you judgy bastard, you. But I did not egg his car. I actually tried to stop it.

  Shana took our talk to heart last week. The one about having my back. When Rawn’s newest note made me tear up—not a lot, I didn’t waste any mascara on him, and not because he hurt my feelings, these were angry tears—my BFF got pretty pissed off. And when Shana gets angry, there is always hell to pay.

  She was about two-and-a-half-dozen eggs in when I woke up to use the bathroom and nearly suffered a heart attack noticing the door wide open. I ran to her room, because I didn’t want to die alone, and found her bed empty. That’s when I went to investigate and found her in the parking lot, elbow deep in eggs—that she purposely left in her car all day long to go bad.

  I unarmed her and sent her back inside to cool off, while I stayed behind to clean up her mess before Rawn saw the damage. Not a single softball-tossed egg set off his alarm, but I put the container on the hood, and BAM. The alarm sounded. Because that’s the kind of luck I have, in case you haven’t noticed.

  Frantic, I snatched the carton back up, hugging it to my chest, as if somehow that would kill the alarm. It didn’t. Obviously. So with my heart racing and all self-respect lost, I scrambled behind the aforementioned bushes to hide like a coward. I mean, how would that look for him to find me, standing there, cradling eggs in front of his car?

  Guilty as sin.

  So now, here I am, still veiled by shrubberies, freezing my ass off as Rawn hoses down his car. I don’t know what time it is, but I’m already sure I’ll pay for this tomorrow when I try to make it through work as a sleep-deprived zombie. More than once I’ve considered just sucking it up and coming out. But then what?

  He’d probably spray me with the hose.

  I want to cry.

  The hose shuts off. Finally! And I strain to listen, attempting to track Rawn’s movements. I can make out the scuffle of his feet moving away from the car. I envision the walk from the lot to the building, the action of winding the hose back up, and then the climb up the stairs. Then I count to sixty before I push myself to my feet. Both of my knees protest and my legs are numb. I stomp to force some feeling back into them and creep slowly around the edge of the bushes.

  Still holding onto the eggs, I scan the area before sluggishly tiptoeing from my hiding spot. I make it only a couple of feet when Rawn’s door opens again. Without thinking, I dive, stomach first, behind the shrubs, landing on the box of eggs.

  Spoiled egg stink wafts up around me, almost making me gag. Somehow I control my need to vomit. This time, however, it’s impossible to make out Rawn’s movements over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

  I don’t know how long I lay on the grass. I think I must have dozed off, because the faint glow of a new day illumina
tes the yard as I finally skulk into the lot, which is thankfully empty.

  However, not so thankfully, I realize exactly what Rawn came back outside for. My car, my baby, is covered in saran wrap. A lot of saran wrap. Like more than one box worth.

  This is so unfair. I actually tried to do the right thing for once.

  What is that saying? No good deed goes unpunished?

  Fine. No more good deeds.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rawn

  Rawn O’Rourke has a small penis.

  That is what is written on the front of my car, straight across the windshield. Original, right? At least she spelled my name right.

  Honk if you want to make me feel better about my small penis.

  That’s scrawled across the back window. Fabulous.

  I don’t know what kind of paint Kenadie used, but it isn’t coming off with soap and water. I’ll probably have to scrape it off with a razor blade. But I don’t have time. It looks like I’ll be pulling up to my niece’s church-run daycare center with the word penis painted on my car.

  If it weren’t happening to me, I’d find this so damn funny. Much better than the eggs.

  Even though I was fully expecting retaliation after I saran-wrapped her car, I didn’t anticipate it so soon. How did she have time? I wonder if she even sleeps? That would explain so much.

  I smile and wave at each car that honks at me on my way to pick up Mara. There are a lot. I lose count.