Best Friends Forever_A Marriage Pact Romance

by Jess Bentley

  “We were just kids, though,” I continue. “There would’ve been no way I could have held you to it, you know?”

  She glares at me, her lips pressed tightly together to hold back whatever it is that she wants to say. I realize suddenly that I might have forgotten about it, but she didn’t. And now here she is. And here I am.

  “Well it doesn’t matter,” she continues in a hard voice. “I just canceled it. It’s done. We are just business partners okay? Roommates? Maybe even friends with benefits, how about that?”

  “Really, we can just—”

  “— I just thought we should talk about it, okay? So there wouldn’t be any expectations. Everything is fine.”

  We stand there uncomfortably for a few moments until she finally focuses on the table and the food that is swiftly cooling down.

  “I need to get Ethan up. I need to go register him for school,” she murmurs.

  “Actually, I should jump in the shower,” I finish, eager to give her some space. “I’ll clean up here. You guys eat and do whatever you need to do. We can talk more about this later if you want to, okay?”

  But she doesn’t answer. She just heads off to Ethan’s room, and I go upstairs, more confused than ever.

  Ron is already at the development when I arrive. He is standing in front of the concrete and brick entry arch, his hands on his hips. Today his tracksuit is light blue. Powder blue, some might say.

  “What are we staring at?” I ask as I walk up, trudging through knee-high weeds.

  “I hate this sign,” Ron announces, gesturing dismissively with his hairy knuckles. “And it faces the wrong way, anyway. The name should face people coming from the highway, shouldn’t it? Why is this aimed at fifteen miles of cornfields, I ask you? Who’s going to see it from that direction?”

  “They were probably going to put the same thing on the other side of the entry,” I suggest reasonably, which only seems to aggravate him further. “Never got around to it, I guess.”

  Ron sucks his teeth and shoots me a scowl before marching back toward the model homes.

  “You really got your work cut out for you,” he growls. “Did you even see these? You know what’s going on inside there?”

  “No,” I admit, following him at a safe distance while keeping one eye on the ground for snakes. “Are the plans around somewhere? How far along are they? They look pretty much done.”

  “Yeah! That’s what you would think!” Ron scoffs. “Who knows what they were thinking. But these are not completed models. These are just shells, maybe to get investors or something. They’re not finished, not at all.”

  “Okay, so I’ll get some investors and Penny will get the crews together. No big deal. Why are you so pissed?”

  “Because I totally overspent just to show Penny who was boss, that’s why!” he blurts out, cursing when he almost rolls his ankle on a rock hidden under some long grass.

  I start laughing, ignoring the evil look he’s giving me.

  “You did what? What the hell did you do that for?”

  We reach the first model and Ron shoves open the door, stepping into what will be a foyer, eventually, after our crews get done with it. Right now it is just subfloor and studs. The electrical isn’t even in. It’s like a movie set, made to look nice on the outside but nothing inside.

  “We should just tear these down and start over,” Ron mutters angrily.

  “Now, that’s crazy. You don’t need to waste all this just because you’re mad. I’m surprised you did that, though. She really got to you?”

  He shrugs and looks away, kicking a 2 x 4 with the toe of his running shoe.

  “I’m not used to the competition. This is my region. This is my project. And now she’s… Well, how is she? How’s life as a happy couple?”

  He turns to me, waggling his bushy eyebrows. I hold my hands up and shake my head.

  “That’s… Complicated.”

  “Oh no, not complicated,” Ron smirks.

  I scowl at him, wishing I hadn’t said anything. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugs and shuffles away, ducking underneath dangling bits of sheet metal.

  “You just tend to like your ladies on the simple side, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I sniff, making a mental list of all the materials that are still in place. We can use most of the stuff. I think he’s overreacting.

  “Sure you do,” he continues confidently. “You like them kind of dumb. Kind of unchallenging. That way you can make a quick getaway with no repercussions.”

  “That’s not what I do,” I insist. “I’m just an easy-going guy. I’m nice. That’s what everybody tells me.”

  He looks back over his shoulder with a sarcastic smirk on his face. “Oh yeah, you have good manners and everything. You’re just not, you know… the commitment type.”

  “I am the commitment type! I just haven’t found anybody worth committing to, Ron,” I huff, irritated that I even have to have this conversation.

  But he just waddles away, talking to himself about the project that he got himself into. He’s mad, but he will get over it.

  And I’m sure he is wrong. I was going to ask Deborah to marry me, after all. And apparently, at some point in my life I thought Penny and I had a fighting chance. In the future. The future that happens to be now.

  That I happen to have already screwed up.

  Shit.

  Chapter 16

  Penny

  Wanda picks up the phone on the second ring, grumpy as usual.

  “Hey, did I get you at a bad time? I was just calling to get a status update.”

  “Am I on speakerphone?” she snaps.

  “Hands-free driving, per state law,” I remark, trying to keep it light. “I’m on my way back from Westbury. There’s some guys out there making countertops out of reclaimed barn wood. I think you’re gonna like it.”

  “Yeah. We should be ready for countertops next week. Maybe. Yeah, I think that’s where we are.”

  I smile to myself, knowing that if Wanda says next week, it will definitely be next week. She’s never missed a deadline, at least not in construction.

  “Okay, anything else?” I continue gently, mindful that I don’t put too much pressure on the conversation. “All good with the crew?”

  “Oh yeah, you know how it is,” she sighs absentmindedly. “They make some clever comments about a lady foreman, then I beat their asses into shape, then we are all best friends. The usual.”

  “I don’t know what I would do without you, Wanda,” I say, smiling.

  “I don’t know what you would do without me either, Penny. But since there is nothing else to do in this godforsaken town, you have my undivided attention.”

  “Aw, still? We can go try that club on the north side. By the college…”

  “Already tried it!” she huffs. “Seriously, where are they hiding the lesbians? It’s a goddamn college town! I’m going to have to try Tinder! I do know how racist those apps are!”

  “Jeez, I’m sorry. That really does suck.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” she says, distracted. “What about you? Have you and Clay found a happy medium? Somewhere between enemies and married?”

  I cringe, slowing into a left turn.

  “No. I think we settled back into a purely platonic lifestyle. After the… incident… I think it’s better if I just leave it all alone.”

  “You could just bone,” she suggests helpfully. “Maybe if you didn’t have all that lust backing up into your brain you can think more clearly?”

  “I don’t think that would help, Wanda.”

  “It would totally help,” she counters. “That’s science.”

  “I think things are fine just the way they are! Backed up and everything!”

  “Maybe you should get on Tinder,” she muses. “You could probably get the same benefit by having sex with someone else, you know what I mean?”

  “Okay, Wanda, I’m
getting another call…”

  “It’s science, Penny! It’s for your own good!”

  “Seriously. It’s Ethan’s school... I gotta go.”

  Carefully, with one eye on the road, I poke the face of my cell phone until the other call connects. I’m not above lying to get out of a conversation with Wanda, but I really do have another call.

  “Penelope Gable?” the voice says on the other end of the line, with an unmistakable tone of terseness.

  Instantly I feel sick as my intuition is confirmed: Ethan got into an argument with another boy at school. The boy pushed him. It wasn’t a staircase this time.

  Luckily, I’m not that far from the school. Also luckily, Ethan is not badly hurt. It’s really just a scrape on the back of his arm. But his pride is deeply wounded, I can tell.

  We drive in silence for quite a while. I know I should just give him all the space he wants, but I ache to help him. I really believe that I have the power to do that. I mean, I gave birth to him. That was fairly superhuman. Who knows what other superpowers I have?

  But he is not into it. He answers me in single syllables, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, his gaze trained stubbornly at the horizon.

  While we pull into the driveway, he barely waits for the car to come to a stop before leaping out the passenger door and practically running into the house.

  Clay looks surprised when I see him in the foyer.

  “Is he okay?” Clay asks gently. “He tore through here like his ass was on fire.”

  “More like his pride, I think,” I answer. “He just… I don’t even know. How is this happening? How is he being targeted? Ugh… Let me back up. A kid at school’s picking on him, and pushed him today.”

  Clay’s features darken with concern. “Wow, really? Is he okay?”

  “Well, yeah. Physically, I mean. But the thing is, this used to happen all the time. Coming here was supposed to be a fresh start. Is this what it’s like everywhere? Is he doing something to make this happen?”

  “Oh, no, you can’t think like that,” Clay says quickly, scowling. “He’s kind of small. He’s smart, he’s gentle. He’s the perfect target. He’ll grow out of it, or they’ll grow out of it. Or not. I’m sorry. I’m not entirely sure what to say.”

  I just shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s complicated. Nobody knows what to say. Everybody’s helpless.”

  Clay glances over his shoulder, then back to me.

  “Could I talk to him? Would that be weird?”

  I raise my hands. “Weird? I guess that’s relative. But sure, you could talk to him. He’s not listening to me right now, so I don’t know if he’ll be up for talking. I have to call the principal anyway. She was off-site, so I need to try to reach her now.”

  Some part of me is a little bit relieved that there is someone to talk to Ethan while I try to talk to the principal. I’m so accustomed to juggling all the balls, spinning all the plates, and training all the dogs in this dog and pony show that it is really weird when somebody even spins a plate. It’s nice.

  Mrs. Riordan is apologetic, but ultimately unhelpful. It’s our first conversation, but I know how school administrations react to kids who are being bullied. They want to help, but they also want to cover their butts. They want to sympathize, but they also want to see if maybe I can do anything to make sure it doesn’t happen again, like I have that kind of power.

  I talk to Mrs. Riordan for a while, playing my part in this script where I don’t let her or the other kid totally off the hook, but I don’t sound like a crazy person either. It’s a fine line. I want her to know that I’m reasonable, but also that I will unleash an entire band of lawyers on her if I have to.

  As we’re talking, I hear a noise, a banging or something. She keeps making polite statements and I walk over to the back window to peer outside. To my surprise, the sound is a basketball bouncing on concrete. As I watch, Ethan squares off for a shot, shifting his weight between his feet in a kind of dance before launching the ball into the air. It goes into the basket cleanly, then smacks the concrete below.

  “Yes!” I hiss.

  “Pardon me?” Mrs. Riordan says on the other end of the phone.

  “Oh, not you,” I explain awkwardly. “Thank you so much for your insight. I really must be going.”

  “Feel free to call if you have any questions, Ms. Gable.”

  “Okay, you bet,” I mumble distractedly, but I’m already hanging up the phone and sliding glass door open as quietly as possible. I can hear their voices on the other side of the patio by the basketball net. Tiptoeing, I maneuver behind a trellis of greenery and slide into a patio chair.

  What. Don’t judge me.

  I’m not sure what I expected, but they’re just chatting. Like, did I think Clay was going to give him some secret strategy for not being bullied? I guess not. The wonderful thing is, Ethan’s talking. Talking about the ball, talking about the patio. Clay suggests that maybe he could mow lawns or something in the summer to make some extra money. Ethan confides that he would really like a skateboard, which I didn’t even know.

  I feel like it’s maybe more than one plate that Clay relieved me of. Ethan seems relaxed, boyish. Normal. He doesn’t seem wounded at the moment. Clay paints a picture of a future where Ethan has different interests. Maybe makes a little money for himself. Maybe sees his way past this terrible day, and all the terrible days behind it.

  Little bubbles of emotion burst in my throat. I have to keep my fingers pressed to my lips so I don’t laugh or cry or blurt something out. I don’t need to interrupt this moment.

  Another part of me is sad, maybe? Angry? Ethan has never had a chance to have this kind of conversation before. I’ve never been able to be more than supermom. And that is something I fail at regularly. Listening to Ethan and Clay now gives me a glimpse at what a different kind of life we both could’ve had if Ethan’s dad had been a possibility.

  But I don’t want to think about that right now.

  Chapter 17

  Clay

  When I walk in the front door, my first thought is that I must have left the stove on. I rush toward the kitchen, shocked to see Penny standing behind the stove, scowling. Her hair is tied into a dark knot on top of her head, leaving her slender neck bare.

  She looks up when she hears me, shrugging sheepishly.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask slowly, feeling the smirk creep across my cheeks.

  Over the last few weeks, I have tried again and again to stop teasing her, and failed every time. She’s getting sensitive about my reminders that she used to be a bit of a wild thing, she used to be a bit of a slob, and she used to have really long hair.

  That last one isn’t really a tease, but it is something I have a hard time forgetting.

  “I thought you were going to quit picking on me,” she sniffs.

  “You’re right. I will start again tomorrow, promise. What’s all this, then?”

  She spreads her hands, spokesmodel style.

  “I am making you dinner!”

  I take a quick inventory of the counter and everything on it. Mushrooms, onions, and garlic. Chicken breast on a separate cutting board. Lemons and ricotta.

  “Is that quinoa?” I ask carefully, bordering on condescension.

  Come on. Quinoa?

  “Wanda is doing low-carb,” Penny explains. “Otherwise I would’ve gone straight for rigatoni or something. What, is that not fancy enough for you?”

  Stunned, I simply fall into a chair on the other side of the island.

  “This is… You know. You cook?”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  “I do all kinds of things,” she quips triumphantly.

  “Yeah, but since you’ve been here, you haven’t even attempted to cook. Are you telling me that all this time you knew how to do this? And you didn’t say anything?”

  She wiggles her eyebrows and grins, popping a bit of mushroom between her lips and chewing vigorously.

  That’s an
other thing—we agreed not to date each other. We agreed to even keep flirting to a minimum. And somehow, she just keeps getting more beautiful. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose, I swear.

  “You know, that lemon mushroom combination makes an amazing ravioli,” I mention casually.

  “Oh, does it really?” she asks innocently.

  “You do not know how to make pasta,” I counter. “That is not a thing. That’s not something the Penny I know would ever even try to do.”

  She tips her head to the side, placing her fist on her hip and shifting her weight so that the neckline of her blouse slants to one side.

  It’s killing me, I swear.

  “You know, I’m just going to bet that in fifteen years, I picked up more than a few skills that would take you by surprise,” she sniffs, taking a deep breath that inflates her cleavage.

  Okay. Now she’s just doing it on purpose.

  I force myself to stand up and turn around toward the back windows, taking a nonchalant stroll around my own living room so I don’t have to see her anymore.

  “What’s the occasion for dinner?” I call out.

  “Oh… Wanda is coming over. We use to have dinner a few times a week, and it’s been a long time. I think Ethan misses her too.”

  Wanda has been a fantastic site manager. I’m pretty sure she’s about a week ahead of schedule, but for some weird reason she will never admit it. Ron can’t get past the fact that she’s gay, so I don’t even think her job skills are getting through his thick skull. But I’ve noticed.

  “Actually she just texted me that she’s in the driveway. Can you let her in? My hands have chicken on them.”

  “Happy to,” I answer, literally grateful for a reason to stop watching her work her magic. What can I say? I guess I’m kind of a foodie.

  “Oh!” I blurt out when I open the door.

  Wanda stops, raising her eyebrows at me in challenge. She’s dressed in a coppery wrap dress, her legs shiny as plastic, her hair almost glittering.