by Mae, Cassie
We throw all of our luggage on the floor by our beds and flop down in unison. I get an instant gummy bear wave to my nostrils, since Wesley was the last person here. And my stomach flippity-flops in a weird way that makes me wonder if I need more sleep to get my head on straight.
Reagan has passed through all the stages of grief in the thirteen hours she’s been with me. She was laughing in her denial stage, saying, “Oh, he’ll call me within the hour begging for me to take him back! Just you wait for it, Kayla.” Then she poured the entire bottle of lube in the toilet at the gas station in hour six after yelling at the cashier for not allowing her to put M&M’S in her slushie. Hours ten and eleven she kept writing texts to Talon and deleting them before she sent them. I had to wrestle her phone away from her and nearly drove off an overpass. Then she cried until we got to our dorm, when I hugged her and let her get snot all over my new clothes. Now she’s staring contentedly at the ceiling with a small smile on her face.
“It’s weird, you know?” she says, pulling her shirt up and playing with her belly button ring. “I’m not even that sad.”
I don’t argue with her. Not worth it.
“I think I’m more relieved.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Hey, Kayla?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She sits up, grabbing her toes and resting her chin on her knee. “The whole bra thing. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”
I laugh, kicking my feet up on the wall. “I know.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“I’ve had to deal with your embarrassing presents for years.” That, and at least I wasn’t the one opening condoms. “Besides, I could use a push-up.”
“It’s a cute one, right? And the front clasp helps with the cleavage.”
“I like it, Reagan. No worries.”
“Phew!” She swipes a hand over her forehead, then grabs her duffel. “It would suck if you hated me too over a present.”
“Talon doesn’t hate you.”
Her head wiggles back and forth like she’s agreeing with me, so we don’t talk about it. She fishes around in her bag and yanks out the Laffy Taffy she got from Wesley.
“Want one?”
She tosses a cherry-flavored one my way, and it smacks my arm before it hits the bed. Before I can rip into it she says, “Tell me the jokes on the side.”
I lift the flap up. “When does it rain money?”
“When hell freezes over?”
I laugh. “When there’s a change in the weather.”
“Ha! I like it.” She pulls her phone out and starts clacking away while I take a bite of the taffy, yanking it in half with my teeth. It’s kind of funny we’re sitting here eating Laffy Taffy when twenty-four hours ago I had Talon in my room at home, telling me about the breakup. I’m not sure if it’s hit me. Like, he’s available! Was it anything Wesley or I did? Or was it inevitable that he and Reagan would part ways? Thinking the latter sure makes me feel less bitchy about it.
Reagan giggles and starts texting again. Yeah, she sure passed through all the stages of grief like she was trying to break a record for it.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Wesley.”
Hey! “He’s texting back?”
She giggles again. “Yeah, why?”
That ass. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him since the breakup, and nada. Every stop we made on the way home I texted him like crazy, and he still hasn’t responded. Yet he’ll find the time to laugh at a lame Laffy Taffy joke Reagan sends. Yeah, he’s in love with her, but still.
“Can I use your phone for a sec?” I ask, fumbling off my bed and automatically reaching for it.
Her arm springs back like I shocked her with a Taser. “Why can’t you use yours?”
Because he’s not answering me, and I need to talk to him. “Battery died.”
She tosses her phone behind her. “Whoops! Mine just died too. Guess we’ll have to plug them in and wait.”
Before I can jump around her to the phone now sitting between the wall and her bed, she tackles me back onto my sheets and curls up against me. “Oh Kayla, I have to ask you something.”
Okay, that’s weird, even for Reagan.
“What is it, girl?” I snicker, resting my head against hers on my shoulder.
“You have to be honest. Even though you never talk about boys, we need to talk boys.”
Ugh. Please let this not be the sex recap. “We have to talk about them now?”
“Yes. And you promise to tell me the truth?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Do you like Wes?”
I snort. “What?”
“Seriously. No bullshit, Kayla. Don’t be like a twelve-year-old and go, Oh, that’s so gross! when really you’re fantasizing about him in your sleep. Do you like him?”
“Why are you asking?”
She rolls over, grabs the bag of Laffy Taffy from the floor, and offers me another one. “Okay, you’re going to give me a Bad Friend Award when I admit this, but I knew you liked Talon when he asked me out. And I went out with him anyway, and I’ve felt like crap about it ever since.”
Thank heavens my mouth is full of taffy, because it forces me to stay calm while I chew the damn stuff.
“I know. You’re pissed.”
I swallow and squeeze her hand. “I’m not mad.” Because when you think about it, what I tried to do is a hell of a lot worse than what she did. “I’m just wondering what your question is.”
“I think I like Wes. And if you like him, I’m not going to do anything about it this time.”
Swallow! Do not choke! “What about Talon?”
“What about him?”
I throw her a look. “Don’t you think you should, you know, wait a few before you go after his best friend?”
What I’m really hoping for, though, is the go-ahead to go after her ex. Is she seriously over him this fast?
“I’m not going to do anything about it right away. Like, I have to make sure Talon is okay with it. And I mean, I don’t even know if Wes likes me back or anything, but it’s weird. When Talon and I ended things, I was sad and upset, but not just because I was losing Talon. I really thought I’d lose Wes too.”
It sounds a lot like what Talon said to me. Did they rehearse this or something? “You won’t. It may be a little awkward at first, but we’re still all friends.” I gulp, hoping she can’t feel my heart getting all crazy erratic. “I mean, you don’t mind that I’m friends with Talon, right?”
“Oh no! I don’t mind at all.”
“Then maybe he doesn’t mind you being friends with Wesley.”
“What about more than friends?”
“That’s something you’ll have to talk to Talon about.” And hopefully he gives her a thumbs-up and runs right to me. I wait for that internal squeal just thinking about it, but instead I feel a punch in my gut. Ouchy.
I clear my throat, but that just causes me to choke on my taffy. Reagan gives me a good smack on the back and we lie down on the bed again. “So … if Talon were to ask anyone else out, would you be upset about that?”
I’m desperate, and not being subtle at all. But I’m blaming Wesley for not answering his dang phone to tell me how to handle this.
“Nope. Whoever wants him can have him.”
“Really?”
“Really. He’s a nice guy, so if someone can make him happy, then that’ll make me happy.”
I study her face. How can someone get over such perfection so quickly? But Reagan’s back to laughing at the lame candy jokes. Wesley is good. Whatever he did when they were alone together must’ve been magical. All I have to do is get Talon to notice me the way Reagan is noticing Wesley now.
“You never answered me,” Reagan says, hooking her arm through mine.
“Sorry, what?”
“Wes. Do you like him?”
Oh, I can’t wait to tell Wesley about t
his. She’s practically salivating. Or maybe it’s the candy. He gave her the candy, so maybe that’s what’s going on here. Some love potion Laffy Taffy. It makes sense, because the way Reagan is swooning makes me think about Wesley too. He’s not that bad, you know. Pretty cute, and it’s sweet that the girl he loves is finally getting a clue.
I really wish he’d call me back! I need Talon details and I’ll give him all this juicy stuff.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, sliding out of her hold. I dig through my bag for my cell and head to the community bathroom. It’s only after I leave the millionth voicemail on Wesley’s phone that I realize I never answered Reagan’s question.
Progress Report: January 4
How bizarre. Reagan is practically throwing Talon in my face, and she’s acting as if her yearlong relationship was a one-night stand. Part of me wants to freak out and ask her what the crap is going through her mind, because for the life of me I can’t figure it out. But the other part wants to just go with it because it’s what I want. It’s actually ten times better than I’ve ever hoped for.
She’s also started a condom war, I think to embarrass me, or to make her feel better about that whole Christmas thing. But she’ll stick random condoms in the pockets of the jeans I set out to wear. I nearly died of flaming face when one fell out as I paid for my Subway sandwich. The cashier asked for my number while Reagan laughed her ass off.
I will get even.
And damn that Wesley! Still no text or phone call. I’m going to charge over to his house any second and beat him up. Seriously, we both had major freakouts when Talon and Reagan refused to respond and now he’s doing the same thing. Except I know he’s okay because he’s been talking to Reagan. That just pisses me off even more because I’m important to him too. Right?
So tomorrow I’m going to find Wesley and we’re going to figure out the next step. Because I’m beyond the point of confused.
Step 19:
Find the Personality to Just Let Things Happen
(Um … fat chance of that.)
“You are on the shit list,” I say to Wesley, plopping my suicide frozen yogurt on the scale. He adjusts his hat and rings me up. His eyes are all heavy and droopy, and I immediately regret putting him on the list at all, let alone telling him about it.
He pulls out his employee discount card and wiggles it at me. “I swipe this and we’re cool?”
Not even a smile on his face. Yup. I definitely regret starting off with that line. “Long hours?”
“Yeah,” he says, sweeping the card through the register. “I picked up as many shifts as I could since I had that week off for Christmas. Damn rent. I need a roommate.”
“Wesley, you live in a one-bedroom apartment.”
“I’m okay with that. As long as he’s not a cuddler.”
I roll my eyes. “Is this why you haven’t been answering any of my calls? Too much work?”
“Mostly. That and Reagan and Talon haven’t left me alone since the split.” He presses a couple buttons. “Two bucks, Mickey. And be happy I’m not charging you full price.”
I crinkle my nose at him and hand the money over, then jam a twenty in the tip jar when he’s not looking. It’s not much, but hopefully it’ll help with the water bill or something.
“When is your next day off? We really need to talk.”
“I know.” His eyes swivel to the clock behind him. “I’m off in two hours. If you want to hang out at my place till I get there, that’s fine.”
“You won’t want to go to bed?” Because he looks like he’s about to pass out in the gummy bears and Oreo crumbs.
He chortles a quieter version of his barking laugh, sticks his employee card back in his pocket, and trades it for his keys. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Even though I should just say No thanks or That’s okay or something equivalent, I take the keys he slaps in my palm, hug my frozen yogurt to my chest, and give him a wave on my way out.
Wesley’s place smells like an exact replica of Yogurtland. Like he lives in a dessert-filled dream house. I’ve never been here alone, so I feel sort of weird wandering around his kitchen and living room like I live here.
The buzzer goes off on the oven, and I stick in the frozen lasagna I picked up on the way over here. I’m glad I did too, because the guy has no food in his house. Unless you count Pop-Tarts and Hot Pockets. And I don’t.
I set the timer for forty-five minutes. If Wesley gets off on time, he’ll walk in right as it’s done. Now I have to figure out what to do with myself. There’s no cable or Internet, so I can’t screw around on Facebook or go channel surfing. Wesley does have a PlayStation, though. I may as well see what movies or games he has. I have to take my mind off Talon and the fact that Reagan has already said bye-bye and to go ahead and take him if I want him! If I think about it too much, I’ll start to overthink it. Because it still confuses me.
I need Wesley to help untie the knot in my brain.
My finger strokes the pile of DVDs he has stacked in the corner. It’s already driving me nuts that they aren’t in any type of order, except maybe what he recently watched versus what he never watches. I pick out Napoleon Dynamite so I don’t have to use my brain, and pop open the case.
Oh, Wesley, please don’t tell me you are one of those people who puts the DVDs in the wrong case. Sure enough, it’s Hannibal that stares at me, so I search for that case in hopes of finding the movie I’m actually looking for.
But it’s Pineapple Express in the Hannibal case, Rat Race in Pineapple Express, Lincoln in Rat Race, and on and on it goes.
I grab all the DVD cases and spread them out on the living room floor, planting my butt right in the center. How does he live with not knowing what movie is where? And seriously, how did it get this bad? I’m shaking my head and laughing as I play scavenger hunt with all his movies. I do eventually find Napoleon Dynamite in Dude, Where’s My Car? But I’ve lost interest in watching it. I’m going to organize all these because it’ll drive me bonkers knowing they aren’t in the right cases.
It’s kind of fun to see what movies he’s into. Tons of comedies, but he surprises me when I find the political thrillers and even more surprising when I find the musicals. How cute—Hairspray looks like it gets watched a lot. The case is shot to hell and the printing on the DVD itself is fading.
I’m examining the description of a movie I’ve never heard of when the timer goes off on the oven and someone bangs on the door. The case flies out of my hand, and I laugh at myself as I open the door for Wesley and run to shut off the timer.
“That’s my woman!” he says, yanking off his bright green polo, leaving him standing in a white tank and khakis. “I knew she’d have dinner ready for me when I got here. People kept telling me she was a real lazy-ass, but she proved ’em all wrong.”
I take a wet towel and whip it against his thigh. “Don’t be a dork, or I’ll whack you harder with this.”
“Whip me again. I like it.”
“You ass.”
I lean over to get the lasagna and carefully set it on top of the stove. I’m waving the steam from the top when I notice Wesley’s eyes trained on me. I thought he’d gone upstairs or to the bathroom or something, since he’s being so quiet.
“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open?” I ask, biting back my smile.
He shakes his head, and his gaze goes to the oh-so-interesting countertop while his face turns to fire hydrant color. “Sorry. Long day, and that smells so good.”
“Well, don’t expect your woman to dish it out for you too,” I say, stretching on my tiptoes to try to get to the plates. But curse this tiny body, I can’t reach them. “Because unless you help, we’ll be eating from the pan.”
He lets out his real bark of laughter, not that tired chortle from earlier, and takes the two steps to get to me. His arm stretches over my head, and I get a strong whiff of gummy bears, mixed with the aroma of the lasagna sitting on the stove. It sounds like those’d be g
ross together, but for some reason I think it smells pretty good.
“Where are your spatulas?” I ask, opening a few drawers and coming up empty-handed.
“Spatula? Where do you think you are?” He grins and grabs a big spoon for me instead. “This is a man spatula. Watch, it works just as well.”
He cuts into the food and scoops up the corner piece. Right before it gets to his plate, it flops off and onto the counter. “Oh shit,” he says, laughing and trying to salvage what’s left on the spoon, banging it against the edge of the plate. “And it had to be the corner piece! That’s the best part.”
I pull out the wet towel I whipped him with and wipe up the mess. “Don’t worry, dear. How many corners are in a rectangle?” I say in a baby voice. “Don’t think too hard, now. Just count them.”
He grabs my side and tickles it, and I threaten to cover that white shirt with lasagna if he doesn’t stop.
He does a much better job with the next scoops, though they don’t stay in perfect squares. It all tastes the same even if it looks like a pile of crap on the plate.
“Whoa!” he says when we get to the living room and sees the results of my DVD organizing. “Were you trying to rob me?”
“You’re lucky I’m not a thief. Thieves don’t come in and make sure all the movies are in the right place before they take them. You’d have a very pissed-off burglar if they came in for The Departed and got The Sound of Music instead.”
“It’s my personal security system.” He smiles and plops on the couch. Half his lasagna is gone in two seconds. I laugh at his enthusiasm.
“Well, I’m not leaving till every movie is in its rightful home.” I take a much more graceful bite of food, leaning back into the couch with him.
He gives me this funny look, half smile, half confusion. But it’s only there for a few seconds before another forkful of pasta is in his mouth.
