by Kendall Day
I steal the bottle from him and polish it off in three big gulps. He scowls.
#BeerBurglar
This is Savage and me. We’re like brothers, intentionally annoying each other, but always there when the other needs it.
Not that two guys like us ever need it.
Except maybe for me right now.
“Roxie thinks Darcy did it,” I say.
Savage nods as if he’s not surprised. “It fits her profile. Darcy’s hated both of us since the end of our first year at Bracken. She’s just jealous.”
“I know. She couldn’t stand that the kids liked us better.”
“No, you idiot,” Savage says. “Don’t you remember how she used to flirt so bad with us before Keith came along? She was jealous of Isabella. And maybe our way with the kids too, but definitely Isabella.”
My mind wanders back to my first year. At the lunch table, Darcy did stare at Savage and me a lot. She’d lick her lips and do that hair-tuck-behind-the-ear thing, bouncing her gaze between us as she bit into a banana or a juicy strawberry. We used to joke that she fantasized about having a three-way with us.
How’d I forget that?
Post-traumatic stress disorder. Had to be.
“Ugh!” I shout, suddenly feeling like I’m covered in bugs. I wipe down my arms to slake the invisible crawlies.
Or maybe I was just so in love with Isabella that I didn’t notice Darcy’s ogling. Love—at least, what little I remember of it—makes you pretty damn blind to everything around you that doesn’t involve the person you care about. You spend all your free time staring off into space thinking about them and miss the obvious stuff screaming in your face because it’s not nearly as important as her.
“Darcy propositioned me once. I never told a soul,” Savage says with an amused grin.
“No fucking way,” I say.
He nods. “Yeah, it was years ago. I saw her at Oscar’s after everyone went home from staff development. She’d been sitting at the bar the entire time. I stopped by on my way out to flirt with that cute bartender with the buzz cut that used to work there—”
“Sheila?”
“—Sheila,” he agrees, “and Darcy’s sitting there, so bladdered, she’s gone top-heavy. I mumble a ‘hi’ because I’m not a complete dick. She grabs my arm and starts slurring in her loud, high-pitched voice about how good I look in my jeans and how I should come over to her house tonight so she can show me her ‘lesson plans,’” he makes air quotes and strongly enunciates the last two words, “blah, blah, blah. Winking and running her hands up my arms, trying to be sexy or some shit. I looked her square in the face, pointed my finger at her, and said, ‘Bitch, you are drunk. Go home.’ I made sure everyone at the bar heard me too.”
My jaw drops, and I burst into laughter. “You did not.”
“Fuck, yes, I did.”
I bend over, giggling like a girl as I imagine the scene. Damn, how I wish I’d been there to see her face.
“Of course, all eyes turned to her,” he goes on. “Everyone started laughing and shaking their heads. Darcy piped down after that and buried her attention in her drink, pretending like she hadn’t just thrown herself at me in front of all those people. I might’ve shook my ass excessively on the way out the door.”
More laughter. Savage can turn on the charm when he wants to.
“I’m very sorry I missed it,” I say, wiping the gathering laugh-tears in my eyes. “Thanks, man. I needed that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He lifts a dismissive hand. “There are some chicks you brag about, and then there’s Darcy Kuntz. You’d never have let it die if I’d told you.”
“Truth,” I acknowledge. I’d definitely have roasted him relentlessly over that one. And I’ll keep this information in my back pocket for future roasting, just in case.
Savage tosses an ankle over a knee. “Man, we’ve had some good times with the ladies,” he reminisces.
I exhale long and hard. “We certainly have.”
He side-eyes me. “No more though, huh?”
I press my lips together tightly and shake my head slowly. “I don’t know. I got it pretty bad. In the loins. And maybe somewhere in this vicinity.” I point to the left side of my chest.
“Pussy,” Savage teases.
There’s no denying the label. I am a pussy. Roxie made me one.
#RoxieRamblingsPussyBitch
I moan like a dying manatee and crumble forward over my knees again, furiously rubbing my hair. “Why, why does it have to be her?”
Savage changes the channel to car races. “Because opposites attract? Murphy’s Law? Hell, I don’t know. Pick a reason. It doesn’t matter why, just that it is what it is.”
“That’s deep, man. Thanks,” I grunt, shaking my head. Savage isn’t exactly a thespian, but I get his point. “I just … I like her. Despite everything that happened in the past. She’s smart and caring and … she has a big heart.” Something I know very little about. “She’s special.”
“Let’s not minimize the salient point that she’s hot as fuck,” Savage adds. “In other news, if you decide at any time, now or in the future, that you can’t take her shit anymore, feel free to throw me a bone. I’m fresh out at the moment.” He pats down his pockets and comes up empty.
“You’ll be the first person I notify,” I say. And I really would. If I were into sharing Roxie.
I’m not.
“And if you decide to stick with her,” Savage sighs, “well, I guess I can live with that.” He pauses, studying the spackle on the ceiling for a few seconds as if thinking. “Maybe I’ll ask Straight to be my new wingman.”
I lay a hand over my heart. “You’d ditch me for him? You wound me, sir.”
“They don’t call me Savage for nothin’.” He stretches his arms over his head and yawns loudly. “For real, though. Roxie’s a prize. Whatever happened between you two, you better un-fuck it and fast. Ass like that won’t sit in the butcher’s window for long. You gotta give your booty call or ‘relationship,’” more air quotes and a snide tone, “whatever-the-fuck, a chance to shine. She’s not gonna wait around for you to come to your senses. That chick’s got places to be that ain’t here.”
“You know, underneath all the macho shit, you’re a semidecent bro.”
Savage purses his lips and glances at me in his playful way. The one that says he wants to get into some trouble. “You know, if you really want revenge on Darcy for calling Isabella, there may be a way to get her back.”
“Yeah? How?” I ask, not believing him. Darcy’s untouchable, especially with Dragov’s scaly wings furled around her golden girl like bulletproof armor.
A furtive gleam shines in his eye, and he smiles. “Leave it to me. You can consider it your prize for winning the Papadopoulos wager. You’re welcome.”
* * *
ASSESSMENT: Feelings thoroughly prodded and probed to the point of pain. EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS.
A Graduation of Sorts
[Rambling]
* * *
LEARNING GOAL: Roxie Rambling will employ problem-solving skills to determine the best course of action when dealing with a personal conflict.
The bus ride home after the worst day of student teaching in the history of student teaching is, thankfully, quiet. There aren’t many people riding this afternoon, and they’re keeping to themselves. I lay my head against the window and watch mindlessly as clusters of gray commercial buildings give way to trees dropping russet and gold leaves along the edge of campus. I get a little nostalgic when I think about moving away from the safety of the university.
It’s a big, scary world out there full of monsters and unknowns.
Like idiot men.
I’m swearing off them. They’re nothing but trouble.
Speaking of … There’s something I need to do. I’ve put it off long enough.
I open my phone to see where Elliott is. According to my tracking app, he’s at Bede Hall. Again? Shouldn’t he be working instead of
messing around at his brother’s place at this hour?
Doesn’t matter. Bede is on the way to my dorm. Maybe this is the sign I’ve been waiting for. I should just get it over with.
After a couple stops, the bus door opens and drops me off at Bede. I finger the ring I’ve been carrying around in my pocket for days and realize I don’t have the box. Is it rude to give back a gift without its packaging? Maybe I should wait until I find it and return the ring then. I don’t want to do the wrong thing. I’ve screwed up so much lately, I can’t trust myself to do anything right anymore.
I fix my gaze on the big brick building, my mind pulling me one way while my heart tugs in another. “Make a decision, Roxie.”
I look down at the ring catching the last rays of light from the sinking sun. Last night, I dreamed Slater gave me a ring like this. The diamond wasn’t quite as big, but what it lacked in size it more than made up for in sentiment.
I foolishly thought Slater cared about me. Well, maybe he does a little, but he doesn’t respect me. He doesn’t think my voice is important. Not now and not eight years ago. He’s stuck in a feedback loop of his own misconceptions that he can’t get out of—that he doesn’t want to get out of. Until he views me—and the students we teach—as capable of intelligent thought and having the ability to make good decisions, he’s stuck in my rearview.
My principles are more important than what my delusional heart thinks it wants. Gramamma always preached that if you couldn’t stand for something, you’d fall for anything, and she was right.
My mind wanders back to the memory of her lying in her bed, shriveled and dying in our little apartment. We couldn’t afford the hospital, and Gramamma said she didn’t want to die there anyway. She’d rather be here, with me. Just the two of us.
She clutched my hand with hers. I remember looking down at it, a darker brown than mine and so old. Like the branches of a tree in winter. The strength of her grip had weakened. It scared me real bad, but I refused to let go of that hand. She was all I had. And she was about to be gone.
She’d been wheezing something fierce. The doctors said the cancer spread to her lungs and other parts. Her body had turned traitor and was a day away from killing her. But that didn’t stop Gramamma from finding the strength for one more life lesson. She was good at life lessons.
Roxie, she hissed, promise me you’ll be the best Roxie you can be.
I nodded furiously, tears blinding me. I will, Gramamma. I swear.
That means stayin’ outta trouble.
Yes, Gramamma.
And eatin’ your vegetables.
I laughed through my tears at that one. She was a nut about nutrition. Yes, Gramamma.
Then she squeezed my hand hard enough to make me believe maybe she could pull through this. Maybe she was a bigger bitch than cancer and she’d out-bitched it right into remission. She actually lifted up off the bed a few inches. The tendons in her scraggly neck stood at attention and her papery skin slid back under gravity’s pull, making her look like even more of a skeleton. In those few seconds, her eyes shone strong and resolute.
And for Jesus’s sake, don’t be a pushover like your momma. She done fucked her life up, bowin’ down to a man who dipped his wick in any candle lookin’ for some flame. I don’t want my grandbaby livin’ her life for nobody but herself. You understand me? Her voice rose, stern and commanding.
I thought maybe she was hallucinating from the morphine the hospice nurse had given her earlier, but I couldn’t deny her. Yes, ma’am. I’ll live this life for me.
That’s a good girl. She closed her eyes, rested her head against the pillow again, and seemed to relax. I love you, Roxie. One day, you’ll find someone else who’ll love you for who you are.
Those were the last coherent words that passed her lips.
Gramamma was right. I will find someone who loves me one day, but Elliott isn’t that guy. Slater could be, but until he changes his ways, he’s off my radar.
Chin up, I head through the main doors of Bede Hall and hop the elevator to the sixth floor. When I get to Aaron’s door, I hear voices. Elliott and another guy. Doesn’t sound like Aaron. Maybe it’s his roommate.
I lift my hand to knock but stop myself when Aaron comes out of a nearby room and sees me. He’s wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt. Funny how much he looks like Elliott with his floppy hair.
“Hey, Roxie,” he says a little sheepishly. “Looking for Elliott?”
“Yeah, I need to give him something.”
“Not sure if he’s here.” Aaron opens the door and my jaw drops.
Elliott is sitting beside a guy on the couch in the common area between bedrooms.
Their hands are entwined.
So are their lips.
The kiss breaks as Aaron utters, “Oh, shit.” His face turns almost as red as Elliott’s. “Sorry, man.”
Elliott jumps up, tugging his shirt hem down. Probably to cover the erection he couldn’t get with me.
Turning away, I snort at the irony, shake my head, and close my eyes for a long moment to compose myself.
Elliott is gay.
Well, of course he is, dummy. All the signals were there, but you were too wrapped up in your own head to notice.
No straight man—not even a good Christian—would turn down repeated offers of sex from a woman. He used me as a crutch because he couldn’t stand up to his dear old mom and dad, probably for fear of breaking their hearts. By pretending to choose me, he only broke them a little bit.
“Roxie,” Elliott says, surprised. “How did you—”
I hold up the phone in my hand. “Tracking app, remember?”
He offers a sad, guilty smile as I step into the room, embarrassed and kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. Aaron ducks and backs out slowly, shutting the door behind him. Smart guy.
Without looking, Elliott gestures to the handsome dark-haired, dark-eyed man wearing khaki pants with a blue button-down shirt and loafers. “This is Aaron’s roommate, David.”
The guy looks like a poster child for the Young Republicans.
“Hi, David. Roxie Rambling.” I nod to him and turn to Elliott. He looks nervous. No surprise there.
I pull out the ring from my pocket and hold it up. “Thought it was best to return this, and now I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner,” I say, flicking my gaze to David’s feet. “You can probably get your money back. Or hock it at the pawn shop. Buy a pair of matching loafers or something.”
Elliott’s inhale is loud and sudden, the kind of sound you make when you notice an elephant rampaging toward you from thirty feet away. “Roxie—”
“It’s okay,” I say, making an effort to soften my tone. That last comment was out of line. “Sorry for butting in. I should’ve knocked before Aaron came along.”
David presses his lips into a hard line on the couch. He folds his hands and rests his elbows on his knees, staring at his feet.
Elliott glances at him and then touches my arm in that awkward way of his. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m … uh … I guess I should’ve said something earlier.”
“You’re gay,” I finish for him softly.
He shrugs, his cheeks reddening. “Bi. I think. I don’t know. Maybe ‘confused’ is a better label.”
My heart aches for him. His domineering, social-ladder-climbing parents have repressed him to the point that he doesn’t feel comfortable in his own skin. I can relate to that on some level. It sucks to have the identity beaten out of you.
“I’m not hurt by the fact that you’re bi. Gay. Whatever.” I wave a hand. “I’m hurt that you weren’t honest with me about it. I could’ve dealt with it if you’d just said something. I thought we were friends.”
“We were.” Elliott snaps his eyes to mine and steps closer. “We are.”
My heart stumbles. “Really?”
Relationship aside, Elliott has been a dear friend this past year. We’ve shared lots of laughs, a few tears, and plenty of good times. It would ge
nuinely hurt not to ever see him again.
“Of course,” he replies with a gentle smile. “Who else would I go to see cheesy B-movies with at the midnight showings on campus?”
I smile too and then get serious. “Since we’re being honest, I should tell you that I slept with Mr. Slater. But only after you and I called off the engagement,” I add quickly. “I didn’t cheat on you. I wouldn’t do that.”
Eyes wide, he straightens and tucks his chin to his neck with surprise. “Slater? Really? I thought you hated him.”
“I do. Did.” I throw out a hand with exasperation. “It’s complicated.”
“Wow,” he marvels.
“Yeah.” That’s about all I can say about that. “I’m sorry if—”
“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “I was sneaking around on you. I shouldn’t have.”
Looking for an opportunity to turn this heavy moment into something lighter, I tease, “You still saving yourself? You know gay people can marry now.”
Elliott blushes furiously. David does too. They’re cute together.
“I don’t know if our kind of marriage would go over well with my folks,” Elliott says, “and even if it did, we’re a long way off from crossing that bridge.”
“I like you a lot, Elliott. You’re a wonderful person. Be who you are. Don’t fear it. Your parents and their friends can look down on you, but you owe it to him,” I nod to David, “and to yourself to own it.”
I drop the ring into Elliott’s palm and close his fingers over it. “Thank you for our little romance. It was fun. I wish you and David the best.”
David smiles tersely and stands up behind Elliott, hands in pockets.
“Roxie, thank you. I mean it,” Elliott says, releasing a full breath with the words. Then he glances to David. “Maybe the three of us can go hiking sometime.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe. You got my number.”
I lean up, kiss him on the cheek, and walk out of the room, a little sad and a little happy. I hope Elliott stands up to his parents. I hope he finds happiness. He deserves it.
