Amy’s toxic. She’s really, truly awful. It upsets me that she’s so awful because if this is Kirby’s best friend, what does it say about me that I’m also her good friend? Are we the sorts of people that Kirby befriends?
I don’t find Amy attractive, although I wouldn’t say she’s objectively unattractive. She’s all-around average. If she had a shining personality, I’m sure her looks would grow on me. But she doesn’t have a shining personality. Her personality is… what’s the opposite of shining?
Dog shit. Her personality is a big steaming pile of dog shit.
At first, I try to be pleasant to her. I figure that she’s Kirby’s friend so I should try to be nice, despite the fact that she’s clearly trying to get in a few digs right off the bat. She’s really targeting me—I can tell she doesn’t like me from the first moment she walks in. But I’m okay with that—everyone in the world doesn’t need to like me. I’d rather her be a bitch than be condescending.
It’s when the waitress takes our order that I decide to hell with it. I’m not going to play nice anymore.
“I’d like the California club sandwich,” Amy tells the waitress after Kirby and I have both ordered cheeseburgers. Medium rare—we even have that in common.
The waitress nods. “Okay.”
Amy squints at her. “Aren’t you going to write this down?”
“No, I can remember.”
“I’d like you to write it down please,” Amy insists in her Jersey accent that borders on heavy. Christ, I hope I don’t sound like that. Most people who hear me talk don’t realize I’m from Jersey.
The waitress fumbles in her pocket and finally retrieves a book of checks to scribble down our order.
“So the California club comes with turkey?” Amy asks her.
“It sure does.”
“Could I have it with chicken instead?”
“Um. No, it’s only with turkey.”
“But I want it with chicken.”
The waitress is clearly forcing herself to stay pleasant. I know the feeling, girlie. “You could order a chicken sandwich.”
“Yeah, but I want the avocado.”
“Um.” The waitress scratches her chin. “You could get the chicken sandwich with a side of guacamole.”
“But I want avocado slices! Not guacamole.”
They go back and forth about five more times and the waitress has to go back to the kitchen to check to see if maybe the chicken can be substituted for turkey. When she announces that it can, Amy shoots us a triumphant look.
“You know,” I say to her. “That waitress is definitely going to spit in your sandwich.”
Amy frowns at me. “Why? Because I was right? I mean, all I wanted to do was substitute one lunch meat for another. What’s the big deal?”
“Congratulations. You were able to bully the waitress into making you the sandwich you wanted.”
She shrugs. “Whatever. That’s what’s so great about tips. You can get them to do anything.”
“Actually,” I say, “tipping is an antiquated tradition that hurts both the server and the customer.”
Amy opens her mouth, looking like she wants to give me an earful, but Kirby quickly interrupts, “Don’t mind him. He thinks all bookstores should be closed and paper books should be abolished.”
I raise my eyebrows at Amy. I really want her to take the bait and start arguing with me, but she doesn’t. And that’s what pisses me off the most. She dislikes me so much that she doesn’t even want to give me hell.
When Amy’s food arrives, she immediately looks completely outraged. She stares down at her perfectly acceptable plate of food, shaking her head. “No, no,” she tells the waitress. “These fries are no good.”
The waitress looks befuddled. “They’re not?”
“Look at them!” Amy holds up her perfectly normal-looking French fry. “They’re clearly overly fried. I can’t eat a French fry that’s this fried. I just want them normal fried. These are too fried.”
I almost burst out laughing. Is she serious with this shit?
“Oh.” The waitress looks like she isn’t sure what to do. “Well, this is the way we make them.”
Amy sighs dramatically. “Can you substitute something else then? Like vegetables? God, I don’t want to have a heart attack.”
A heart attack? Amy looks like she weighs a hundred pounds dripping wet.
The waitress takes away her overly fried French fries. I feel like this woman deserves not only a hefty tip, but a medal.
“How can French fries be too fried?” I say to Amy.
“The fried coating was too thick.” She says it like I’m an idiot for asking. I probably am, actually.
“Now she’s probably going to piss in your food,” I tell Amy, who doesn’t look appreciative.
When Kirby tells us she needs to use the bathroom, I almost beg her to stay and not leave me with this crazy woman. As soon as she disappears, Amy and I are left alone to glare at each other. I think it’s safe to say we won’t be going out on a date any time soon.
Kirby, please hurry up and pee.
“Just so you know,” Amy says to me in an irritated voice, “the googly eyes are really sickening.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, “you’re practically slobbering over Kirby. It’s, like, painfully obvious. I already guessed that’s what was going on, but I had to see it for myself.”
Holy…
I clear my throat. “That… that’s not…”
“Save it.” Amy shrugs. “I’m just trying to give you a heads up how ridiculously obvious it is that you’re in love with her.”
How the fuck does she know this? Am I really that obvious? Christ, I guess I am. Does that mean that Kirby…?
“Kirby doesn’t know,” Amy answers my question before I can ask it. “She’s oblivious. And in love with another guy, in case you’re living on another planet. They’re engaged.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter.
“Kirby is my best friend,” she says sharply. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not going to let you fuck up her life.”
I glare at her. “I’m not fucking up her life. I wouldn’t do that, okay? I wouldn’t.”
Amy raises her dark eyebrows at me. “You don’t genuinely think you have any shot with her, do you?”
I look down at my lap. During the course of the conversation, I’d started slouching in my chair and I can see my gut jutting out, outlined against the fabric of my sweatshirt. Nothing like Ted’s belly. Lots of guys have guts though and they get girls. Those guys don’t have bags of urine strapped to their legs though. “No,” I mumble.
“Even if Ted weren’t in the picture, it would be a lost cause,” she adds.
I look back up at her sharply. “Yeah, I get it. Thanks.”
“I’m just trying to help you out,” Amy says.
I glare at her. My earlier dislike of Amy has blossomed into full-on hatred. Does she think she’s the only one who can see something that Kirby doesn’t? I practically spit at her, “You know, you might want to let your so-called best friend know that you’re a lesbian so she doesn’t keep setting you up with guys.”
Amy stares at me, her face going pale. I hit the nail on the head. Figures. “How dare you!” she cries.
“Cut the bullshit,” I say. “I’m not going to tell her. But you should.”
Amy’s lips form a straight line. She’s glaring at me like she wants to throw her drink at me. If I don’t get out of here soon, she might.
When Kirby comes out of the bathroom, the tension between me and Amy is almost palpable. Kirby smiles brightly at the two of us. “What did I miss?” she asks.
I almost laugh. It’s hard not to.
I keep my wallet in a pouch that I have built into the side of my chair. It’s got a loop attached to it so that it’s easy to hook my fingers around it and yank it out. I nudge out a twenty dollar bill with my thumb. It’
s not a quick process and both women are watching me, but I don’t give a shit at this point. “I think I’m going to head out now,” I tell them.
“Oh.” Kirby’s face falls. An hour ago, this would have done a number on me. I would have gone back and forth wondering if that meant she secretly had feelings for me. I was such a dumbass. Of course she doesn’t have feelings for me. What the hell was wrong with me? “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m wiped.”
I look over at Amy to see if she’ll object. She doesn’t. Big shock.
“Maybe I’ll go too,” Kirby says thoughtfully. “After all, you were the one who drove me here. And isn’t it raining?”
“The rain’s stopped,” Amy says. “Come on, Kirby—stay. We’ll take the path train home. Or grab an Uber.”
Kirby blanches. “Uber? Is that safe?”
It’s the same thing I’m thinking. I hate the idea of Kirby sitting in some strange car driven by some strange man. I’m also worried that the second I leave, Amy is going to blab to Kirby that I’m in love with her. Neither idea is appealing.
“It will be fine,” Amy says so emphatically that it’s hard to disagree. I’m still not thrilled, but what can I do? I can’t drag Kirby out kicking and screaming—that would be an unhealthy sign of a guy who’s hopelessly and pathetically in love with her. And I’d rather get poked in the eyeballs than spend another minute with fucking Amy.
Chapter 32: Kirby
John is so disappointing tonight.
When Amy suggests taking the path train home while it’s pouring rain, I start sending him psychic messages: Take me with you! Of course, I’d have to put up a little resistance for Amy’s sake, but I’d eventually go with John. And I’d get to ride home in his nice, warm, dry, safe Toyota. (I hesitate to use the adjective “safe” when describing being in John’s car, but I’ve ribbed him enough about his driving that he’s actually gotten very slightly less reckless. Like, one or two percent less.)
Instead, John decides he’s going to take off. On his own. Leaving poor little me behind.
“Will you text me when you get home?” he asks me. He has this adorable crease between his eyebrows. “So I know you got back safely?”
“She’ll be fine, John,” Amy sighs.
John shoots her a dirty look. I’d been hoping the two of them might hit it off, but they weirdly seem to despise each other. I thought maybe I’d give them some space to chat while I went to the bathroom, but they seemed to hate each other even more when I got out.
“I’ll text you,” I promise him. After all, I text him pretty much every night. And he does look awfully worried.
I watch John make his way to the exit, the muscles between his shoulder blades working with each push against his wheels. A man holds the door for him and he nods his thanks, looks back at me one last time, then he’s gone.
“Oh my fucking God,” Amy snaps at me. “Kirby, seriously. This is out of control.”
I turn back to look at Amy. She’s got a big frown plastered on her face. Bigger than normal, since she’s always sort of frowning. “What’s out of control?”
Amy lowers her voice several notches. “You and John. You’ve been practically eye fucking each other all night.”
My heart speeds up in my chest. I feel like a kid who got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Which, actually, Minnie has caught me doing multiple times at the bakery as an adult. (What can I say? I like cookies.)
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
Amy raises her eyebrows. “That’s not what John said when you were in the bathroom.”
If I had any beer in my mouth, I would have spit it out rather dramatically right now. “You talked to John about this? Are you out of your mind?”
“Relax,” she snorts. “I didn’t point out that you were just as hopelessly smitten as he was. I told him he needed to get over his crush because Kirby is taken.” She takes a sip of her drink. “You are taken, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” I say quickly. But the last few sentences Amy said to me remain in my head. “So… you’re saying that he admitted that… he likes me? Like that?”
“Duh. Of course he does.” She rolls her eyes. “The two of you couldn’t be more obvious if you were holding up a giant sign. And when Ted comes here, it’s going to be obvious to him too.”
I look down at my hands. Amy’s right. I need to snap out of it—fast.
“I don’t get it, Kirby, honestly,” she sighs. “I mean, he’s good looking and all. I’ll give you that. But what a jerk. And… look, do I need to say the obvious here? He’s in a wheelchair. He’s got a severe disability. There. I said it.”
“The thing is,” I mumble, “I’m not that bothered by that. At all. I hardly even notice it anymore.”
Amy shakes her head. “What are you saying, Kirby? That you want him instead of Ted?”
“No, of course not! I’m engaged to Ted.”
She squints at me. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”
“I would never lie to you,” I insist. “Amy, you’re my best friend. We tell each other everything. Right?”
She’s quiet for a second. “Right.”
I don’t really want John instead of Ted. Ted is the man I’m in love with. He’s my fiancé. He’s the one I’m meant to be with.
“You need to be straight with the guy,” she says. “Make it clear to him that nothing is going to happen between the two of you. Otherwise, it’s just mean.”
Amy’s right. Nothing will ever really happen between me and John. The feelings I have for him are nothing more than cold feet about the wedding.
Except it’s hard to push away the feeling I get that I’ve never liked a guy, and never will like a guy, as much as I like John.
_____
A few months ago, I gave up my regular toothbrush and started using one of those mechanical toothbrushes. Minnie kept nagging me about it and telling me how much cleaner her teeth were with the automatic brush. I have to admit, the first few times I used it, my teeth did have that nice “just left the dentist but in a good way” kind of feeling. But I’m still not a fan. I hate having to just stand there holding the toothbrush—it turns toothbrushing into a much more passive activity.
John uses a mechanical toothbrush. I’ve seen it in his bathroom. I asked him about it once and he says he hates them too, but it’s easier to grip and use with his hands the way they are. “Same reason I got an electric razor,” he says.
While I’m spitting and rinsing, I hear my phone ringing in the other room. I wipe my mouth off and check: it’s Ted, requesting FaceTime.
Do I really want to talk to Ted right now? I’m so tired…
But then again, we haven’t talked in nearly a week. I should probably pick up.
I press “accept” and Ted’s face comes into view. He’s smiling, although there’s something a little strained in his expression.
“Hey, Kirby,” he says.
I yawn, maybe a little too loudly. “Hey.”
“What’s going on over there?”
“Not much.” I yawn again. “Sorry, I’m beat. I probably shouldn’t talk long.”
Ted’s blue eyes darken slightly. “Seriously? We haven’t talked in five days. You keep texting me that you’re too tired.”
“Oh.” I smile sheepishly. “Sorry. I’ve just been busy getting ready for the wedding.”
“Yeah? What have you been doing to get ready for the wedding exactly?”
I’m not crazy about the tone of Ted’s voice. Why is he challenging me like he doesn’t even believe me? Of course, he’s right. I haven’t actually been getting ready for the wedding.
“I helped John pick out a tuxedo,” I say weakly.
“That was a week ago. Try again.”
I frown at him. “What are you saying exactly?”
The hard look in Ted’s eyes softens slightly. “Nothing. I just… we haven’t talked in a while. I feel bad that you’re always too busy or
tired to talk to me.”
“I know,” I say sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that.”
The truth is, I don’t enjoy my FaceTime with Ted anymore. For a period of time, it was enough to just be staring into one another’s eyes, but now I feel like we’re constantly struggling for things to say. I’m sure it will be different when we’re married and sharing our lives together though. It’s not like I really have nothing in common with Ted. I don’t think so, anyway.
“You know I’m coming there on Thursday, right?” Ted says.
My heart skips in my chest. What? “You’re coming here?”
“I’ve got that job interview in Manhattan, remember?” he says. “I figured I’d take a week’s vacation and we could hang out together.”
“Um, sure.”
“Well, don’t get too excited.”
This FaceTime really isn’t going well.
“I am excited,” I insist. “I can’t wait to see you, Ted.”
“I miss you, Kirby,” he says softly.
“I miss you too,” I say. Although the second the words leave my lips, I recognize them to be a lie.
Chapter 33: Kirby
Minnie has laid out a selection of six different wedding cake samples that she’s made. She’s baked them in her tiny cake tins so that each two-layer cake is roughly the size of my hand. She’s been working on them ever since the bakery closed several hours ago (and after she took her afternoon nap). I’ve dragged John here to sample the cakes after we grabbed some dinner a few blocks away.
I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have brought him here. If he really does have feelings for me, like Amy said, isn’t it cruel to take him along on wedding activities? Then again, I really want him here. I can’t imagine making a decision like this without him. I trust his opinion about baked goods more than anyone else besides Minnie.
“Which one would you like to try first?” Minnie asks John, waving her hand at the array of little cakes.
“I don’t know if these are going to work for a wedding, Minnie,” John says. “I really think the cake would need to be at least… twice this big.”
Minnie lets out an angry little huff. “You be nice, John. Or else I’m cutting off your supply of scones.”
The Best Man Page 13
