The Best Man

by Annabelle Costa

  John swings into one of the spots with the blue handicapped signs in front of it. Before I even know what’s happening, Ted leaps out of the car, races over to me, and scoops me up into his arms, lifting me off my feet. His lips are on mine, and I know this is the wonderful reunion kiss we’ve both been waiting for, but all I can think about is how I feel like I’m kissing a complete stranger. And not in a good way—like the sexy hook-up with the dark, handsome stranger in a bar. It’s like he’s coming home, but he’s somehow ended up at the wrong home.

  When my lips separate from Ted, I take a second to look at him. Same shaggy blond hair, same perfect tan, same clear blue eyes—the same face I fell in love with. But once again, I can’t shake that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that this is a stranger.

  Ted runs his finger along the length of my jaw. “God, I missed you, Kirby.”

  “I… I missed you too.” That sounded earnest, didn’t it? I glance over at the car and see John’s almond eyes staring out at me through the window. Despite everything, I want him to get out of the car. I wish I could fall into his arms and talk to him about everything I’m feeling right now.

  But the second our eyes meet, John looks away. He rolls down the window. “Hey, Foster! Get your shit out of my trunk! I don’t have all day.”

  Ted laughs. “John’s raring to get home. Let me get my bags out of the trunk and put them in your car.”

  “Oh.” My heart speeds up. “You mean, he’s not joining us?”

  Ted shakes his head. He glances back at the car and raises his voice to yell, “Apparently, Johnny’s got a hot date tonight.”

  “Fuck you,” John shoots back good-naturedly.

  Ted gets his briefcase and duffel bag out of the trunk, and he’s barely even rested them on the pavement before John zips out of the parking spot and zooms out of the lot without bothering to say goodbye.

  “Well,” Ted says. “Shall we eat?”

  We get a booth at the restaurant and Ted wants to sit next to me on the same side of the booth. It’s sweet. Well, any other time, it might have been sweet. Right now, it’s making me feel suffocated. He’s got his arm around my shoulders and I so badly want to be that obnoxious lovey dovey couple that everyone hates, but I’m not feeling it.

  “I can’t wait to get you home,” Ted whispers in my ear, right after we place our orders. “I’m going to ravage you.”

  Is there any chance of getting out of having sex tonight? Probably not. The guy just flew three-thousand miles to see me.

  “Isn’t your interview tomorrow?” I ask. “Don’t you have to get up early?”

  Ted looks at me in surprise. “Well, yeah. But I haven’t seen you in months. And anyway, it’s still early my time.”

  Oh right. Last time Ted visited me, he spent the entire visit telling me what time it was for him. You’d think after two weeks, he’d have been adjusted.

  The lights are very dim in the restaurant and there’s a candle on the table. This place is so romantic. Once upon a time, I really liked Ted. I mean, I agreed to marry the guy. What the hell is wrong with me?

  John has thoroughly scrambled my brain.

  The waitress brings over our food, and I’m half hoping Ted will go to the other side of the table to eat, but he doesn’t. So we’re knocking into each other with our elbows as we cut into our food. Why can’t he go to the other side?

  “Listen,” I say to Ted, “could you just… go to the other side of the table?”

  Ted looks at me in astonishment.

  “Because…” I bite my lip. “I just feel squashed over here. And… and I keep having to turn my head to look at you, so… it’s straining my neck and…” Now I’m babbling. “Sorry. Never mind.”

  Except Ted gets up and silently moves to the other side of the table. And then we don’t talk for the next several minutes.

  “Hey,” he says finally, between bites of chicken Marsala. “Don’t fill up too much on your entrée. I heard the desserts here are amazing.”

  “Actually,” I say with a smile, “I baked you some cupcakes. They’re waiting at home.”

  I want Ted to try my new bubble gum cupcakes. I’ve been perfecting the recipe and I’m excited to show another person after John liked them so much.

  Instead, he crinkles his nose. “Cupcakes? Really?”

  I stare at him. “What’s wrong with cupcakes?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not really a fan. Cupcakes are so trendy right now, you know? They have all these cupcake trucks in the city and everyone is so excited about cupcakes, but it’s not like they’re so great. What’s the big deal?”

  “You don’t like cupcakes?” I feel like I just got punched in the gut. How is it possible I’m only learning this now?

  He shrugs again. “They’re just little cakes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, sorry.” He adds, sarcastically, “I didn’t realize cupcakes are so important to you.”

  Well, this is great. The man I’m supposed to marry doesn’t even like the baked good that I’m most obsessed with. And what’s more, he has no clue how important they are to me. I mean, I work in a bakery.

  “Besides,” Ted says, “men don’t like cupcakes. They’re not a masculine food.”

  “Plenty of men like them,” I shoot back. “John likes them.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if I should have mentioned John. But Ted has no idea what thoughts are running through my head.

  “Well, I’m going to try to talk John into dinner tomorrow,” Ted says, “so why don’t you bring him some cupcakes then?”

  “All right,” I say, knowing that John will never agree to dinner.

  “Also…” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Do you think you have a friend for John? A girl, I mean?” He quickly adds, “Not Amy.”

  He doesn’t even know about the Amy debacle. “I think John is already seeing someone.”

  Ted laughs. “No, he’s not.”

  I squint at Ted across the table. I’m irritated by how laughable he thinks it is that John might have a girlfriend. “Why is that funny?”

  The smile fades from Ted’s face. “It’s not funny. I just… I mean, I asked him and he told me he’s not seeing anyone.”

  “I’m pretty sure he is,” I insist. “I went to his apartment a few days ago to drop something off, and a woman came in.”

  “Yeah, so?” Ted shakes his head. “That was probably a nurse. Doesn’t he have a nurse come in to help him get into bed?”

  “No…” But even as I’m saying the words, I remember John’s injured shoulder. How he could barely get out of his car. Maybe he had to hire someone to help him after that.

  God, I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he let me believe that woman was a date?

  “I’m worried about Johnny,” Ted is saying. “He used to at least seem interested in finding someone. Just now, in the car, when I brought it up, he acted like he had no interest at all. Like he’s just given up.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble.

  “There’s got to be someone who would go out with him,” he says thoughtfully. “Maybe someone older? Can you think of anyone, Kirby?”

  I can only shake my head mutely.

  “Well, shit.” Ted spears a piece of chicken with his fork. “Maybe I should hire someone for him then.”

  If I’d had any ziti in my mouth, I’d undoubtedly be choking on it right now. “Hire someone? Like a hooker?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Why not? I bet it’s been ages for the poor guy. He has needs like everyone else.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “He does not want that!”

  “No offense, but you don’t know what he wants,” Ted says. “I think it might be just what he needs. And it’s not like he can just go to a bar, pick up a girl, and get laid.”

  This entire conversation is infuriating me. How dare he say that about John? Fine, he’s in a wheelchair. But he’s crazy hot. And he’s smart and he’s funny. Any girl would be lu
cky to go home with him.

  “I didn’t realize you were such a prude, Kirby,” he comments.

  I look away, not wanting to engage in this conversation. I don’t know why Ted is having so much trouble seeing how sexy John is. Okay, maybe it’s a little harder for him to find a girlfriend than it is for the average joe, but there are plenty of women out there who would be happy to have him as their boyfriend. More than happy. There are women who want nothing more than that…

  I take another bite of ziti, trying to think of a way to change the subject. Finally, I say, “So are you interested in seeing a movie tomorrow night after your interview?”

  Ted raises his eyebrows. “Sure. What do you have in mind? That new movie with Adam Sandler sounded pretty funny.”

  “Actually,” I say, “the Angelika in Manhattan—you know, that theater that shows the old and indie movies?—well, they’re showing Plan Nine From Outer Space!”

  Ted frowns. “Plan Nine From Outer Space?”

  I stare at him in amazement. “You haven’t heard about Plan Nine From Outer Space? Oh my God, Ted, it’s the Ed Wood classic!”

  “Ed Wood?” He looks at me like I’m speaking to him in Martian.

  “Worst director of all time!” I say excitedly. “And this movie was voted the worst movie ever made! Ever!”

  “Uh…” Ted looks down at his chicken picata, as if it might contain more information about this movie.

  “It’s Plan Nine!” I giggle. “It’s the plan that finally worked!”

  He’s shaking his head. “So… your great idea is to watch… the worst movie ever made?”

  I nod vigorously. “Exactly!”

  “Why don’t we just see a good movie then?” he says.

  I put down my fork and frown at him. “So you’re saying Adam Sandler’s latest film qualifies as a good movie? Wasn’t he just in a movie where he played his own sister?”

  Ted folds his arms across his chest. “Well, at least it wasn’t the worst movie ever made.”

  That’s debatable. “Listen,” I say, “it’s one of those things that’s, like, so bad that it’s good. You’re expecting it to be bad, so you can laugh at how bad it is.”

  He’s shaking his head again, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No, I don’t think I’d enjoy that.”

  Well, fine. Ted won’t see the movie I want to see and he won’t eat my cupcakes (spare me the dirty jokes). I’m searching my memory, trying to remember what we did last time we were together that was remotely enjoyable. There must have been something. I mean, the guy asked me to marry him.

  Chapter 42: John

  I’m working from home again today.

  It’s been over a week since I’ve been to work. There’s a meeting today that I’m really supposed to be attending, but my boss gave me the okay to miss it. I’m embarrassed to admit that aside from my run to the airport to pick up Ted, I haven’t been out of my apartment once since the night of the mugging. I’ve gotten rid of the home health aide, but I’m still reluctant to wheel myself around too much. My shoulder is better, but I don’t know how it will fare during a longer trip.

  I’m sick of being trapped in my home. This fucking wheelchair just isn’t working for me anymore.

  In another few days, I’m going to have to decide what I’m going to do—the power wheels or just suck it up and get the power chair. In the meantime, I’m trying not to think about it.

  It’s around three in the afternoon when my phone buzzes. I see Kirby’s number pop up and I decide not to answer it. I’m supposed to meet Ted in a couple of hours to grab a drink before he goes out with her, and I don’t feel like talking to her right now. I can’t imagine what she’d have to say to me after she went running off right after finding out I needed someone to help me into bed.

  Except after I let the phone go to voicemail, she calls again. And then a third time.

  My stomach gets this butterfly feeling, which is different from how it used to feel prior to my injury but is still noticeably butterflies. Is Kirby okay? Why is she calling so many times?

  Maybe she’s hurt. Or in trouble. Shit.

  I press a button on the phone with my knuckle to put it on speakerphone. “Kirby, what’s going on?”

  “John!” She sounds breathless. “I’m downstairs. Can I come up?”

  I frown at the phone. “Why don’t you just sneak up like you did last time?”

  There’s a silence on the other line. “Please, John. Let me come in.”

  So I say yes. Of course I do.

  At least this time I have a chance to wheel myself to the bathroom and check myself out in a mirror before she gets here, although I’m not sure why. I check my teeth for spinach. Make sure my hair isn’t sticking up in ten directions. Adjust my butt on the seat so that I’m not slouching too badly. Damage control.

  When I get to the door to let Kirby inside, the first thing I see is the circles under her eyes. I’ve never seen her look quite so tired before. Despite my resolve to send her on her way as soon as possible, my chest aches for her. She always does this shit to me.

  “John,” she says. And then her voice breaks. Christ, she’s crying. Why is she crying? What the hell is going on?

  “Come in,” I hiss at her, before the neighbors can start wondering why that nice John Yang made a woman cry.

  Kirby sits down on my sofa to have an all-out cry. She’s crying spectacularly. She’s sobbing and sniffling and there’s a lot of snot involved. If I weren’t so goddamn attracted to her, it might be gross. But all I can think of is how I want to put my arms around her and make her feel better.

  But instead, I find her a box of tissues.

  “Kirby…” I say, attempting to pick up the box of tissues from my lap. It’s too big for me to grip using the tenodesis in either hand. My only option is to pick it up between my fists. Kirby takes it from me, graciously not commenting on how weird it must look. “Kirby, what’s wrong?”

  “Ted…” she begins, before bursting into a fresh wave of sobs.

  If Ted hit her, I will kill him. I swear to fucking God, I will kill him. I don’t know how, but I’ll do it.

  “I…” She hiccups loudly, wiping her eyes daintily with one of the tissues. “I can’t marry him. I have to break it off.”

  I stare at her. It’s not what I expected her to say at all, even with all the tears. “Why not?”

  “Because he’s not right for me,” she sniffles. “I got caught up in the excitement of the proposal, but he was never right for me. He and I have absolutely nothing in common.”

  “So what?” I say. “My parents have nothing in common. I mean, nothing. And they’ve been married for thirty-five years.”

  “Ted’s not The One,” she insists.

  The One? What the fuck is she babbling about? “The One?”

  “He’s not…” She wipes her eyes with the back of her sweatshirt sleeve, in spite of having perfectly good tissues. “He’s not the one I’m meant to be with.”

  Christ, girls are so dramatic about this shit. The One? Is she kidding me? “So who’s The One?”

  Kirby lifts her red, swollen eyes to look at me. “I think it might be you.”

  At first, I think she’s got to be joking. Yeah, we did kiss the other night, but she had been drinking and we’d just been mugged, so I’d filed that away as a stupid incident that she regretted. But I’m looking at her now and I realize she’s not joking. She means it.

  Holy shit. She thinks I’m The One? Even though I could barely even pick up a fucking tissue box?

  “Kirby,” I start to say, but before I can, she climbs onto my lap and starts kissing me. Her pink lips are all over mine and it’s even hotter than it was the other night because my shoulder isn’t on fire and I can appreciate everything happening. I can’t feel more than half my body, but Kirby seems to get that, and her hands and fingers are all over my shoulders and neck and into my hair, and making every nerve ending light up like a firework. I can barely stand it,
it feels so good.

  And it’s good because it’s her. The girl I’ve been dreaming about for months. If there’s any truth to that shit about “The One,” then Kirby is definitely The One. No doubt.

  “Let me get on the couch,” I breathe.

  She gets up off my lap and I transfer to the couch. My ass is barely on the cushion before she starts up kissing me again. I don’t think I’ve been this hot and heavy with a girl since Becky. And even Becky was never this passionate. Never. She’s kissing me so intensely that she pushes me down so that I’m lying on the couch and she’s on top of me. I look at the zipper on her hoodie sweatshirt—I don’t have the dexterity to get it open. Maybe I can use my teeth.

  But Kirby sees what I want to do and rips off her own hoodie. She’s wearing a teeny tank top underneath and I can see her bra through it. Then while I’m watching, she pulls off her tank top too. I see her cleavage bulging out of her bra and it nearly blows my mind. “Jesus,” I breathe.

  I bring her close to me again, kissing her and wishing to God that there were some way I could unhook her bra. That was a challenge even before. Now it’s impossible. I’d have more luck biting through it.

  After about ten solid minutes of kissing with her topless, I feel Kirby’s hands shoving at the hem of my T-shirt, which disturbs some of the enjoyment I’m getting out of this. I forgot for a few minutes how many things I don’t want Kirby to know about my body. Practically everything. She already knows about my bony forearms, but there’s so much more under my clothes. In both directions. If she pulls my shirt off, she’ll see my gut. If she pulls down my sweatpants (I know—really glamorous), she’ll see my suprapubic catheter. As she lifts my shirt, I start to freak out.

  Ted doesn’t have this problem. Fucking Ted. The guy with the perfect hair and perfect face and perfect career and perfectly functional body. The guy I can’t compete with in a million years. Even if I said to hell with our friendship, which hasn’t been worth much lately anyway, and decided I was okay being the asshole who cheated with my friend’s fiancée, I recognize how ridiculous this whole thing is. Kirby doesn’t really want me. Maybe she thinks she wants me, but she doesn’t. And when she realizes what she gave up, both our lives will be irrevocably fucked up.