A crazy man who can evidently fly up stairwells.
I make it up the stairs and into the apartment, clutching my side where a cramp has just set in. I have got to start working out. Carla is staring down into a sink of dishes, not even acknowledging Riley’s face full of insanity, which only seems to bother him more.
“Carla, do you know anything about Mom’s new boyfriend?”
Carla looks up from the sink full of dishes and just stares blankly at Riley. “You’re not funny, you know that, right? Jess, you’ve told him that he’s not funny, haven’t you?”
I nod, still holding onto my side.
“I’m serious, Carla. Jess saw Mom and some guy macking on her at the paint store yesterday.”
Carla raises an eyebrow at Riley, “You’re not joking?”
Riley shakes his head. Carla plops down in one of the table chairs.
“Mom has a boyfriend?” She says quietly, staring straight ahead at the wall.
“It’s not right.” Riley says in the same whisper, now also staring at the wall. I take a quick glance at that wall myself, just to make sure that I’m not missing anything important.
“Oh my God, what if they’re doing It?”
“Riley!” Carla and I both yell at the same time.
“What? It’s a legitimate concern.”
I roll my eyes and take over the dirty dishes. I can’t help it; dirty dishes bother me. Surely it isn’t a healthy obsession.
“My mother is a slut.”
“Riley, you don’t even know if she’s slept with. . .”
“No, he’s right. She’s a slut.” Carla cuts me off but still stares at the wall.
“She hasn’t even dated since your father died. This is her first relationship in two years. Give her a break.”
For future reference, when two siblings are in shock over the fact that their widowed mother has a boyfriend, it really is best just to keep your mouth shut.
Both Riley and Carla turn to glare at me. I take note that Carla’s right eye is twitching slightly while Riley looks like he would love nothing more than to stick my head into the sink full of nasty dishwater. I manage an apologetic smile before turning back around and focus on cleaning out a bowl.
“Does she know that you know?” Carla asks.
I don’t know who she was asking but Riley and I both say no at the same time.
Against my better judgment, I turn and speak again, “Are you guys going to tell her that you know?”
“No.” Carla states loudly just as Riley shrugs. We stare at her. “Look, I spent two days figuring out place settings for the wedding. You have no idea how difficult it was to figure out a way to fit two-hundred people in Mom’s backyard for the reception. And I finally have it all figured out and I am not going to spend another two days moving people around to fit in Mom’s manwhore.”
I prefer the name Mystery Kisser to Manwhore. Mystery Kisser sounds more romantic. But I don’t think arguing with Carla right now over the nickname of her mother’s possible boyfriend is the greatest of ideas.
Riley wants to protest, I can tell by the way he looks at me, which causes my stomach to do that stupid flippy thing again. Despite the fact that I think their mom should know of their awareness, I shake my head. He wasn’t around Carla for those two days when she was standing over drawings of her mom’s backyard with the same look Hitler probably had on his face when he was studying a map of Europe, and figuring out where to put tables, chairs, the band, and her offensive uncle Bobby. Riley didn’t see her break down into tears and threaten to claw Evan’s eyes out when he accidentally spilled root beer on one of the possible place setting charts. If keeping Ms. Callahan from knowing that her children are aware that she has a romantic life means never having to go through Place Setting Hell again, then it really is for the best.
And, if Riley does let Ms. Callahan know, and she invites the Mystery Kisser to the wedding, then it’s going to be Riley helping out Carla figure out where in the hell to stick him at the reception.
“Wait a second.” Carla holds up a finger. “Jess saw Mom with this guy yesterday?”
Oh shit.
“Yesterday?” She’s glaring at me now.
I know that I’m not going to live forever but I never thought that I would die at the hands of a 110-pound bride-to-be.
And that’s after working in a bridal boutique.
“You knew about this yesterday and you didn’t tell me?” Carla’s on her feet now and my back is against the wall.
Well, against the sink anyway.
“I was worried about you.” I say to Carla but I’m looking at Riley. He’s staring at me, not angry like Carla, but just staring. I focus back on Carla, “Come on, you have so much going on right now with the wedding and I didn’t want one more thing looming over your head.”
She wants to say something and I can see the long string of words forming in her mind but before she can spit them out, Riley intervenes.
“Hey sis, don’t you need to be heading to work?” Riley asks, winking at me.
Carla glances at the microwave clock and mumbles a profanity. She grabs her purse off the table and points a finger at me while heading to the door, “This isn’t over, Jess.”
“I was just trying to be a good Maid of Honor.” I say sadly, trying to pull a guilt trip on her.
“Whatever.” She yanks the door open and shoots a glare in Riley’s direction as she leaves. He gives her just a hint of a smile.
As soon as she’s gone, I plop down in the kitchen chair and put my head on the table.
“I’m a horrible person.”
“No you’re not.”
I jump, surprised that Riley has moved so close to me. My head is still on the table but I can feel his presence just to the left of myself. I almost want to get up and hug him for getting rid of Carla and for not being angry at me for hiding the Mystery Kisser. Which is all really surprising and completely unlike him.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” I ask, raising my head up enough to look at him. He’s biting his thumb knuckle, a habit he only does when he’s nervous, or hiding something. Great, maybe he is mad at me and trying to hide it.
“Why should I be mad at you? You didn’t French my mom.” He gives me that half-smile as he sits down at the table, scooting his chair closer to me. “And Carla isn’t mad at you either.”
“Yeah, because that was love and kindness radiating through her just now.” I mutter, putting my head back on the table. I hear Riley chuckle.
“She’s mad at me.”
I scrunch up my face and am glad that its contortedness is hidden from Riley. “Why would she be mad at you?”
“Because you told me first.”
“I had to.” I sit up and look at him. “Otherwise you would have walked into your mom’s house and saw her and the Mystery Kisser going at it. No one should have to see their parents like that.” I grimace, remembering that time when I was six and had walked into my parents’ bedroom and saw. . .
I think I’m going to be sick.
“I told Carla that everything was going to change.” Riley says to himself, shaking his head and biting on his knuckle.
“What do you mean ‘everything’?”
He comes out of his trance and just looks at me blankly for a few seconds. I can’t take the way his eyes are boring into mine and I turn my attention to my fingernails that I am going to stop biting, first thing tomorrow. Honest.
He sighs, “Now that Carla is getting married, her new best friend is going to be Evan. And, despite her arguing and probably yours too, you and her aren’t going to be as close as you are now. And Carla’s pissed because she can already see it happening.”
“That’s stupid. I tell you a lot of things that I don’t tell her. And she knows that.”
“She’s starting to realize it. But, come on Reynolds, we’ve been hanging out a lot more than we used to.”
“That’s because you’ve stopped being a jackass.” I grumble
.
“Always a lady.” He laughs at me as I stick my tongue out at him.
Carla and I really aren’t friends like we used to be. Riley and I, though, we’re closer than ever. It’s not that I’ve replaced Carla with Riley, it’s just that. . . I don’t know what it is. I just connect with Riley more than I used to, and more than I do with a lot of people. Carla and I can still be close after she’s married, right?
“You’re not going to be as close as you were.” Riley says.
How can he read my mind like that?
I guess I’ve always known that Carla and I would drift a little but I really didn’t think that Riley Callahan would be the one to point it out to me.
No wonder Carla is annoyed.
Five
Friday, June 26th
I have been mentally preparing myself for this speech all the way to work.
Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been mentally bracing myself for Annie’s reaction to this speech all the way to work. You know, in between thinking about how Carla and I can still be besties after she’s married and what Matt looks like naked. Concerning my friendship with Carla, I’ve chalked up Riley’s theory to him being crazy. Which I know he’s not crazy and is probably actually right.
And I’m not entirely sure that I can live in a world where Riley Callahan is right about something.
And, concerning Matt’s nakedness. . . well, I’ve definitely been thinking about him in the shower. I might have been in there with him too.
Annie is finishing up with a customer as I make my way behind the teller windows. This news might just give the woman a heart attack.
“You look mighty happy. Did you wake up alone?”
“Yes, I woke up alone.”
She smiles, “Ah, so you were playing the game solo then?”
“What?” I raise an eyebrow in confusion before what she says sits in, “No, not that, Annie. It’s just that I have some really big news.”
“Oh.” She says, turning her attention back to the window.
What would her reaction been if I had say yes to ‘playing the game solo’? And where does she get phrases like that anyway? Geesh.
“I’m moving.”
Her face lights up, “Did that job in Texas call? The one you applied for last month?”
“No.”
“Was it the job in Georgia? Or the one in Ohio?”
Well, this isn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it was going to be.
“No, no jobs have called.” Except for the one at the hospital in town that said that, while I was a perfect applicant, they were going to go with someone with more experience. Like the guy who got the job; he had lived in Spain for two years because his grandpa paid for it all. I could have lived in Spain too, you know, if my grandpa had been alive to pay for it. Or had left me any inheritance.
“Then where are you moving to?”
I smile, eager for her reaction, “I’m moving to Riley’s.”
I don’t even flinch when she emits a shriek. The bank manager, however, runs out of his office to make sure that we’re not being held up at gunpoint.
“What in the hell is wrong with her?” He points a finger at Annie, more irritated than concerned.
“Oh, she, um, saw a rat.” I say quickly.
He nods, “Well, go kill it, Jennifer.”
It’s Jessica, and I’m so glad that you think I’m important enough to snuff the life out of innocent rodents.
Now if it was a snake, I’d be all about killing it. Or running out of the building yelling at other people to go chop its head off while I jump in my car and go home for the rest of the week. Whatever.
“Can do, sir.” I smile at him as he goes back into his office. Jerk.
I turn back to Annie, who is bouncing from foot to foot and has her hands cupped over her mouth, probably to silence the shrieking.
“Calm down, Annie.”
“Calm down? How can I calm down?” She stops bouncing around and smacks me on the arm, “I thought you said you were sleeping alone.”
“I am.”
“Oh! Are you two taking it kind of slow and doing it all over the phone until you get all moved in?”
“Ew, no. I’m just living at Riley’s. I’m not living with Riley. There’s a difference.” If nothing else, this is good practice for when I tell my mother about my change of address, which may be never. I mean, she rarely stops by the apartment and never mails me letters or presents or anything. Why would she even have to know where I live? I mean, really? I could totally get away with not telling her that I moved.
You know, as long as Riley’s mom doesn’t find out and tell my mom. Which would ultimately happen since Ms. Callahan likes to randomly pop by Riley’s house. Plus, Ms. Callahan and my mom are best friends and she would end up telling my mom about my new living arrangements.
God, Ms. Callahan is such a big mouth.
Yeah, there’s the pot calling the kettle black. I can’t keep a secret to save my own life.
Annie shakes her head, “You and Riley aren’t together?”
“Right. Like I said, we’re not living together; we’re sharing a house. There is a difference.”
Annie pats my head, “Sweet child, the only difference between ‘living together’ and ‘sharing a house’ is the amount of sex you’re having.”
“Annie!”
“You know, just as well as I do, that one night you and Riley will be at the house you’re sharing and you’ll both drink a little too much and, before you know it, you’ll be knocking boots.” She says, going back to her window to file away deposit slips. “It happens more than you think, you know. And cowboy boots are in this season. Wearing them in bed would add some passion. I wonder if I still have a pair. . .”
Surely it isn’t right to hear these words coming out of the mouth of your fifty-year-old-bank-teller-coworker-possible-dominatrix? Do other people in their fifties talk about this kind of thing?
“Jess, I’m just worried about you. You’re not sleeping with Riley, right?”
“Right.” I say uneasily. I don’t know where she’s going with this. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she asks me if I think that Riley will partake in a threesome with her and her husband.
I’m just saying, it’s Annie.
“Have you ridden that Italian stallion yet?”
“Italian stal. . . Matt, you mean? No I haven’t slept with him.”
Annie throws her arms up in frustration, “Well, what is wrong with you, Jess?”
Really? She wants to play that game with my self-esteem? At 9:30 in the morning? Is she trying to make me suicidal?
“It’s not exactly on the level but, if you are willing, I know of a service you could call if you were wanting to. . .”
“No.” I say quickly, just so she can’t go into any detail about how she knows of this “service”. I didn’t even know a town in Kentucky had that kind of “service”.
“Jess, when was the last time you had sex?”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose while breathing in and out and thinking peaceful thoughts about birds and the ocean tide and Owen Wilson. Nothing can ever bother me when I think about Owen Wilson.
“Why does this matter?” I ask, my eyes still closed.
“I’m just curious.”
I open one eye and stare at her. She’s sitting at her station with a small notepad in her lap and is tapping a pencil against the counter.
I open my other eye, “Are you taking notes on me?”
She sighs, “If you must know, I’m trying to develop a main character for a story I’m working on.”
I stop pinching my nose, “I didn’t know you were a writer.”
“Oh, well, you know, it’s just a hobby. I’ve had a few short stories published in journals but I’m working on a novel now.” She smiles, proud of herself.
“That’s really great, Annie. Can I read the stories you had published?”
“I’ll do you one better.
I’ll bring in the story I’m working on now and let you read it tomorrow.”
I smile. I cannot believe Annie’s been published. More than once. Not that I doubt her ability. I mean, she certainly has no problem expressing herself vocally, why should she not be able to express herself in a literary sense as well? But wait. . .
“You’re writing a story about me?!”
She laughs, a little too loud, I might add, “No, silly girl. I’m just fishing for information and ideas and all.” She taps the pencil against the counter again, “Now, you never did answer my question. “When was the last time you had sex?”
“Annie, I don’t really want to talk about this.”
“Sweet Jesus, honey, are you a virgin?” Annie asks in a worried whisper.
“Would it matter if I was?”
Twenty bucks says that Annie’s head is going to explode.
“Well, no, it’s okay if you’re a”, she leans in closely to whisper, “virgin.” She returns to her leaned back position, “But you’re not, are you?”
I wonder how many other jobs question their employees about their sex lives. Prostitutes, politicians, celebrities, definitely not part-time bank tellers. . .
I sigh, “No, I’m not a virgin.” However, if I could go back, I would definitely keep my V-card for longer than I did.
She jots down a few notes as she continues to talk, “How old were you the first time you did It?”
Why do people remind me of that night? I’ve been trying to repress that night for over four years and every time I think I’ve got it buried away, someone comes by with a bulldozer to dig it back up.
“I was seventeen. Listen, Annie, I. . .”
“When was the last time you had sex?”
Grr.
“Sophomore year of college. Fall semester. With my boyfriend at the time.” Who broke up with me because he was a jealous bastard who couldn’t handle me having any guy friends. Granted, my only real guy friend was Riley. Still, the guy couldn’t handle having any ‘competition’, as he put it and we ended the relationship.
Always the Last to Know (Always the Bridesmaid) Page 6
