Wish I May (New Hope)

by Lexi Ryan

  I don’t need a flashing neon sign telling me this man is bad news. I already know it. I swallow hard and take another step away. “I appreciate your offer. But I’m okay.”

  He smiles. Not creepy, not in a leering way, just a genuine smile. He throws some money on the counter and shakes his head. “Your funeral, sweetheart.”

  What does that mean? I watch him leave the restaurant and only after the glass door floats closed behind him do I pick up his card. Just in case, I tell myself, tucking it into my purse.

  When I get home thirty minutes later, I expect to find Mom stoned or crashed on the couch. She’s been hitting the Vicodin pretty hard since things didn’t work out with Rick.

  But she’s not sleeping. She pacing and antsy and in a mood, which is way worse.

  “Did you know there’s a fucking waiting list to stay at the only decent women’s shelter in town?” Mom throws the phone across the room, and I hear a crack as it hits the wall. Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s chewing on her thumbnail again.

  “I got a job,” I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “At that restaurant down the block.”

  She shakes her head, eyes watering. “It’s too late. They’re gonna throw us out if we don’t have two months’ rent by the end of the weekend. Landlord did me a favor letting us move in with nothing, but now he wants his money. We’re gonna be on the streets.”

  I tell myself it’s the Vicodin talking. Or rather, the lack of Vicodin. She goes just twenty-four hours without, and the worst-case scenarios start. It’s never as bad as she thinks. Though it has been getting much worse, and I’m starting to get worried.

  “Let’s go home, Mom. Why are we even staying here? We can move back to New Hope.”

  She laughs but it’s not my mother’s laugh. It’s a frightening, nearly maniacal sound. “You think we’ll be better off there?”

  “Yes! We’ll move back in with Dad.”

  “Your father is off in India, finding his inner peace or some shit. We sold the house, remember? Aside from your boyfriend and a bunch of judgmental assholes, what’s waiting for us there?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. We should have never left. We should have never come here. Dad taught me that all you have to do is believe things can be better, and they will be—the power of manifestation, he called it. But I’ve been believing so hard since we moved here, wishing so hard, I’m wrung out. He said it was that simple, but he couldn’t even keep food on the table. He couldn’t even save his marriage. What else that he taught me was a lie?

  I’M GOING to Asher Logan’s house. The thought makes me want to pinch myself and jump up and down all at once. I was planning to stay home, but Drew found out I was declining a party at Asher Logan’s house (apparently his brand-new single “Unbreak Me” is “amazeballs”). She told me she would disown me if I didn’t go and tell her all about it. So, twist my arm, I’m gonna party with a rock star.

  And his girlfriend, who may or may not hate me.

  Fuck it all. I could use a night out. Drew and Gabby had a good day at school, Dad’s cough is getting better after a five-day course of antibiotics and some breathing treatments, and I used Dad’s credit card to get some minimal supplies for my massage studio. All in all, I’m feeling okay about where my life is going.

  When I turn onto Asher’s street, I’m surprised to see there aren’t many cars here. I don’t know what I expected. Lines of Mercedes and Cadillac Escalades? There’s a blue Mustang at the front of the drive and the Charger Lizzy said was hers, but other than that, only a pickup, a couple of sedans, and a yellow Ducati across the street.

  I park along the road so I won’t be blocked in if I decide I need to jet.

  A hard tap on my window yanks me from my thoughts and makes me jump. Hanna pulls the door open, eyes bright, smile covering her whole face.

  “You’re really here!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around me before I can get out.

  “I told you!” I hear Lizzy say.

  “I had to see for myself!”

  I push lightly against her embrace. “You’re kind of squishing me, Han-Han.”

  She releases me and steps back to let me climb from the car.

  “Dang, girl!” Hanna runs her gaze over me. “You left an average pretty girl and came back a freaking vixen!”

  “Isn’t she hot?” Lizzy says.

  I feel myself blushing. I was pretty awkward during my early teen years, usually hiding in boxy T-shirts and behind my thick mop of hair. Brandon is the one who taught me how to dress for my curves and long legs. He even hired someone to teach me how to apply makeup with a modicum of skill. These, I suppose, are the souvenirs I get from a relationship I’d otherwise rather forget.

  “Such a hottie!” Hanna agrees.

  “She’s a goddess.”

  I turn to the unexpected deep male voice and find myself facing William Bailey. Since we’re going to be working in the same building, I guess I should get used to running into him, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the heat that fills me when he looks my way.

  He takes in my tattered jeans and fitted black mesh top, making me extra grateful the boxes of clothes my friends shipped from my apartment arrived today. Even so, his careful perusal is worthy of a slinky formal gown, not some outfit thrown together to hang with old friends.

  My cheeks are blazing by the time he returns those blue eyes to mine. Hot blue eyes that remind me of candlelit corners, sweet wine, and his calloused fingers on my thigh under the tablecloth.

  “Hey, Cally,” he says. “Good to see you again.”

  “Are you coming to the party, Will?” Hanna asks.

  He shakes his head. “No, I just stopped by to get something from Maggie.”

  “You should stay,” Hanna says softly. “It’s going to be a good time.” There’s something tentative about the way she makes the offer, and I’m pretty sure I’m missing something.

  “Thanks, but I have plans.” His lips tilt into a half smile as he slides his gaze over me again before crossing the street. “See you around, Cally.”

  Just when I thought William Bailey couldn’t get any sexier, he throws his leg over the Ducati and pulls on his helmet. The revving engine settles into a purr and, with a wave, he shoves off, and he’s gone.

  “Holy sexual tension, Batman,” Hanna says.

  “Yeah, after that we’re going to need to cancel the party,” Lizzy says. “There was so much tension between you two, it left me hot and bothered.”

  “What was that about?” Hanna asks.

  I turn back to the girls to see them eyeing me expectantly. “What?” But I know the flush of my cheeks gives me away, and if they had any idea how hard my heart is pounding…

  “Mmm-hmm,” Lizzy says.

  Then Hanna says, “You two were always so cute together. He needs someone like you, Cally.”

  Someone like me? They don’t even know who I am anymore.

  “He is such a good guy,” Hanna adds, “and the last year has been shit for him.”

  “What happened last year?” I ask.

  Lizzy nudges her. “Not now.”

  Hanna waves away my question. “Lizzy’s right. That’s for another time. Let’s go inside and lust after Maggie’s boyfriend.”

  “Are you going to tell me how she came to date Asher Logan?” I ask, following the girls to the front door.

  “She went skinny dipping in his pool after Will and Krystal’s reception,” Lizzy says.

  “Lizzy,” Hanna hisses.

  Lizzy winces. “Shit.”

  I blink. “Wait. Will and Krystal? Like, your older sister?” Then the rest of her sentence sinks in, and I shake my head. “Reception?” Didn’t he say he wasn’t married?

  Lizzy looks forlorn, and Hanna’s biting her lip, but neither gets to answer before the door flies open.

  “Cally?” Maggie’s wan smile falls from her face but she quickly remembers herself and pastes it back in place. “Good to see you.”

  Liz
zy nudges me toward the door. “Let’s move! This tequila isn’t going to drink itself!”

  “Nice of you to finally join us, Willy,” Grandma says as I slide into a chair at her giant pine dining room table.

  “I had to close up the gallery and run a few errands.” I know it’s useless trying to talk her out of the coming guilt trip, but old habits die hard.

  She surprises me with a kiss on my cheek. “It’s alright. You’re a hard worker, and I’m proud of you.”

  I narrow my eyes at my grandmother. The woman doesn’t pass up an opportunity to lay on a guilt trip unless she wants something.

  “There’s someone special joining us tonight.”

  So that’s why I’m off the hook. There’s nothing Grandma likes more than finding eligible young women for me, and I’m sure Cally’s return to town will only make her redouble her efforts.

  I look around the table but only see Grandma’s friends.

  “She’s in the kitchen, making us a fresh pot of coffee. Why don’t you see if she needs any help?”

  “Easy on the matchmaking, okay?” I peck Grandma’s leathery cheek and head to the kitchen, pretending I don’t hear my grandmother’s friends whispering, “At least she’s not a Thompson,” as I go.

  About once a week, I meet Grandma and her friends for a couple of hours of Texas Hold ’Em. I’m under the impression that other people’s grandmothers get together to do something respectable, like play Bridge and drink tea, but the old ladies in New Hope prefer poker for their nightly games and whiskey in their coffee. When I’m lucky, I get to enjoy the game with ladies whose skills at the table shouldn’t be underestimated. When I’m unlucky, the little biddies use the opportunity to set me up with some unsuspecting great-niece/granddaughter/cousin’s step-granddaughter once removed. It’s only been worse since things didn’t work out with Krystal.

  In the kitchen, a tall, jean-clad blonde is filling the coffee carafe with water. Her eyes widen when she sees me and she puts the pot down and holds up her hands. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were going to be here.”

  I wave away Meredith’s concern. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I just don’t want you to think I’m pushing myself on you. I heard your old girlfriend is back in town, and you probably don’t want anything to do with me.”

  I cross my arms. “You heard, or she wanted to work for you and you turned her away?”

  A rush of pink moves up her neck and blooms in her cheeks. “She told you?”

  I shrug. “It came up.”

  She dries her hands on a towel and sighs. “I’m not a bitch, you know? But my business means everything to me, and I had to make a hard decision.”

  I’m not sure the decision was that difficult, but I can hardly be upset about it. Not when the result puts Cally so close to me. “It’s going to work out after all. She’s renting the apartment above the gallery, and she’ll run her business out of there.”

  Her lips form a perfect circle of surprise. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? People will think you approve of what she does.”

  My jaw tightens. “What do you mean by that?”

  She lifts her chin. “I mean, her mom gave twenty-dollar hand jobs in her massage parlor. Maybe worse. Whether it’s fair or not, people are going to assume like mother, like daughter.”

  I have to give Meredith credit for putting it out there like that. Most people tiptoe around the rumors. Regardless— “That’s bullshit.”

  “Of course it is.” She frowns. “Total bullshit. But people believe what they believe. It could really hurt the gallery. Just think about it.”

  I cross to Grandma’s liquor stash beside the sink and pour myself two fingers of brandy. I shoot half of it back without tasting it. “I’ve thought about it. And my mind’s made up.”

  “You’re a good guy. She’s lucky to have you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not like that,” I say, then I toss back the rest of the brandy.

  “I promise I had nothing to do with tonight,” she says softly. “In fact, I’m a little embarrassed, but you know how Grandma and her friends go rogue in their matchmaking efforts. When I found out Cally was back, it was obvious why you started blowing me off. I don’t want to be in the way.”

  And the Asshole of the Year award goes to me. I drag a hand through my hair. “I didn’t mean to blow you off. I thought we were keeping things casual.” Fuck. I even sound like an asshat.

  Her cheeks bloom red again. “This is so embarrassing. I thought…I mean, when we seemed to get along so well.”

  Dammit. “I never meant to give you the wrong idea.”

  She holds up her hands. “It’s totally my fault. I just hadn’t wanted anything serious and then you….” She shakes her head. “See? Totally embarrassing. But no harm, no foul, right? I mean, we’re on the same page now, and you can carry on with Cally without worrying about me.”

  “I’m sorry, Meredith.”

  “Don’t be. Please. I owe you the apology.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I’ve been too much of a coward to tell my grandmother you’re not interested, and I just want her off my back for a little bit, you know? I really hope you don’t mind. I promise to tell her soon.”

  “So here we are.” I take the carafe and finish preparing the coffee. “I don’t suppose it would help if I told you that you can do better than me?”

  Her cheeks flush. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

  She’s really pretty, but her red-tinged cheeks only have me comparing her to Cally, which isn’t fair since all I’ve been able to think about for days is the way Cally responded to my touch in the back of that restaurant.

  I press the brew button on the machine and pour myself a cup of coffee from the thermos on the counter.

  “Grandma just wants great-grandbabies. And you know what? Things not working out between us was good for me.”

  “It was?”

  “I realized I just need to do it.”

  I raise a brow. “Do what, exactly?”

  “I’ve decided not to wait on babies,” Meredith says in a rush. “So, even though I’d really like it if we could still be friends, it’s probably good that you won’t be around much. I don’t want my store-bought sperm to get jealous.”

  I choke on my coffee. “I’m sorry?”

  She pours her own cup of coffee and smiles. “It’s the twenty-first century. I don’t need a husband to start a family. My mom gets it, and when I have the heart to tell her, Grandma will too.”

  “Of course, but you’re young.” She’s only a couple of years older than me, maybe twenty-seven. “Why the rush?”

  Something like sadness draws down the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes you just know you’re meant for something, and you go after it despite the logic.”

  “I can understand that.”

  The machine beeps, and we work together preparing a tray of mugs, coffee, cream, sugar, and whiskey. At my waist my phone buzzes a text alert.

  “So what about you and Cally?” she asks. “Are you two working things out?”

  “It’s complicated.” I pull my phone from my hip and smile when I see Cally’s name on the screen. Maybe she’s decided to stop avoiding me.

  “I hope you can work it out,” Meredith says. “She’s a lucky girl.”

  I open the text and can only blink at the screen.

  Just a week ago, we were at the restaurant and you were touching me under the table.

  “Let me guess,” Meredith says. “Mrs. Complicated?”

  “You could say that, though I’m not sure our relationship has progressed to anything as official as Mrs. yet.”

  “You want more?”

  I don’t answer, but the truth must be in my eyes because she snags the phone from my hand and slides it into the pocket of her jeans. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you. If you want more from Miss Complicated, don’t reply.”

  I fold my arms. “Isn’t that a
little childish?”

  She shrugs, flashing me a grin over her shoulder as she strolls back in the dining room to join the card sharks. “Deal me in this hand?”

  “Willy, what about you?” Norma calls.

  “I’m in,” I say and prepare myself to hand over my pride and my money to a bunch of old ladies.

  THIS MORNING is doing a fantastic job reminding me of the reason I stay away from tequila. No, make that three reasons.

  1) Lack of moderation. My first shot gave me that fuzzy warmth in the pit of my stomach. The second had me feeling lighter and more carefree. By the third, I was definitely dancing, though I have no idea if anyone turned on any music. And then there were more shots. I just don’t remember how many more.

  2) Fuzzy memory. Pretty much everything after the third shot of tequila is fuzzy. A patchwork of unstitched memories—lots of pieces missing, no clear order.

  I might have tried to get Asher Logan to sing to me.

  3) Impulsiveness. I vaguely remember sending Will a text message…or two? (See reason two.) I’m scared to look and see exactly what I wrote, but I’m pretty sure I have to. Maybe I could lie and say Lizzy and Hanna got ahold of my phone?

  I brace myself against the counter and take a tentative sip from my mug of coffee. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I open my text messages and click on Will’s name.

  Not just one sent message. Not two. Four. Four drunken, desperate, horny girl text messages. I lower my pounding head to the counter and whimper.

  “Feeling good this morning?” I’m hung over, and Lizzy’s voice is bright and perky enough to put the justifiable in justifiable homicide.

  I crack open one eyelid and peer at her. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Don’t be bitchy just because you drank too much.” She pulls my phone from my fingers. “Did he ever write back?”

  I lift my head. “You knew I was sending those? Jesus, Liz, you’re supposed to have a girl’s back when she’s drunk.”

  She snorts. “I did have your back. God, after you told me about the restaurant, I did the only thing a real friend would do. I handed you your phone and tried to get you laid.”