by Sara H Ney
“Um, excuse me, it’s hardly the same thing - we were in high school. Weston wasn’t a grown ass man. You are.” She’s enunciating every word like I’m a simpleton.
“No, but he said a bunch of stupid shit that pissed you off too, and you forgave him eventually. Now look at the two of you - you have a great relationship. Why is it so hard to believe that I might finally want that too?”
My sister purses her lips, thinking. I know I’m wearing her down. “Molly, can I tell you something? It’s going to sound totally fucked up when I say it, but I swear to god it’s the truth.”
My sister glances towards the kitchen, where the sound of utensils and pans can be heard clanging and being set on the granite counter. “Okay,” my sister says slowly, leaning in. “I’m listening...”
Our mother, of course, chooses that exact moment to reenter the dining room, setting a steaming bowl of broccoli and cauliflower in the center of the table. Steam rises from the bowl as my mom lifts the lid to stick a spoon in it, then stirs the hot veggies.
Glancing up, she looks back and forth between the two of us. “Alright. What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing,” Molly and I reply at the same time, then glare at each other for the jinx.
Shit. Now our mom’s going to be suspicious.
I’m right, because now she’s narrowing her eyes at both of us, leaning against the table with a hand on her hip. “Hmmm,” she mumbles before walking back into the kitchen.
“Way to go, idiot,” Molly hisses at me.
“Why is that my fault? You know what, never mind. We don’t have time for this. Look. I know I fucked up - you know I fucked up. Everyone on the bloody planet knows I fucked up, okay? Can we please move on?”
My sister stares at me.
I push on, tapping my forefinger on the table impatiently. “She still owes me, you know.”
Molly arches one perfectly plucked eyebrow, nonplussed, and I can tell that under the table she’s impatiently bouncing her crossed leg. “Cece doesn’t owe you squat and we both know it.”
“Do you think if I called in the bet that our angry, make-up sex would be far better than regular sex?”
Molly curls her lip at me, barring her teeth, repulsed. I realize at this point, I’m going to have to change my approach, and roll my eyes at her. “I’m kidding. Jeez. First I have to get her to kiss me.”
She’s not amused.
“Fine. You win.” I stop fidgeting and spread my hands out on the table, beseeching. “Please Molly. Just... help me.”
**Cecelia**
I fidget with the hemline of my low cut top, tugging it up, turning this way and that in front of the full length mirror, eyeing Jenna and Molly - who are standing behind me - skeptically.
“Er... I don’t know Molls... this seems a bit... risqué.”
Jenna lets out a sniff of disapproval at my protest. “You only feel self-conscious because you’re not used to having your ta-ta’s there for all of mankind to enjoy. I mean - If you want to go put on something boring and put your date to sleep, by all means - be my guest.”
I take another look in the mirror in the hallway, pulling the hemline down on the Band-Aid size skirt wrapped around my waist. It barely covers my crotch. “It’s just... so not me.”
“Um yeah - and that’s a good thing,” Jenna says with a smirk, arms crossed as she leans against the wall, studying me like a science fair project. I mean - all this is easy for her to say - she’s used to dressing like a crazy person. Take right now for example: she’s wearing stone washed denim jeans straight out of the 80’s and a loose yellow sweatshirt. Her wavy blond hair, which she occasionally dip dyes, is piled loosely on her head, all wrapped conveniently in a knotted up neon yellow and hot pink floral scarf.
And no Jenna ensemble would be complete without a pair of the wild (sometimes ginormous) earrings we all know and love; todays selection - giant silver hoops large enough to be bracelets.
“I’m sorry you guys, but not everyone can pull off this look. I kind of look like a... giant ho-bag.”
“Says the girl who lives in yoga pants...” Molly mutters under her breath - I’m shocked she manages not to roll her eyes.
“I heard that,” I say with a sigh. “Besides, you know I wear jeans most days, so kiss my butt - and stop trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Fine - let’s vote on whether or not you can change your outfit,” Jenna says.
“You just said I could put on something boring if I wanted to! And I want to!” I shout, throwing my arms up in frustration.
“Not so fast - this is a committee, and as such, we must vote on anything affecting the common good of the group. Majority rules, sorry.”
“But a tank top and a mini skirt in November...? Seriously you guys, this is bad.”
“This is nowhere near as bad as of the outfits she’s made me wear. You’re getting off easy.” Molly objects calmly, studying her fingernails intently. “Besides, it isn’t about what you want.”
“That is so rude. I feel like I’m being held against my will in a very whorish outfit.” I glare at Jenna and cross my arms in a huff, pouting. “If Abby was here, she’d let me change.” And she’d probably let me wear a turtleneck, too, but I keep that gripe to myself.
“Well she’s not- so deal with it.”
I stand quietly for a few moments, wracking my brain for an out and then try again. “If I can take this off, I will keep on the next outfit you guys pick out for me. I promise.”
Jenna and Molly exchange conspiratory glances, then put their heads together in a small huddle, whispering and gesturing frantically. Moments later, their heads pop up.
“Okay. Agreed. Give us a minute to plan this next look.”
“Um... can I make a suggestion?”
Jenna’s mouth, covered in frosty pink lipstick, falls open. “Are you serious? After this concession you want to make a suggestion? No. Get your butt in the kitchen while we look through the closet again.”
Jeez, Jenna is so rude. How has Molly put up with her all these years?
**Matthew**
“She’s what?!” I shout.
“You heard me.” My sister says calmly, her legs crossed at my dining room table. “I didn’t stutter.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” My tone is low and sarcastic. “But I want you to repeat yourself anyway, just in case I misunderstood.”
Molly looks up from the magazine she has her nose stuck in and looks me straight in the eye. “Cece. Is. On. A. Date. With. Neve. Can I go back to reading my Cosmo now? Sheesh.”
“Where the fuck did he take her?”
“Tsk, tsk. Language.”
“Molly, I swear if you don’t tell me...”
“Puh-lease - like I’m going to tell you. You’ve already ruined one of her dates with him, I’m not going to let you ruin another. Besides, I don’t take kindly to threats.”
I swear on all that is holy she does this shit just to piss me off. “Did you come here just so you could drop this bomb on me?”
Molly shrugs, barely managing to suppress a grin. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You’re going to sit here, at my table, eating my food, and say that shit to me? You’re my sister.” Her hand, hovering over a container of orange Sweet ‘n’ Sour sauce, holds a warm Crab Rangoon from the Chinese restaurant down the block from my house. She blinks at me, a guilty expression passing over her features so quickly I would have missed it had I not been studying the little traitor’s face.
I shake my head sadly. “My own family.”
“Oh gawd Matthew. You make it sound like we’re the mob.”
“I wish. ‘Cause then I’d bury you in concrete and no one would think twice about hunting down your dead, lifeless body.”
“So rude. You almost hurt my feelings.” She dips her Rangoon and licks some sauce off. “Almost. Not quite.”
“No double dipping,” I grumble like a sullen child.
Molly stabs her Rangoon back into
the sauce out of spite, licking her fingers clean when she dunks too far in. “How about you worry about something else, hmm?”
“Something like, oh, I don’t know - your betrayal?”
Molly sits up straight and snaps the fingers on her clean hand. “Oh I get it! You’re going to blame me for this, hey? Typical.” She stuffs part of an eggroll in her mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Remember that time you tried to make me do your science fair project, and then got pissed at me when you didn’t win a ribbon?”
“Excuse me - you said you would help.”
My sister laughs, throwing her head back. “Operative word being help - you wanted me to do the whole dang thing. Besides, I was like, what - in third grade? What the heck did I know about diagramming combustible atoms? Jack squat, that’s what.”
I glare at her, but she continues like she’s ticking off a list in her head that she’s been waiting years to recite. “Then there was the time Mom and Dad let you babysit, but instead of watching me you rode your bike to Jonathan Steger’s house and left me alone. You got your ass chewed out because when they got home, I had cut up Mom’s antique quilt and made a bunch of Barbie clothes with it.”
They were no-sew Barbie ponchos to be exact, but who’s keeping track...
“You were ten. That was not my fault,” I dispute through gritted teeth.
“But my point is, you were supposed to be watching me.” Molly flips a page over in her Cosmo magazine and leisurely glances down. “Do you see what I’m getting at here? You do shit without thinking of the consequences, then blame someone else.”
“I’m still not sure I see your point.”
“That’s because you’re a Neanderthal. Look Matthew, if you - No, don’t look out the window, look at me. My face! Matthew! Ugh, I swear...”
“Okay, okay...”
“Correct me if I’m wrong: you like Cece, but you treated her like shit. She goes out with someone else, you get mad. Do I have the general gist?”
I mumble under my breath.
“She’s not a game to win, Matthew. You can’t treat her like a competition and then when you win, forget the trophy because the thrill of the chase is gone.”
“Even though that is a terrible analogy, it’s not like that. At all.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s like I told you at Mom and Dad’s house... when I was angrily rambling off all that stupid shit about blow jobs and sucking my, um....”
“Weiner?”
“Oh my god.”
“Weiner is pretty tame compared to the words I heard you were throwing out at Cecelia. Cock. Dick. Suck...” Her face remains perfectly impassive as she recites all the vulgar synonyms a guy could use for his... package - like she says them every day.
“...This is not happening right now.”
“Would you grow up? Keep talking or I’m not going to stop.” Molly looks at me and waves her hand around in a circle as if to say move it along, buddy.
“I didn’t mean any of it. It was literally some of the dumbest shit that’s ever come out of my mouth.”
“And we all know you’ve said some really stupid shit.”
“Shut up.” I grin. “But yeah, basically. First it was just playing off of words, then I just...” I stuck my finger inside my mouth, making an exaggerated puking sound. “Word vomit.”
Molly wrinkles her nose, disgusted. “Gross. Go wash your hands.” Then, “If you like her so much, maybe you should say you’re sorry for talking out of your ass.”
“Fuck that. I am not saying sorry.”
She levels me with a stare: seriously Matthew?
“Fine. I guess I’ll think about it...”
“Good boy.”
“Molls. I... I don’t just like her. I like her, like her.”
She rolls her eyes at me, then mutters, “Ugh, guys really do mature years behind females... Look. I know at Mom and Dad’s house you said you wanted to make it work with her, but you cannot be mad she has a date.”
“Yes I can.”
Molly throws her head back to laugh, then lifts her magazine, studying one of the pages. Without looking up she says, “Then maybe you should have staked your claim a little sooner.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cecelia
“You want me to list the benefits of dating Neve? Well duh, you’d be dating Neve. I rest my case.” - Jenna
Shortly after my hand pulls open the gold hardware handle adorning the front door of Un Petit Goût (yes, the scene of my first date with Neve) I’m being escorted by the Maitre’de towards the small round table where he sits, waiting,
He stands as I approach, a big smile spreading across his gorgeous face. Dressed in a baby blue, long sleeve button down shirt and dark wash jeans, he looks strikingly handsome under the dim lights and candlelight in the restaurant.
Attractive, strong, masculine - all wrapped into one delectable package - and mine for the taking.
I wait for the flutters in my stomach to appear, and when they don’t, I kick back the disappointment, stifling the feeling with the heel of my black patent leather wedges.
Um... metaphorically speaking, of course.
Confidently I stride forward in my second outfit of the evening, which I must admit, is one hundred percent better than the first travesty (see: Train Wreck) and as Neve leans in to kiss my cheek in greeting I silently thank my lucky stars I put up a stink and insisted on changing.
Instead of the microscopic mini-skirt, I traded up for a pair of black high-waisted shorts and sheer black tights. The shorts are amazing and have two rows of petite silver buttons lining the pockets - they also make my legs go on for miles. A plain, crisp, cap sleeve white tee shirt is tucked snuggly into the shorts and is set off by a spray tan and bright pink statement necklace hanging in the scoop neck.
I do have a black, cropped jacket - but you know Jenna’s ridiculous rules about covering up “the sexy”:
1. Only in case of emergency.
2. Emergency = Temperatures that are freezing.
3. Freezing = Thirty degrees or below.
This outfit is smokin’ and classy at the same time - very fashion forward and not really... me. However, I can see by the look on Neve’s face that he’s appreciating the view and the effort. I flip my artfully tussled wavy hair over my shoulder and sit, hanging Molly’s borrowed purse on the back of my chair and folding the linen napkin across my lap.
“Wowza. Who knew a woman could look so damn sexy with none of her cash and prizes showing,” my date says with a grin.
“Oh brother...” I say with a laugh, quickly taking a sip of the water glass already at my place setting.
“I’m actually really surprised you agreed to come on this date with me.”
I cock my head to the side, already knowing the answer. “How is that?”
Neve shrugs, picking up his knife and tapping it on the table impatiently. “You know.”
“Please, spell it out for me.”
“Fine. I’ll be direct, since you’re obviously going to make me say it. Molly called me.” His bright hooded eyes intently assess me from across the table, and I force myself not to squirm in my seat.
Damn he’s good looking.
It’s actually kind of depressing that he does nothing for my libido.
Instead of squirming I stare at him, eyes bugging out of my head. If I had been chewing food, I would have probably spit it out at him. “Molly called you? Why?”
The waitress comes before Neve can respond, setting menus on our charger plates, taking our drink orders (glass of Moscato for me, thanks), and regurgitating the Chef’s Specials (I don’t know about you, but despite the fact that I’ve completely lost my appetite, gorgonzola crusted Filet Mignon with red potatoes and asparagus sounds divine). We wait patiently for her to finish and walk off before we return to staring each other down - both for different reasons.
I’m the first to break the silence and fold my hands in my lap. “So... let
me guess: this isn’t really a date.” It’s not a question.
Neve has the decency to look guilty. “Please don’t get me wrong. I like you; I’m really attracted to you. But... Matthew cares for you more than I’ve ever seen him care about anyone and it would be really shitty for me to pursue you.”
I mull over this new piece of information while I chew on a slice of the sourdough bread the waitress kindly set on our table. “I don’t get it. If he’s so “into me” as you claim he is - then why hasn’t he said anything to me about it?”
“Are you serious? First of all - he’s a guy. Guys don’t talk about their feelings. Second - and most importantly - this is Matthew Wakefield we’re talking about here. Not some normal twenty-three year old kid. The guy has no idea how to be in a relationship.” Neve reaches into the basket of warm bread, ripping off a chunk from the loaf and cramming it into his mouth. “And that includes relationships with his friends. I mean, sometimes the dude is such a prick.” As he talks and chews, he spreads butter on another piece of bread with a knife. “I mean. I’m not going to put words into his mouth about how he feels about you, but yeah - you’re all he can think about. It’s driving him crazy. Hell, it’s driving us crazy - he’s been a real bitch since your fight.”
My eyes get real wide as I listen to Neve go on (and on) about Matthew; this is the most I’ve ever heard this guy talk. “Besides Cece - you think he’s an asshole now? He’s been a virtual pussy cat compared to how he was acting just a few short weeks ago.”
He stops (finally) and looks up at me as if he’s forgotten I’m sitting here. “Whatever did happen between the two of you, by the way?” There is no trace of a clue on his handsome face.
“Um... are you kidding me right now?” Neve stares back at me blankly and I almost slap my forehead. “Oh jeez, no one told you?”
“Trust me, I’m always the last one -” he stops talking abruptly as the waitress walks up to set down our drinks and take our dinner order. Neve and I both order steak, medium rare (sorry to all you vegans out there). When she walks off he continues. “As I was saying... I’m always the last one to know stuff. And it’s not like Matt’s gonna tell me anything.” Neve eyeballs me with a raised brow. “Why? What did he do?”
