Six, Maybe Seven
Page 7
Chapter Seven
AS SOON AS I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment complex, I felt like falling asleep in my car, but I drudged myself up. I could handle a teeny little walk up to my bed. Part of me debated what I’d do if Ella were sleeping over again. Maybe we could build a fort and have a pillow fight! I gagged at the prospect.
As I fiddled with my bags, I heard someone clear his throat, and I turned around with a can of Raid wasp spray in my palm. “I will shoot,” I threateningly offered, though my voice sounded hoarse. My father had taught me to always be prepared in a parking lot, and even though Glendora was a little heaven, I never took any chances. Jamie had given me a lesson in self-defense as part of his status as a Memphian.
“Don’t shoot. It’s me, Sam.” A man appeared in the haze of fading streetlight, with a black man sleeping in his arms. The picture was quite alarmingly funny, but my face did not represent the hilarity of the event. Sam’s face came into focus, the handsome desire running up my arms suddenly, and then I realized sharply that the black man in his arms was none other than my best friend.
I dropped my belongings and screamed, “Is he dead? What happened?” I lifted my skirt and hurried to them, throwing myself on Jamie. “Does he need CPR? What is going on?”
Sam grinned, but it was so devoutly devious that it took everything in me not to slap his clean-shaven face. “Emma, I know you are like the perfect saint and all…”
“Excuse me?”
“Hear me out. This is Jamie when he is drunk.”
“Jamie…is drunk?”
“You’ve never seen him drunk?”
“Of course not!”
Sam spewed out a burst of laughs. “What?” he questioned in disbelief. “Emma, are you even human?”
“I’m surprised you even remember my name.”
“Oh, cut the crap,” Jamie slurred, his voice melodic and true, though his words were the opposite. I punched his arm which was hanging miserably from Sam’s shoulder. “Hi, Emma,” he said, his eyes lolling around his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, really? ‘I’ll be fine,’ sure. I’m going to be the one taking care of you, idiot!”
“Emma,” Sam said, his voice laced with a bit of frustration. “I will drop him, because he is like a lump of coal.”
“He’s the skinniest guy I’ve ever met.”
“Would you like to carry him?”
“Come on,” I said, picking up my bags and lunging for the door. We took two flights of painful stairs and made it to our room. As soon as we entered the room, the three of us landed on the sofa in one giant sandwich. My dress was probably ruined, Jamie was ruined, and Sam yawned like a bear awakening from winter’s sleep.
“Would you like to tell me what happened?” I hissed at Sam. “On my night away a couple days ago, I come home to Jamie’s little sleepover friend. Then I come home tonight to find him drunker than a Russian on Christmas eve. So, is the common denominator here—oh, I don’t know—you?”
“We,” Sam began, lowering his eyes, “were at a function, having a good, swell time. You’re not the only one who has a tough existence, dear Emma.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to go out clubbing.”
“Deal with it,” Sam protested. “Jamie took more than he could handle, obviously.”
“Are you drunk?” I interjected.
He shook his head. “I’ve been sober for a few years now.”
“But you let him drink in this situation?”
“And you wouldn’t. So what? It’s his choice.”
“It was your choice to stop him.”
“Emma, oh Emma. Sometimes I think you just like driving me crazy.”
“We haven’t been together but a few hours. How do you know if I drive you crazy or not?”
Jamie mumbled something indecipherable, but Sam and I were moving closer to each other over our friend’s limp body that was splayed in all directions. He was narrowing his eyes, and so was I; his lips pulled in, and so did mine. Finally, we went silent and just stared at each other.
“His mother made me promise that I wouldn’t let him turn into Miley Cyrus.”
“Just because he got drunk… Listen, Emma. He’s young, he has his whole life…”
“If you’re sober, why are you telling me this? You’ve obviously a staunch authoritarian—and I’m a staunch libertarian.”
“How does what you and I identify as even relate to what Jamie wants? What even is an authoritarian?”
“I think we’re arguing right now just because we can,” I muttered, turning away from him, sticking my hands against my stomach. “You take care of him then. I’m going to go change out of this ridiculous gown.”
“It’s a pretty color,” he offered.
“Really? It is too tight, it makes me feel like a popped balloon, and when one stands next to svelte Swedish girl…”
“So, one thing you should know is that Jamie was incessantly blabbering about some girl named Nina. I thought he was dating Ella?”
“Nice of you to check up on him, friend. Nina happens to be his ex-girlfriend. He better not have gotten drunk because… Oh.”
“What?” Sam asked.
I stood up, wobbly, and hurried to the kitchen counter, where a ripped-up card clung to the counter. It was a save-the-date announcement, and shock registered in my eyes. I had received the text from Nina firsthand, but this was how Jamie had discovered it. You see, Jamie and Nina had dated all through college, until the past Christmas, when they’d broken up “to see other people.” Jamie had been heartbroken and in a terrible time, acting like the sky was always gray, and how he could not live without her. Nina responded by getting another boyfriend, whom she was now marrying.
“Oh, man.”
“Again, what?”
“We’ve got a lovesick boy on our hands.”
“Lovesick?”
“His ex-girlfriend, and probably the love of his life, is getting married at Christmas. He found out, and… He’s heartbroken. This is like going back to the Stone Ages. Jamie spent all of winter and spring pining over Erinina Huston—like a little lovesick girl. Okay, that wasn’t the best feminist thing to say. How are we going to get his spirits up?”
“Clubs all night, every night,” Sam cockily said, his eyes turning into two little minds of their own. “Kidding, of course. Well, if we keep him busy, by doing touristy stuff on weekends, that kind of thing, maybe go to the beach, take a drive to San Francisco or San Diego…”
“You’re saying ‘we.’”
“Well, if you’d have me, I’d like to go. There is something about Jamie,” he paused, acting like he was going to say my name too, “that makes me want to hang out with him all the time.”
“Oh, and is that his love of cooking—or his inability to cook?”
Sam smiled. “Why don’t we surprise him? Let’s do something as a trio. You, me, Jamie.”
“You have time off on weekends now?”
“I’m good for Sunday, or Saturday if that’s what fits your schedule best. Remember, I’m between projects right now. Anyway, we could go to Disneyland, although I’d prefer something more low-key.”
“Are you kidding me? You, Sam Woodshaw, at Disneyland? We’d never get anything done. I cannot believe I am even agreeing to go on this three-way date thing we’re setting up.”
“Malibu,” croaked my best friend from his drunken stupor. “Malibu.”
A dry puff emitted from my throat. I could not believe where this was going. “Fine. Sunday, come over here sometime in the morning, and then we’ll go.”
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Is this what you’re like when you’re cranky?”
“Am not!”
“Emma, your eyes are beginning to close.”
“Are not.”
“Emma…”
That was the last thing I heard.
THE NEXT MORNING, I found a note crumpled up by a folder Jamie had left on the counter. I suddenly had my first peek at Sam’s scrawl, a messy
penmanship that needed work.
Jamie will have his first hangover in the morning. If you’ve ever seen a film, you’ll know how to take care of him. As for you, Emma, you fell asleep before I could even apologize for calling just your dress a pretty color. In fact, it is quite obnoxious—just like you. -Sam
I cringed, but I felt the hint of a smile climb up my chin to my lips. If he had left some love note, I would have never wanted to see him again. But since he wanted to play this game, I felt that it would make the object of winning that much better.