Three days in, I realized I might not have a choice.
My options were few.
I could try to reach out while attempting not to pressure her, but what with her lack of reciprocation over the last few days, I’d already exhausted that avenue.
I could wait her out, give her space, try not to worry, and hope she came back — this was where I found myself.
Or I could let her go. I could write her off. Close the door. Move on.
But being an honest man, there was no way I could pretend like that was even a remote possibility.
Bring a Friend
The shop hummed that afternoon from the dozens of people waiting with Siamese Dream playing over the speakers and the buzzing of tattoo guns in the air.
I should have been happy. I should have been content and smiling and wonderful since I’d gotten everything I asked for in the form of sweet, quiet solitude.
I didn’t know who the fuck I thought I was kidding. I was miserable. I hated being alone I’d realized, which shouldn’t have surprised me, but there it was. I was never alone. Alone was when my crazy blossomed into full-blown insanity — the curse of being a talker. If I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t figure it out. Half the time I didn’t even know how I felt until I said it out loud, and right now, I had no one. Ramona was on her honeymoon getting banged senseless. Veronica was busy doing God knew what.
Trust me, I knew I should have answered Bodie’s texts, called him back, and it was exactly what I wanted to do. But I was working hard to spare us both from having to deal with my psychosis. My solitary confinement was an attempt to decontaminate, an attempt to get my bearings so I could find my way back to him.
Problem was, my grand plan had backfired — the distance had made the crazy worse.
I’d made up an excuse not to see him that next day, once I’d gathered my wits and stopped trying to force my way into his apartment. I’d decided to take one day to think and separate and unscramble my brain. So I’d stripped and dyed my hair — this time, a pastel blue. I’d painted my nails. I’d taken a bubble bath and read an entire book. I’d cleaned my room. And the whole time, the whole fucking time, I had thought about Bodie and how much I’d rather be with him than at home.
I’d been certain I’d wake up the next morning feeling right as rain.
No such luck.
And I’d found myself at a loss.
He’d texted me the day after, and I’d blown him off again, citing work, which wasn’t a complete lie. He’d called me too, which I’d sent to voicemail like a coward. And then … then he quit messaging me altogether.
So I hadn’t gotten in touch with him. But he hadn’t gotten in touch with me either.
I tried to pretend like that didn’t break my heart.
I didn’t even know if we were good anymore. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I’d made him mad — I’d pushed him away, and if the tables were turned, I’d be pissed too. Or maybe he was just playing defense on whatever he thought I was playing with him.
What if I never heard from him again?
Part of me — a big part of me — almost called him at that question alone. But what would I say about the last few days? Should I say I’d been busy? Should I tell him I’d been feeling things and risk his reaction?
What if he didn’t want me like I wanted him? And what if he did? Could I be with him in the real way? Could I give him what he wanted, what he deserved?
I didn’t even know anymore, but I’d had a lot of time to think about it.
If it were any other guy at any other time in my life, I’d have called on my little black book for comfort, but I’d rather have shaved with a rusty razor and risked tetanus. The thought of being with anyone else, even calling anyone else, made me feel sticky and gross.
That was its own bad sign.
Of course, the problem wasn’t even really a problem. I wanted to be Bodie’s girlfriend, but (A) I was crazy, and (B) I couldn’t seem to find a way to admit that out loud to him.
Space was supposed to make me feel better.
Wrong.
And now it was all topped by anxiety that I’d fucked up.
I’d blown my dream guy off. And why?
Peggy. That’s why.
Ramona floated into the shop, tanned and glowing and smiling as she said hello to everyone. I practically shot across the room and scooped her into a hug.
“You’re back!” I cheered, nuzzling her like a puppy. “I missed you.”
She laughed. “I missed you too. Look at your hair!” she said when she leaned back.
I smoothed it, smiling. “You like it?”
“I do. Does that mean …”
My brow quirked. “It means it felt like it was time for a change.”
“Right.” Ramona didn’t stop assessing me, but she changed the subject. I thought at least. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine, who cares, whatever! Tell me about your honeymoon!”
She laughed. “You act like we haven’t talked every day since I left.”
“I can’t help it; I’m codependent.” I hooked my arm in hers to walk back to my station. “Did you let him stick it in your butt?”
That one got a cackle out of her. “It’s like the one time I can’t refuse.”
“That, and his birthday.”
“Fortunately, he’s a gentle lover when it comes to ringing at the back door. Like maybe the only time he’s gentle.”
“Psh, lucky.”
She squeezed me. “I missed you.”
I squeezed her back. “You already said that.”
“Well, it deserved saying twice. Now tell me what’s been going on around here. You know all about Tahiti and honeymoon anal, so spill the deal.”
“So,” I said as we passed Veronica’s station, “Ronnie is acting super weird. She’s had plans.”
Ramona’s face quirked, and she looked around me to Veronica, who waved excitedly but was in the middle of a piece and couldn’t get up.
“Weird,” Ramona said quietly. “Maybe she’s seeing someone.”
“Maybe. I can’t exactly blame her for not telling me either. I’d charbroil her for information. Fricasseed.”
Ramona giggled, and we rounded my wall. She took a seat in my chair, and I sat on my saddle stool, so relieved to see her.
“So,” Ramona started, “how’s Bodie?”
My nose wrinkled. “We haven’t really talked much since the wedding.”
Her brows dropped. “Why not?”
I shifted to lean on my desk. “Because I’m a mess, and I ruin things.”
She didn’t answer, which forced me to keep talking. That asshole.
“I dunno, Ramona. I don’t know what I’m doing. He got busy with work, so I didn’t see him for a couple of days, and I bugged out. Like butthurt and needy and demented. I just figured a little space would do me good.”
“Has it?”
I groaned. “No. I mean, yes. But no.”
She sighed and gave me a loving look. “Just call him, Penny.”
“But I’m unhinged! I don’t do alone. I’m co-dependent and psychotic, and this is why I don’t have boyfriends. You know this!”
“I know this. You’ve just got to get over it.”
I laughed. “That’s cute, Mona.”
“I’m serious. You can’t go dying your hair and then find a new guy every time things get hard.”
I made a face at her. “That’s not why I—”
“Liar! You wigged out, so you wigged out.” She motioned to my hair. “Your hair is like a mood ring. Do you know how he feels?”
I inspected my cuticles. “Not really. I mean, I think I do, but I’m not sure.”
“So talk to him, Pen. Be a grown up and call him and talk to him.”
“Maybe I’ve already screwed it up.”
“Or maybe you’ll call him and everything will be fine. Because he’s into you. I have a feeling he’s wigging out too. Hopefully he didn’t shave
his head or something.”
I laughed and ran a hand over my hair, feeling insecure about it now that I’d been called out. “Do you really think it’s that easy?”
“I really do. I mean, even if he doesn’t want to be with you, that would be better than this, right? Because then you could just try to get over it.”
I sighed. “Yeah.” And then I thought about calling him. I thought about seeing him smile. I thought about just being with him, like it had been before Peggy came around, blowing cigarette smoke in my face. “I don’t know how to get back to the happy place, Ramona.”
“Tell him how you feel, and let him tell you how he feels. Once you talk about that, you’ll both feel better. And instead of having to text Ronnie BEAR TRAP, you can talk to him about it.”
“Traitor!” I shouted at Veronica, who shrugged.
Ramona leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “Just call him. It’s the only way to stop the crazy. I know you’re afraid, but not talking to him is what made you crazy in the first place. The only power anyone has over you is what you give them.”
I took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”
She watched me for a second. “Okay?”
I nodded and smiled, reaching for my phone. “Okay.” But before I could even unlock the screen, it rang in my hand.
The number was from Santa Cruz. It was a number I recognized. It was the first number I programmed into my Razr when I was sixteen and the number I’d dialed from my mom’s cordless phone.
Rodney fucking Parker was calling me.
I stared at my phone stupidly for a second before snapping out of it to answer. “Hello?”
“Pen?” His voice was familiar and velvety and full of swagger and ease.
My eyes were big and round, and my mouth was sticky and dry. “Rodney?”
Ramona’s mouth popped open
He laughed. “Holy shit. I can’t believe you kept the same number.”
“What the hell, man?” I said lightly, shooting for breezy, which wasn’t easy considering every nerve in my body fired in warning. “How are you?”
“Good, good. Damn, it’s good to hear your voice.”
I mouthed Oh my God at Ramona, who blinked at me. “You too. What’s up?”
“You’re in New York, right? I caught your show on TV. Couldn’t believe it. You’re just as hot as you always were.”
I stood and paced out of the shop and into the steaming hot afternoon. “Uh, thanks.”
“So I called my agent, and she called your agent to get your number. If I’d known it was the same, I would have called you yesterday,” he said, smiling on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m in town with the band — we’re playing at Lucky’s tonight, and I’ve got a couple of tickets for you. Tell me you’ll come see me.”
I felt sweaty and a little nauseous. “Yeah, okay,” I said a little sarcastically. I had literally no intention of going to see that asshole anywhere.
“Good. I was prepared to beg.”
Rodney. Begging me. For anything.
It was the stuff of my wildest dreams and my worst nightmares.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I had to be dreaming or having a full psychotic break or a stroke or something.
“You okay?” he asked as I laughed like a hyena.
I pressed my fingers to my lips and tried to stop, succeeding after a second and a few heavy breaths. “Yeah. Yep. I’m good.”
He chuckled, and I remembered all the nights with him, all the kisses at my locker, all the hours listening to the band practice. All the good. All the bad. All of it rushed back over me like a tsunami.
“All right,” he said. “The tickets will be at Will Call under your name. And bring a friend.”
“Sure, sure,” I answered as I swallowed my laughter.
“Doors open at seven. Man, I can’t wait to see you. It’s been too long, babe.”
“Oh, yeah. Cool. For sure.”
I hung up without waiting for him to respond. And then I sat down on the dirty fucking curb and burst into hysterical laughter.
Rodney had called me. And invited me to a show. And asked me to bring a friend. And called me babe.
The universe had to be fucking with me.
The last time we’d actually spoken, he’d dumped me after graduation, and I’d unloaded two years of feelings on him with my volume level at twelve and an audience of at least two fifty. I’d seen him at a few parties after that, and both times, we’d ended up fucking in a bathroom and his car, respectively. There was no talking either time.
After that summer, I’d moved to New York, and I hadn’t really thought about him much. I had thrown myself into my life, my goals, which in part included not ever getting serious with anyone. Which insured they always wanted to get serious with me.
And I know what you’re thinking — God, Penny, you’re such a liar. You thought about him all the time.
But I really hadn’t. He’d affected me, but I’d closed the door and tried not to let it bother me otherwise. It was simply a sticking point, a reason why, devoid of general emotions on the matter.
I was an excellent suppressor of emotion on that particular matter.
Things I could thank Rodney for.
My abs hurt a little from laughing, and I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye.
Rodney had done so much to shape who I was, and Bodie had undone it all just by existing, just by caring for me.
I thought about Diddle, the boy I used to know. I thought about the man he’d grown up to be and how brilliant and determined and wonderful he was. I thought about how good he made me feel, how he cared for me, how I cared for him. I thought about how different Rodney was from Bodie, how one could be so cruel and one so kind. How one could seek to tear me down while the other lifted me up.
I thought about how Bodie was everything I wanted, and I thought about how wrong I’d done him.
I thought about how I could possibly make it right again.
And then I unlocked my phone, navigated to my favorites, and touched his name, hoping I still had a chance.
When my phone rang and I saw our picture on the screen, my heart stopped and started again with a jolt I felt down to my toes. I’d imagined the moment for days and had lost hope that it would happen, that I would hear from her. And now that my phone buzzed in my hand, I had no fucking clue what to say or do or feel.
So I went default.
“Hey, Penny,” I answered, hoping I sounded cool.
She laughed nervously. “Bodie, oh my God. You won’t believe who just called me.”
A slow tingle climbed my neck. Not what I thought she’d say. “Who?”
“Rodney.”
My insides liquified at that single word. “Really?”
She laughed, the nervousness slipping away until it edged on hysteria, her tone giddy and rushed. “Seriously! Get this: he had his agent call my agent.” She laughed again, a burst of feverish giggling that made my blood boil.
I tried to chuckle, but it sounded a little like I was choking. “No shit. What did he want?”
“He’s in town and has tickets to his show tonight at Lucky’s.”
More laughter — my pulse ticked up.
“He told me to bring a friend.”
“Great. I’m your friend. I’m coming with you.”
Another round of giggling, this one hitting me in the heart, reminding me how much I wanted her for my own. It was a sound meant for me this time, a sound that said she wanted me with her.
All that was gleaned from a simple series of bursts of air from her lips.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” she said, half-joking.
If there was one thing I didn’t joke about, it was Penny and Rodney in the same room together.
“Penny, I’m interested in all things related to you.”
She paused for a second. “Listen, I don’t really think—”
“I’m coming with you.
What time’s the show?”
Another pause.
“The doors open at seven, but I don’t want to—”
“Pen,” I said with finality, “I want to see you. I need to see you. And you’re not going to Lucky’s without me. So it’s settled — I’m coming with you. I’ll meet you there at seven.”
“All right,” she said quietly, tentatively. “How’ve you been?”
“Busy with work but good,” I lied, suppressing a sigh, the pressure in my chest mounting. “You?”
“Oh, I’ve been okay. Just working a lot.”
She lulled, and I grappled with what to say.
“I … I missed you.”
My anxiety softened by the smallest degree. “Me too, Pen.”
“Bodie, there’s so much to say. I’ve been thinking about everything, about you and me, and—”
I heard someone call her name in the background, and she hissed a swear.
“I’ve got to go. Let’s talk tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” I answered with my heart drumming, and we said goodbye, disconnecting.
My palms were swampy as I slipped my phone into my back pocket and paced into the living room where Jude and Phil sat at their desks working.
I ran a hand through my hair as they turned to eye me.
“This is the worst possible thing that could fucking happen.”
Jude’s brow quirked. “What is?”
“Penny called.” I turned to pace in the other direction.
“Wait, that’s bad?” Phil asked.
I sighed. “Penny called to tell me that Rod fucking called her to ask her to go to his show tonight.”
Jude’s mouth popped open. “No shit.”
“No shit,” I echoed.
“Fuck,” he said, running his hand over his lips. “This is bad.”
“I’m so fucked. Fucked. Eight years later, and that asshole is coming back to throw a wrench in everything, and the timing sucks. We haven’t talked, she’s wigging out, and he’s the one person who has the power to ruin everything. Nobody gets under her skin like he does.”
Phil looked confused. “Why the hell would she agree to go?”
“Because,” I huffed, walking back toward the door, “he’s a fucking rock star, and he had her under his thumb for half of high school. Because she’s Penny, and of course she wants to go. But I told her I’m going with her.”
A Kiss For You Page 38
