I plugged one ear with the knuckle of my index finger and raised the phone to my other ear. “What’s up?”
“I thought you wanted an adjustment, but you made some turbo disappearing act out of work.”
The throbbing pain reminded me of its presence. “I do… did, but I ran out of time. It’ll have to wait until you get back.”
“If it’s that bad, there are other chiropractors in Washington.”
“No way. You’re the only one I trust near my spine.”
“Where are you, anyway?” she asked.
“K-7,” I spoke brashly, unable to comprehend the subject matter Miles and Bo hurled back and forth.
“Oh! That’s right. Sounds… loud. What’s going on?”
I could barely make out her sentences. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay.” In all honesty, I could’ve agreed to eat ten pounds of Joyce’s prize slugs, go bungee jumping over boysenberry brambles with Beatrice, or leave on a weeklong backscratcher retreat with Kenneth. The world would never know. Before I signed up for something else I’d regret, I chose to hang up.
Our call ended just in time to realize the conversation at the table escalated more quickly than I’d noticed. With a few choice words, it would tank.
In three…
Two…
One…
“What’s the matter? Not man enough to stand up for yourself?” Miles leaned back into the chair and tossed a pretzel into the air. He caught it between his lips and offered a lopsided leer before folding his hands behind his head.
The bar was about to implode, and I had nowhere to take cover.
Disbelief spanned Bo’s face. Everyone else at the table went silent and averted eye contact with one another— except for me. For the second time in under twenty-four hours, I couldn’t look away from an unraveling tragedy.
“What?” Miles’s chewing slowed.
Bo’s eyes locked in on Miles, and I watched my best friend wheel himself back from the table. “‘Stand up for myself?’ Make you feel real good takin’ digs at the guy in a wheelchair?” His nostrils flared. “I said it years ago, and I’ll say it again, McCullough. Fuck you.”
“He’s a tool. Don’t… let… be… reel it…” I fumbled, struggling hard for the same statements Bo used to help settle me, but the moment came on so unexpectedly. My approach wasn’t poetic while I gripped a bar napkin in my hands. Instead, I stuttered a jumbled mess of room-temperature word salad.
Bo turned toward me, softening his voice, “No biggie. Everything’s cool, Baby Girl, but I need to bounce.” His eyes flicked up toward Miles, and then he gave my hand a quick squeeze. “Before I do something I regret. We’ll talk tomorrow. ’Kay?”
I managed to nod. There was nothing left to say. Nothing I could do. Nothing could bandage the hurt wielding Bo with one sentence. When someone riled him, his temper flared, and he wouldn’t back down. I knew that well from the past. Without looking back, he swiftly made his way over to the door.
Heavy discomfort blanketed the air, depriving me of breathing regularly.
Shock spanned Miles’s face while he ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Man, I didn’t know… damn.”
“You are a such… a… a… shit wit,” I spoke sharply, each syllable intended to slice deep. Yet, my whimsical, and accidental, rhyming had the same effect as a dull butter knife hacking into a piece of leathery meat. The choice of childish descriptor I used left me feeling like I’d done no worse than place my hands on my hips, stomp my feet, and call him a stinky poop head. My rebuttal in front of Miles McCullough failed again, leaving my cheeks tingling with humiliation.
I’d had enough. All eyes were on me as I shoved my chair back and stood up from the table. My seat fell over backward, causing a loud clunk. Instead of making a statement, it furthered my embarrassment.
Bo wasn’t present anymore, but I needed to protect him. Tears welled in my eyes, knowing my friend hurt. “Here’s a tip, Seth… Miles… whatever your name is.” I took the dime from my pocket and tossed it onto the table in front of him. The coin clinked, flipped, and spun on the surface, finally finding balance on its ridged edge as it rolled perfectly toward him and onto his lap. “Find yourself a new massage therapist because I’m sure as hell not coming within six feet of you ever again.”
After I gathered my belongings and stormed off, I heard Paige’s snark accompanied by a snicker. “That’s gonna be kinda hard when you walk down the aisle with him in a few days.”
My pace remained consistent. I held my head high and flipped the bird higher, letting the gesture speak for itself. Two words spoken with one finger. Maybe I carried tension in my shoulders too, to keep it from flying out of my mouth.
No. Don’t compare yourself to him. Ever.
By the time I’d maneuvered through the maze of people bustling through the door and scoured the parking lot, Bo wasn’t in sight. I stood there. Alone. The sound of crickets chirping in the distant bushes and a callous breeze were the only attempt at consolation— another fail.
Going back inside wasn’t an option. Willingly sacrificing myself to the ass hats didn’t seem like a good idea— not with my hasty exit. If I backed down and returned to the group, I’d look like a dog cowering with its tail tucked between its legs. I had no reason to feel shame over the scene that played out. None.
Glancing down, I saw the cheap cocktail napkin with the K72.90 logo still in my left hand. I scanned the area for Bo’s SUV one last time, hoping I’d missed it. No such luck. With my shoulders slumped, I headed toward my Jeep, jammed the napkin in the glove compartment, and made the long drive home, desperate for a swim.
* * *
The next day, I was folding laundry when the phone rang Roxy’s signature tone— a cow mooing. After Will’s NYE stunt at the fountain, it fit and she hated it. I flopped down onto the bed and answered.
Roxy dove in before I spoke. “I forgive you for hanging up on me last night, but I’m going to give you one last chance to make the right decision.”
“How kind. What decision is that?”
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Right now?”
I held up a neon-colored thong from Mount Laundry on my bed. “Nothing exciting. Why?”
“Because it’s not too late, but you have to hurry,” she said. “Throw that bra or toilet brush or dish gloves, whatever you’re doing that’s a pathetic excuse for adulting aside. Pack a bag and come to Maui. In fact, add it to your sad, little to-do list that’s probably lying on your dresser.”
I eyed my reflection. “Shows what you know. It’s on the mirror over the dresser.”
“Close enough.” Her tone turned from demanding to pleading, and I envisioned her lower lip sticking out in a pout. “Please? I’ll even pay for your flight if you say ‘yes’ right now. There are seats left. It’s meant to be.”
I dropped the underwear and rolled over onto my pillow. “Tempting, but you know I can’t. The great wedding of the year is still happening. Aren’t you bummed you’re missing out? The drama will be top-notch. Like reality television, but you’d get to experience it first-hand. Wait! I wonder if they’ll throw shoes or chairs like that nighttime talk show you watch when you’re sick.”
“First, I’ll take the sandy beach in Maui over trash TV. Second, her highness didn’t invite me. Third, I think you need a vacation.”
I cleared my throat. “Fourth, as much as I’d love a trip to Maui, you and I both know what’ll happen if I don’t stay here and pretend to be the model soon-to-be step-sister. Final decision.”
“All right,” she gave in. “You win. But don’t come crying to me when you miss the opportunity to wear a coconut bra and a grass skirt at a luau.”
My sarcasm took hold, “I’ll try not to lose sleep over it.”
“So, how did it go at K-7 last night?”
“It was… interesting.”
“Uh oh. Nothing good ever comes from ‘interesting.’ Let’s hear it.”
I went quiet.
“Spill. Before you explode,” Roxy egged me on.
I contemplated holding back, but information poured out like a rushing waterfall before I could stop it. “Remember that guy in the waiting room yesterday at The Rub Hub? He’s Mr. McCulley, as Gwen called him. In less than twelve hours, he earned the ‘Asshole Client of the Year’ award. The guy tipped me a dime after his massage. A dime! And get this. On the way to K-7, I stopped for gas. He cut me off at the pump and made some more dipstick comments.”
“Ha. Dipstick. Gas station. Have I told you yet today that I love you?” she asked.
“Nope. But you can admire my sense of humor in a minute. The story gets better. Wanna know what happened next?” I didn’t bother waiting for her prompt. “He waltzed into K-7 and ended up at our table. He’s some kind of annoying, heat-seeking missile.”
“Wow.” Roxy laughed at me, not with me. “Watch out. Jade’s paranoia radar is in full force. Sounds like stalker material.”
“Rox…”
“Chill. It’s a small town, so the odds of him showing up at the same bar as you are pretty good. Especially on Taco Tuesday. There’s nothing to do in Cannon Cove at night except swim in alcohol or swim in the cove, and you’ve got the cove bit covered.”
I didn’t reply.
“Don’t glare at me through the phone. Should I put your face on a milk carton as a missing person now or wait for the official abduction to occur?”
“Not funny. Plus, it turns out he lied about his name. On his massage file even! McCullough. Pfft. Seth doesn’t even rhyme with Miles. I don’t get it.”
“Wait…” Roxy drew the word out.
“‘Wait’ what?”
Nothingness lingered on the other end of the phone for a lengthy period of time.
“Miles. McCullough. Like the-guy-who-used-to-live-in-Cannon-Cove Miles McCullough?”
“Sure. I guess. Maybe? He says his name is Seth. Whatever,” I said.
“You know, he looked kinda familiar yesterday, but I couldn’t place it. And now with the name…”
I tapped my finger, feeling my irritation intensify as I relived the prior night.
But Roxy remained patient, waiting for me to elaborate.
“From what I could tell, Bo and Miles have some history, and it seems less than friendly. By a landslide. Miles made a crack about Bo standing up for himself when you and I got off the phone, and then—”
“Shut up. He didn’t go there!” Roxy shouted.
“Totally did. He pisses me off.” I folded a t-shirt and pressed the wrinkles out of it harder than necessary. “The guy acted surprised when he saw Bo’s wheelchair, but I don’t buy it.”
“Me neither. I’ll be the last person in town to defend any McCullough after everything I’ve heard. What a dick.”
“Hang on. What have you heard?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Not worth my breath.”
I switched topics before my blood pressure went through the roof, and I told Roxy about the dress fiasco. Thinking back, I’m certain that move didn’t do my anxiety any favors either.
If Roxy could’ve crawled through the phone to hunt down Annelies, she’d have done it. “You spent all that money on an ugly-as-sin dress, and now you have to buy another ugly-as-sin dress? Don’t give in to the peer pressure. Just say no. What will this one be like? The last one looks like a wad of chewed up bubble gum with sequins. I’ll bet you own three-quarters of the lavender taffeta in Washington.”
“No clue. They both tried to convince me to wear it around town.” I left out the fact Paige conveniently didn’t tell me until after my return window expired. That would’ve sent Roxy over the edge, and I’d need to bail her out of jail.
“She’s right,” Roxy said.
“What?”
“Oh, you can wear it!” Roxy yelled. “While I shove my foot up her skinny ass. And you’ll have a front row seat to watch. That waste of space officially flipped my bitch switch.”
“Um. Maybe you should tone it down. Aren’t you at the airport?” I asked.
“Just left ticketing. And fuck the airport!”
I regretted telling her everything that’d happened. “Rox…”
“This is total bullshit! Bail on that wedding before it’s too late. Annelies is nothing more than a jizz-guzzling… no, a stale cuntmuffin crumb.” Roxy whispered, “Oops. Sorry.” I could tell she cupped her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone as she giggled. “Some mom isn’t happy I just taught her toddler a bunch of fun, new words. Gave me the active bitch face. Eventually, she’ll learn using ‘cuntmuffin’ will help her kid later in life. I should charge for these services.”
“It’s too late.” I sighed, trying not to think about my name-calling flop aimed at Miles from the night before. Shit wit. What’s wrong with me?
“What about the four-letter N-thing? Since you won’t let me use his name.” She paused. “Annelies can’t handle someone walking down the aisle without an escort because it’ll detract from her. Heaven forbid it be an attractive female to boot. Remember? She struggles with her little sister going it solo as a junior bridesmaid, even though she’s way too old to be called one.”
“Well…” I said, eyeing the useless, fluffy dress in the closet with a frown. Every time I checked, I swore it’d doubled in size, creeping on my tank tops, t-shirts, and maxi dresses, swallowing them whole. The scene in front of me was a shit show. Like a sparkle factory threw up on layers of fluffy taffeta. When I’d tried the monstrosity on, I resembled a piñata, waiting— or wishing— for someone to smash me with a stick to knock me out.
“There’s more?”
I hesitated. “That’s where Miles comes into play.”
“What do you mean? ‘That’s where Miles comes into play,’” she used her mopey-Jade voice to mimic me.
I balled up the shirt I’d spent the past few minutes de-wrinkling. “That annoying missile’s in the wedding now, promoted to best man. I’m supposed to walk down the aisle with him instead of Nate. How’s that for fucktastic? P.S. No way.”
I froze, waiting for her to tell me I owed a dollar for the name slip, but it didn’t happen.
Roxy got quiet for an abnormally long time, and I wondered if our call disconnected.
“Hello?” I asked.
“I’m here.” She cleared her throat. “I know we try to avoid bossing each other around when it comes to guys. That’s the beauty of our friendship. Sure, I might try to fix you up on a date here and there… and I may offer my teensy opinion once in a while…” Roxy paused. “But I’m going to give you my two cents and ask… tell you to stay away from him. You don’t need more screw-ups in Man-Land. He’s trouble, which is the whole reason he moved away.”
“Obviously, I want nothing to do with He-Who-Has-Two-Names but what reason?”
Overhead, murmurs boomed in the background, their sound muffled by poor acoustics.
“Crap. I gotta go. It’s almost my turn at security, and you know how I love me a good pat down. Talk later. No more anything McCullough. Fire him as a client and as your walking partner. Whatever it takes. Got it?” she asked. The more I replayed the conversation in my head, I believed it was a demand. “And no working while I’m gone.”
“Aye aye, cap’n. But tell me—”
Before I asked, the call ended, and I had a dozen questions flying through my head.
After I finished the laundry, I changed into my swimsuit and looked out the window at gray clouds slinking across the sky. It was the only way to rid my body of the residual nervous energy lingering from last night. Swimming in the cove became increasingly frequent, and one tr
ip to the water every few days wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe I was some kind of addict.
There’s time before the rain.
I grabbed a sweatshirt, my phone, and a towel before heading down to the beach with my tote bag in tow. Calling Sabina could wait another hour. My feet anxiously awaited the point when the cool gravel turned to cold sand underfoot, craving it.
The fluffy orange towel landed on my favorite piece of driftwood. Empty beach. Just how I preferred it. Few people braved the frigid shores unless the temperature soared well above ninety degrees. Luckily for me, I liked the doom and gloom of the clouds mingling with the rainy wind, which described most Cannon Cove days.
It was time to rub saltwater in my figurative wounds. Gentle waves lapped the shore, and I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth. Each step was torture, executed carefully and administered slowly. Deliberate. Like always. The iciness shocked my toes, followed by a deep-set stinging across my ankles. Next came the burning ache within my knees. My eyes remained shut throughout the medicating agony as I pressed onward, allowing the cold to sink within me— to my core. As much as not feeling hurt more than anything, remaining numb when I started to feel was key, too. Polar opposites. Farther and farther, I convinced my body to embrace the increasing pain as goosebumps dotted my skin when water hit my hips. With arms stretched wide, I tipped my head toward the sky and hesitated before falling forward. The rest of the hurt happened quickly and was borderline too much to bear. I needed all of it.
Reality slipped away as I swam, the beach becoming blurry. Diving into my mind and under the crest of incoming waves gave me an escape, my personal social distancing plan. Tangled vines of sea kelp slithered across my stomach and between my toes.
“Way less than one week until it’s all over with,” I said, floating on my back to catch my breath once I passed the sand bar on my return. Tiny droplets of rain pelted my face, each one a peppered sting. I didn’t beat the rain, after all. Mother Nature teamed up with the world to announce I was late, too. “You can tolerate Annelies with her ball-and-chain of events for four more days.”
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