“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Absolutely nothing.”
I pursed my lips so the dam holding back rushing words wouldn’t burst.
After Bo won two rounds of carny basketball and gloated for five minutes nonstop, our group strolled farther along the row of games and slowed near one called Down the Clown. I still felt unwillingly anchored to the wedding party, drowning and dragging behind everyone.
“How about it?” Eli asked. “Or do you want to admit defeat now with your sad excuse for a pitching arm, Rodriguez?”
Bo took another swig from his flask, offering it to Eli next. “These guns,” he flexed and kissed each of his biceps, “and I can win with my eyes shut.”
A middle-aged man in a red-and-white striped suit with a handlebar mustache eagerly took their money. “Step on up, boys! Does your aim have game?”
Watching Bo and Eli trying to outdo each other bored me. Talking wedding details with Paige, Annelies, and Sienna sounded equally dreadful. And there was no way I wanted to stand near Miles.
Eli and Bo took turns lobbing yellow balls at faded mechanical clowns, trying to sabotage each other in-between turns. Bo won again. It was on technicality because Eli nailed one of Bo’s targets in his drunken stupor. Each of them beaned two of the bottom-heavy clowns in the beginning, and then their target skills tanked. That time, I tuned out Bo’s rejoicing and Eli’s sulking.
Before we continued onward, Miles unexpectedly spoke up. “Hang on, Sienna.”
“Check this out, Bo! McCullough thinks he can do better,” Eli said with a forceful laugh.
Miles’s eyes flicked toward Eli before he set one of the twenty-dollar bills down I’d given him minutes ago.
“Step right up!” the carnival worker said in sing-song. “For only five, take the basket ‘o balls for a drive. And as I advertise, you can win a prize!”
Little did Mr. Mustache know, if Miles won anything, it’d likely be used to gag and suffocate me.
“You ain’t gonna hit shit.” Spit flew from Eli’s mouth.
Mr. Mustache continued, “Knock down the four blinking clowns and double your loot.” He gestured toward the wall of stuffed animals behind him and tapped the wall. “They’re all cute.”
Miles grabbed the first ball with aggression. “Top right.” With a swift throw, it whizzed by and thwacked the target’s nose.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Mr. Mustache held up his hands and shook them back and forth a few inches. “How’s that for beginner’s luck? Look at what our contestant struck!”
Seriousness flooded Miles’s face as he picked up a second ball and squinted. “Bottom left.” His jaw clenched as he hurled it, knocking down the clown with the flashing, red stomach.
Mr. Mustache’s eyes widened a little. “Ladies and gentlemen, someone get me a beer. I think we have ourselves a little game here.”
“Way to go!” Paige exclaimed, giving Miles’s shoulder a pat paired with a squeeze.
He ignored her and picked up the third, fourth, and fifth balls. I watched him launch them, one by one, thumping the intended marks, striking them flat. Balls number six and seven were no match for him either. His confidence soared as he threw eight and nine consecutively. Hit! Hit!
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Mr. Mustache said, his overbearing tenor tumbling to a whisper, “Only one to go.”
Miles picked up ball ten, and I noticed a crowd had gathered.
“Hit number ten, and we’ll play again!” Mr. Mustache rhymed.
Miles focused on the remaining clowns staring back at him with the permanent, silly upturned mouths plastered on their worn-out faces.
“Third row up. Second from the right.” Miles threw the ball. Hard. It sailed through the air, heading toward the mark. With his prior success, I was certain he’d hit it.
Until I was wrong. He’d missed by half an inch.
“Too bad, young lad!” Mr. Mustache took the twenty and set down Miles’s change.
A cloud of disbelief washed over his face. Sienna whispered something to him and rubbed his back, but he didn’t budge.
He’s upset over a game?
The group that’d accumulated was nearly twenty people deep. All staring. All talking.
“Even without that beer, you still win a prize over here.” Mr. Mustache gestured to a wall on the left with miniature plushies.
A ringer sounded. Sienna pulled her phone from her pocket, the surrounding noise causing her to step away from the group to answer it.
After a few seconds, Miles snapped out of his trance and leaned over toward my ear. “What’s your favorite color?”
I found myself studying his harsh features. “Why?”
He stared at me, inky eyes swan diving deep again. “C’mon. It’s the least I can do.”
“I…”
He nodded, an encouragement for me to answer.
“Um. Pink,” I reluctantly replied with a hoarse whisper. In hindsight, I’m not sure why I chose that color; it was my least favorite and reminded me of my office.
“Pink,” Miles repeated aloud.
“He wins without a blink and scores a bunny pink.” Mr. Mustache used an elongated pole with a curved hook on the end to pull a bubblegum-colored rabbit down from the wall, angling it directly to Miles until it fell into his hands.
Immediately, Mr. Mustache turned toward the audience, reeling in his next customer.
With the show over, people scattered and moved on. Miles and I walked, side by side, lagging a few feet behind everyone else in our group. “You know, I do owe you.” Miles took the stuffed animal and gave it a squeeze with a half-smile.
Holy…
Was it happening?
Was I getting the apology I deserved from his behavior?
Was Hell freezing over?
Nope. Miles McCullough tossed the bunny into an overflowing garbage can as we walked past. The stuffed animal landed on top of a half-eaten, mustard-covered corndog.
I should’ve known better.
Shock halted me. It had to be a mistake. Owed. I was owed. A verbal apology owning up to all of his actions would’ve been better than an animal with stuffing shoved up its ass. It made his appreciation earlier at Eli’s seem flimsy. “Why…”
He leaned over, the hot breath from his lips tickling my ear. “You labeled me an asshole, Doc. Remember that.” With a wink, he jogged to catch up with Sienna who’d rejoined the front of the group. As they walked, she linked her arm through his again and rested her head on his shoulder.
My jaw started to fall, but I ground my teeth together and refused to let it happen. Giving him that satisfaction would let him know he won. And Miles McCullough was a loser, not a winner. Even the game booth proved that. The underlying message behind what he did thundered within my soul. Instead of reacting outwardly, I walked while Paige and Annelies chattered and pointed out a ride across the way, flipping its passengers upside-down and in dizzying circles. Eli typed on his cell phone and talked with Bo about the upcoming NFL season.
“I thought you won something, Seth,” Sienna said. “Did you butterfingers it?”
Miles’s words were crystal clear. “I found it a more deserving home.”
I shrank back a few more feet from the group, his sentence an invisible dagger stabbing an existing wound. I didn’t fit in. Not with Annelies. Not with Paige. Not with Sienna or Miles. Not at all. One of my best friends even replaced me for the night… with Eli. Eli! At dry events, Bo hated him. But anyone willing to drink alongside Mambo Rodriguez became an instant buddy— just add booze. Over time, Bo and the bottle became more inseparable, and my concern grew.
I chewed my lip and followed in silence. So much toxicity. It had to stem from somewhere. With the noise and activity around us, no one paid attention to his action with the stuffed animal.
He didn’t show remorse.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t slow his pace.
He did move forward with Sienna by his side.
Why doesn’t he make his girlfriend’s life crappy instead and leave me alone?
“Here it is, guys!” Annelies bounced excitedly.
A grassy section with two picnic tables was sectioned off, labeled with an extravagant arched sign that read, ‘RESERVED— WEDDING PARTY’ in silver sparkles on a black background. Oversized balloons and crêpe paper streamers danced in the breeze in lavish shades of white, cream, gold, and black. Lights blinked overhead in a balanced rhythm. They reminded me of the dress in the back of the Jeep. Maybe I’d luck out and someone would steal it.
“This spot will be legit for fireworks. They’ll start at nine, so everyone can meet up back here, but hang tight. I have champagne coming before Eli and I give our thank you speech to the town,” Annelies continued.
A thank you speech? She’s turning this into a coronation ceremony. How long before I have to bow down to kiss her majesty’s feet?
I sat down on the far end of a bench, taking up little space as possible. No one noticed my meek presence or pity party as everyone filled in the surrounding gaps.
I glanced at my watch, certain the fireworks show would start soon. The digital numbers read 6:56 p.m. How was it so early? I had another two hours to endure.
Phenomenal.
Paige and Annelies were engrossed in a discussion about wedding hair up-dos while Sienna sat crisscross applesauce on the wooden table, giving them her opinion on flowers. Bo and Eli competed to see who could shotgun a beer the fastest. My only option for conversation was Miles, who sat across from me and one seat over, which meant I sat alone.
A waiter arrived at our table. “Annelies. Taft?” he asked, holding a tray with two bottles of champagne, the bronze label covered in heavy condensation droplets. Seven fluted glasses surrounded the perimeter of the circular tray as he carefully set each item on the table.
“That’s me!” Annelies clapped.
He picked up one bottle by its base. “Would you like me to pour?”
“Yes, please,” Annelies said.
I flinched when the cork popped and stared while he filled each glass two-thirds full. Tiny bubbles released from the bottom, rising toward the foam.
“Jade, you toast first,” Annelies said excitedly.
Whoa! I wanted to make a Jade-shaped hole in the chain-link fence across the field. The itinerary didn’t mention a toast, not before the wedding. I was underprepared and overanxious. My underarms prickled with sweat while my mouth went dry. Jade A’Lynn Nash was a sitting contradiction.
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“The MOH has to toast, silly.” Paige rolled her eyes. “Only a dumbass wouldn’t be ready.”
Each second dragged on. What could I say about a couple I couldn’t stand?
Most marriages end in divorce, but I’ll bet yours ends in murder…
On your wedding day, we’ll gather at your funeral…
Good luck with your marriage… first of many…
“Let’s hear it,” Paige said. “How about a piece of relationship advice? Ooh. I forgot.” She stuck out her lower lip. “Not your area of expertise.”
I wanted to ram the champagne flute up her pointed nose.
I don’t know where they came from, and they were a crock, but I clung to every foul syllable I spewed. “May your love story have many chapters, similar points of view, little conflict, and a happy ending.” I left off the part I wanted to include about there likely being a sequel or four.
“Awww.” Annelies fanned her eyes and blinked. “That’s sweet.”
Paige curled her upper lip in disgust at my recovery.
Miles stood up to make a quick getaway, but after two steps, Sienna grabbed the corner of his flannel shirt, never missing a beat while speaking to Annelies. Sienna shook her index finger at him and mouthed “no” with a threatening glare. Immediately after, she fell back into finishing her statement to Anal Eyes mid-sentence.
Miles’s shoulders sagged as he sank back into his seat on the opposite side of the table. “Guess I’m next.” He cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t do relationship advice, and I didn’t know I had homework.” He paused. “Life experience is my strength. A year ago, I visited a village in Africa. While I was there, an old man shared a Congolese proverb with me, ‘Love is like a baby; it needs to be treated tenderly.’”
I frowned. It didn’t make sense. His message was the complete opposite of everything he represented.
Miles’s sentiment was lost when Eli smacked Annelies on the ass, grabbed her around the waist, and yanked her onto his lap before whispering something into her ear.
“Cheers!” Annelies downed her champagne in two oversized gulps.
Everyone else lifted their drinks and cheered.
I longed for my usual water bottle as a crutch. Wrapping my fingers around the stem felt both foreign and familiar. Dangerous. Like an acrobat walking a tightrope with their shoes on the wrong feet. If I drank, I’d fall. The sweet scent of apples and pear mingled with spice, and it left my heart pounding in my chest. I stared down at the circular mouth of the glass, hearing a series of clinks around me, each one a reminder I didn’t participate and looked like the dumbass Paige referenced.
Eli reached across the table and lifted the flute toward my face a few inches with a jostle. “It won’t bite.”
I leaned back and shook my head.
Annelies’s voice thinned, “It’s okay, Jade.”
Finally! I nearly cried. Someone understood me and…
She continued more loudly, “You don’t have to pay for it. Just enjoy a glass of champagne.”
Nope. No one got it.
A microphone’s earsplitting screech sounded on the stage while someone ran to adjust the speaker settings. “Would the soon-to-be bride and groom please come up?”
Saved!
“Sienna, I forgot to ask you at Eli’s earlier. Will you take some pictures tonight, even if it’s just with your phone?” Annelies pleaded. “I’ll have Cranston pay for your time.”
Cha-ching.
“Sure,” she replied. “Easy money.”
“Thanks! I really want to document tonight in my scrapbook, so I can look back on everything.”
Paige and Bo turned their attention to the stage, applauding for Annelies and Eli along with the rest of the crowd. I didn’t move. With his and her highness being called to the spotlight, my peer pressure moment fell flat.
“Bold move not drinking to the bride and groom.” Miles folded his arms and stared toward the stage.
I returned the favor and didn’t face him. “Bold move talking to me.”
I saw his head shake left and right. “Man, that coaster’s a rush. What’s that saying about taking risks? I can’t remember.” He snapped his fingers. “You wouldn’t know.”
“That’s right; I wouldn’t. It’s like someone disappeared mid-conversation,” I muttered.
He didn’t acknowledge my subject change. “Tempting fate beats waiting around for the alternative.”
“What alternative?”
“At least I can say I’ve lived,” he replied.
“There’s a difference between being a thrill seeker and being suicidal.”
He nodded once. “Take that Ferris wheel right there—”
I cut him off, “No, thanks. You can keep it.”
“It’s a Ferris wheel,” he said plainly. “They’re slow and boring. No drops. No sudden turns. But the view at the top? Always worth it.”
“Heights aren’t my jam. Feet on the ground. Remember?”
“L
et me get this straight. No surfing. No mopeds. No horseback rides. Roller coasters?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Zip lining?”
“Nope.”
Miles pointed across the field at a thrill ride called The Yo-Yo. “That?”
“Nuh-uh.” I shuddered, watching the machine tug riders higher and higher in ten-foot increments before it dropped them to dangle and bounce on elastic ropes.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?
“It got lost long ago.” I tilted my untouched glass, watching a flurry of bubbles rise from the bottom. “Where’s your sense of opening up?”
“I’ll open up when I have an autopsy,” he replied before finishing his champagne. The energy in the air shifted, and the commotion of his walls rumbling before shooting sky-high was nearly palpable.
And there it sat. That prickly sensation loomed over us once again.
A scowl set in on Miles’s face, and I knew I’d taken it one step too far with my last question. “Shouldn’t your eyes be green?” He still refused to look at me.
I tugged on the sleeves of my sweatshirt, shielding my fingertips from the cool air. “I didn’t know there was a color requirement—”
“The stereotype for someone named Jade is green eyes. Right?”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint. That makes more sense.” He snickered. “Is that what your name means?”
“Is what ‘what my name means?’”
His definition was spoken with intent to bruise, “Jade. Just A Disappointing Existence.”
“Wow.” I blinked, surprised by sudden tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
Don’t break down, Jade. You’re stronger than this.
“Just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em, Doc.”
With the crowd cheering for Annelies and Eli, I didn’t have to adjust my voice. “I get why everyone avoids you.”
“No. You don’t.”
“What’s your problem, anyway?”
“What’s my problem?” His tone cracked like a whip. “I don’t get your angle. Who gives someone, I’m sorry… who gives an ‘asshole,’ four tires with a tow job and expects nothing in return?”
Jade Page 18