Heartthrob

by Robin Bielman

“He wanted to tell me he was enjoying this more than he thought he would and that you were easy to work with.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “It is, considering I was worried he’d be difficult. But I also had a feeling you were a perfect match, so thank you for proving me right.” She smiles.

  My posture relaxes. “You’re welcome.”

  “Finn also asked me for jerseys for two kids he recently met so I’ve got those in the car. Would you mind giving them to him the next time you see him?”

  “I’m happy to. Let me say goodbye and I’ll walk out with you.” I spin around, letting out a relieved breath.

  And once again Finn is at the forefront of my mind, his unexpected compliment to Rena docking deep in my bones. He thought about me more than once this morning. And thinks enough about my work ethic to warrant praise. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to give false flattery, even with our hot-as-hell kiss to fall back on, so I’m more confused than ever about what to do with him. Finn falls under my Anti-Man campaign. (Not to be confused with Ant Man, the movie, which I loved.) He’s not to be trusted. Not now. Not ever. No matter how easy it is for him to slip past my defenses.

  *

  “Happy friendsgiving!” I say to Jillian an hour later.

  “Happy friendsgiving!” she reciprocates, greeting me outside the pop-up taco stand on Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica. “I am so happy you chose this place for our annual turkey outing.”

  “Me too. Spicy turkey tacos and an ocean view? What could be better?”

  We link arms, do a little Laverne & Shirley bounce up and down (her mom introduced us to the late-seventies/early-eighties television show) and step to the counter. We place identical orders then carry our food to a bench on the grass, sitting side by side. I zip up my down vest to stave off the chill in the air, while puffy white clouds play peekaboo with the sun.

  Our tacos are loaded with ground turkey, garlic, cayenne pepper, tomatoes, mozzarella, cilantro, and salsa. A dollop of sour cream completes the combination. Before we dive in, I take a picture and post it to Insta with the hashtags #friendsgiving #bff #turkeyvibes. We eat the first few bites in easy silence as we stare at the placid sea. We started this tradition five years ago at Jillian’s request. I cried when she suggested it. She has a sister. A dad and a mom. Extended family nearby. And she requested my presence, and mine alone, for giving thanks to friendship.

  “I think I just had a tacorgasm,” Jilly says. “Please don’t tell Robert.”

  I laugh. “I think the correct term is tacogasm, no ‘r.’”

  “Tah-may-toe, tah-mah-toe. This is seriously our best friendsgiving meal yet.”

  “Definitely.” I bite into my second crunchy shell, which for the record is way better than a soft shell, and I have my own tacogasm.

  All this gasm talk makes me think about you-know-who again, damn it. Between leaving work and meeting Jillian, I’d successfully made a mental grocery store list, sang to the radio, debated on apple pie versus pumpkin and decided on both, and talked my dad through using the new coffee machine I picked up yesterday as a surprise for him. He’s been sleeping in, and our normal coffee pot is cold by the time he’s ready to drink it, so I bought a single-serve coffee maker and different flavored coffees for him to enjoy. He never buys anything for himself, and wasn’t exactly thrilled when I gave it to him—save your money, he always says—but too bad. It’s a small thing given all he does for me. I pay very little rent. (I insisted on something.) We share the utilities and shopping duties. And weirdly, my dad likes to clean so besides being asked to keep things neat, I’m off the hook there.

  “You’re still staying with me and Michelle at the hotel the night before the wedding, right?”

  “Of course.” The wedding is less than two weeks away. Less than fourteen days for Finn to make good on his promise about my dress. I’m trying really hard not to freak out about it, but if Jilly wants to talk about the wedding, she may notice my nervousness, and the very last thing I want is her worried, too. Finn apologized for the delay and assured me my dress would be “good as new,” which makes me wonder, is he buying me a new one? I lock my jaw in irritation. I can take care of my own problems, I don’t need him to do it.

  “We thought we’d order room service and watch The Proposal.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “What’s not so perfect is I’m late.”

  I drop my taco and turn to my best friend. “Late as in late?” She nods. “How late?”

  “Late enough.”

  “Should we go get a pregnancy test?” I try to decipher if Jilly is happy about this, but it’s hard to tell. I know she wants kids. Eventually.

  “Did one this morning.”

  “And?” She’s killing me here, her face giving nothing away. It’s not like she and Robert don’t love each other like crazy. This is a good thing, just ahead of schedule.

  “You’re going to be a godmother.”

  “Oh my God! Jilly. Congratulations.” I hug her so tight her “thanks” is muffled in my vest. When I release her, she’s got a huge grin on her face.

  “So much for best laid plans, huh?” she says. “Wedding at twenty-five. First baby at twenty-eight…”

  I glance down at her stomach. “You’ve got a baby in there right now.”

  She rubs her belly. “I do. It’s crazy. I haven’t told Robert yet. I was hoping you could help me come up with a fun way to tell him tonight.”

  “I’d love to.” I wipe the corner of my eye.

  “Don’t you dare cry,” she reprimands, rubbing a finger over her eyelid.

  “I’m not. It’s dust or something.” Something called love. I met this girl when we were ten and drafted onto the same softball team. When she was always put at the bottom of the batting order, I stood up to Coach and said that wasn’t fair, that he needed to rotate the order. And when friends didn’t know how to talk to me after my mom died, Jilly chatted about boy bands and young-adult novels and putting gummy bears on frozen yogurt to fill the awkward silence.

  “I’m a little worried about how he’s going to take it.”

  “Don’t be. He loves you and he’d be happy even if you had an alien baby inside you.”

  “Chloe! Don’t go putting images like that in my head.”

  “Sorry. You know what I mean. You guys are meant for each other. So, you got knocked up before the wedding. It just means you get to be a mom and dad for longer.”

  She sniffles. “That’s a really nice thing to say.”

  I pick up my taco. “I should write Hallmark cards.”

  “You should.” She resumes eating, too. “So, any ideas on how I can tell him?” Jillian is a math teacher and is excellent with numbers, but when it comes to creative or artistic type things, she requires backup.

  “Hmm… You could buy a pair of baby booties and tell him your family is growing by two feet.”

  “Mhmm,” she says, her mouth full of taco.

  “Or you could use body paint or lipstick on your stomach and write, ‘baby on board.’ Oh! Or better yet, write, ‘congratulations, you’re going to be a DILF.’”

  “I like that. What else you got?”

  I rack my brain for more ideas. I know I’ve seen social media posts with cute baby announcements.

  “You could make homemade pizza for dinner and spell out ‘you’re going to be a dad’ with pepperoni or olives since you and Robert love those toppings. Food always goes well with big news.”

  Jillian tosses her napkin into her empty taco box. “And then I could buy a bag of Sugar Babies for dessert.”

  “Love that. But you know, you could also go the simple route and we can hunt down a baby T-shirt or onesie that says ‘I love daddy’ on it. You could wrap it and tell him it’s an early wedding present.” This is more Jillian’s speed, but she needed to at least consider some other ideas first.

  “I think that’s the winner.”

  Do I know my best friend or what? “Let
’s go shopping then.” We stand and toss our trash before walking toward the shops on Third Street.

  “I think I should buy a super sexy bikini for our honeymoon now, too, since next summer—” she silently counts off to nine with the fingers on one hand “—August probably, I’ll be giving birth.” She stops us in our tracks with a hand to my forearm. “Holy shit, Chlo, I’m having a baby before my next birthday.”

  “You are.”

  We resume walking. “I think I want to keep it a secret until Robert and I get home from Bora Bora. I mean not from him, duh. But from our parents and family. I’d like to enjoy the news just with him. And I don’t want to take the focus off the wedding. You know how excited my mom is about it.”

  I do know. And I couldn’t be happier for Jillian and her mom to share this incredible occasion. Sometimes, though, it’s hard. Sometimes I don’t like myself for the jealous, bitter feelings that press down on my chest.

  For a fleeting moment, I miss my mom. I miss her so much I can’t breathe.

  “Chloe?” Panic fills Jillian’s voice.

  “Sorry,” I force out. “Got emotional for a second. I think that’s a good idea. It can be yours and Robert’s secret.”

  “And yours.”

  “And mine.” And that right there is why my spirits immediately return to normal. I have family, it’s just different. I wrap my arm around her, our steps in sync, just like our periods. Although I guess that’s no longer the case.

  Our hunt for the perfect onesie proves difficult. It turns out adult tees rule the fashion scene in this area, so we do what every person does when in search of a must-have. We google it. Ding, ding, ding. Lots of cute baby outfits pop up on my phone screen.

  “I really want to tell him tonight, though,” Jillian says, noting we can order online from many different places. “There’s no way I can keep it from him. I’m bursting at the seams as it is.”

  “Instead of ‘bust a move’ you’ll be ‘bust a seam,’” I say, cracking myself up. Jilly frowns. “What? All pregnant women stop fitting into their regular clothes.” I playfully bump her hip with mine. “And you’re going to be gorgeous. Hey, looks like Target carries what we need.”

  We drive to the superstore, talking nonstop about the wedding, the baby, the way life works out. Jilly can’t resist buying a few baby things in addition to the onesie. I can’t ignore a camel cable-knit sweater that reminds me of Sammy’s fur. She and I will be twins.

  Later that night I’m working on my laptop when Jilly texts me Robert is over the moon with the baby news. I smile down at my phone. Like there was any doubt. The two of them are peanut butter and jelly. Salt and pepper.

  My phone peals with another text. This one from Finn.

  Good night.

  For a dangerous second, I wonder if he’s the meatballs to my spaghetti and laugh out loud to extinguish the dangerous thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  #CrushingOnYou

  Chloe

  The house smells like turkey, bacon, and spices that make my mouth water. My dad does Thanksgiving dinner like nobody’s business. I make the salad and pies, and he cooks the rest. His fluffy onion and celery stuffing, and bacon mashed potatoes alone could give Wolfgang Puck a run for his money. Not to mention the turkey is so juicy you don’t need a knife to cut it and his buttermilk biscuits melt in your mouth.

  Welcome to my favorite holiday, everybody.

  And no, I am not sharing any leftovers.

  A football game plays on the television as we continue our backgammon challenge on the coffee table. It’s a tradition that goes back to when my mom was alive. We’ve done our best to keep all of her rituals a part of our lives.

  I roll the dice, land a pair of twos to win the game, and throw my arms in the air in victory. “Looks like I’m up two-to-one.”

  “For now,” Dad says, smiling. He doesn’t really care who comes out the winner in our best of five, but he’s also never let me win.

  We’re setting up the small round pieces for the next game when the doorbell rings. I startle, suddenly nervous. Which is ridiculous. I knew he was on his way over. And it’s just a turkey dinner with my dad, not a date or anything.

  “I’ll get it.” I rise to my feet, cool as cucumber on the outside. The last thing I need is my dad noticing my crush on Finn. Yes, I said crush. It’s grown full blown over the past two days. How? Let me count the ways for you:

  1) More short, sweet texts, including one from Sammy that said she was pawsibly missing me.

  2) That Finn is texting says a lot. With his dyslexia, I’d noticed he gets calls from his family and friends and does the same in return. I’m honored and flattered he’s taken to a written exchange with me.

  3) Hanging on the back of my closet door is my bridesmaid dress. It was delivered yesterday inside a garment bag, gorgeous as the day I first picked it up. Finn won’t tell me the particulars so I’ve decided this is one gift to be grateful for and to shut up about the specifics and paying him back.

  4) He hasn’t pushed me on my dad. I haven’t seen Finn this week because of doctors’ appointments set up weeks ago. Finn’s left me two voice messages checking in and offering to share his green smoothie recipe if my dad is interested in a healthy morning boost.

  Burying my crush way, way back in the recesses of my mind, I open the front door and burst out laughing. Not at Finn. Never at Finn. In olive-green slacks and a white collared shirt open at the neck, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, he looks good enough to eat. His light brown hair is a little shorter than the last time I saw him and combed neatly. His strong jaw is clean-shaven. But Sammy is sitting beside him and around her neck is a bandanna decorated with cartoon turkeys and an orange pom-pom trim that is more funny than cute. Her adorable face is aimed up at me and she looks furious.

  “Aw, Sammy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

  “She’s definitely mad at me,” Finn says, glancing down at his puppy with obvious affection.

  “I think she’ll get over it pretty quickly.”

  “Hopefully. Happy Thanksgiving.” He hands me a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers. (Add brings me my favorite flower to the crush list. I mentioned it to him once!)

  “Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving. Come on in.”

  Sammy trots inside alongside Finn. “Wow, it smells great in here. Thanks again for having us.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t going to let you have Thanksgiving alone.” I close the front door and usher them into the family room.

  “Hello, Finn,” my dad says.

  “Hi, Casey. It’s good to see you. How are you?” He shakes my dad’s hand.

  “I’m great.” My dad’s standard answer is mostly true. He’s struggling with some fatigue and sinus problems from his headaches, but otherwise his GCA is behaving. “This must be Sammy.” He bends down to pet her.

  “She’s miserable in that bandanna,” I say.

  “She is.” Finn unclasps her leash and takes the bandanna off from around her neck. Immediately her puppitude changes from gruff to friendly. “Sylvie assured me it was necessary until you saw it.”

  I open my free hand, palm up. “Seen and forever put in my memory. How about I hide it away while I put these in water?”

  “Hide, toss in the trash. Either is fine with me.” Finn and I share a smile like we’re conspirators working the K-9 beat and we’re dealing with a fashion emergency.

  I listen to Finn and my dad talk baseball while I’m in the kitchen, the two of them falling into easy conversation. Obviously. I wonder if they’ve ever spoken off the field before today. Neither mentioned it, but then I haven’t been super talkative about Finn to my dad and vice versa. Hearing their cheery voices, I spend a few extra minutes checking the turkey cooking in the oven and stirring the potatoes on the stove to give Dad and Finn time to yammer on.

  I’m glad Finn is here. It killed me to think of him without his family, eating alone somewhere or ordering in. He mentioned Sylvie stockin
g his fridge before she left this morning for time with her own family, and that’s okay for the rest of the week, but not today.

  “Hey,” Finn says entering the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Putting the vase of sunflowers on the dining table, I shake my head. “We’ve got some time before we eat so I thought we could head to the park.”

  “Great idea. You’ve got the jerseys?”

  “I’ll go grab them and give Julie the heads-up we’re heading over there.”

  Finn signs the jerseys, we leash Sammy, and say bye to my dad who’s elected to keep the couch warm. I slip a jacket on over my jersey dress. Today’s Vans are navy to match my outfit.

  “Julie sounded a little off,” I say as we near the playground. “I hope everything is okay.”

  “Me, too. Thanks for keeping in touch with her. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Josh and Jesse again.”

  “Is it okay if I take pictures of the three of you with Sammy?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The second the boys see Finn their faces light up. Jesse does a flying jump off the swing and Josh drops his gloved hand to his side to signal to his dad (the resemblance is unmistakable) he’s done playing catch.

  “Hi!” I wave hello.

  Sammy tugs the leash toward Josh so we walk to him. He looks paler than he did last week and concern knots in my stomach.

  “Hi, guys,” Finn says to the boys before putting his hand out to their dad. “Hey, I’m Finn. Nice to meet you.”

  “Patrick,” the man says. “And you, too. The boys can’t stop talking about you and your dog. This is Sammy, I’m guessing?”

  “See, Daddy?” Josh says. “Sammy really likes me.”

  She does indeed, ignoring everyone else while she brushes up against Josh’s legs.

  Julie joins us looking more tired than usual. The kids ask if they can play fetch with Sammy again and Finn nods. “I’ve got something for you first.” He hands each boy a jersey.

  “Thank you!” Josh says, immediately placing his glove on the ground and sliding the jersey over his head.

  “Thank you!” Jesse agrees, taking time to check out the shirt. “And it’s signed, too. No eating Jell-O when we wear these, Joshy.”