by S. E. Hall
Of course I know it, Bonnie’s been playing Bridge with my mom every Wednesday afternoon since I don’t know when. “I know it.” I pause and my heartbeat speeds up. “You’re really there? I mean here?”
“I’m really here. I was hoping you’d want me, or need me, or whatever,” she’s whispering now, “so I came. I would have seen you at the service, but then…you called.”
But then I called. And she’s here. For me. Right down the road.
Sleepy. Snuggly.
And I’m here for a funeral…thinking like this.
“What room are you in?” I ask as I jump up and pull on my jeans and boots. I pull a t-shirt over my head, not stopping to examine the excitement coursing through me; that doesn’t seem right at this time and makes me feel guilty. But dammit if I haven’t felt anticipation like this in a while.
“213,” she rushes out, her breathlessness matching my own.
Does she feel the gravity of this moment like I do? Could I ever express to her in words what this means to me, how deeply and profoundly she has touched me?
She’s here… I will never be the same. “That’s a bottom outside door, right?”
“Yes.”
“Be there in ten.”
Quietly, I pick up my keys and ease out the front door silently. My truck slips into gear and I roll it down the driveway like I’m not almost twenty and able to leave when I want to. When I’m a ways from the house, I start the engine, and in six more minutes, I’m standing in front of door 213.
Shit. She’s wearing tiny shorts and a thin shirt, no bra, and her generous chest leaves no room for doubt. Her blonde hair falls around her shoulders and her blue eyes are sleepy, half-lidded. I force my eyes to stay on hers.
“Come in,” she says quietly, and I step inside.
My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel each beat in my neck, my mouth suddenly dry as cotton. I run my sweaty palms down my jeans as I look around. There’s one big bed and one chair in the room. She’s got the TV on, but muted. That’s the only light, the TV, which is plenty. I can make out the outline of her body through the worn material of her top. I can see her nipples, hard and wanting. I can tell her lips are shiny from being licked.
I shouldn’t be here; this is a very bad idea. I could tell myself I just need a friend, for comfort, but that’s a lie. I’m madly attracted to Whitley and I want so badly to throw away my worries about hurting her, or her hurting me, and selfishly take her in my arms.
Selfish it is.
When I move to her, she doesn’t give an inch, but stays right where she is, her breath quickening and heavy, her eyes challenging. She wants me too. My hands move gradually, brushing up her neck to clutch in her hair, the moan escaping her making me twitch. Damn, but she’s beautiful. Delicate. Fragile. She leaves her eyes open, drinking me in, telling me “yes, it’s okay,’” without words. My lips are inches from hers, so close I can feel her warm puffs of breath against mine. I close my eyes, moving in for the taste of what I so desperately want.
And my phone trills loudly from my pocket, jerking me back in surprise.
Yeah, the phone rings at that exact moment…how convenient and unlikely, right?
It fucking happened.
Given the current crisis we’re all dealing with, of course I’m gonna answer it. The moment now long gone, I rub the back of my neck roughly with one hand while I hold the phone with the other, staring at the faded brown carpet rather than Whitley.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Evan, it’s Laney. Just wanted to let you know we’re here, at Dad’s. I sent yours home and got mine to bed. Thank you.”
“Not a problem, glad you made it.”
“So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I exhale, wishing it was anything but what we have to do the next day. “See ya tomorrow.”
I hang up and take my time putting up my phone, examining everything in the room before I look back to Whitley. “I’m sorry, Whit. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m an ass.”
“Why do you say that?” She frowns. “I’m glad you came.” She shifts, going to come to me, but I back up.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Whit. You’re such a great person, and I’m not sure what this is,” I point from myself to her, “but I don’t want to lose you.”
“Why would you lose me?”
“If we became more than friends, and it didn’t work out, we wouldn’t be friends anymore. And,” my hands move through my hair on their own and pull in frustration, “what if we’re just, I don’t know, convenient? Whitley, I’m just… I’m not sure what’s real and I don’t want to lose anybody else I care about. I’ve had all that fun I can stand.”
She’s on me in a flash, her arms hugged around my waist, hands rubbing my back. “Go home, Evan, and go to bed. You’re tired and distraught. I don’t want to be somebody’s convenience, or second guess, but I will still be your friend. Okay?” She lifts her pretty face up to smile feebly at me.
“Okay,” I agree, moving quickly to the door, feeling damn lucky she gave me an out. How can I do right by her, be honest with her, when I can’t even make sense of things myself? The myriad of emotions lately, it’s just all too much. Heartbreak to some relief to confusion to extreme grief; I just need to go numb for a while.
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Night, Evan.”
WILL THE REAL SLUGGER PLEASE STAND UP?
Have you ever been to a sunny funeral? I know I’ve seen processions go by when it’s nice outside, so it must happen, just not to me, and not now. Seems like it’s always unseasonably cold, or a freak snow, or in this case…not really raining, but drizzling enough to remind you it’s a shitty day.
We all look on as our friend, our mentor, is lowered into the ground. The pallbearers all wore a white rose on their lapel, and I unpin mine and toss it into the hole with Dale before finally turning to leave. I help Parker get his mom to the waiting limo, then walk with Whitley over to Laney, her dad, and Dane. Laney had spoken at the funeral and I want to tell her how beautiful it was. I know it was hard for her, but she held her head high and squelched her tears like a trooper.
“You did well, Laney,” I say as we approach. “Dale would be real happy. You know besides Angie, you were always his favorite girl, right?”
“Yeah.” She nods and grins sadly, looking at her feet. “He was one of my favorites too.”
“Mr. Walker,” Whitley offers her hand, “I’m Whitley Thompson, Laney’s friend. Nice to meet you.”
What an ass I am, not introducing her. I don’t even remember if I’d officially done so with Parker or Angie; this whole day is a bit of a fog.
“It’s nice to meet you, young lady. Thank you for coming today.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’ll see you kids later. I’m gonna head over to sit with Angie a bit.”
“Bye, Daddy.” Laney gives him a hug. “I love you, so much.”
“Love you, Slugger. See ya at home.” He turns. “Dane,” he nods, “Evan,” he pats my shoulder.
Whitley’s gasp turns all our heads. “Laney, you don’t really hit people, do you?! And your father encourages it?”
Dane starts chuckling under his breath; he must get something Laney and I don’t because her face looks as puzzled as I feel.
“What are you talking about?” Laney asks.
“Slugger?” Whitley answers, like duh.
Dale wouldn’t care if we laughed at his funeral, thank God, because we’re all busting out now. Hell, he’d laugh too.
“Whitley,” I put my hand on her shoulder, mostly to hold myself up through the laughter, “she doesn’t slug people. Well, not often. It’s a term,” I catch my breath, “for a good batter, like softball.”
“Ohhh,” her cheeks flush and she rests one hand over her heart, “of course. Thank goodness.”
Laney’s grinning ear to ear and I really am glad to see it. It’s such a sad day, and of all people, Whitley had found
a way to brighten her mood. Hell, she brightened all our moods. Whenever I think of Dale, having to carry his casket, standing in the rain with Laney and her boyfriend…I’ll smile at the end when I remember right now.
Or then again, maybe not. My back stiffens and the hairs on my neck stand up, sensing evil.
“Hey, Evan.”
How tacky can you get, risking starting shit at a funeral? Whitley can sense my distress and looks up at me, worry in her eyes. Laney? Her grin has disappeared and I can see her teeth grinding from here. I give Dane a look, then dart my eyes to Laney, hoping he understands.
He must have, as one arm goes tightly around Laney’s shoulders and he steps in closer to her. Laney won’t disrespect Dale, or his family, by cleaning this bitch’s clock at his funeral, but she may drag her off by her hair and do it someplace else.
“Kaitlyn,” I bite out, not turning to face her.
Dane’s eyes pop wide when I say her name. I’m guessing Laney told him because he stiffens and starts nudging Laney to leave. “Come on, baby, let’s go.”
Her whiny, sickening voice reaches out and stabs my ears. “Wait, I’m confused.”
Laney’s head spins around at her words, her eyes glowing. “Let me clear it up for you then. I’m still Laney, that’s still Evan,” she points, “that’s Whitley, this is Dane, and you? You’re still the backstabbing bitch from hell. All better?” She over-smiles facetiously.
“Pfft,” she blows Laney off, coming to stand directly in front of me now. “Oh my God, did she dump you for him, Evan? I knew it, she never appreciated you.” Her lecherous hand rubs up my arm, possibly burning the flesh from the bone. “Come back, Evan,” she coos. “She’s not—”
“Kaitlyn, don’t,” I interrupt her, not wanting a scene or to stomach hearing her voice.
“But, Evan, I’ll love you, take care of you. In a way she,” she turns and glares at Laney, then back, “never did. Don’t you remember how I took care of you that night in your room?”
Fucking Kaitlyn, now she’s trying to throw me under the bus.
Her manipulation knows no bounds.
“It wasn’t like that and you know it,” I grind out. “It wasn’t.” I look at Laney, begging her with my eyes to believe me. It may not matter to her anymore, but it matters to me that she be sure I’m not a rat bastard.
Of course Laney would know better than that, instantly rolling her eyes and sending Kaitlyn a belittling sneer. “You’re more delusional than I thought if you actually think I’d believe Evan would touch you with a ten foot pole. Even if he wasn’t with me, he’d never be with you.”
Still oblivious to the fact that no one here is buying her bullshit, oh, and that it’s tasteless to start nonsensical, vicious drama at a funeral, Kaitlyn moves in closer to me. I abruptly step back, as though bitten, shuddering visibly. What happens next…well, I’m glad I stuck around.
“Why do we hate her?” Whitley asks me almost inaudibly out of the side of her mouth.
“She was Laney’s best friend. She tricked her out of a scholarship at UGA; she wanted me,” I hurry through the CliffsNotes in her ear.
When Laney gets mad, it’s cute as hell, but you’re kind of expecting it, right? Well, when Thumbelina goes off, it’s a whole different kind of downright fantastic.
“Listen here you bushy-eyebrowed, needs-her-dead-ends- trimmed-severely hoochie.” Whitley cracks her knuckles, and hopefully only I catch her wince at it. “You’re obviously as deranged as your hairdresser if you thought for one minute Evan would respond to deceit. And now, you’re alone, and Dane and I are lucky enough to have them both in our lives. So once again, you really lose. Now, you’ve got five seconds to get the hell out of here or you’re gonna have bigger problems than your ass in that outfit.”
Dramatic pause for effect I guess?
“You want me to show you why they call me Slugger?” She wipes under her nose and growls. “And I don’t play softball…feel me?”
Holy hard-on. Sorry, Dale.
I do a quick survey and cannot decide whose face is funniest. Laney’s smirking, eating this up; if anything actually happens, there’s not a doubt in my mind she’ll jump in and put her money where Whitley’s mouth is. Dane’s jaw is unhinged and laying on the ground somewhere. And Kaitlyn is blood-red and fuming.
“Who the hell are you?” she snarls, hand on her hip, challenging Whitley.
“I’m lady enough not to show my ass at a funeral, but woman enough to kick yours if you don’t back off my friends. Evan?” she glances at me, keeping her stance to Kaitlyn, “do you have anything to talk to this, this person about?”
I shake my head, trying so very hard not to laugh. “Laney, do you?” she asks next.
“Nothing.”
“And there you have it. You’re of no use here, now go find your rock and crawl back under it. We’re leaving,” Whitley proclaims proudly.
We all robotically fall in step and follow behind our fearless leader, Whitley, but not before Laney gives me a wide-eyed smirk, like “well, look at this chic.”
Oh, I am.
“Dale would have really liked you, Whitley,” I hear Laney tell her, snickering, “and he’d have loved that! Very cool of you.”
I just know Dale is looking down, laughing his ass off at the show we’re giving him. I’m walking with Laney, her new boyfriend and the prissy little thing I’m trying desperately not to fall for, having just watched her bare her teeth against a girl twice her size to defend a girl who was tackling her not so long ago.
Quite a show.
MAN HANDS
“Hey, roomie, glad you’re back!”
“Hey, Zach, good to be back.” I look around my new room, which is small, clean and of normal smell—bonus. “Did you unpack all my stuff for me?”
“Yeah right,” he scoffs, “Avery did it for you. Don’t worry,” he waggles his eyebrows, “I thanked her already.”
I collapse onto my bed, worn thin from the last two weeks. Spring Break, Dale, Whitley, tons of driving… I need to re-center badly.
“So…” Zach hesitates, “I was real sorry to hear about your loss.
Are you okay? Laney okay?”
“Getting there; a little better every day. I just hope my buddy Parker and his mom are all right. I think maybe I’ll go back and help them with their farm this summer.”
He nods and starts lacing up his shoes. “Me and Ave are gonna go grab some dinner. You wanna go?”
“Nah, thanks, though. I just wanna shower and go to bed.” I’m already half asleep just talking about it.
“All right,” he slaps my leg, “I’ll hang in her room ‘til curfew then, let you get some rest. We’ll have to work out a schedule one of these days, ya know. Socks on the door don’t work; jackasses think it’s funny to grab them off. My old roommate had the whitest ass you’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me,” I groan.
“Oh yeah?” His brows shoot up mockingly. “Your ass is tan, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.” I laugh, more at my own sad state of affairs, of lack thereof, than the conversation. “Just let me know, though. I can make myself scarce.”
“Evan, man, you gotta get back out there. This is college. You’re young, wild, and free. You want me to hook you up?”
Going to regret this, no doubt.
Jumping in like a blind, lonely fool anyway.
“Actually,” I sit up and let him see I’m serious, “I do. I kinda already decided I was gonna start dating, so if you have somebody cool in mind, I’m down.”
“Atta boy,” he offers his knuckles for a bump, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yup,” I mutter, bumping him back weakly, “you do that.”
Date #1—Friday night Conspirator: Zach
Girl: Tiffany-blonde, Junior, Phi something something, in Zach’s Anatomy class
Problem: Mannish
“Whitley?” I whisper, though I have no idea why.
I’m pretty sure She-Man didn’t follow me into the men’s bathroom. Then again…
“Evan? Where are you? I can barely hear you,” she whispers back, not realizing she’s mimicking me.
“Listen, woman, I need your help.”
“I thought you were on a date?”
“That’s what I need your help with. What do you do when you’re on a date that you really want to get out of…like five minutes ago.”
“I have a friend call me and fake an emergency. But that’s a girl trick, so she’ll know what you’re doing.”
“All right, then what else ya got?”
“Hmmm,” she mulls it over, “what do I get out of it?”
“Extortion?” I choke out, shocked. “Whitley, I’m appalled.” I used appalled, a word pretty foreign to me, to cut at her root; she appreciates Whitley language.
She giggles in my ear, getting way too much enjoyment out of this. “You have to tell me everything. Deal?”
“Yes, woman! Now help me!”
“Where are you?”
“The Red Door.”
“Go back out there with her and act normal. God, you owe me.” I walk nervously back to the table, apprehensive of exactly what
I’ve just put into play. “Sorry about that, there was a line,” I mutter to my date.
There was a line? I suck at covert ops. If I manage to not blurt out a confession of “the plan” before Whitley gets here it’ll be a miracle.
Her big, freakishly large man hand keeps inching closer and closer to mine on the table, so I shove my hands in my lap. I don’t see an Adam’s apple, but I’m still looking—it’s gotta be there somewhere. Then, all at once, the heavens open and the angels scream.
“Evan Allen, how could you?”
Splash! Cold ice water to the face. What the hell?! I don’t know that props were completely necessary, but who am I to complain? I pick up my napkin and wipe my face, eyes clearing to see Whitley standing over our table, glaring.
“Who is she?” she points at my date.
“Um—”
“Don’t even try it!” she screeches. “You promised! No more cheating!”