Complicated Girl

by Mimi Strong

  She shakes her head. “You two have so much work to do.”

  I hold my hands up. “Not me! I already lost my five pounds. I don’t have any real problems. I’m perfectly happy with how I am.”

  “Me, too,” Drew says. “Who wouldn’t want to be me? I love being me.”

  Feather holds up one hand to stop us. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to round everyone up and see if we can’t help the people who aren’t already perfect.” She gives us each a scolding look that’s so effective and parental-feeling, that my confidence in her future child-rearing skills doubles.

  Chapter 9

  It’s late when I get back home from the meeting, but the lights are still on at Tina’s cottage in the back yard. The blinds are open, so she’s probably not having wild monkey sex with Luca at the moment. I park my mother’s Cadillac behind Tina’s car, in the alley.

  The alley is lined with cars, because many of the homeowners in the neighborhood have rented out their basements or converted their garages into rentals. When I was a little kid, riding my bike up and down the alley, you’d never see cars parked back here. I guess things change, whether you want them to or not.

  I knock on my sister’s door, which feels weird. I used to just walk right in, or use the spare key, but two weeks ago, I got an eyeful of their monkey sex by accident.

  The passage of two weeks’ time hasn’t erased the visual from my brain. At least they didn’t know I saw them, because I closed the door and walked away, keeping the experience to myself.

  But what a sight it was!

  Luca broke his foot at the Baker Street Block Party earlier this month, and now it’s in a cast. He’s staying here with Tina, because apparently he keeps motorcycles parked on the main floor of his house, while the living quarters are upstairs. I think he could hobble up the stairs if he wanted to, but he likes staying with Tina for now. He probably doesn’t want her to get away from him again.

  So, there he was with his foot in the cast, standing on one good leg, with Tina up against the wall like they were recreating a scene from the classic Patrick Swayze movie, Roadhouse.

  For a second, I thought they were joking. I actually believed they’d heard the car pull up, and were only pretending to be having wall-sex, as some hilarious prank on me. That’s why I stood in the doorway for several seconds, smiling. I was thinking, Great job, guys! You’re nailing it!

  Then one of them made a coitus moan, and I realized they were in actual coitus, not pretend-Roadhouse-joke coitus. I slowly backed away, and I haven’t walked through this door since then.

  I knock again, just as the door opens.

  Tina’s cheeks are flushed, but she is wearing clothes.

  “Did I interrupt your coitus?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Meenie, don’t say that word.”

  “You and Rory and your word hang-ups.” I peer around her and see Luca sitting on the L-shaped couch, making the enormous thing look relatively small under his tall, muscular, motorcycle-riding, sister-banging, roast-beef-eating, handsome frame.

  “Come in,” Luca says. “We’re just playing Scrabble.”

  Tina giggles.

  I walk in and join them in the living room, which is also the entire room. The couch we’re sitting on folds out into a bed, and the only other room is the bathroom.

  I glance around at the extra things that must belong to Luca: laptop, manly jeans, manly boots, manly sweaters with chunky buttons.

  “You guys could take over the big house if you want,” I tell them, offering a swap for the second or third time this month. “It’s just me and Muffin over there, and we can totally trade while you’re in that cast.”

  Tina slips another pillow under Luca’s white cast, then tickles his toes affectionately. “We’re cozy,” she says.

  “I see you have wine,” I say.

  Tina jumps up and grabs a wineglass from the kitchen, then fills it for me. “You’re a good sister,” I tell her before taking a long sip.

  “Ooh, this is my favorite kind,” I say of the wine.

  “You like pinot grigio?” Luca asks while clearing the Scrabble board to start over with three players.

  I grin at him. “My favorite kind of wine is free wine.”

  Tina groans. “Luca, everyone in my family says that, at every single Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. It’s so corny.”

  He gives her a loving look, as if to say, Tina, I can’t wait to spend every family dinner with you and your family, even Meenie, who really isn’t as bad as everyone says she is.

  Tina gives Luca a loving look, as if to say, Roadhouse me against the wall again, stud.

  I sort through my Scrabble tiles, guzzle the rest of the wine, and pour myself a refill. “The service here is lacking,” I mutter. “No tip.”

  Tina swats me on the arm.

  We start playing the game, and two rounds in, Tina says, “What’s bugging you? Did your self-help group not go well tonight?”

  I look into her concerned and pretty green eyes, then over at Luca’s equally concerned blue eyes. How is this going to work? Now that they’re together, is he the silent partner who hears about all my problems through Tina, whether he’s present or not? I’ve heard that’s how it works with couples, but haven’t had much experience.

  “There’s a new guy at group,” I tell them. “He’s a total jackass. He’s rude and crude, and he dresses like a department store mannequin. He smells like—don’t take this the wrong way, Luca—but he smells like citrus and chocolate and balls.”

  Luca glances around, like he’s wishing there was another room. “Why would I take that the wrong way?”

  “No offense, Luca, but I need to be honest, and she was my sister before she became your squeeze toy. Tina, this guy Drew is a billion percent hotter than Luca. So, you can understand my problem.”

  She looks at me sideways. “You like this guy? But he’s a jackass.”

  “Exactly. I think I finally found someone who’s got enough balls to take a few jokes and put up with me. I think I would like him to put his sperm shooter inside me and pretend we’re making a baby.” I take another big glug of the pinot whateverio. “This free wine is pretty good for free wine.”

  Luca looks confused, in the way that only a handsome man who grew up with no sisters can look confused. “He sounds… interesting. So, what’s the hold-up? Do you want me to call my friend to do a background check?”

  I suck in air, gasping with excitement. “You’d do that for me?”

  “It’s an option.”

  “Hold that thought. I’ll let you know.” My hand starts moving around to help me talk, the way it usually does after some wine. “My first problem is he doesn’t have a last name. Not one that I know, anyway. My second problem, which is why I’m drinking tonight—my glass is empty by the way—is that the silly high priestess of the self-help group has banished us from dating each other, because she thinks we have problems.”

  Tina splashes my wine glass with the remainder of the wine. “Do you mean the lady who’s the licensed therapist? I thought you said she was brilliant and incisive.”

  “She kissed her own client, though. It’s not fair! The kissing coach thing was before she got her therapist license, but still. Not fair.” I turn and stare into Luca’s handsome face, framed by his golden blond hair. “Why does everyone else get to be blond?”

  “You’ve had a rough day,” Luca says.

  I whimper drunkenly.

  “You should probably take your therapist’s advice,” Tina says. “This guy sounds like trouble.”

  “I disagree,” Luca says, his eyebrows dancing as he enjoys the playful angry look Tina gives him for disagreeing. “Fate put this guy in your path for a reason. Fate will lead you to the trough, but it can’t make you drink. I know I’m mixing metaphors here, but meeting him won’t mean anything if you don’t take a chance.”

  “Weird. You sound exactly like him. He was talking about c
haos and stuff.”

  Luca looks interested, so I tell him as much as I can remember from the evening’s interactions, plus everything that went down the previous week at the group. He produces another bottle of wine as if by magic, and we talk for the next few hours.

  Tina takes advantage of our distraction, and hogs up all the good spots on the Scrabble board, scoring double what Luca and I had together.

  They finally kick me out around three, and I hit my seafoam green sheets with a smile on my face. I have everything figured out, and I know exactly how I’m going to solve the Drew situation.

  Chapter 10

  On Wednesday, I wake up with a pinot grigio headache. Like the white wine I imbibed the night before, it’s an elegant, dainty headache with a crisp aftertaste.

  Muffin stomps across the bed, his white socks hammering on the duvet like elephant feet. He lowers his whiskered face to my chin and batters me like a rutting mountain goat until I finally get up and feed him.

  I have a vague recollection of talking about Drew last night, and figuring out what I was going to do with my attraction to him.

  Here’s my big plan: I’m going to play hard to get, for once in my life. It’s definitely going to drive him mad with desire! We’ll both keep going to the self-help group, then once we get his mystery problem resolved—say, in a month or two, maybe three—then I’ll finally agree to a date. The tension will be OFF THE CHARTS BY THEN!

  (Ugh, why am I yelling in my head? My poor pinot grigio headache.)

  I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, but the autumn sun is shining, the leaves are turning a gorgeous red in the garden, and I have a pretty good feeling about Drew.

  Maybe I’ll go looking at engagement rings today, just to be ready. I’ll take Luca. We’ve gone shopping together before, and he’s fun. He wanted to buy Tina something when they started dating, so I helped him pick out a bracelet and some charms. I let him take full credit for being perfect.

  He didn’t seem so perfect during the summer, when those two dunderheads were broken up for a bit. It was good for Tina to do some housekeeping, literally and metaphorically, but I’m so glad they finally got back together a few weeks ago. If they hadn’t sorted it out, Rory and I were going to secretly buy them “winning” tickets to a resort package and force them to stay in the same room.

  I should call Rory. She’s always been closer to Tina than to me, but we’re good friends. I bet she’s having a tough time adjusting to Tina being with Luca all the time. I’m okay, because I can hang out with both of them as a couple, like I did last night.

  That Luca is a bad influence, though. He kept forcing me to drink more wine last night. I don’t know if I can keep up with his partying ways.

  Rory can’t hang out with the both of them, because intimacy scares her. If they kissed in front of her, she’d probably barf. She’s squeamish about certain words, and heaven forbid you make a rude joke and grab your crotch like a rock star. I did that once, and she didn’t talk to me for a week.

  The three of us girls were at lunch last month and I made the mistake of mentioning menstrual cramps. She put down her fork and wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone.

  I love the girl, but she needs some serious help.

  Or not.

  She seems happy enough with her catering job and her life. This might be my elegant headache talking, or lingering drunkenness, but I’m seeing things in a new light today. Maybe we’re all perfectly fine in our own unique ways, and it’s the rest of the world that’s always trying to sell us crap we don’t need, like therapy, self-help books, and those blow-up exercise balls. Nobody needs those, yet they exist.

  You know what else exists for no good reason?

  Those clear lids that fit on the top of a Pringles can. As if! As if anyone ever opens one of those bad boys and puts the lid on to keep the chips “fresh” for “later.”

  Also, butt implants are a real thing that exists.

  Interesting how so many useless things are all made of plastic… hmmm.

  Chapter 11

  Friday! Friday! It’s time for the radio station to play the same annoying songs about Friday!

  I walk into O’Flannagan’s pub and scan the place for my date.

  Funny thing about O’Flannagan’s: because of the typeface they used for the sign out front, the F and the lowercase L sit too close together and look like an H. As a result, half the neighborhood thinks the place is called O’Hannagan’s. I swear to God that half the staff answer the phone wrong as well. Even the current owners, the Jackson family, aren’t entirely sure what it’s supposed to be. They got the phone company to list the pub under both names, though I don’t know why anyone needs to phone a pub.

  Here’s me, phoning: “Hey, do you have pinot grigio?”

  O’Flannagan’s / O’Hannagan’s: “We’re a pub, you dunderhead. Why are you phoning? This isn’t a flower shop.”

  I keep scanning the murky darkness of the pub, until I spot my Friday night date. She’s sitting in the corner, her back to the wall. Her golden brown eyes are fixed on the flickering votive candle before her. She’s wearing her curly dark hair loose around her shoulders. Rory has beautiful hair, dark auburn, with a natural streak of white. She’s always threatening to shave her head, because she goes nuts over the idea of getting a hair in her food. When her hair is down like this, I know she’s in a good mood, which puts me in a good mood.

  I trot over to the table. “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!”

  Rory’s eye twitches. “Are you going to behave, or are you in one of your weird moods?”

  “No and yes, but I’m paying for your dinner, so suck it up.” I pick up the menu that’s already on the table and check the specials insert. “How was your day? You had that snooty auction job, right? Where the rich ladies bid on paintings they don’t like, for charity? They buy some abstract thing that doesn’t match the sofa, and they act like they’re personally curing the world’s hunger crisis, right?”

  Rory’s face lights up. “They loved the tea cakes. We got booked for three more jobs, right on the spot. I couldn’t be happier. That’s why I’m paying for your dinner tonight, not the other way around.”

  “We’ll see about that.” We look over the menus and place our order with the waitress. Rory’s not sure if she wants a drink or not, so I take the liberty of getting a bottle of pinot grigio, largely because I love saying, “Pinot grigio.”

  We get our food, and we talk some more about Rory’s catering, plus a few things about life at the flower shop, and updates on my mother’s Eat-Pray-Love adventures in Europe.

  I’m intentionally holding back on mentioning Drew until she’s got some wine in her system, and is weighted down with post-linguini-eating inertia.

  Funny thing about Rory: she can’t say linguini because the word reminds her of cunnilingus. So, she orders “these noodles” and points to the menu. That Rory. She can’t say it, but she’ll eat it.

  Anyway, I’m about to open my mouth and tell her about my new crush on Mr. GQ with the good smells, when the universe decides to play a hilarious trick on me.

  I look up at the group of guys playing pool at the nearby pool table. My eyeballs wander over a guy’s butt, as eyeballs often do.

  I’m admiring the nice butt—which is wearing dark jeans—when the butt turns around suddenly. I am a lady, which means I cannot openly stare at crotches, so I jerk my eyes up, over a shirt that’s packed with all the right kind of muscles, and up to a handsome face. This guy has a superhero jaw, great skin, lickable cheeks, and sexy dark hair. He could be a twin of my crush from self-help group. Or a clone.

  He waves over at me. Hot guys in pubs don’t usually wave at me, therefore I must conclude that Rory has forced me to drink too much wine, and I am drunk.

  He says a few words to the guys he’s playing pool with, and saunters over to our table.

  “Drew! I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.” My words come out pretty clear, considering how much
wine Rory made me drink. On a scale of one to ten on the slurr-o-meter, I’d say I’m at a three.

  He grabs a chair from a nearby table and joins us without being invited. His sexy brown eyes are on me the whole time, which is good, because now Rory is pinned in the corner, and if Drew focused his magnificent, magnetic, majestic attention directly at her, Rory’s head would pop right off like a Barbie doll head and roll away.

  “You mean you didn’t recognize me without my suit,” Drew says, his perfectly kissable lips curled back in a grin. “A man is not his suit, Meenie.”

  He starts to turn toward Rory to introduce himself. I let out a tiny shriek and grab his shoulder to pull him toward me. I whisper in his ear, “My friend is very shy, so do me a solid and dial your sex magic down about three notches, will ya?”

  He gives me an amused look, then shuffles his chair closer to mine, to give her space. Without looking directly at Rory, he says, “Sorry to barge in on your meal.”

  I introduce them. “Rory, this is Drew. I met him at the community center.” I give her two winks, to let her know that by community center, I mean my self-help group. “I’ll get rid of him, if you want.”

  Rory’s body language is stiff, but she doesn’t seem too horrified. “Don’t be silly. Of course your friend can join us.” Her voice is pitched high and thin, like she’s making an effort, but it’s okay. Rory isn’t afraid of men, just intimacy stuff.

  That means this situation is okay, because Drew and I are just friends. His knee is touching mine. We’re just friends. He gets more relaxed in his chair, waves for the waitress to bring another bottle of wine, and then his hand moves down from the air to land on my knee. We’re just friends. But his hand is on my knee.

  I give Rory a wide-eyed look, but she’s not even paying attention to me. Drew is telling her about the guys he’s here playing pool with. They used to be on a rugby team together, back in college, and they still get together sometimes for a few drinks. Now Rory’s asking him about rugby, and is it as violent as it seems on TV? Now he’s telling her about men’s bodies slamming together. I would expect her to run screaming any second, but she seems to be enjoying every word he’s saying.