Rusty Nailed

by Alice Clayton

  We all bit. Then chewed. Simon took the longest. He had nine inches, after all.

  “Now, can we discuss this like adults?” he asked.

  “You’ve got mustard on your lip, Simon,” I said, biting back a laugh. He blushed, then licked his lips.

  “I can discuss this as an adult, if you two can admit that what he did was wrong,” I offered, pointing my pickle spear at the boys.

  “If I can speak for Simon here, neither of us ever said that what he did wasn’t wrong. We just don’t think he needs to be tarred, feathered, and driven out of town,” Ryan said. “He kissed someone—would you rather he fucked someone?”

  “But that’s the thing: he didn’t just kiss someone, he kissed an ex-girlfriend. The ex-girlfriend, from what you told me,” Mimi answered.

  “What do you mean, the ex-girlfriend. You didn’t tell me it was the ex-girlfriend,” I exclaimed, turning to Simon.

  “I did too!”

  “You did not.”

  “I did too!”

  “So much for adults.” Ryan snorted, taking another bite of his burger.

  “You said it was an ex-girlfriend. You didn’t say it was the ex-girlfriend,” I snapped.

  “What’s the difference?” Simon asked, and Mimi’s head exploded.

  “An ex-girlfriend just means she’s, like, one of many. No one special. The ex-girlfriend is suuuuuch a bigger deal,” she explained

  I could see Simon still didn’t get it.

  “You’re talking to someone who doesn’t have any ex-girlfriends, much less the ex-girlfriend,” I told Mimi, signaling her that I had this one. “Simon, an ex-girlfriend is someone you’re happy to see every now and again, you wish her well, but it doesn’t matter in the long run. The ex-girlfriend matters: there’s a connection there, there’s shared history, she’s even maybe the one that got away. An ex-girlfriend, we wouldn’t be so pissed over. The ex-girlfriend, yeah.”

  “Wait a minute, just wait a minute. You’re telling me if I kissed an ex-girlfriend, you wouldn’t be pissed?” he asked, mustard on his lip again.

  I closed my eyes. “Of course that’s what a guy would hear—no! We’re pissed if you kiss any ex, but an ex isn’t as big a deal as the ex. An ex, the ex—big difference.”

  “Okay, please stop saying an ex. I realize it’s grammatically correct, but it just sounds weird. Plus it sounds like you’re saying annex. The point is, you’re pissed because he kissed a girl he had a connection with—or at least you assume he had a connection with, right?” Simon asked. Still with the mustard. This time I wasn’t telling him; he was in charge of his own mouth.

  “Ryan, you told me this was the girl he almost asked to marry him, right?” Mimi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I rest my case,” she shouted, dusting off her hands.

  “Christ, this is going nowhere fast. Okay, so let me ask you this. Which would have been worse: if he kissed this particular ex, or had sex with some random woman he was never going to see again?” Ryan asked.

  “Depends,” I said.

  “Random. No, ex. No, random. No, it depends,” Mimi said, shaking her head.

  “I give up,” Simon said.

  “Do you have any Tums in your purse?” Ryan asked Mimi.

  “I’m getting more wine,” I announced.

  “You’ve got mustard on your lip, Simon,” Mimi said.

  • • •

  They left. Simon and I did the dishes in silence, passing plates back and forth to dry. He went back outside to the patio; I stayed inside.

  Mimi texted me:

  Do you think Sophia should talk to Neil?

  Yes, she probably should.

  You gonna tell her?

  I think you should.

  Together?

  At the diner tomorrow?

  Deal. Tell Simon thanks for dinner, it really was nice.

  I will, tell Ryan thanks for coming.

  They just don’t get it do they?

  Eh, they’re boys.

  They’re pretty great boys.

  That they are. I’m gonna go kiss on mine. See you in the a.m.

  XO

  I walked outside, bringing coffee for both of us.

  “This seat taken?” I asked him.

  He shook his head and lifted a corner of the blanket he was under. I sat down and handed him a mug. He sipped, then raised an eyebrow.

  “I wanted a little Irish with my coffee tonight. Thought we both could use it,” I explained.

  “Agreed.”

  We sat together for a moment, silent.

  “We can’t keep arguing over this. This isn’t our fight.”

  “I know it isn’t. It’s just hard to watch.” I sighed, looking out over the bay. It was quiet tonight, the fog softening all the sounds.

  “I get that, but you have to let them work it out.”

  “I know.”

  “And they can’t work it out if they don’t talk.”

  “I know.”

  We were both quiet, under the blanket.

  “You said something tonight that I didn’t like.”

  Surprised, I turned to him. “I did?”

  “Just because I don’t have the ex-girlfriend you guys were going on and on about, that doesn’t mean I didn’t have real connections with the people I dated. I don’t have ex-girlfriends because I didn’t have girlfriends in the traditional sense, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the difference.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.”

  “You can’t just negate my past because it wasn’t the same as yours.”

  “You’re totally right.” I turned to look at him.

  “Okay?” he said.

  “Okay,” I replied. He was in a very different place with me than he’d ever been before. “Are we okay?”

  “Of course we’re okay. Isn’t this how people in relationships resolve conflicts? You said something I didn’t like, so I let you know,” he said, puffing his chest out a bit.

  “Well, good goddamn, Dr. Phil, color me impressed,” I said, clinking my coffee cup to his. “So what do we do next? Y’know, as people in a relationship after they’ve resolved a conflict.”

  “Pretty sure a blow job should follow this,” he said seriously.

  “Hmm, that does seem fair.” I traced my fingers up his leg and snuck over to his hi-there. “Did you want that right here or—”

  “Christ no, it’s cold out here. Let’s go inside, where it’s warm, to conflict resolutize,” he exclaimed, jumping up and tugging me inside.

  “Pretty sure that’s not a word.”

  “Blow job is.” He locked the patio door and faced me with a knowing smile.

  “I think it’s two words, actually.”

  “Talking too much is what got you into trouble in the first place,” he said, pointing me in the direction of the bedroom. “Now get in there.”

  I resolved him twice that night.

  chapter nine

  E-mail excerpt from Jillian to Caroline:

  Sounds like everything is going great at work; everyone is saying what a great job you’re doing. I even got an e-mail from Max Camden, who said the work is coming along even earlier than anticipated based on the guys you recommended to hire instead of his usual crew—way to go, kiddo! Hey, how’s Monica doing? Don’t work her too hard. I know you won’t, but the boss in me requires me to say it. I bet she’s a godsend! And I’d tell you not to work too hard, but I know better, right?

  Things are amazing here; I almost don’t want to tell you. But I totally will—I am in love with France. Seriously, I could live here. The food alone is a reason to chuck my passport and stay. Did you know you can harvest your own oysters and eat them on the beach in Brittany? Crazy. But now we’re off to Italy, stopping first in Lake Como to stay in a villa that one of Benjamin’s partners owns. No, it’s not Clooney, but I will tell him hello if I see him ; )

  Oh, I meant to tell you. Make sure you meet with the accountant this week; he said he
’s going to call you to set something up. I need you to e-mail me some files.

  • • •

  Text from Sophia to Caroline:

  Okay. I talked to him. Big woo.

  Big woo? Like he was wooing you?

  Whoa. No woo. I meant like, big woo we talked, no big deal. You know, “big woo.”

  Did he try to woo you?

  Caroline, dammit, no. That’s not the point. He wanted to talk, you all convinced me to let him talk, so he talked. I listened.

  Did you yell?

  A little.

  Did he tell you what happened?

  Yes, he kissed her.

  Anything else?

  Does there need to be anything else?

  No, just asking.

  Well, stop asking.

  How’d it end?

  With yelling. He yelled too, though; it wasn’t just me.

  So it’s really over?

  What did you expect? That he’d come over, we’d talk, and I’d magically forget everything that happened?

  Of course not. So it’s really over.

  It’s impossible for me to hang up on you since we’re texting, but know that I am hanging up on you.

  Text from Caroline to Mimi:

  They talked.

  I know! It didn’t go well . . .

  I know!

  So now what?

  What do you mean? Did you think she’d just magically forget everything that happened?

  You must have just been texting with Sophia; you’re taking a tone.

  I know! Sorry . . .

  It doesn’t matter. What matters is I don’t think those two are over yet . . .

  What? She’s pretty sure they are.

  I have a hunch. Let me think on it.

  Mimi . . . don’t meddle.

  Have you met me?

  Text from Simon to Caroline

  Just sent you a picture, did you get it?

  Mmm, should I close the door to my office?

  No no, not like that, but I like the way you’re thinking. Did you get it yet?

  I did, I wish I was there. The beach looks amazing. How are things in Bora Bora?

  Amazing. But it’d be better if you were here. Still can’t believe you turned down a trip here . . .

  You’d believe it if you saw my desk right now. I’m literally swimming in paperwork.

  I’m literally swimming in the ocean. Or I was a few minutes ago

  Honestly Simon, sometimes . . .

  Sorry, babe. Just wish you were here.

  Me too. I gotta go; my inbox just exploded.

  Text from Simon to Neil:

  So you talked to her.

  Dude . . .

  That bad?

  Dude!

  Sorry, man . . .

  Text from Mimi to Caroline:

  So I’m thinking we should have a game night—you know, play Pictionary and stuff like that?

  I’d love to, but I’m slammed. When were you thinking?

  Maybe the Saturday night before Thanksgiving? Can you spare a few hours over the weekend?

  I can spare a few hours, yes, that’s about it. You guys wanna come out to Sausalito? Be nice not to have to go back into the city.

  We can do that. I was thinking we should invite Sophia.

  Of course we should.

  And Neil.

  Oh boy.

  Trust me.

  There’s an entire wall of windows in Jillian’s house, Mimi. The last thing I need is someone throwing things.

  Trust me.

  Think Barry Derry sells party insurance?

  Text from Mimi to Sophia:

  Hey girl! Game night next Saturday, you in?

  No.

  What?

  No. I’ve already peeped your game, you’re inviting Neil, aren’t you?

  Yes.

  No.

  We’ll see.

  I’m not coming if he is.

  We’ll see.

  Text from Ryan to Neil:

  Game night? Next Saturday?

  Cool! I smoked your ass last time at Pictionary.

  Sophia’s invited.

  Not cool, dude. I’m not going if she’s going.

  Pussy—that’s exactly what she said.

  She said she wouldn’t come if I came?

  Isn’t that what you just said?

  I’m totally coming. Can I bring someone?

  Is that wise?

  Who says wise? I’m bringing someone.

  Text from Mimi to Sophia:

  So . . .

  No.

  Come on! Neil said he wasn’t coming—

  Good! I’ll come.

  —if you were coming

  What? What a baby; he can’t handle it if I’m there?

  Well, he’s handling it, he’s coming. And he’s bringing someone.

  Well I’m bringing someone too.

  I thought you weren’t coming.

  Shut up. What time?

  • • •

  It was late. I was once again at the office, alone. It was almost midnight, and the shitty part was Simon had just gotten home from Bora Bora this morning. In a previous life, when I wasn’t responsible for someone else’s design firm, I’d have taken a long lunch break to go home, see him, have a nooner, and then head back to work. But not anymore.

  Now it was almost 11:00 p.m., and I was putting the finishing touches on my first payroll report, since the accountant wasn’t able to pull all the hours he needed from his computer at home. Which is where he was. Which is where most people were.

  I felt like I was finally getting on top of everything workwise; turns out you can get everything done when you work twelve-hour days. And weekends. With Simon away on a job, I could do it. I ate, slept, and peed Jillian Designs. But it was worth it; I was getting a taste of what it would be like to run my own business someday. Jillian had been an amazing mentor to me, she still was, and I wanted to do a great job for her. Could I have asked her for a little more help? Maybe, but I wanted her to enjoy herself. So I barely managed to keep my head above water.

  My phone rang just as I clicked send on payroll. Yawning, I answered. “I promise I’m leaving.”

  “You said that an hour ago.”

  “But this time I really am. Can you hear that? Those are my shoes, walking down the hallway. And hear that? That’s me getting out my keys to lock the door.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being out so late at night all alone.”

  “Babe, I am capable of handling myself. Besides, how do you think I get home most nights?”

  “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t let me come pick you up. What if some weirdo is out tonight, and likes the way you look in your red heels?”

  “Well then, that weirdo’s gonna get an ass full of red heels if he tries anything— Wait, how did you know I’m wearing red heels?” I asked, whirling around.

  Parked just a few feet from the front door was Simon’s car.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t believe you really thought I wasn’t going to come pick you up,” he said into the phone, hanging it up and getting out of the car.

  If he was sun kissed when he was in Africa, he was sun baked while he was in Bora Bora. Which made his eyes even more blue, his face even more handsome, his jet-black messy hair even more enticing. He caught me into a hug so tight he even picked me up a little bit and my feet hung.

  “You’re so pretty,” I whispered, kissing his cheeks and his forehead and his nose and finally his sweet lips. Which were now grinning. “How long have you been out here? Have you been here all night?” I asked as he opened the car door, and I saw the stacks of coffee cups.

  “Not all night.” He walked around to his side, getting in and turning the car on. “Just since about nine thirty.”

  “Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come down. I would’ve stopped working.”

  “I knew you needed to get your work done; no biggie.” He yawned.


  “Uh, yeah, it’s a biggie,” I insisted, then leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek again. “You glad to be home?”

  “You have no idea—I’m going to sleep for days. After I get some sugar,” he said, shooting me a waggly eyebrow.

  “Maybe tonight, no sugar. Maybe tonight, just sleep.”

  “I’m tired, but I’m not that tired,” he said, even as a yawn cracked open his face.

  “We’ll see,” I conceded. “You should sleep so you’re ready for Game Night tomorrow.”

  “Good point. I’ve gotta make sure we kill everyone at Pictionary. Is everyone coming?”

  “Yep, should be interesting.”

  “If you girls can behave yourselves,” he teased.

  We cruised. He yawned.

  “How’s the ninth looking for you?” he asked suddenly.

  “The ninth?”

  “Of December. The reunion? You still want to go with me?”

  “I do. Bring on the cheesesteaks!” I smiled, resting my hand on his leg and making little circles there.

  “Sugar,” he quipped.

  “Sleep,” I insisted, as he gave me a look that said he was a man intent on getting some sugar.

  But this woman knew better, and I made sure to take a little longer than normal in the bathroom. I didn’t need to exfoliate, but I did. I didn’t need to condition my hair twice, but I did. When I finally came out, my Wallbanger was dead to the world and telling everyone about it with his snores. Next to him? Clive. Making the most ridiculous little kitty snores.

  I slipped under the covers and burrowed into Simon’s nook. Some nights, that was my sugar.

  • • •

  As soon as I was up, I left the city and headed over to the Sausalito house. I let Simon sleep in, allowing me some time to walk through the hotel alone. Sometimes it was easier to check on projects when there was no one else there. I could explore the space with my notebook and camera, taking pictures and generally getting a feel for how things were going.

  The hotel was going to be beautiful. Still just a shell, but I could see what it was going to be. And as shells took shape, sometimes the design dictated a change to the original plans. Maybe a new palette suggested itself, or certain lines weren’t as strong in real life as they were on paper. It wasn’t second-guessing, it was adapting. And I missed my Master Adapter.

  Jillian had the best eye for detail of any designer I’d ever worked with. And she was great at helping me solidify my vision, boosting my confidence; she was my gut check. My sounding board. So as I walked the plank flooring, I wished she was there. I did projects by myself all the time, but she was always in the wings, propping me up when I needed it. I had to prop myself up this time.