Boyfrenemy

by Catherine Rull

  “No one’s ever all right.” The doorknob turns. “We’re also half left,” Byron jokes.

  Their chuckles mingle into such a familiar camaraderie that I can guess who he’s with.

  “Gawd. You and your bloody jokes,” the woman says as something heavy thuds against the front door.

  A second later, Byron stumbles into the tiny kitchen foyer, his tall frame supported by a long-haired, slender beauty in a black skirt, strappy stilettos, and a fitted one-shoulder black top. I’m quite sure it’s Jada—Byron’s girlfriend of five years until he broke up with her to be with Isabella. Jada’s make-up is smoky around the eyes, lipstick faded like she’s had something to eat or drink, or she’s been kissing someone. I sneak a peek at Byron’s lips but he’s already got his back to me. The laughter on his face dissipates at the sight of his fiancée and her gaggle of friends in their sleepwear in the living room, drinks in hand.

  “Hi.” Byron gives us a tiny wave, head moving as if he’s scanning the crowd for someone. “Am I in the right flat?” He turns to the woman beside him, who’s still wedged against his side. She giggles in response.

  Isabella slowly gets to her feet. She looks at her watch. It’s almost three in the morning, something I’m sure she didn’t think to check until now. “Byron, what’s going on?”

  “There she is!” he says, arms out to greet his fiancée but with one arm still around Jada’s shoulders, there’s not really much room for Isabella.

  Isabella doesn’t make a move towards him. Instead, she crosses her arms in front of her, the expression on her face thunderous. “Are you kidding me, Byron?”

  “I better go,” Jada says through an amused smile.

  “Yes. That’s a good idea, Jada. Bye,” Isabella says curtly while the rest of us stare daggers at the woman who should’ve got out of here faster.

  Jada slowly takes Byron’s arm from around her, saying something to him that’s inaudible to the rest of us before leaning in to kiss his cheek. He chuckles through a yawn, nodding.

  “Yeah, see ya next sem,” Byron says as Isabella glares at his ex until Jada’s out their door.

  She transfers her glare to her shitfaced fiancé next.

  “That was a bit rude, babe,” Byron makes the mistake of commenting, one hand on the wall to steady himself. Isabella looks ready to explode, and if there weren’t witnesses present, she probably would’ve already chucked something breakable at his head. Or maybe that was just my parents’ style.

  “We should go,” Mia suggests to everyone.

  We all scramble to put away wine goblets and look for our handbags and overnight bags while Byron sits down on the kitchen floor.

  “What were you doing with Jada?” Isabella demands.

  I can’t help but eavesdrop as I slowly make my way out of the tiny flat.

  “She took me home.”

  “What? She just happened to be where you were tonight?”

  “Yeah.” He looks confused at being grilled.

  “And what was that about seeing her next semester?”

  Byron hesitates. Isabella grabs a cushion from the sofa and throws it at him.

  “What the fuck, Byron? We’re getting married next week and I find out today you’ve been seeing your ex-girlfriend?”

  “You’re making it sound like I’m fooling around with her.” He’s speaking very slowly, arms lethargically gesticulating. “She’s a student at Gatton, how am I supposed to avoid her?”

  “She’s a student at—Since when? Why didn’t you tell me? What else haven’t you told me?”

  “Babe, I am so close to barfing all over our floor. Can we talk about this in the morning, please? I need to go to bed and sleep this off.”

  “Yeah. You can go to bed by yourself,” Isabella replies just before we close the door behind us. “Mia, wait!”

  Isabella runs out of her flat, catching up to us just as Penny and I are getting into Mia’s car. I get in the front passenger seat—the best place for my tall frame, and the shorter two get in the back. I consider offering to drive as the only sober person on board but someone on a Learner’s licence isn’t allowed to operate a vehicle if their passengers have all been drinking.

  “Are you okay, chick?” Penny asks Isabella as Mia reverses out of the driveway.

  “I just need time out,” Isabella says as she fastens her seatbelt. “Can I stay at your place, Penny?”

  “Yeah. Of course. Maybe you should talk to Byron though. I don’t think he was doing anything with his ex-girlfriend.”

  “But he should’ve told me they both go to uni at Gatton. If it was nothing, he should’ve been able to tell me easily.”

  “Maybe he didn’t want you to worry, chick,” Penny persists. “You were all the way in the UK.”

  “He shouldn’t have kept it a secret, even if it was nothing,” Mia says. She doesn’t seem to be slurring but I still wonder if the police would catch us or we’d crash.

  Isabella looks out the passenger side window, and we sit in awkward silence.

  “We should just continue our sleepover at my house!” Penny blurts out. “You guys in? I have ice cream and junk food at home. We can watch chick flicks and chat all night.”

  “I don’t feel like chatting all night,” Isabella grumbles.

  “This is exactly what you need, babe. If you mope and overthink this, you’ll just be more upset by morning. Come on. I’m sure Byron will be begging you to come back in the morning, and he’ll have the perfect explanation for tonight’s…whatever it is. He’s a darling. I’m sure it’s nothing, chick.”

  ***

  Most things seem better in the morning. Despite their hangovers and my lethargy from lack of sleep, everything still seems brighter. Isabella starts stirring just after eight, and disappears for about half an hour before returning with food. I try to stay sleeping but the smell of bacon and eggs soon wafts throughout the house. She doesn’t have to call twice to get the three of us to Penny’s breakfast bar. We’re already salivating for the greasy food to settle the grumbling in our stomachs.

  “You spoken with Byron, yet, chick?” Penny asks as she rifles through her cupboards for plates and mugs for us.

  “No. Better to let him think about what he did for a couple more hours. We’re getting married. If he can’t tell me something like this, what else would he keep from me later?”

  She seems to have forgotten that she hasn’t told Byron about Keats kissing her at swimming two days ago.

  “Has he even called any of your phones yet?”

  Isabella brought nothing but her wallet with her last night when she walked out on her fiancé. We all check our mobiles. Nothing.

  “Maybe he’s still passed out,” Penny suggests.

  “Maybe he doesn’t have our numbers?” Mia adds.

  Isabella serves out the bacon, eggs, fried mushrooms and tomato halves onto four plates.

  “Can I check my Facebook, Penny? Maybe he’s sent me a message.” She puts a rack of toasted bread in front of us.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We eat breakfast talking about how we’re going to fit into our outfits next Saturday. Penny has gained weight since Isabella bought our dresses in July and is planning on doing some detox diet unless any of us could talk her out of it. Isabella is still worried about the size of her own gown.

  After breakfast, Mia and I clear the table and wash the dishes while Penny turns her laptop on for Isabella.

  “Ooh, a friend request,” Isabella says, then clicks on the notification. “Eamon? Ugh. Decline. Arsehole.” She shakes herself off, and scrolls down her wall. “Oh, great! Check these out,” Isabella says, turning the laptop around so we can see my posted photo of Will the masseuse giving Penny a massage. “Thanks for that, Jess.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Penny says. “My arms look huge! He was hot though.”

  “How did you find him?” Mia, who likes her men chunky, asks.

  “A friend recommended him. He did her sister’s hens’ night, too.”<
br />
  “Too muscly for me. I like the—,” Isabella suddenly stops talking. “Bloody hell. Is this for real?”

  We all look down at the screen. There’s a photo of Byron with an arm around Jada from last night. He has a huge grin on his face but his eyes are a little unfocused. Isabella has been tagged by Jada. Isabella clicks to the next shot. This one shows Byron and Jada with their heads on the same pillow—he looks asleep. He’s wearing different clothes, so this selfie was probably taken on a different day.

  “What the fuck?” Penny says.

  “That must be at his dorm,” Isabella says quietly.

  “She probably crept into his room and took that shot while he was totally out of it,” Mia offers, surprising me with her optimistic spin on a man’s behaviour. She places a consoling hand on Isabella’s shoulder and rubs her back gently.

  Isabella’s eyes are glistening, expression a mixture of anger and devastation, as she clicks to the next image. The next shot is dark like it was taken at a club. Jada and Byron are kissing. She has her arms around his neck. He has his hands cupping her face.

  “Maybe that’s an old photo,” I say, surprising myself with how much I don’t want her world to fall apart.

  “He’s wearing his engagement ring,” Isabella says, voice shaking with emotion, “and that’s exactly what they were wearing last night. Shit! That’s from last night.”

  Penny reaches down and closes the lid of the laptop.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Isabella says.

  “I’m sure he has a good explanation for those photos.” I earn a glare from Isabella for this comment. I silently curse Keats. I bet he has something to do with this.

  “Do I have ‘cheat on me’ tattooed on my forehead?” Isabella’s voice quivers. “What the fuck?”

  “Talk to him before you make hasty decisions,” I tell her. I look at Penny and Mia to back me up but that last photo seems to have turned them against Byron.

  Isabella takes a long, deep breath like she’s silently counting to calm herself down. “You’re right, Jess. I should talk to him. But he’d better have the most amazing explanation because, right now, I can’t think of how we’d get through this. Can I borrow a phone, please?”

  I hesitate to hand over my mobile because of all the messages and calls from Keats on it. Penny lends the bride her phone. With shaking hands, Isabella keys in her fiancé’s number. We all sit with her as she waits for him to pick up. Eventually, the call goes to voicemail. Isabella doesn’t leave a message. Instead, she dials another number, and waits for a response. Again, nothing.

  “I need to go home. Mia?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll just grab my keys. You ready to go, Jess?”

  We’re still in our sleep clothes but no one feels like changing, so we grab our gear.

  Penny gives Isabella an extended hug before she opens the front door.

  A faded red pick-up truck pulls up across the road from Penny’s driveway before we reach Mia’s white hatchback.

  Seeing Isabella, Byron hops out before the car is barely stationary. Judging by the panic on his face, he knows about the photos his ex has posted on Facebook.

  “Bella,” he says, running across the road to his fiancée. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  She fixes him with a glare that stops him a metre away from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  Good start.

  “About what?” Isabella asks, ever the calculating lawyer. She crosses her arms in front of her, looking a lot more imposing than her five-feet-two.

  Byron glances at the rest of us, well aware we are all listening and judging him. “Last night. And the photos on Facebook. I swear I didn’t know anything about them.”

  “So, you’re apologising that there’s evidence you’ve been cheating on me?”

  “I haven’t cheated on you. I didn’t know Jada snuck into my dorm room and took a photo of me sleeping. And that kiss last night. She kissed me.”

  “You were cupping her face!”

  “I was pushing her away!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she kissed you?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to last night. Besides, it meant nothing. I didn’t even kiss her back.”

  “What else have you kept from me?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Other than the fact Jada’s been at Gatton this whole time?”

  He shouldn’t have flinched. Made him look guilty as hell, even though I get the feeling Byron is truly in love with my friend, and telling her the truth about his fidelity.

  “She only got in the second semester.” Byron takes a tentative step closer to his fiancé. She takes a step back. “Please, Bella, don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s exactly what she wants to happen.”

  “Keats kissed me.”

  “What?”

  “On Thursday, at swimming.”

  “He kissed you?”

  “Yeah. No big deal, right?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Isabella looks at him, mouth open. Her fists go to her hips, and Byron is smart enough to ease up and realise his foot height advantage means nothing right now.

  “This is different. He’s my brother. And I’m going to kill that fucking arsehole. Did you kiss him back?”

  Yes.

  Isabella hesitates. Big mistake. Questions like that, you need an automatic response. Never think about it. These two are the worst liars—it’s kinda cute how much they deserve each other.

  “You still have feelings for Keats?” This question from Byron sounds more like an accusation.

  “No!”

  “Tell me now, Bella.”

  “Don’t turn this around on me. Jada’s done so much more with you that you’ve kept from me!”

  “None of which I’ve reciprocated. You kissed your ex-boyfriend. You kissed my brother. And you’ve had two days to tell me but didn’t.” Byron’s features visibly harden, and part of me worries about Keats’ safety. “Are you over Keats?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  “I need to hear you say it,” Byron says quietly, but Isabella just juts her chin out, unwilling to budge.

  They glare at each other for what feels like ten minutes before Byron sighs heavily and runs an impatient hand over his face. “This is crazy. We’re supposed to be getting married in a week.”

  “Well, we don’t have to.”

  “Bella…” A look of worry flits across Byron’s face as he guesses what his fiancée’s about to do next. “Don’t.”

  Isabella doesn’t heed Byron’s warning, pulling the engagement ring off her left ring finger. “Here. If you don’t believe it’s over between your brother and me, then this isn’t going to work out.” She extends the ring with the heart-shaped diamond to Byron. He looks at it for a beat, shoulders stiffening before he turns away with a stark look on his face.

  I silently will Isabella to run after him as he walks back to his pick-up truck. But she doesn’t. She just watches him go, breaking down on Penny’s front lawn a soon as Byron is out of sight.

  Chapter 30

  Times like these, I wish I had a car. But then I’m so upset, my hands are shaking. So getting behind the wheel is probably not a good idea. Not when I can’t even sit still in the back of the cab as it speeds towards the McAllisters’ home. I’d excused myself from the others to get there before anyone else does.

  Terry’s bark greets me as soon as the driver stops in front of the restored Queenslander house. I quickly check the long driveway for Byron’s red pick-up truck and Keats’ sportscar. The former isn’t there, the latter shines like a slick, black panther in the morning sun.

  Perfect. I pay the driver and let myself in the McAllisters’ yard by stepping over their low white picket fence. Taking the back veranda steps two at a time, I reach the door and pound on it, sending Terry the fox terrier into a barking frenzy.

  A few minutes later, the door opens a crack, the shaft of light illum
inating one of Keats’ half-closed eyes and his mussed up chestnut hair. I spot his faded T-shirt over plaid boxer shorts. He looks like I woke him up as he scans my similar attire.

  “Hey, Hay-gen. Mom’s not here. Sleepover at Mr Barker’s. Thanks again for that.” His sleep-roughened voice drips with irony as Terry runs out the door, then down the steps onto the yard.

  “I’m not here to see her. Move.” I push past Keats into their house, and round on him. “What have you done?”

  “Hm?” He raises a brow at me before a gigantic yawn overcomes him.

  “Isabella just broke off her engagement with Byron.”

  “What?” He looks confused. And definitely hung over.

  “She saw the pics his ex posted on Facebook. And after coming home last night with Jada, it didn’t take much for Byron to go from the doghouse to the shithouse. Now, what have you done? I know you’re behind this.”

  “It worked?” He rubs his forehead with his palm as if that would improve his comprehension.

  I slap him on the arm once, but it feels so good to vent my frustrations of the last seven months that I keep hitting him. “You bloody arsehole! How can you do this to your brother?”

  “Ow! Hay-gen.” He puts his forearms up to protect himself against my onslaught. “You’re acting crazy this morning. Look, this guilt trip you’re on is a bit too early for me.” He yawns again. “Aren’t you happy? My brother’s single again.”

  “I’m not in love with Byron, you idiot! I never was. And even if I were, I wouldn’t have gone as low as framing him!” My slew of slaps intensifies as I remember the devastation on Isabella’s face when she saw those Facebook photos half an hour ago. She’s pissed me off countless times over the years, but she would never do anything like this to me.

  Keats catches me by the wrists. “Then, why did you agree to help me?”

  “Because…” Because I thought I was in love with you. “Because I thought I could stop your stupid plan.” Nice save. “Do you honestly think Isabella’s going to miraculously fall into your arms? Your brother is devastated. I can’t believe I ever—” Shut up, Jess. “You’ve got to fix this. The wedding is a week away.”