“Are you still there?” Brody wonders.
“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking, processing. It’s a lot to take in. I hope–” What do I hope? That Brody and Justine will be happy? Mmmmm, not really. Guess Tommy was wrong and I’m not such a saint after all. Of course, I don’t want Brody to be unhappy either. SIGH “I just wish you the best. I’ll always be grateful to you for saving my grandmother’s roses. I’ll think of you every time I see those beautiful flowers.”
“We had some good times in that little garden – you, me, Cicero, and, Roxie.”
Did he have to mention his dog? I hate that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Roxie. She’ll probably think Cicero and I abandoned her and not understand why. Oh, shoot, here come the tears again.
“I should go,” I say, in a choked voice.
“Willa–”
“Bye, Brody.” I end the call before I totally lose it. I don’t want his last memory of our time together to be me weeping on the phone.
As if he suddenly sensed that I needed him, Tommy bolts upright from his nap, blinking his eyes. “What’d I miss? What happened?” he queries groggily.
With a sob, I throw myself into his arms and cry my eyes out.
Chapter 30
(Willa)
“That really blows,” is Sloane’s succinct assessment of the situation once I’ve filled her in on everything that happened between Brody and me the night before. Work kept her so busy all day that she wasn’t really able to talk, so she suggested I come over for dinner. I’m supplying the food, of course – a turkey lasagna that I baked at three o’clock in the morning, because I was too upset about Brody to sleep. I also made a black bean and quinoa enchilada bake and a chickpea casserole, but I knew my sister would stick her nose up at a meat-free entrée.
“What Josh did to you blows, too.”
“Eh.” Sloane shrugs dispassionately, then lifts a big chunk of lasagna out of the glass baking dish, using a spatula, and plops it down on a plate. “The two things aren’t really comparable. You cared about Brody and wanted a serious relationship with him. I never had strong feelings for Josh.” She repeats the spatula maneuver with a second piece of lasagna and carries both plates over to the microwave.
“Still, he deceived you and made you question your judgment. That’s never fun.”
“It wasn’t, at first, but I’ve discovered the silver lining in this cloud. If today is any indication, I have a lot of sadistic pleasure to look forward to in regards to Josh-u-a and Princess Ombre. She was at the office this morning, buzzing around him like a Day-Glo gnat. He was trying to work, return phone calls, run staff meetings, etcetera, and she would not stop droning on and on about her ridiculous plans for their wedding – she’s going to wear a mint green dress (couture, of course) because pink gowns are so early 2014, and she wants to have a photo booth at their reception like Kim and Kanye did, and all the guests will be ordered to hold up sparklers when she walks down the aisle, which is probably some kind of fire hazard – oh, and the love birds! The future Mrs. Finley wants to stuff a pair of those little suckers in the wedding cake so that they can fly out when she and Josh cut into it.”
“She can’t do that!” I protest, completely horrified by the idea. “The birds would be so scared and they’d probably smother to death, or get decapitated by the cake knife.”
“I know; she’s an idiot.” Sloane sets a microwaved plate of lasagna and some bottled water down in front of me on the kitchen bar, where I’m perched on a stool. “I’ll totally call PETA on her ass if she goes through with it, but seeing Josh wince and twitch and force a smile onto his face every time his fiancée had another one of her ‘genius’ ideas really made my day.” Chuckling with amusement, she brings a forkful of steaming hot lasagna from her plate up to her lips and starts to blow on it.
“Well, I’m glad you can see the humor in–”
“Sloane!” I hear Gav’s voice coming from the front hallway.
“In zuh ‘itchen,” she calls back, with her mouth full.
“You left your front door open,” he reports as he enters the room, looking even more rumpled than usual. His t-shirt and shorts are a wrinkled mess, he’s bleary-eyed, and I don’t think his hair has seen a brush today. I know he’s on a deadline with the next New Frisco novel, but I hope he’s not going without sleep.
“That’s my fault,” I tell him. “My hands were full with Cicero and dinner when I came in. I tried to close the door with a hip bump, but I guess it didn’t work.”
“Oh, hey, Willa, I didn’t realize you were here,” Gav greets me tepidly while giving
Cicero a perfunctory pat on the head. “Um . . .” His eyes slide over to Sloane. “I think I might have left my suit jacket in your living room last night.”
“Oooooo, you wore a suit for your birthday celebration? Did you guys take any pictures? I bet you looked handsome! How was dinner anyway? I’ve been so preoccupied with the sad state of my love life that I forgot to ask.”
“It was fine,” Sloane says casually before inhaling another bite of lasagna.
I look to Gav, expecting him to share some fun anecdote about the evening, and see the muscle in his jaw clench. “I’m gonna get my jacket,” he announces, sounding angry for some reason. Maybe he’s just grumpy from working such long hours.
I turn back to my sister, who’s struggling to get the cap off a yucky, chemical-laden Diet Coke. “So, you think it’s going to be okay? You and Josh continuing to work together?”
“After today, yeah. I don’t think Josh wants to rock the boat any more than I do. He’s got his meal ticket to protect and I don’t want to lose my job, so it’s in our mutual best interest to maintain the friendly co-worker charade. I plan on keeping our one-on-one time to a minimum, though. I don’t trust myself alone in a room with him. I might drop kick that stupid football of his into his face.” Gritting her teeth, she attempts to twist off the bottle cap again. “Oh, my God, was this thing soldered on?”
Gav walks back into the room. “Found it.” He holds up an expensive-looking light gray suit jacket.
“Great! Why don’t you sit down and have some lasagna with us?” I pat the seat of the bar stool next to me.
“Uh . . .” He glances over at Sloane, who’s now banging the Diet Coke against the counter. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’ve got some panels to finish.”
“Are you sure? You won’t be able to do your best work if your brain doesn’t have fuel.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He’s still staring at Sloane, with an unreadable expression on his face. “Talk to you later.” He drops a quick kiss on the top of my head, then leaves.
“ARGH This is so frustrating! You’d think that a big company like Coca-Cola would have some quality control with their products.” Giving up on the obstinate soda, Sloane returns to the refrigerator and pulls out an energy drink.
“That was weird.”
Sloane doesn’t immediately respond because she’s gulping down the contents of her can of Zap! like she’s been stranded in the desert for a week. “What?” she asks when she finally comes up for air.
“Gav. Didn’t you notice how off he was? He wasn’t smiling or joking around like he normally does. He didn’t want to stay and eat with us, and you know he never says ‘no’ to food. And most bizarrely, he watched you fighting to get the cap off that Diet Coke, but didn’t offer to help you. That was like Pod Gav!”
“He seemed fine to me.”
I frown at her. “You keep saying that word, which leads me to believe that things aren’t fine at all. Did the two of you have a fight last night?”
“No, we didn’t have a fight; we had sex. Man, I wish we had some garlic bread to go with this lasagna. It would break up the monotony of all this tomato sauce.”
I gape at her unblinkingly, too stunned to speak.
“You don’t agree about the garlic bread? Don’t tell me you’re on some low-carb kick again.”
“You and Gav slept together
?” I manage to squeak out.
“Mmmmm . . .” She chews thoughtfully while pondering the question. “I’d say the ratio of sleep to sex was two to five. Much more of the latter than the former.”
“You did it more than once?”
“The man’s a long-distance runner; he’s got stamina.” She gives me a wink, then smirks.
“Okay, wow . . .” I take a deep breath and exhale. “This is a lot to wrap my head around. I knew in my heart that you and Gav would get together some day. I mean, it’s totally obvious that the two of you are soul mates–”
“Woah!” Sloane drops her fork and holds her hand up in the air. “Slow your roll, sister. Gav and I had sex; we didn’t pledge our undying love to each other. So, don’t romanticize it. I know that’s like telling a drug addict not to snort another line of coke, but for real, I don’t want you blowing this out of proportion.”
And here I was thinking that I was having a pretty restrained reaction to this major bombshell she just dropped on me. It’s not like I did the happy Snoopy dance, or started reciting Taylor Swift lyrics, or asked if she planned to take Gav’s last name rather than go the hyphenated route when they got married.
“If you say it was just sex, I’ll take your word for it, although one does have to wonder why you and Gav haven’t been hooking up for years if it’s something that means so little to both of you.”
“How do you know we haven’t been?” Sloane arches an eyebrow.
“Nice try. I’m around you and Gav all the time; I would have known if something was going on between you,” I call her bluff. “Last night was different for some reason. Something transpired that made you guys finally decide to act on your deep, long-suppressed feelings for each other.”
“Ugh, stop. Deep, long-suppressed feelings?” Sloane pretends to gag. “I’ll tell you what happened last night, Nosy. We drank too much wine, which made us horny. And the sex was really good the first time, so we kept on doing it.”
“Uh huh. And after this marathon boink-fest, you and Gav just exchanged high-fives and merrily went your separate ways?”
“Something like that.” She polishes off the last of her lasagna. “Why aren’t you eating?” She points at my untouched plate with her fork.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, shoving the plate toward her. Heartbreak always kills my appetite, and this stuff with Sloane and Gav is starting to make me queasy. She might think that Gav shares her “Sex is no big deal” attitude, but I saw his face earlier and he was clearly upset. So, Sloane’s in denial (I refuse to believe she just doesn’t care.), Gav’s hurt, also possibly angry, and I don’t know how to help either one of them. How ironic that my sister’s always accusing me of acting rashly and making foolish choices about men when she’s the one who drunkenly opened a Pandora’s box of highly volatile and complicated emotions last night.
This is not the way I pictured things working out for Sloane and Gav at all. They were supposed to be like Cher and Josh in Clueless. (Close friends who hide their true feelings behind a lot of teasing and witty banter, until one day they have a joint epiphany and realize just how perfect they are for each other, then they share a sweet kiss to seal their love. SIGH) Having hot, wine-induced sex multiple times is not something Cher and Josh would have ever done. But wait, that’s exactly what happened with Harry and Sally in When Harry Met Sally, isn’t it? I think it was more like comfort sex with them, but whatever. Close enough. How did those two crazy kids get their relationship back on track after sex screwed things up? Think, Willa!
Okay, it’s coming back to me now . . . I believe it was Harry who backed off and just wanted to be friends post-sex, which wounded Sally. So, in real life, Sloane is Harry, and in order for her relationship with Gav/Sally to be saved, she’ll have to chase him down at a New Year’s Eve party and– Shoot, it’s June, and Sloane would never publicly declare her feelings for Gav. She won’t even admit she has any feelings. All right, so this plan needs to be scaled back. Think simple, think small, think easy.
“You should talk to Gav,” I toss out the suggestion as nonchalantly as possible, knowing Sloane will never do it if she thinks she’s being ordered or guilted into it.
She glances up from my plate of lasagna, which she’s already halfway through eating. Her body must really need the carbs after all that exercise with Gav. “Why?”
“To make sure you’re both on the same page about last night. You don’t want the sex,” I whisper the word like it’s scandalous, “to cause problems between the two of you, to ruin your friendship.”
“It won’t. Gav and I are cool.”
I open my mouth to refute this, but she anticipates what I’m about to say and verbally blocks me. “If he was in a bad mood earlier, it had nothing to do with me.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I mumble.
“I will.” She glares at me defiantly, and I glare back. Or at least I try to. I mostly just squinch up my eyes and–
“Roxie!” I exclaim.
“Do you have Tourette’s?” my sister wonders. It’s not the first time she’s asked me this. I guess I do have a tendency to blurt out random things when other people least expect them.
“No.” I hop down off the bar stool. “It’s Brody’s dog. She’s outside. I can sense her.”
“Do your thing.” Sloane waves me off, more interested in cleaning her plate than in any unfolding canine drama.
“I will. Stay here,” I instruct Cicero, then grab his leash and head for the door.
Chapter 31
(Sloane)
I’m covering up the lasagna dish with some tinfoil when I hear the front door close followed by Cicero clambering across the wood floor. I peek out of the kitchen and see my sister leading a very bedraggled-looking golden retriever into the house.
“Muddy paws, Willa. Really?” There’s now a trail of dirty, wet footprints all the way down the front hallway.
She looks over her shoulder and winces. “Ew, sorry, I’ll clean them up. Poor Roxie. She’s been through quite an ordeal.” Kneeling down on the floor, Willa throws her arms around the blonde beast’s neck and gives her a hug. “I found her out by the gate to the back yard. That’s where she spent all her time whenever she came here with Brody.”
“So, she was looking for you? How did she get here? She couldn’t have run all the way from Brody’s place.” That’s like six miles away, and some of the journey would have been on the freeway. Maybe she hitchhiked. Ha! Now I have this hilarious mental image of Roxie standing on the shoulder of the 101 with a paw up in the air and a sign around her neck that reads “Lower Pac or Bust!”
“I’m not sure.” Willa turns concerned eyes on the dog, who’s panting in double time while Cicero sniffs her up and down trying to figure out what’s wrong. “She’s really stressed, so her thoughts are all jumbled and I can’t make heads or tails of them. Can you get her some water?”
Resisting the impulse to say something snarky about not being in the habit of waiting on dogs, I retrieve an old bowl Cicero drinks out of when he visits and fill it with some of the bottled water Willa was drinking earlier. Roxie laps up the water frantically, splashing it all over the tile in the kitchen (Smart of me to set it there, right? She would have ruined my wood flooring if I’d given her half a chance.)
“Feeling better?” Willa inquires once the bowl’s empty. The dog gazes up at her with big brown eyes.
“She’s not hyperventilating anymore, so that has to be a good sign.”
“Yeah, she’s calming down now.” Willa rubs her back, with long, soothing strokes. “You can pet her if you want.”
“Pass. I’m not wearing my dog-petting clothes.” I still have on the pricey purple tweed dress I wore to work and I don’t want Roxie shedding her golden fur all over it.
“Mmmmm hmmmmm, yes, I see . . .” Willa’s in communion with the dog now, and she’s nodding her head in understanding as they converse. “Brody was working a job nearby,” she tells me, “and Roxie recognized
the area as being close to this house. She wanted to see me, so she took off. That must have been a few hours ago, because it was still light out.” Cupping Roxie’s face in her hands, she says, “Your daddy must be so worried. I need to call and let him know you’re okay. Can you give me my phone, Sloane?”
“Sure, it’s not like I have anything else better to do,” I grumble, thinking about the latest batch of Bainbridge financials I need to review before I can go to bed tonight. Grabbing her banana split purse (and I thought her bags couldn’t get any goofier . . .), I extract Willa’s antiquated cell phone and hand it to her.
She’s in the process of calling her boyfriend-for-less-than-a-day when she freezes because she’s getting a new psychic transmission from Roxie. I can always tell when this happens, because Willa cocks her head to the side and squints her eyes as if she’s concentrating really hard.
“You had quite an adventure, didn’t you?” she says a couple minutes later. Glancing up at me, she explains, “Roxie was on her way here when she got sidetracked by a squirrel who looked like a potential playmate. She chased the squirrel, which ended up being an unusually large rat . . .,” Willa pauses to shudder delicately at the thought of street vermin; guess she’s not a fan of all furry creatures, “. . . into an alley behind an Italian restaurant, where some bags of trash had fallen out of the dumpster. Roxie helped herself to some leftover chicken parm and spaghetti with meatballs. She continued on her journey, but started to feel unwell a few blocks later.” Willa makes a face. “I’m afraid one of your neighbors is going to find an unpleasant surprise on their front sidewalk tomorrow morning.”
Twin Piques Page 30