Rash and Rationality

by Ellen Mint

  “You’re playing the stock market with that money?” Marty slammed his cup down and glared at his brother.

  “Mutual funds are hardly ‘playing the stock market.’ Keeping that much money liquid can be a recipe for disaster. It’s best to…” His apologizing gussied up as explaining snapped away. “When I went to inspect the money, I noticed nearly ten percent had vanished.”

  “Maybe it was a rounding error,” Marty said with a shrug.

  Eldon practically seethed in his chair. And since he was already a swamp ass from his suit, steam rose off his head. “I thought you knew better than to take our parents’ and grandparents’ investment and waste it living outside your means.”

  Goddamn it. Here it comes again. “I am not living outside my means. Do you see any fancy watches on my wrist?” He twisted it around to reveal their grandfather’s old watch from El Salvador that he’d once again forgotten to wind. Crud. Marty started to turn the dial while trying to defend himself with grade-A distraction bullshit. “Or a new car? Maybe shiny specs? Nothing’s changed.”

  Crossing his arms, Eldon raised his snooty nose even higher. “Then where has the money vanished to?”

  “It’s, um…” Marty placed the cup to his lips and tried to speak and drink simultaneously. Gurgling bubbles sloshed over the side, but Eldon wouldn’t abandon his new crusade.

  “Martin Cruz Dashwood—”

  “Oh, that is low. Using my middle name like you’re Mamá.”

  “You should be so lucky it’s me who spotted this and not her. She’d tan your hide for a month!”

  A ray of hope rose in Marty’s chest. “Then you haven’t told them?”

  “Not yet.” Eldon kept thrashing at him with the stick, but Marty was focused on the carrot. “What’s happened? Did you lose your job?”

  “No. I’m good. It’s good. Everything in my life is good.”

  His brother managed to say ‘if that were so, you wouldn’t be withdrawing so much money’ in a single glare. Their entire family could write stories with a quirk of an eyebrow or a sneer on the lips.

  “There’s just some…credit card debt I’m trying to get out of. Okay?”

  “Debt from what?”

  Jesus Christ, he wouldn’t give up. Marty was tempted to slam his coffee down and flee into the street when his phone buzzed. It didn’t matter if it was a scammer offering to pay cash for a house he didn’t own—anything would be a great distraction.

  Burying his head in his phone, Marty’s drowning spirits lifted at Janeth’s beautiful face. He read her text and his momentary reprieve dropped.

  Can’t make it tonight. Sorry. Something came up.

  Pain twirled through his chest as Marty wanted to tell her that he’d spent a lot to make this special. That he’d given up on a Dashwood picnic for her. But instead he texted back.

  What is it? Anything serious?

  No. Something I’ve wanted to do.

  If you knew you’d be doing it, why didn’t you tell me the day before?

  His fingers froze right before he pressed Send and slowly Marty deleted every accusatory word. While he struggled to think of a response that wasn’t crammed full of anger, Janeth responded.

  It’ll help grow my brand.

  Oh. It was a job. That…that made sense.

  Love you, babe.

  All the pain of her ditching him at only a few hours’ notice vanished at that single word. Dewey-eyed, he turned up to find his killjoy of a brother still seated across from him. “Martin, there’s another matter I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Is it my lack of flossing?”

  “No, though you really should. Dentists recommend…”

  Marty groaned and dropped the phone with the incriminating texts on the table. For a brief second, Eldon’s gaze drifted to it, but he didn’t read what was on there. “This woman you’re dating.”

  “I knew this was coming. You’re jealous. I’m sorry if I got myself a hot model, but—”

  “As if Elena couldn’t be if she wasn’t busy being a brilliant neurosurgeon,” Eldon shot back. That defensiveness struck Marty. It wasn’t that his brother wouldn’t defend his long-time girlfriend—it was just that he only did it in a mealy-mouthed ‘she’s a nice person’ way. This attack had real teeth.

  “Trouble in bland-adise?” Marty asked, earning another scowl from Eldon. Oh yeah, something was in his craw and he was taking it out on his younger brother instead. Suddenly it all made sense.

  “Ms. Willows. I only wonder if…is she a good fit with you?”

  “No complaints on her end,” Marty said with a jab of his elbow.

  Eldon coughed, his pale cheeks turning bright red. “Mother doesn’t like her.”

  “Mamá doesn’t want to lose her baby boy.”

  To his surprise, Eldon scoffed. “Lose? You think your relationship is anything… You do. You think this is potentially permanent?”

  Marty winced at the laugh in Eldon’s voice. “You know, you could turn a beautiful sonnet into instructions on tire inflation.”

  “But she’s…”

  “Beautiful, well cultured, beloved by thousands.” He could keep going, but that had to be enough.

  With no more ammo left in his belt, Eldon stared at his hands. No grease under the chocolate man’s nails, because he always wore gloves. Absently, Marty licked at the leftover donut frosting clinging to his.

  “What does she know about you? What does she care?”

  “Plenty. We’ve been together for…nearly a month already. Shit, I should get her something for that anniversary.”

  “Anniversary implies yearly, as in annual and—” Eldon silenced his yapping and sighed once again. “She kept saying our mother was from Mexico.”

  Internally, Marty winced at that massive slight against their parentage. But he couldn’t entirely blame her. She’d only met their parents that one night, and there’d been that massive distracting party. With the blue and white bunting of the El Salvador flag. And the food had been every favorite from his mamá’s childhood. Still… Janeth was originally a pretty white girl from Ohio. It wasn’t fair to expect her to know the intricacies of every Latin American country.

  “So it slipped her mind. Or didn’t sink in. She’ll have lots of time to figure it out,” he said, trying to assure himself as much as Eldon. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

  Go where?

  It didn’t matter. He’d figure something out.

  Marty rose from the table, prepared to leave his barely eaten donut to his nosy brother. To think, he’d been on cloud nine before. Now it felt like a worm had wiggled into his brain and kept whispering cruel comments to wick away his confidence. He wanted to tug on his ear until the vile bug fell free.

  At least he knew that Janeth loved him. Hard to challenge that, Mr. ‘Potentially permanent.’

  Grabbing his coffee, because he wasn’t going to abandon a caffeine fix even in the middle of a fit, Marty turned to stomp away. He got as far as the door before Eldon piped up again.

  “Does she laugh at your jokes?”

  “What?”

  “Your jokes. Your little japes and pranks. Does she find them funny? Does she join in or is she just waiting for you to stop talking?”

  “Of course she does,” Marty said, fully certain that Janeth was in stitches whenever he made one. He just couldn’t remember an exact moment. What about when…? No, that was Brandy. Or there was the time I put that…? Brandy again.

  “You can’t ruin this, Eldon. Your deep hatred of anything romantic won’t infest me!” Marty shouted at his brother and stepped back into the sweltering heat. But the worm kept whispering in his ear, “She doesn’t play along with you. Will she ever?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Are you doing anything?

  That one text, and the fact that his girlfriend was flying out to Las Vegas on some makeup brand’s dime, left Marty awaiting a long night of manual labor. Somehow it seemed like his own doing.

&nb
sp; Another text from his brother lit up his phone, but he ignored it and knocked on Brandy’s door. As it opened, Marty yanked out the paintbrush he’d bought. “Your handy…”

  The rest of his witty saying drained to gurgling as he stared in utter shock at the woman standing in Brandy’s apartment. That sometimes frizzy and always pulled-back hair sleekly caressed her shoulders. It shone bright as onyx all the way down to the softly curled ends.

  Her face looked brighter than he’d ever seen. The endless brown of her irises drew him in and her pink lips glistened. And, most confounding of all, she wasn’t in their requisite boxy polo shirt and khakis uniform. A white tank top with straps thinner than a pencil hugged around her pair of…

  Nope. Shouldn’t look at those. Even with the decree to keep his eyesight level with the horizon, he couldn’t stop glancing just at the edge of where her lady bits smooshed together. That deep, dark canyon of mystery kicked off a fire in his brain.

  “You okay?” this stranger asked breezily and she placed a hand to her hip.

  As if the shirt wasn’t tight enough, the black jeans amped it up. They swept around her curves, making Brandy look more like an exaggerated lady silhouette from truck stops.

  Marty tried to laugh at himself. Hell. Why was his head so hot? He moved to swipe away the hair clinging to his sweaty forehead and smacked the paintbrush into it. The damn thing fumbled out of his hand to clatter on the ground. “Uh, yeah,” he said, bending over to pick up the damn brush.

  What is your problem? It’s just Brandy.

  “You startled me.”

  “It’s my place,” she said, gliding back. Her jeans’ hems drifted over her feet, nearly hiding away the entire naked foot save the tips of her toes. Why did he find that detail adorable?

  Mentally pinching himself to get back into shape, Marty stared at his friend. And he made certain to keep his gaze high above to keep things G-rated. “You’re never out of that green polo. I mean, except when showering. Probably.”

  Jesus, you’re making it worse.

  “And when I saw you all fancied up, I thought you might be a well-dressed robber.”

  Brandy didn’t blush at his compliment. Instead, she stared down at her outfit and sneered. “This is hardly… Wait, I was at your mother’s birthday party. In a dress.”

  Okay, true. And she’d looked nice in it. But this was…different. A small frown burrowed along the back of Marty’s brain courtesy of his damn brother’s doubt. “Were you? Who can remember?” he said to excuse himself out of this mess.

  Brandy didn’t challenge him, but her smile faltered and she glanced away. Slightly dick move to save on pain later. Nothing more.

  He didn’t want to keep dragging out this torture, so Marty put on his most serious voice. “Now, madam. I believe I was hired to do a job for you.”

  The laugh warmed his heart. Brandy pointed to the wall beside a tarp-covered floor. “There it is, in all its ugly vomit-yellow glory. I asked my super if I could paint it when I moved in and never found the time.”

  Marty slapped his hands together, pinching his puny paintbrush in the process. It looked like she had a roller, at least. Nice to know there’s one person with a brain in this situation. He was about to take a step forward when a heavenly scent drifted under his nose.

  “Is that…?” Yes. Cheese, tomatoes, doughy crust. “Did you get a pizza for your most trusted painter?”

  He eased around the kitchen counter to find a golden and glorious pan filled to the brim with the cheesy, pepperoni-festooned goodness. Abandoning the paintbrush in the sink, Marty dug through her drawers to find the cutter.

  “Get? Are you sure you’re really Marty Dashwood?”

  “The jury’s still out,” he said, slicing through the bubbling crust of mozzarella and cheddar. “My brother is dead certain there was a mix-up at the hospital and I was some changeling baby left behind.”

  Brandy laughed at the thought and he lifted the oversized slice. As the piping hot sauce struck his tongue, Marty hissed in pain. But burning his mouth was worth it as the fresh, homemade pizza, crafted with a skilled touch, slid down his throat.

  “This is so good,” he moaned around his bite. Not greasy, not stale, not cold. Everything his usual takeout menu wasn’t. In a word, perfect.

  “Uh-huh.” Brandy slipped into the kitchen and took the cutter from him. “Food is for after you finish your job.”

  “But it’ll be cold then,” he whined, wanting to devour the whole pie in one go.

  Her lips quirked up into a half-smile, half-smirk. Were they always so sculpted? Definite shapeage going on, especially with her cupid’s bow. “I could always call your mother and tell her about your extracurricular activities.”

  “Ha. My mission to perfect that was why I didn’t have time for any after-school groups,” Marty said, about to cut another slice off with her chef’s knife. Then he caught Brandy fishing her phone out of her pants’ pocket. How did it even fit in there? Did her phone curve to make room for her… “Wait! Okay. Your personal rent-boy is off to work.”

  Releasing a beleaguered sigh so she’d know how in pain he was, Marty dropped the last of his crust onto the pan and stomped off for his painting job. A gallon of minty green paint glimmered beside the clean tray, as well as one fluffy paint roller. Everything was ready to be slathered in green. She’d even taped up the sides and removed the outlet plates.

  A strange gurgle of regret rolled through him. That had to have taken time to set up, and he’d texted her while bored and still angry at being abandoned. The trunk of his car was crammed full of fireworks that wouldn’t see the light of night. How long had she been waiting for him to come hang out?

  “I don’t hear painting,” Brandy said as she sat on her couch. With her back turned to him, she booted up various streaming services and began to hunt for something to watch.

  At least she wasn’t going to hover over his shoulder and critique his every move. Though, it was hard to see Brandy being anything but encouraging, unless they were kidding around.

  Guilt sprang up inside him, but this tasted different. Instead of the unsettling acid of knowing he was lavishly courting a woman beyond his means, he felt sad at… Nah, it was probably just gas from the pizza.

  Hefting up the gallon can, Marty spread his feet wide, waddled over to the tray and dumped. “Oh shit!” he shouted, watching a tidal wave of fresh-breath green slop up the side and nearly escape out of the front.

  “Crap, crap, crap!” He lashed the roller out, holding it before the cresting paint like the last dam fighting off a hurricane.

  As the paint settled back, most of it remaining in the container, all he heard was the slow click of the channel. “That’s why I put down plastic,” Brandy said, causing him to break out into laughter.

  * * * *

  A lovely minty shade covered almost half the wall while Marty and Brandy sat on the couch. She chewed delicately on her pizza slice and he couldn’t help but wolf down a fourth. When she drifted her super-brown eyes over to him, he smiled. “Sorry, but I worked up quite the appetite.”

  “Am I going to have to make another pizza to get you to finish?” she asked, as if she hadn’t been the one to tell him to take a break and eat dinner with her. The TV played through a loop of random fireworks displays, which they’d been mostly ignoring.

  Marty shrugged and leaned back into her couch. “The night is young,” he said before tipping back his beer and having nothing dribble out. “And the well’s run dry.” Hopping to his weary feet, he made a beeline for the fridge before asking, “Do you want a refill?”

  “Yes, please,” Brandy called.

  After fishing out two more IPAs from a local microbrewery, Marty drifted back to the couch to spot a string of cheese clinging to her face. She seemed unaware of it, extending her hand out for a beer. But rather than hand it over, Marty leaned down and cupped his thumb to her chin.

  A soft breath caught in Brandy’s throat and he looked up into her ey
es. His hand didn’t shift from the simple cheese-removal, but he felt his thumb caressing her cheek.

  “Marty…?”

  “Sorry, you had a bit of—” He yanked his hand off to show her the cheese string. Brandy’s cheeks turned a ripe pink and, for the first time since he’d sat down, she turned to face the TV.

  Feeling weird for feeling weird, Marty was about to crack open his beer, but as he watched Brandy wipe all around her mouth, he put on a snooty accent and bowed. “Would the young lady care for bottle service?”

  She laughed at that, as he’d hoped, shaking away the weirdness. “If you’d be so kind, good gentleman.” As she held her hand out, Marty raised the hem of his T-shirt and wrenched off the screw-cap.

  “Only the classiest of techniques, I see,” Brandy said, accepting her second beer of the night.

  He was on his third. Wait… Cracking the beer open, he got onto his third. It had to be his imagination, but this was tasting a lot less like grass clippings yanked from the inside of a lawn mower and left to ferment in ditch water for a month.

  A chuckle rolled through his memory and out of his mouth. Clutching the bottle in his hand, he collapsed back to the couch. “I was thinking about the first beer I ever had.”

  “Oh?”

  “Would you believe I was only fourteen?” he asked with his lips pressed around the glass.

  Brandy snickered. “Yes.”

  As the refreshing beverage that was so not getting him drunk passed down his throat, Marty wiped off his mouth. “Would you also believe it was Eldon who got it for me?”

  “No! No way. Your brother…?”

  “Yup. He managed to sneak off with an entire six-pack when our dad wasn’t looking. I thought it tasted like pissed-on bread. Hasn’t really improved much, truth be told.”