“‘Bosom buddies?’”
I pinch my lips together. Is he for real with this? “It’s an expression, Alex. It means ‘best friends.’”
“I know what ‘bosom buddies’ means. It’s just not an expression I’ve heard anyone under the age of about sixty use before.”
“Well, I use it.”
“Often?”
I can’t remember the last time I used the term, but I’m not going to mention that. “Yes. All the time.”
“Well, I’ve got to tell you, it creates quite an image.”
I throw my eyes to the ceiling at his immaturity as he rolls the term around in his mouth.
“‘Bosom buddies,’” he repeats and chuckles to himself.
I shake my head, feeling like I’m suddenly dealing with an eleven-year-old boy. I can use an expression like ‘bosom buddies’ and not get all stupid about it, which is clearly something Alex can’t do. “Try to be mature, Alex, will you, please?”
“Wasn’t Bosom Buddies the name of a show back in the ’80s?”
“How would I know that?”
“It was, I’m sure of it. It was about a couple of guys who dressed up as women so they could live in a women-only apartment block.”
“I don’t think so, Alex. You’re thinking of Tootsie or that other one with Robin Williams who pretends to be his kids’ nanny.”
“No, not Mrs. Doubtfire. It had Tom Hanks in it, I’m sure of it.” He picks his phone up off the counter and begins to scroll through it, clearly looking for proof of this nonexistent crossdressing TV show. A moment later, he turns the phone around, and I look at the screen. There’s an image of a young Tom Hanks and some other guy, both in dresses and wigs with the words ‘Bosom Buddies.’
“See?” he says with one of his self-satisfied grins. It’s a grin he sports a lot of the time. Really, they should rename it the “Alex Grin,” and people far and wide would know exactly what you meant. He’d be famous, and not in a good way.
I arch an eyebrow. “All that tells me is that you’re into shows with drag queens.”
“Or that I like shows with bosoms.” His shoulders shake as he laughs.
I roll my eyes and shake my head back and forth. “You done amusing yourself there?” I ask.
His face creased in a smile, he replies, “There are no guarantees. And really, that all depends on whether you’re going to use any more expressions that make me think of, well, bosoms.” He draws the last word right out, his eyes dancing.
I push out a puff of air. “When you stop going all Beavis and Butthead on me, I’d like to get back to the point I was trying to make.”
“Aw, come on. You’re going to tell me you’re not impressed I knew about some obscure ’80s TV show with crossdressers?”
“I don’t know how you know this sort of thing. Or even why you’d want to know it in the first place.”
He shrugs. “I guess I’m a man of great and mysterious knowledge.”
I burst into laughter. “Yeah, sure you are. Be honest. You’re just into shows with drag queens, which is actually very interesting too.”
“See? I knew you found me interesting.” He playfully waggles his eyebrows at me.
Discomfited, I twist my mouth. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
He holds my gaze for a moment then smiles.
“Now, if you’re done telling me all about your obsession with crossdressing, I’d like to get back to my point, thank you.”
“Be my guest, Darcy.”
“Thank you.” What was my point? All this talk of bosoms and Tom Hanks and drag queens has totally put me off.
“You’ve forgotten what you were going to say, haven’t you?”
“No. Not at all. I’m simply re-formulating my thoughts so I can communicate them to your succinctly.”
His smile spreads. “Succinct points are my preference.”
“Well, that’s exactly what you’re going to get from me: succinctlyness.”
He screws up his face. “Is that a word?”
“Oh, yes.” I gesture at his phone, although I’m pretty sure I added an extra syllable by mistake. Succinctness? Yes, that sounds better. “Look it up if you like. I’m certain you’ll find it is a word,” I bluff.
“I trust you.”
“Good.” Thankfully, my brain whirrs back into action, and I manage to return to my prepared speech. “Now, Alex, what I was saying is that I know we don’t particularly get on, you and I, but I don’t want that in any way to affect our working relationship when it comes to—”
“Why is that, exactly?” he asks, interrupting me mid-speech. Again.
Seriously? This is getting irritating. Why can’t he just let me deliver my speech?
“Why is what?” I’ve only just managed to get back on track, only to be interrupted by him again. At least I can be happy it’s not about bosoms this time, or any other part of human anatomy for that matter.
“Why don’t we like each other?” he asks. “Well, to be more specific, why don’t you like me?”
Flustered by the directness of his question, I reply, “You’re fine. It’s no big deal. We’re just not—”
“—bosom buddies,” he finishes for me, and I give a reluctant nod. “As you mentioned.” He straightens up from his position leaning against the kitchen counter, steps across the floor, and rests his hands on the counter in front of me. “But you know what, Darcy? It’s a big enough deal for you to feel like you’ve got to mention it in that prepared speech of yours.”
Dammit! How the heck did he know that it was a prepared speech? I could argue with him, but I’ve been busted. He knows it and I know it, as much as I hate to admit it.
I cross my legs at my ankles and uncross them again. “Full disclosure?” I ask.
“Even partial disclosure would be good at this point.”
I level him with my gaze. “You’re cocky.”
He lets out a surprised laugh. “Well, you said you were going to be succinct, and that’s definitely succinct.” He knits his brows. “You think I’m cocky?”
“Yes, I do. You’ve always been cocky, even back in high school. And I don’t like guys like that. It’s as simple as that. They’re too . . . cocky.”
What am I talking about?
“‘Cocky guys are too cocky.’ Seriously, Darcy, forget politics, you should write a blog. With insights like that, you’d get a massive following.” He keeps his bright eyes on me as he takes another sip of his coffee.
“Joke all you like, Alex. You asked a direct question, and I responded. I’m only trying to be honest with you.”
“And I appreciate that, really I do.”
“Good.”
“If I try to lose some of this cockiness that evidently annoys you so much, do you think we could work together on this thing?”
I toss my hair and paste on what I hope is a confident—not in the least bit cocky—smile. “I don’t see why not.”
“Good. That’s settled then. If you’ve finished your coffee, why don’t we have a look at some of my work?”
There’s a sudden buzzing sound, and I almost jump off my stool.
“Go ahead and take a seat on the sofa,” he says as he walks over to the front door. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sure.” I move into the living area and sit down on one of the large white sofas. It’s soft, and I sink into it.
I listen as Alex talks into the intercom. “Hello?”
I can hear a crackly voice say, “It’s us.”
“Come on up,” he replies, opening the door. He walks over to the bookcase, pulls a black folder off one of the shelves, and brings it over to me. “I won’t be long. Here. Have a look at some of my work.”
“Sure. Thanks.” I take the folder in my hands and open it up. There’s a sudden bang and a boy of about five dressed as Buzz Lightyear bursts into the room.
“Uncle Alex!” he squeals.
Alex collects him up in a hug and spins him arou
nd.
“Wow, is this the real Buzz Lightyear?” Alex says with mock excitement. “From Star Command?”
The boy nods, his face lit up.
“But where’s Woody and Jesse and the gang? Don’t you know they need you?”
“They’re with Mommy, coming up the stairs.”
“Because they’re not lightning quick like you, right, Buzz?”
“To infinerdy and beyond!” the boy says with his fist in the air.
A woman with hair the color of Alex’s, dressed in a cute sundress and pair of sandals, walks through the door. She’s holding a ceramic plate covered in foil. “What happened to your elevator?” she puffs.
“I need Buzz here to fix it,” he replies. He lifts the boy up into the air and zooms him around. “Buzz Lightyear to the rescue! He can fix elevators. Right, Buzz?”
“No, Uncle Alex! I tricked you! It’s me, Nafan!”
I stand up and smile at the boy’s inability to pronounce “th.” At least that’s what I tell myself I’m smiling at and not the easy, fun way his uncle is with him.
“Are you serious? I had no idea,” Alex says to an ecstatic Nathan, who he promptly tickles to squeals of delight.
The woman looks over at me, and her face creases into a smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Emily.”
I take a few steps closer to her. “Hi, I’m Darcy. It’s great to meet you.” I smile down at Nathan, who Alex has now put on the floor. “And you, too, Buzz.”
Alex squats down next to Nathan and says, “Did you know Darcy works with the Smurfs?”
I shake my head and let out a laugh.
Alex looks up at me, his face aglow. “Right, Darcy?”
“That’s right,” I reply.
“I like the Smurfs,” Nathan replies. “I can sing the song.”
“Can you?” I reply. “How does it go?”
“La la la la la la la la la la la,” he sings, completely off key.
I join in, and we sing the rest of the tune together. “Wow, you really do know all the words,” I say, grinning at him.
“Fat’s because the only words is ‘la la la,’” he replies, his tone serious.
“That’s true,” I reply.
“You should sing that at karaoke with Erin,” Alex says to me.
I can’t help but smile. “We might stick with ABBA.”
“I had no idea,” Emily says under her breath to Alex as she steals a furtive glance in my direction.
“Darcy’s only here to look through my photographs. We’re working on that exhibition I told you about,” he replies as he straightens up.
“Oh,” Emily says. Is it me, or does she sound disappointed? “Well, we won’t hold you up. I just wanted to drop this off for you.” She hands him the ceramic plate.
“I told you, I can cook for myself,” he protests, but I notice he takes it anyway.
“Mom made it for you. You know how she is about her favorite son.”
“She’s got the right idea, that woman,” he says with a laugh.
“We’ll leave you to it. Come on, Nathan,” Emily says.
“But Mom,” he complains. “I wanna play wif Uncle Arex.”
This kid is too cute!
Emily glances at me and smiles back at her son. “They’re doing grown-up stuff, honey. We’ll come back after lunch.”
“I don’t wanna,” he complains.
“I’ve got this,” Alex says to Emily as he bends down to Nathan’s height. “What’s this?” He reaches behind Nathan’s ear and produces a coin. “What was that doing in your ear, Buzz?”
Nathan rubs his ear and looks at Alex’s hand, his eyes almost popping out of his head. “How did you do that?”
“It’s magic,” Alex replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And I’ll show you some more when you come back later, ’kay?”
“Really?”
“I promise. But you’ve gotta do whatever your mom says.”
Nathan gives a solemn nod. “I will.”
“Come on, honey,” Emily says, ushering Nathan through the door. “Thanks,” she says to Alex. “Nice to meet you, Darcy.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I call out as she follows Nathan out the door.
I press my lips together and do my best to fight off the way seeing Alex as a fun and loving uncle makes my heart do weird things in my chest. There’s no way I can go there with him.
Not after what happened when we were in high school.
Chapter 9
“Sorry about that,” Alex says as he closes the door.
“No worries. He’s a cute kid.”
Alex’s features soften as he replies, “He’s the best.” He gestures at the folder I’d left open on the sofa. “Have a look through.”
“Sure.” I take my seat and open the folder on my lap.
Alex sits down right next to me, close enough to see the photographs in the folder, and instantly, my back stiffens like a rod. First, I’ve got to witness his softer side with all that cute Nathan stuff, and now he’s sitting so close to me, I can smell his intoxicating scent, a combination of vanilla and…grapefruit?
He shoots me a look out of the corner of his eye. “Comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you. Perfectly comfortable.” I begin to leaf through the images. They are all landscapes, some including structures, all with the same incredible skies in I saw his work at Cozy Cottage High Tea. “These are awesome,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“Thanks. Most of those I took in India and Nepal.” He leans back on the sofa next to me, his relaxed posture in stark contrast to my own utterly tense version. Sitting on a sofa this close to Alex has definitely shot into my top ten of things to avoid, along with swimming with sharks and keeping tarantulas as pets.
“It looks incredible there. So many mountains,” I say as I study the photos.
“Heard of the Himalayas?”
I scoff. “Of course I’ve heard of the Himalayas.”
“Well . . .” He gestures at the image on my lap of a majestic mountain.
“Wow,” I say despite myself. I mean, this is a picture of a Himalayan mountain, a Himalayan mountain Alex has seen in the flesh . . . or in the rock, or whatever that expression should be for a mountain. It’s pretty darn impressive.
“The next few I took in Nepal.”
I continue to flick through the folder when Alex says, “Tell me something. Why does Larissa always use my full name when she talks about me? She never just calls me ‘Alex.’ It’s always ‘Alex Walsh’ this and ‘Alex Walsh’ that. It’s kinda weird.”
I admit I had noticed that. “She’s just quirky, that’s all. It could be that she thinks the name ‘Alex’ is too short, or she likes the way ‘Walsh’ sounds. Who knows? She thought your name was ‘Alex Alex’ originally.”
“Why?” he asks with a laugh.
I think about how I’d been so shocked that Alex, the guy I’d hated for so long, was the one who took such a gorgeous photo when I first saw it at the Cozy Cottage. “Oh, no reason.” I turn the page and see the same image that was at Cozy Cottage High Tea. It’s of an ornate building beneath a huge sky. “I love this one. Is this in India or Nepal?”
He shifts a little closer to me on the sofa and a weird, zingy feeling grows in my belly. I flip my hair over my shoulders and do my best to ignore it.
What has gotten into me today?
“I took it in Rajasthan in Northern India. It’s so beautiful there. I’ve got that one and a bunch of others in the same series framed in a box. They were for a show I did some time back. Want to see?”
“Sure.”
He gets up, and I let out the breath I’d been holding for the longest time. Why does he have to sit so close to me? I mean, it’s a large sofa, so there’s plenty of room. He’s probably doing it to disconcert me. Yes, that’s what! He’s trying to make me feel uncomfortable.
Well, Alex, you have succeeded. Well done.
He walks around the back of the sofa and p
ulls out a file box. He places it with care on the low coffee table and flips the open lid.
I read the side of the box: “Rajasthan landscapes.” I lean forward and peer inside. There’s a row of black frames, all identical in size, and all neatly stacked against one another. “Can I pull them out?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
I randomly select one frame and pull it out of the box.
“That’s Taj Lake Palace in Udaipur. They filmed a James Bond movie there years ago, and restaurants in the town show the movie most nights of the week.”
I examine the image in my hands. It’s of a beautiful, ornate building in the middle of a lake. “It’s gorgeous.” I place it carefully on the coffee table and reach into the box for the next one. This feels like Christmas Day, waiting to find out what each wrapped present is.
I pull another framed photograph out. This one has a group of men standing in front of a fortress-like building, turbulent clouds swirling above their heads.
He takes his seat on the sofa again, sitting just as close as he did before, and I can’t help but catch another hint of his scent. Combined with the closeness of his warm bulk, that zingy feeling starts up inside once more. It’s more than a little unnerving. I move to the very edge of the sofa, as far away from Alex as I can be without slipping down onto the floor—I’m literally holding on by a butt cheek here.
He doesn’t comment this time. Instead, he says, “That’s the Brahma temple in a town called Pushkar. The temple is actually really brightly painted in blues and reds, which you can’t see in this shot. I met those men, and they allowed me to take a few shots of them. That guy here,” he points at one of the men in a long white shirt over white pants, “he had only three teeth. He was super proud of them, though.” He’s so close to me now, I can almost feel his warm breath on my cheek. What is it with him today?
“How did he eat?” I ask, focusing on the photo.
“I don’t know, but I’d say carefully and slowly. Wouldn’t you?”
No More Terrible Dates Page 9