LoveLines

by S. Walden

  “How about we just take it easy and hang out?” Reece offered.

  Oh God. “Hang out.” Code for, “I just want booty.” Let’s be friends with benefits and all that stupid stuff.

  I shifted uncomfortably on his leg, itching to tell the truth but knowing it could ruin all the magic of our budding romance.

  “I don’t know how to do that!” I blurted.

  “Hang out?” Reece asked. “Well, it just requires you to spend time with me.”

  “And what are your expectations?”

  “To have fun,” he replied.

  I smacked his arm. “Be serious. We’re in our thirties.”

  He laughed. “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot people in their thirties can’t have fun.”

  “Ha ha.”

  “Bailey?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m not a user,” Reece said softly. “What’s going on here—what’s happening between you and me—it’s not some game. I’m not a player. I’m not looking to score and then disappear on you.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So will you chill a little?”

  “It’s not in my nature,” I admitted.

  “I know. But maybe I can help you?” he offered.

  “Help me chill?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, all right.” I resigned myself to this. I thought it would be murder, but I couldn’t know now how easy the transformation would end up being. I was still rigid—still adhering to my rituals—but Reece’s expression offered the possibility of freedom from my anxiety. Freedom from the strict lines I lived within. So I decided to trust it. “You’re in another magazine.”

  He blushed.

  “Firm Marketing,” I went on.

  He said nothing.

  “They said you’re a rising star in the marketing world.”

  He shrugged.

  “You’re a bit of a small celebrity.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Reece replied.

  “You should be proud of yourself, Reece. I see your commercial all the time. And every time I laugh and think, gosh, that guy’s clever.”

  He kissed my shoulder.

  “What are you working on now?” I asked.

  “Home security system,” he replied.

  I scrunched up my nose. “Well, that’s not nearly as much fun.”

  “True. I think I’m better when the campaigns include a little wit and humor,” he said. “But home security systems don’t really lend themselves to wit.”

  “Or humor.”

  “Not unless the system is an anvil in a Road Runner cartoon.”

  I laughed and stood up. Reece helped me clear the table and wash dishes before he left. He had a presentation to complete before eight the following morning. I believed him, but I also suspected that he didn’t want to wear out his welcome, and I respected that. He wanted us to give each other space, go slowly, pace ourselves. Well, apart from my breakfast orgasm.

  I really liked this guy. And I mean really liked him. It was clear when he left, and my house felt empty.

  I forced Nicki to come to me. I reconciled myself to the fact that I was being used for my extraordinary OCD organizational skills, even gave it my blessing, but that blessing came with a price. She had to travel to me for wedding planning, not the other way around.

  “The parking down here!” she groaned, plopping in a chair across from me. I chose a table on the deck in the sunshine. It was late September. The sizzling August heat had rolled through and disappeared out to sea. Now it was just warm with a hint of fall breeze.

  I told her to meet me at Dockside, a casual seafood restaurant located on the Intracoastal Waterway in Wrightsville Beach. I liked watching the boats come in, imagining one day I’d own a yacht and travel the world with my lover who, at the moment, looked a lot like Reece Powell.

  It had been a week since our breakfast date, and we made plans to visit an antique fair tomorrow. I concluded that antiquing for Reece was more about discovering me than finding cool stuff for his apartment.

  “Nicki, you live on the beach. You know about the parking,” I said patiently, sipping my margarita.

  “Yeah, but the parking here is just ugh,” she went on.

  She liked to compare our beaches. Carolina Beach was far superior to Wrightsville in every way. Why? Because she lived there.

  “I ordered you a drink,” I said.

  “Oh, well, you’ll have to drink it because I’m not consuming alcohol right now. I’m doing a cleanse,” she replied.

  “This early before the wedding?” I asked.

  “It’s not for the wedding. It’s for me,” she replied. “I mean, do I look like I need to start getting into shape for my wedding? Exercise is a part of my lifestyle, Bailey.”

  I slurped my drink.

  “You’re gonna lose a little weight before my wedding, though, right?” she asked, perusing the menu. She mumbled to herself, “Everything here is fried.”

  “What did you just say?” I asked slowly.

  She snapped her head up, and I watched as her silver earrings jangled, catching the light of the sun and shooting bright darts in my eyes. I squinted then fished around in my purse for my sunglasses.

  “What’d I say?” she asked.

  “Something really offensive,” I replied, shoving the glasses on my face. “I don’t need to lose weight for your wedding. I’m a size 2.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean you were fat,” Nicki (Size 0 and much taller than I am) said. “I just meant that the camera adds ten pounds. That’s all.”

  I glared at her behind my shades. The waitress came back and placed the margarita I bought for Nicki in front of her. She was gracious enough to say “thank you” and wait until the waitress left before sliding the drink my way.

  “You’re gonna have to forgo those a few months before the big day,” she said.

  “I’m. Not. Fat.”

  “But you will be if you keep drinking.” Nicki looked back down at the menu and sighed, muttering, “I guess I’ll just have a salad.”

  I wasn’t having a salad. Fuck that. I was having a big plate of fried seafood, and she could kiss my “fat” ass.

  Nicki clicked her tongue when I ordered. That was a thing she did—clicking her tongue in disapproval. That was worse than when she’d just come right out and say it.

  “So here’s the basic outline for now,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She glanced at the sky. “I really should have brought my sunhat. How come you didn’t tell me we’d be sitting in the sun?”

  “The outline?” I asked, redirecting her.

  “Okay. So I’m getting married on the beach.” She looked out onto the water. “Here.”

  I furrowed my brows. “Here, as in here in Wrightsville Beach?”

  She nodded.

  “But why not Carolina Beach? I mean, you complain about this place all the time,” I said.

  “It has its nice spots,” she countered.

  “Huh?”

  “Look, I’m getting married here because I want a home base. My apartment is too small, and I don’t want Mom and Dad traveling back and forth every day. I decided to stay with them the week before my wedding, and that way we’re all just minutes from the venues and can drive back and forth easily if we forget stuff.”

  Well, that made sense, actually. A home base. Of course, she didn’t even consider my house. No surprise there.

  “So you want to get married right on the beach?” I asked.

  “Uh huh. An arbor and tulle and the whole works,” she replied. “And I’ve already put a deposit down on Lumina Hall.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice venue,” I said.

  “We can walk to it from the ceremony,” Nicki added.

  “Have you thought about your color scheme?” I asked. The waitress delivered our meals, and I dug in.

  “Ivory and fuchsia with pops of lime green,” she replied, pushing her salad aro
und with her fork.

  That sounded like Nicki. I always imagined my wedding colors would be ivory, bright white, and soft creamy yellow. Subdued but happy.

  “I like it,” I said. And I did. While those colors weren’t me, they matched my sister perfectly, and they would make for one really fun reception hall. “So what do you need from me right now?”

  “Well, I want to get started straight away on finding the perfect wedding dress and bridesmaids dresses,” she said. She pulled a stack of magazines from her oversized purse and dumped them on the table. “I tabbed a bunch of stuff.”

  “Yes, you did,” I noted.

  “And I want you to take these home, look through all of them, pick out your favorites, and then report back to me in three days,” Nicki instructed.

  “You’re giving me three days to go through all these?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I do have a job you know,” I said.

  She nodded again.

  “And when is your wedding?” I asked.

  “June 6,” she said.

  “And it’s September.”

  “What’s your point?” she asked.

  I sighed. “Okay, Nicki. I’ll report back to you in three days.”

  “Good! We’ll meet for dinner next week.”

  “I’m not driving to Carolina Beach,” I said.

  “You act like it’s a world away! It’s just down the road.”

  “I’m not driving to Carolina Beach,” I repeated.

  Nicki huffed. “Fine. Where?”

  I smiled. “Front Street Brewery.”

  Nicki pouted. “Don’t make me go downtown. Can’t you pick a restaurant off College Road?”

  “Fine,” I replied. “How about Wagoner Hall?”

  Nicki grinned at the joke—our old dining hall at UNCW. To tell you the truth, their pasta station was out of this world.

  I should take this moment to explain that Nicki and I have lived our entire lives in the Wilmington area. Well, she eventually moved to Carolina Beach, but that’s a mere thirty minutes down the road. We both attended UNCW because I didn’t want to leave the beach when I graduated from high school, and Nicki didn’t want to leave our mother. I stayed on campus even though my parents lived ten minutes away. I still wanted that college experience, and Dad was kind enough to refrain from bitching about the cost. Mom worried I’d drive my roommate insane with my OCD. I’m happy to say it wasn’t the OCD. She couldn’t stand my music choices.

  “I’ll call you next week to discuss,” she said.

  “So no to Wagoner Hall,” I clarified.

  Nicki cocked her head and sighed. “Really, B?”

  I shrugged and finished off Nicki’s margarita. The rest of lunch was spent discussing wedding favors and make-up artists and how to walk and keep sand out of one’s shoes.

  “I don’t think you wear shoes,” I said. “I think you’re supposed to be barefoot.”

  “I don’t want some hippie wedding,” Nicki replied, crinkling her nose.

  “I think you can look elegant and be barefoot at the same time,” I said.

  “God, Bailey. You really don’t have a clue.”

  ***

  “Bailey!” Soledad called over the wooden fence. I could only see her forehead and eyes, and I know she stood on tiptoes.

  “Come on over,” I said, waving her in.

  In an instant, I heard the latch lift, and Soledad pushed through the gates dividing our properties. I was in the middle of gardening. Yeah, I forgot to mention that I have a slight obsession with gardening. Not like old lady gardening. I didn’t have those rabbit and snail statues all over the place.

  I started on my back yard immediately after I purchased my house—installing stone walkways, lining them with shrubs and varieties of perennials that bloomed at different times of the year. My father and I built a pergola toward the back of the property complete with a fan and twinkle lights. I found a discarded patio set on the curb in front of someone’s home with a sign attached, reading, “Take Away” and fixed it up. Recovered all the chairs and cleaned and painted the tables. It found a new home under my pergola that’s now overrun with yellow jasmine and purple clematis—fragrant shading.

  “Bailey, un muchacho lindo apareció en su puerta la semana pasada,” Soledad said. “En su pijama!”

  She was playfully admonishing me. Now, what could she be chastising me for? I thought and thought, then settled on simply telling her what I was doing outside.

  “I’m gonna have to cut back a lot of these flowers soon. The cold is coming,” I said. “I’ll miss my Shasta daisies.”

  “¿Por qué estaba en pijama, Bailey? ¿Es un nuevo novio?”

  “I hate when it gets cold, and I’m cooped up inside. I like being out here, but then you know that ‘cause you see me all the time,” I replied.

  “Creo que es guapo. Él se ve fuerte e inteligente. Debes traerlo para que yo lo pueda conocer,” Soledad said. She knelt beside me and helped me pull weeds.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said, placing my hand over hers.

  “Déjame ayudarte!” she replied, slapping my hand away and resuming her work.

  I think we got that exchange right, actually. I smiled to myself.

  “My sister’s getting married. I keep telling everyone. I told Reece—the guy who came over last week in his pajamas. Did you see? Well, I told him and I don’t even know him all that well. Obviously if I’m telling everyone it means I’m totally bothered by it. And not because I don’t love my sister. It’s got nothing to do with that. Even though she is a bit of a bitch. It’s just that it makes me look pathetic. And now I’ll look even more pathetic standing beside her during the ceremony as her maid of honor, not matron of honor.”

  Whoa. That was a lot of words. I watched Soledad absorb a language she didn’t understand before replying.

  “Hay muchas malezas!”

  I just assumed she called my sister a bitch.

  We conversed a while longer while we cleaned out a flowerbed running the length of the back fence. Soledad hugged me before saying goodbye—I do know “adios”—then I went inside to wash my hands and call Reece.

  I stayed on the phone with him through dinner, through late night TV, and into the wee hours of the morning when I finally fell asleep to the sound of his even breathing.

  ***

  “Wow.”

  “‘Wow’ what?” I asked.

  “What do you mean ‘wow what?’” he replied, staring into my back yard. “This should be in a magazine.”

  My head inflated just a little. My heart followed.

  “Why are you just now showing me?” he asked.

  “The last time you were over, we were busy with breakfast,” I reminded him.

  “Why didn’t we have breakfast out here?”

  I shook my head. “I guess I didn’t think about it. And anyway, we couldn’t have all of breakfast out here, if you know what I mean.”

  He laughed. “But I see a privacy fence.”

  “Nope. Soledad, my next-door neighbor, likes to peek over the edge.”

  “Ohhh, I see. Well, then that might have been a little embarrassing,” Reece replied.

  “You think?”

  He nudged my side. “Take me for a tour?”

  “When we get home,” I said, checking the time on my cell phone. “You’ve never been to an antique fair before, have you?”

  Reece shook his head.

  “Okay. Well, bitches are crazy. They get there early and snatch up all the best stuff. We’ll be standing in a line, just so you know. To get in, that is,” I explained.

  “Seriously? For a bunch of milk jugs?”

  “You better believe it.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him along to Erica’s truck. We swapped vehicles for the day in case I found something huge, like a bureau or fireplace surround.

  “Bailey, you don’t have a fireplace,” Reece pointed out.

  I chuckled. “Oh, Reece. It’s not for
a fireplace. It’s for my bathroom.”

  He looked at me confused. “I don’t understand a thing.”

  “Well, you’re about to learn,” I replied, heading for campus.

  UNCW hosted the Stockbridge Home and Hearth Country Fair—the largest antiques and crafts fair in North Carolina. The lawn in front of the main administration building overflowed with vendors. Trask Coliseum was packed snugly, and the grounds around Randall Library were dotted with colorful tents featuring homemade foods.

  “We’re the youngest ones here,” Reece whispered in line, and I laughed.

  “So untrue,” I replied. “Didn’t you know that homemade is the ‘in’ thing? Vintage is cool? Buying local makes you smart?”

  Reece looked at me dubiously.

  “It’s true!” I cried.

  He said nothing as he pointed to a group of old ladies in front of us, eyebrow raised at me.

  “Whatever,” I said, brushing him off. “I hope the whole fair is filled with them. All those biddies are going for the quilts first. So they won’t be a problem for me.”

  “How do you know they’re going for the quilts?”

  “Because I’ve been doing this for years.” I scanned the line. Damn. Another girl who looked to be my age. I nudged Reece, and he leaned in. “That chick is headed where I’m headed.”

  He looked at her, and I could tell he was devising a plan.

  “She’s about three parties ahead of us,” he said at last. “If the line moves quickly enough, we can catch up to her.”

  “And then what?”

  “Take her out, of course.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “Hey, you want her nabbing your milk jug?” he asked.

  “Will you stop it already with the milk jug? I don’t need another milk jug. And why are you so obsessed with it?”

  “Because I’ve never seen one for decoration. Hell, I’ve never seen one.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You got the tickets?” Reece asked.

  I held them up.

  “Twenty bucks a pop,” he mumbled. “Ludicrous.”

  I ignored him and adjusted my jacket. “Now listen. When we get in, start walking directly to Trask. Most of the furniture is in there.”