Can't Always Get What You Want

by Chelsey Krause

  Samira’s arms tighten around me.

  “It’s no wonder you’ve been acting weird. I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “Yeah,” I say, fresh tears falling from my eyes.

  “Do you want us to go home? We can always do this another time.”

  “No, don’t do that. I can pull myself together.”

  We’re quiet for a moment.

  “What was with the kiss Brett gave you?” Sam asks.

  I shake my head, and blow my nose.

  “I have no idea. Yesterday he said he was ‘interested,’ and agreed to be friends and see where it goes. But you don’t just randomly kiss friends, right?”

  Samira nods and offers me a new tissue.

  “I really, really like him, Sam. I was starting to get all giddy and hopeful, and now I feel so confused. It’s like someone’s put my head in a blender.”

  How long have we been in here? I sit up, and am reminded that Samira’s top is soaked with wine.

  “We should head back. Here, let me get you a shirt.”

  I shakily stand and evaluate my wardrobe. What do I have in here that’s going to fit Sam? She’s tall and lanky, while I’m short and curvy. Sometimes I think she and Narayan are going to have really tall, storklike children. You know, in a good way.

  “Here you go,” I say, offering her a plain black T-shirt.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t think—”

  I cut her off. “I’ll be fine. I just need to drink some water and eat something. I promise I’ll behave from now on.”

  She eyes me speculatively. “Well, all right. You might want to fix yourself up a bit though, sweets.”

  I turn to look in my mirror.

  Oh dear Lord…

  “Okay…and thanks, Sam. For listening.”

  She nods, then exits the room, leaving my door slightly open.

  Oh, thank God for makeup. I’m nearly done making myself look human again when I hear voices in the hallway.

  Brett’s deep baritone echoes softly. “Is she okay?”

  “Umm…”

  Please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything…

  “Does she normally drink that much?”

  “She just had a rough day at work.”

  Their voices continue down the hallway and out toward the backyard.

  —

  Heading to the kitchen, I resolve to drink my body weight in water. It won’t completely sober me up, but it’s a start.

  The pie (thankfully) looks fantastic. At least something is going right tonight.

  Brett is already standing by the grill, prepping it for our cook-off. Can I cook drunk? Only one way to find out, I guess.

  “Looks like you’ve made yourself at home,” I remark with a cheeky grin. I watch him closely, looking for any clue as to what he might be thinking.

  Well, I watch him as closely as my eyes will let me. They’re not focusing right. But his expression isn’t giving anything away. He’s cool, calm, confident Brett.

  I wish I could be like that.

  “Prepare to be schooled.” He laughs.

  He rummages around in the cooler he brought, and brings out a Ziploc bag filled with yellow liquid and grilling steaks. I bet it’s the pineapple juice.

  What a rookie mistake. The enzymes in pineapple juice will overtenderize the meat, making it mushy and spongy. I’ve sooo got this.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Oh, nothing…just thinking.”

  He eyes me cautiously. “You look like the cat who ate the canary.”

  I make a zipper motion over my lips.

  “To make things fair, we should have Narayan and Samira judge. Because obviously, we’ll choose our own.”

  “Obviously.”

  We cook in companionable silence, and I find the events of this afternoon slowly retreating to the recesses of my mind.

  Wow, he actually looks like he knows what he’s doing. His steaks even have those fancy crisscross grill marks on them.

  Brett moves to his cooler and brings out skewers with small, curled chunks of meat. It looks like the jumbo shrimp he bought yesterday.

  “What, no mice on those skewers?” I tease.

  “That’s what you think.”

  “Eww!” I screech, and bump my hip into his. He bumps me back, and I peek up at him. His face is in profile, and his hair is hanging slightly into his eyes. It looks like he’s trying to concentrate on cooking, but is failing. A smile plays on his lips.

  “No fraternizing with the competition,” he growls.

  Twenty minutes later, we sit down at the patio table. My stomach lets out a loud grumble. No wonder that alcohol hit me like a ton of bricks.

  We purposely don’t tell Samira and Narayan who cooked what. I’m not concerned, though. I’ve got this in the bag.

  We quickly tuck into our food. Brett’s steak is surprisingly delicious. And tender. My confidence is beginning to waver.

  “I don’t know, it’s a close call, Sammy,” Narayan says, while thoughtfully touching his chin.

  “I’ll say. Although I lean more toward the pineapple marinade.”

  Noooo!

  “It was good, but the teriyaki one was better.”

  Yes!

  “Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have a tie,” Samira says.

  Brett shoots me a good-natured smile and shrugs. I can’t help but smile back.

  —

  After a couple hours of chatting and eating, we’re sufficiently stuffed, sated, and sober.

  Well, at least I’m sober.

  I’m not so sure about Narayan. Despite all the food he’s consumed (for a skinny guy, he can sure put it away), he’s acting pretty tipsy. His voice is getting louder, and Samira shushes him in between giggles.

  “Well, folks, I should head home,” Samira says, consulting her watch. “Day shift tomorrow.”

  I squeeze her in a tight hug, silently thanking her for helping me pull myself together earlier tonight. She squeezes back.

  Is Brett leaving too? I hope not.

  Samira retrieves her and Narayan’s coats from my bedroom. So Brett is staying?

  “Is it all right if I hang out here for a bit?” he asks.

  “Sure.” What will it be like being with him alone, without our friends serving as buffers?

  I can think of a thing or two I’d like to do with him on the couch…

  Nope, nope, can’t go there. Don’t even think about it.

  We say our goodbyes, and I start to clean up. Brett wordlessly cleans up with me. I love that he’s such a gentleman.

  I throw dishes into the sink and begin to fill it.

  “No dishwasher?”

  “Nope. I don’t mind, though. It’s only me here, so there usually isn’t much to clean.”

  He rolls up his sleeves and bumps me out of the way with his hip.

  “Here, I’ll wash. You dry.”

  “You like getting your hands dirty?”

  Geez, Sophie, where did that little comment come from?

  He flashes me a flirtatious smile, but says nothing. For the second time tonight, it occurs to me how much I like working alongside him. I can easily picture us old together, standing side by side, doing daily rituals like cooking supper and washing dishes. How odd. I’ve known him for such a short time, and yet…there’s just something about him.

  You felt that way about Aaron too.

  My mind is a little calmer than it was earlier this evening, so I tenderly pick up the memories. I turn them over, inspect them, looking for barbs. They’re everywhere, but right now they don’t hurt as much. It must be the residual effects of the alcohol.

  “You all right, Soph?”

  “Hmm? Sorry?”

  “You’ve been staring out the window and drying the same plate for about three minutes.”

  “Oops! Well, I’m sure it’s dry now,” I say, laughing nervously.

  Brett wears a bemused expression, and returns his attention to the sin
kful of dishes.

  Crap. I have to save this, or else he’s going to think I’m a loon who spaces out all the time.

  “Thanks for coming over tonight. And helping me clean up. I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s my pleasure.”

  “I have one question, though…”

  “What’s that?”

  “The pineapple juice. How did you manage to get such a great, tender steak with it?”

  He taps the side of his nose. “Ancient Chinese secret.”

  He’s evading the answer by quoting from Wayne’s World? Oh, two can play at that game.

  “Stop torturing yourself, man. Live in the now! Live in the now!”

  He laughs at this. I really do love the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.

  “Seriously! The pineapple enzymes should have made the outside mushy and the inside tough,” I say.

  “You’d end it there?! I expected you to say, ‘It will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.’ ”

  I laugh, and playfully throw my dish towel at him.

  “I haven’t seen that movie for years,” he says wistfully.

  “I own it.”

  “You do? Want to watch it?”

  “Sure. But only if you tell me about the pineapple juice.”

  Brett chuckles. “You can use pineapple juice in a marinade if the meat sits in it for twenty minutes or less.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Huh. Go figure.”

  You learn something new every day.

  “Okay, since we’re sharing recipe secrets…” he says.

  Oh, I already know where he’s going with this.

  “…what was the secret ingredient in your apple pie?”

  Samira had advertised that there was a secret ingredient in the apple pie that she and her mom have been trying to get out of me for years.

  “Can’t tell you. Family recipe.”

  “Will you tell me someday?”

  I tilt my head downward and peek up at him, hoping for a coy expression.

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, dishes are done. It’s Wayne’s World, Wayne’s World, party time, excellent…”

  “Wooo wooo woo woo woo!”

  We grin at each other like idiots.

  It’s not every day you find someone who can quote the same movies as you. And loves the same bands you do. And loves to barbecue like you do. And to freak out cashiers like you do.

  I am having so much fun. In all the drama that’s gone on today, I forgot to ask Samira about Brett and his “reputation” for being shy in social situations. Save for the moment in Safeway yesterday where I caught him looking serious and guarded, I have yet to see him act that way around me.

  I start searching for the DVD while Brett settles into the couch.

  “You don’t have to get up early tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Nah, I have a couple days off. What about you?” I find it, and put it into the player.

  “I’ve survived many late nights before, I’m sure I can do it again.”

  I turn around, and see that he’s seated himself in the middle of the couch. Either side I choose, I’ll end up sitting beside him.

  Choosing the right side (because that’s normally where I’d sit anyway), I plop myself down. I feel a sort of giddy tension in the air, like we’re teenagers watching a movie after Mom and Dad have gone to bed.

  The opening credits are dancing on the screen when I hear him say, “So, you think I have a hot ass, hmm?”

  The hazy memory comes rushing back to me. Did I really say that out loud? My body contracts into a fetal position, and I cover my face.

  “Yeah. Not my finest moment. Sorry about that.”

  I feel his shoulders quake with laughter. Ass.

  “I could tell you were half cut. Was nice to hear, though.”

  He takes a long draw on his beer. Well, at least now he knows how I feel about him. And his behind.

  “You seemed a bit out of it earlier tonight.”

  Do I tell him? No, too risky.

  “I just had a bad day at work, and wanted a glass of wine to unwind. Guess I got carried away. It just seemed worse because it was on an empty stomach.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  Well, kind of.

  “And just so you know, I’m embarrassed about it. I never, ever do that,” I say.

  “You want to talk about what upset you at work?”

  “With you?” I sputter.

  Oh no, that sounded really, really bad. I look over and see him wince.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I wouldn’t want to burden you. It was just a crap day, and that’s all there is to it. But I appreciate your asking,” I say gently.

  It seems to placate him, but I wonder if I’ve hurt his feelings.

  We watch the movie, and I feel an unexpected frisson of excitement run through me. I can’t even remember the last time I sat this close on a couch with anyone, let alone someone this handsome and charming.

  I take in his posture, and notice that the arm closest to me looks cramped. What would he do if I wrapped it around my shoulders? And snuggled in a little closer?

  Aaron’s resurrected memory has shattered me, and I’m aching for someone to just hold me. I gently pick up his arm, lean forward, and drape it around my shoulders.

  He seems a bit startled when I move him, but he doesn’t stop me. I snuggle back in, and exhale deeply. This is exactly what I need.

  We’re still for a moment. I don’t think either of us is even watching the TV. My heart is knocking in my chest, and I feel the corners of my mouth lift. What does he think of all this?

  Seconds later, he squeezes me to him in a small side hug, and gently kisses the top of my head. There have never been so many butterflies in my stomach.

  I relax into our new position, and feel his head resting on mine. I breathe in his scent. That now familiar, heady mixture of cologne, sweat, wood chips, and pheromones. It’s intoxicating.

  How could my head have been so mixed up earlier? Being here feels so right. I never expected to feel this way again. And it’s wonderful.

  —

  “Wake up, Soph. The movie is over.”

  Groggily, my eyes obey. I note that it’s 2 A.M. and the credits of Wayne’s World are rolling. Shame, I missed the mega-happy ending!

  Brett groans and unwraps his arm from around me so he can stretch. I feel really cold without him. “Sorry for falling asleep,” I murmur.

  “No problem,” he says while tucking a stray hair behind my ears.

  Neither of us speaks for a moment.

  “So much for the friends thing, huh?” he asks.

  “Are you not my friend anymore?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Friends don’t cuddle on couches. Or mention hot asses.”

  He chuckles lightly at this, grinning at me through his eyelashes.

  “Indeed.”

  “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask.

  “You can count on it.”

  I walk him to the door, start to say good night, when I remember…

  “Your jacket! Let me go get it.”

  Reaching my room, I locate his coat lying on my bed. I turn to leave…and walk right into him. I didn’t know he’d followed me. His body is muscular and solid, as though I’ve hit a brick wall.

  “Here’s your jacket,” I say feebly.

  Brett’s eyes rove around my room, and he half frowns in an amused way.

  “It’s not how I pictured it.”

  He’s been picturing my bedroom?

  “What did you think it would look like?”

  He wanders around, inspecting knickknacks, the bedspread, the pictures on the wall. I hope he doesn’t spot the dirty underwear that didn’t quite make it to the hamper.

  “Don’t worry; I think it suits you fine. I just thought you’d have more bright colors or something. You�
�re such a bright, sunny person. I suppose I pictured your room yellow or orange.”

  Brett thinks I’m sunny? Today I haven’t felt sunny at all. Mostly overcast.

  “Yuck to orange,” I spit out.

  He shoots me a wry expression. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Oh no. What if orange is his favorite color and I’ve just insulted him?

  “Erm, well, orange is nice. In its own way.”

  “Don’t worry; it’s not my favorite color. Mine is blue.”

  “How stereotypical ‘guy’ of you.” I hand him his coat and walk with him to the front door.

  “I hate to see you go, but I need my beauty sleep.” I yawn.

  “No you don’t, you’re already beautiful.”

  What is he trying to do, kill me? My heart is all aflutter. I hope I don’t go into AFib.

  “By the way,” he says. “Who is Aaron?”

  My heart stops fluttering.

  “W-what?”

  “You said something about Aaron in your sleep.”

  Oh no, oh no, oh no…

  “Oh, well…”

  How do I explain that? Why open that can of worms if I don’t even know where this is headed? Better to play it safe.

  “It was a patient I took care of today. I was really worried about him; I guess it must be playing on my mind.”

  I shift on my feet, knotting my fingers.

  Brett seems to buy it. He briefly kisses my forehead. He looks so happy.

  I was too, a minute ago.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He flashes me a sexy parting smile, and leaves. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep now.

  Chapter 8

  Tattoo You

  Who is Aaron?

  The question repeats in my mind all night long. I know so much about Aaron, and yet, how can you ever really define a person with a word?

  Aaron. Smart. Handsome. Heartbreaking.

  But none of those words capture who he is. Not entirely.

  I curl up on my side, and press my blanket to my chest.

  I miss you.

  September 25, 2008

  “You need some help with your bags?” Aaron’s voice calls after me. Turning around, I see that he has followed me out of the grocery store. I’ve never felt such a visceral attraction toward anyone in my whole life. Tall, lean—and those eyes. They are pale green, sparkling, and also a little sad.