The Boy Next Door

by Costa, Annabelle

“I’d never screen your call,” I say, even though I probably would. No, definitely.

  “Tasha,” she says. “There’s something I need to tell you. Before you hear it from someone else.”

  She’s got my full attention now. I even shut off Family Guy. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  “Lydia’s getting married.”

  At first, I feel relief. I mean, I thought she was going to tell me she was dying or something. But then I absorb what she just said. My baby sister is getting married. Lydia’s getting married, and I am so far from something like that, it’s not even funny.

  How could this possibly be happening? How could Lydia be getting married before me? I’m the pretty one! Everyone said so. Lydia was the smart one or the one with good personality or whatever. Anyway, she was fat. I always had boys chasing after me and Lydia could never get a date to save her life. I remember my mother telling me that she sat at home during prom night.

  How the fuck is Lydia getting married?

  “You met the guy,” Nana says. “It’s that stiff Duncan who was there at Thanksgiving.”

  Duncan. I remember him vaguely. If possible, Duncan was even worse than Larry. He was bucktoothed and balding, and I think he worked as a plumber. I wouldn’t want to be marrying Duncan, that’s for sure. But what I really don’t want is to have everyone whispering about me at Lydia’s wedding, how I used to be so pretty but I was so picky, and now I’m an old maid.

  “Look, I know how you feel,” Nana says. “I was the oldest of my sisters and also the last to get married.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s true,” Nana says. “And it was much less acceptable to be unmarried back then. But I wasn’t about to compromise and marry some dirtbag just so people wouldn’t call me an old maid. My sisters married a drunk and a gambler. I was the only one who married a decent guy.”

  I take a deep breath. I don’t even trust myself to talk because there are tears rising in my eyes. I can’t even believe I’m crying over this. As much as I feel like a loser for getting married after my baby sister, I feel like even more of a loser for crying over it.

  “If you want to get married so bad,” Nana says, “go ahead and do it.”

  “Oh, sure,” I say. “I’ll just kidnap a random guy off the street and drag him to the altar.”

  “Marry that guy you brought to Thanksgiving last year,” Nana says. “The crippled one who lived in the house next door. He’d marry you in a second.”

  “Jason?”

  “Sure, why not?” Nana says. “He was nice looking and you could tell from his clothes that he’s got money. And he sure likes you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you all night.”

  “Jason doesn’t like me that way,” I say. “He’s the kid from next door. He’s like . . . my brother.”

  Nana snorts. “Is that what you tell him? Poor guy.”

  “Nana, seriously,” I say. How come nobody except Jason and I seem to realize that our relationship is entirely platonic?

  “You think you can get to 87 without learning a few things?” Nana says. “Least of all, I can figure out when a young man likes a girl. I learned that when I was younger than you, Tasha.”

  “Trust me on this one, Nana,” I say.

  “No, you trust me, Tasha,” she says. “You offer that boy a roll in the hay, and you’ll see I’m right.”

  I can’t even imagine offering Jason a “roll in the hay” without bursting out laughing. I’m sure he’d laugh just as hard. Especially if I called it a roll in the hay.

  “I’ve been seeing that boy come around since you were a kid,” she goes on. “He’s head over heels for you, and aside from the wheelchair, he’s very good looking. And you can just tell by looking at him that he’d treat you good.” She adds thoughtfully, “These boys who can’t walk, I hear they learn to do amazing things with their mouths. He’d probably give you quite a thrill.”

  “Nana!” I shriek, trying not to hear the words that came out of my elderly grandmother’s mouth.

  “Well, I was a girl right around World War II,” she says. “So there were lots of them coming back like that. One of my girlfriends told me—”

  “Please stop, Nana,” I beg her. I’m about one second away from sticking my fingers in my ears and singing loudly.

  “I just want you to see you’ve got options,” Nana says. “Lydia just grabbed the first man who’d have her.”

  I’m sure Nana’s right about that, but it still doesn’t make me feel any better. Because I’ve never dated a man who wanted to marry me. (She’s entirely wrong about Jason.) I’ve been dating for like twenty years, and not one proposal. I mean, what’s wrong with me? Is there something fundamentally unmarriageable about me? Sure, I’m pretty, but there’s obviously something about me that makes men decide that I’m not the one they want to spend their lives with.

  “Nana, I’ve got to go,” I say, feeling the tears getting dangerously close to the surface.

  “You all right, Tasha?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I manage, just a few seconds before I slam down the phone and start to outright bawl.

  I sit in my jammies crying for fifteen straight minutes. It goes without saying that the person I always call when I feel like shit is Jason. Yet with his relationship with Melissa growing closer recently, I feel hesitant calling him. He’s not even married yet and already we’re growing apart.

  I type“two,” which is Jason’s speed dial number on my phone and stare at it for several minutes. I imagine the sound of his reassuring voice, a voice that’s been in my life for about 25 years. I know it’s the only thing that will make me feel better right now. I complete the call.

  It rings a few times and for a moment I’m terrified that Jason isn’t going to answer. Maybe he’s having sex with Melissa right now. I feel ill at the thought. But then I hear his breathless voice. “Tasha?” he says. “What’s wrong? Why are you calling so late?”

  “Lydia’s getting married,” I sob.

  Anyone else would probably be perplexed or think I was a nut job, but Jason seems to know exactly what I’m upset about. “Oh, Tasha,” he murmurs. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure she’s marrying some loser.”

  “Nobody cares who she’s marrying,” I say. “I’m five years older than she is, 32-years-old, and I’m still single! I feel like the biggest loser on the planet.”

  “I’m 32-years-old too,” he points out. “So that makes me at least as big a loser as you. At least you’re hot.”

  “It’s different for men,” I say. “Anyway, you’re going to get married soon.”

  “Listen,” he says, “I’m not getting married so fast.”

  “You were looking at rings,” I say accusingly.

  “I know, but . . .” He sighs. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Really?” I say, sniffling. I’m trying my best not to sound happy about this development, but it’s hard. “Why not?”

  “I just . . .” He hesitates. “I wish the two of you got along better. I mean, you’re my best friend and for some reason, you don’t like each other. It doesn’t feel right.” He sighs again. “Maybe we should just break up.”

  I remember what Melissa said to me all those months ago, about how the reason Jason wasn’t married was because of me, how I’d wrecked every relationship he’d ever had. And here I am, on the brink of wrecking yet another one. Melissa isn’t my favorite person in the world, but she isn’t awful. She seems to love Jason a lot. As crappy as I feel, I can’t be so selfish as to wreck another relationship for him.

  “You shouldn’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m sure Melissa and I will get along eventually.”

  “And I don’t want you to worry about Lydia,” he says. “Worst comes to worst, you can bring me to the wedding. Nobody will care about Lydia if there’s a guy in a wheelchair to stare at.”

  “Oh, stop it,” I say, but he’s gotten me to laugh a little bit.

  “You know, Tasha,” he says. “Melissa may be my gir
lfriend, but you’ve been my best friend practically my whole life. You’re the most important person in the world to me.”

  That might be true now, but once he marries Melissa, I get the feeling that my role in his life is going to be significantly diminished.

  I guess that’s something I’m just going to have to deal with.

  I spend most of the week feeling depressed about Lydia. I’m glad Nana called me to give me a warning, because I don’t think I could have dealt with Lydia popping the news on me like that, all excited and full of wedding plans. Despite our age difference, Lydia and I always had a bit of a rivalry. I think she always sort of resented my being the pretty one and getting relegated to being the smart one, especially since she wasn’t terribly smart. This is her moment to finally stick it to me that she managed to get hitched before I did.

  I’m going to be a bridesmaid. Not the maid of honor, which is being given to Lydia’s chubby friend Erica. But I still get to walk down the aisle in a puffy, lacy pink dress, which I am going to have to fly out to Pittsburgh to get fitted for, then have to pay for myself. I can’t wait for this damn thing to be over.

  ***

  Larry takes me out to dinner the next Saturday night, and he can tell something isn’t right. I spend a lot of time moping, and since Larry isn’t the most talkative guy in the world (to put it mildly), it’s pretty weird that he’s carrying the conversation.

  “Tasha,” he finally says, “are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I say mopily.

  “You seem upset about something.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes,” Larry says. “You know, if something is upsetting you, you can tell me about it.”

  “Can I?”

  “Of course,” Larry says, missing the sarcasm in my voice.

  I know that whining about being single is the best man repellent, but I don’t even care anymore. “My baby sister is getting married.”

  Larry’s face lights up. “Mazel tov!” he says. Then he frowns. “So what’s wrong?”

  “That’s it,” I say. “She’s five years younger than me and she’s getting married.”

  “Oh,” Larry says. He still doesn’t get it.

  “Look,” I say, “it’s not like I want to get married or anything. But . . . it just makes me feel lousy about myself that she’s so much younger, yet she’s getting married first.”

  “Oh,” Larry says again. “Well, you shouldn’t feel bad. My younger brother and sister are both married.”

  “Yeah, well. . . .” I say. “It’s different for men.”

  “It is?” He seems mystified.

  I look at Larry and wonder if I’m talking to the wrong person. Actually, I’m definitely talking to the wrong person. Whether he cares about getting married or not, I’m sure no woman is going to be jumping to tie the knot with a guy like Larry.

  ***

  Because he knows I love it, Jason suggests we go out to karaoke the next weekend. I would have preferred it be the two of us alone, but somehow it ends up being all four of us on a double date. It’s actually my fault, because when I mention karaoke to Larry, he somehow gets all excited and says he wants to go. I can’t say no to him because he’s practically never been excited about anything before ever, so Jason invites Melissa too.

  The karaoke bar is a small place in the village that Jason and I have been going to for years. I don’t think he’s ever taken Melissa here, because she shows up looking really overdressed in a tight black dress and sexy pumps. In contract, I’m wearing jeans and a tank top. But she doesn’t seem at all upset at being the most dressed up person at the bar. In fact, when she sees me, she flashes me a big smile for perhaps the first time ever.

  The smile disturbs me so much that I anxiously search her fingers for sign of an engagement ring. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see her fingers are bare.

  We get a table near the front, and quickly order alcohol. There’s no way you can sing karaoke without being pretty drunk. Jason inexplicably has a great voice and always sounds fantastic when he sings, but it usually takes at least four or five drinks to get him up there. Despite being lead singer of a band and a music teacher, I can’t sing nearly as well as Jason, but I always end up making a showing.

  “Tasha,” Melissa says as she sips her drink, smearing her glass slightly with her red lipstick. “I heard about your sister, Lydia. Congratulations!”

  I stare at her in surprise. “Oh, um, thanks.”

  “And don’t worry,” she adds. “I’m sure it will be your turn eventually.” As she says that, she puts her hand on Jason’s forearm possessively.

  Oh my God. I am going to kill Jason. How could he tell her that? He knows how sensitive I am about this wedding! I raise my eyes to give him a dirty look, but he’s shaking his head with an exaggerated expression of innocence on his face.

  So if Jason didn’t tell her, then. . . .

  I look over at Larry, who’s taking a swig of his beer. I give him a questioning look. He shrugs and says, “Oh, I told Melissa about your sister. I hope that was okay. Or did you want to tell her?”

  Could my boyfriend seriously be this clueless? Seriously??

  “So what song are you singing, Tasha?” Jason asks me, swiftly changing the subject.

  “I have a few thoughts,” I say.

  “How about you, Melissa?” he asks.

  “Are you joking?” Melissa snorts. “I’m not getting up there and making a fool out of myself.”

  “But it’s really fun,” Jason points out.

  “So is jumping out of a plane,” she says.

  “We’ll see,” he says. “I bet if we get a few more drinks in you, you’ll sing something.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Melissa says, and I’m pretty sure she means it. Melissa’s a little too uptight to belt out a song in front of a large audience.

  After my third beer, I’m ready to put in my dollar and select my choice of songs. The DJ sees the song and grins at me. “I can’t wait to hear you sing this,” he says.

  Jason looks intrigued when I get back to the table. “What are you going to sing?” he asks me.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Larry doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to me. He seems very distracted by something.

  About fifteen minutes later, I hear the DJ call my name and I get up on the stage. To be honest, I love being up on the stage. I’m kind of an exhibitionist. Despite how awful Cynthia’s Armpit was, I loved the rush of singing in front of a crowd. And yes, I love the way the men in the crowd look at me. Maybe when I’m forty, a pair of tight jeans and a tank top may not be enough to attract howls from men, but right now, it still does.

  The words to the song appear on the teleprompter, but I don’t need them. I know this song by heart.

  “‘Oh my God, Becky,’” I say into the microphone, putting my hand on my hip. “‘Look at her butt. It’s so big! She looks like one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. But, you know, who understands those rap guys? They only talk to her because she looks like a total prostitute!’”

  Jason is cracking up at our table, while Melissa has her usual look of hatred/disapproval. I can see Larry, and he’s got this bemused expression on his face, and his eyes widen when I burst out with, “‘I like big butts!’”

  I’ve sung “Baby Got Back” a few times, and it’s the one song that never fails to amuse the crowd. Especially because my butt, while not especially large, is pretty nice, if I do say so myself, and I don’t terribly mind putting it on display a bit. I’ve got people in the room actually dancing by the time the song comes to an end.

  When I get back to my table, I expect Larry to react with horror and maybe send me to my room without supper, but instead he puts his arm around me and kisses me. “I have the coolest girlfriend in the room!” he announces, and for a moment, I’m happy he’s my boyfriend too.

  I smile at him. “Are you going to sing something?”

  “Yes,” he says. “As a matter
of fact, I am.”

  I am totally shocked. I thought Larry would have to be totally wasted to get up there on the karaoke stage. But without any other prompting, he gets up and gives the DJ his song request.

  “Wow,” Jason says. “He’s got more balls than I would have thought.”

  “Yeah,” I say and somehow feel a little uneasy.

  Larry quickly downs another beer while we’re waiting for his song to come up. He keeps his arm around me, which is also kind of unusual behavior for him. I catch Jason’s eye, and he kind of shrugs and grins at me. I wonder if Jason’s planning to sing anything. He should do Bon Jovi. He’s great at singing Bon Jovi.

  I hear Larry’s name called out, and he hurries up to the stage. He takes the microphone with slightly shaking hands. “Um,” he says. “I want to dedicate this song to my wonderful girlfriend, Tasha.”

  Aw. I think.

  The music starts up and Larry is clutching the microphone in both hands. I recognize the melody immediately and my heart skips a beat. “Love,” he sings, “I get so lost sometimes . . .”

  “Holy fuck,” Jason says. “He’s singing Peter Gabriel!”

  Larry is, in fact, singing Peter Gabriel. I’m totally amazed. He somehow remembered what I said about John Cusack and Say Anything and playing Peter Gabriel below her window being the most romantic thing in the world. I look at Jason, who is shaking his head, because John Cusack movies are the one thing we disagree on. I think they’re romantic and he thinks they’re cheesy as all hell, which is probably because I think John Cusack is hot and he doesn’t. But he knows I love this song, and I think he’s kind of amazed that Larry knows it too.

  In all honestly, Larry isn’t a great singer. He’s got an okay voice. It isn’t painful to listen to or anything, but he’s no Peter Gabriel. But even so, I feel myself kind of melting. This may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, ever.

  The song comes to a close, and I have to say, I kind of have tears in my eyes. Maybe I misjudged Larry. Okay, he’s not the most interesting guy in the world. But he’s really thoughtful. Who else would get on a stage and sing Peter Gabriel to me?

  “Tasha,” he says into the microphone after the music stops. “I just want to say these last six months with you have been the best time in my entire life. I . . . I love you, Tasha. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will . . . will you marry me?”