Going Wild

by Gretchen Galway

  Abel and Francesca were her dad’s new kids, her youngest half-siblings. “It would be an unnecessary hassle just for—” She was going to insult the restaurant again but said instead, “For a few hours.”

  “They were flying into Oakland, so we decided to have it there.”

  Jane was halfway up a steep dirt trail through redwood trees that were beautiful but apparently liked growing on a twenty-degree angle. She was drenched in sweat and panting like a dog. “Have it where?”

  “In Oakland. Ken and I don’t mind having an excuse to drive down. We love spending time in Berkeley now and then. We’re going to splurge and stay at the Claremont. I’m getting a spa—”

  Jane slapped a hand over her pounding heart. “You’re having the party at my house?”

  “Of course not!” Karen said, laughing. “I wouldn’t do that to you, honey. The Johnsons have neighboring houses together, not too far from you.”

  “You invited the Johnson cousins?”

  “Of course. I invited all the Johnsons, are you kidding? Billie would never forgive me if I didn’t make sure your Aunt Trixie was there. She and your father haven’t seen each other since your grandmother’s funeral.”

  Trixie was Jane’s father’s first cousin, but they called her an aunt.

  Everyone in the family had met at the house, which her grandmother had left to Jane and Billie, and seen what a mess it was. It had taken months to make it livable—while they were living in it. Ian, increasingly smitten with Billie, had helped out with the renovation.

  “That was so upsetting,” Karen said. “To see how she’d been living… all those cats… and that carpet…” Her voice shuddered.

  “I know. Believe me. On a really hot day, you can still smell a hint of the cat pee.”

  “But just think,” her mom continued, “if the house hadn’t been in such bad shape, Billie and Ian wouldn’t have had the chance to realize they were made for each other.”

  Jane made a skeptical sound. “They would’ve found a chance sooner or later. Sooner, I think.”

  “But they’d been friends for years, practically since you dated him back in high school.”

  Her mother wasn’t afraid of bringing up the past. “Mom, they’d been in love with each other for years,” Jane said. “They would’ve figured it out eventually, even without the cat-pee carpet.”

  There was a moment of silence. “You know, Jane, I think you might actually be glad they figured it out.”

  Why couldn’t her mother believe she wished them well? “Of course I’m glad. I love Billie. Ian’s perfect for her. They’re crazy good together.” Jane tripped over a root jutting into the path, which triggered her temper. “And how can you say that? ‘Might actually be glad.’ They’re having a baby, Mom. Together. I can’t wait to see what it looks like.”

  “Please don’t say ‘it,’” Karen said.

  “Sorry. Billie’s fault.” Jane wiped the sweat off her brow. The cooling shade from the redwoods was behind her. Now she walked on the bare ridge overlooking the bay, exposed to the sun. San Francisco looked small compared to the rest of the sprawling Bay Area, just a hazy peninsula with a few tall buildings at one end. “Anything else changed about the party other than the place?” Mark and Rose’s house would be a lot easier to get to, but poor Grant wouldn’t get his favorite tortilla chips.

  Thinking about Grant made her smile involuntarily. He was so damn cute. Dumpster diving at Whole Foods.

  Oh Christ. She was thinking about him again.

  “Nothing changed. You’re still bringing your roommate?”

  “Housemate. And yes.”

  “Can’t wait to meet him,” Karen said.

  Jane rolled her eyes up to the summer sky. “Look, Mom, I have to go. I’m about to walk back down into the trees where there isn’t any coverage.”

  “Send me a selfie,” Karen said. “I need proof you’re really hiking.”

  “It’s not hiking. It’s walking.”

  Karen laughed softly. “Right. Like I said, can’t wait to meet him.”

  “I’ve walked before,” Jane began, but her mother said goodbye and hung up.

  She walked back down the trail into the woods and then out the park entrance at the end of her street. A dozen cars were illegally parked along the road, and she nodded hello to two women getting out of their car for their after-work run.

  Other people went to a lot of trouble to come to this park. She should take more advantage of how close it was to her.

  For her walks.

  Just as she was taking out her key to unlock her front door, Grant pulled into the driveway, every window in his old SUV rolled down, Top 40 blaring over the radio.

  She lingered in the doorway, patting Shadow until he joined her. “Were you just enjoying the vocal acrobatics of the young and talented Taylor Swift?” she asked.

  “I can’t help but notice the hint of sarcasm in your voice,” he said, bending down to pick up the pile of junk mail on the floor inside the door. He handed her a pair of flyers from local real estate agents who hoped she wanted to sell. There were never enough houses on the market for the demand.

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all,” she said. “I would’ve pegged you as more of an alternative rock type of guy. Or very old school.”

  He gave her a proud smile. “I’m very complex. I have complex tastes.”

  “Huh,” she said, stepping ahead of him. She was careful to take off her shoes before they could track clumps of trail dust into the house.

  “It just so happens my taste matches perfectly with the only radio station my Rover is currently able to play,” he added.

  “Ha,” she said. “Right again.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at her for a moment, long enough for her to notice he’d gotten a haircut. Even his beard was trimmed, more stylistically than she’d ever seen him wear it before, with sharp edges along his cheek and jaw. Her gaze lingered on the curve of his upper lip. It was almost as full as his bottom one. If he were a woman, he’d look great in lipstick. If he were a man, which he was, he’d look great right now. With or without lipstick.

  Christ. Not again.

  “Looking forward to Chevys,” he said.

  She grasped at reality with both hands. “Right, my mom just told me. I’m so sorry, but the party has been moved.” She gestured vaguely over her shoulder. “Some cousins of ours have offered to have it at their house. Houses, actually. They have two, right next door to each other. Here in Oakland.”

  “Then forget it,” he said.

  “What?”

  He didn’t crack a smile for over three full seconds. “Just kidding. Same time?”

  She told her heart to get out of her throat and back into her chest where it belonged. What was the matter with her? Yes, she found him attractive, but that doesn’t mean she should have a cardiac incident when she thought he might back out on a nondate with her.

  At least she was able to keep her face as serious as he had. “Yes. Same time.”

  “Thanks, man,” Grant said to the Lyft driver, opening the door and glancing up at the Johnson house. Houses. He’d climbed into the front seat because it seemed rude to hide out in the back as if the driver had a disease, even when he was with a date.

  Jane could pretend all she liked, but this was a date. He hadn’t smelled this good since he’d gone out with a cosmetologist last year. They’d only dated for about two months, but when they decided to end it, he had more scented products in his toiletries bag than in the sum total of his lifetime to date. The packaging was all carefully, overtly masculine, in charcoal gray, hunter green, and matte black, with product names like “Blade” and “Steele.” He wasn’t sure what body part “Steele” was for, although he was tempted to rub it on his dick and see what happened.

  That wasn’t something he needed any help with today, however. Jane had surprised him fifteen minutes ago by appearing in a ruby-red, skin-tight dress with a slit up to her earlobe—at le
ast that had been his first impression. He’d had to avert his eyes and had almost asked her to change into the bland cardigan and classy trousers she usually wore to work. How could he drive with that curvy leg stretched out next to him? But then she’d informed him they were doing a ride share to get to the party—“no parking up in Trixie’s neighborhood, and this way we can drink as much as we want”—and he hadn’t been able to think of another excuse to get her to cover up. Weather wouldn’t persuade her; it was in the eighties, not a cloud in the sky, and she had a floppy straw hat for the sun.

  She climbed out next to him and adjusted her hat. She almost struck him in the nose with her elbow, but that may have been because he was standing too close to her. Bee to honey. She smelled even better than he did.

  “I guess I don’t need to ask if we’re in the right place,” he said. The narrow street was already socked in with parked cars, their right wheels planted in the shoulder.

  “You look nice, by the way,” she said vaguely, frowning up at the two-story house.

  “Thanks.” Since she wasn’t even looking at him, he checked his fly and tugged down his Fite Fitness T-shirt, which he’d worn in honor of the Johnson family, who owned the fitnesswear company headquartered in San Francisco. He was also wearing cargo pants. If she hadn’t insisted he should dress as himself, whom she probably continued to secretly believe had the initials G.A., he would’ve dug out the business clothes he wore in New York when hobnobbing with publishing people. He’d been relieved by her insistence because most of his things were in a storage unit in San Rafael. When he was done with the book and knew where he’d end up next, he’d find a real apartment somewhere and live like an adult.

  “Oh, look at the dog,” she said.

  A cheerful, three-legged black Lab was making his way down the driveway to them, his dark brown eyes begging for attention. Jane shoved her gift bag into Grant’s hands and hurried over to the dog.

  Her dress was even sexier from the back. Well, of course it was. She had a killer a—

  “Jane!” Billie appeared on the front porch, a martini glass in her hand. After a vigorous wave that spilled the drink on the geraniums, she hopped down the steps to meet them. She wore a peach sundress and a floppy straw hat similar to Jane’s. “You made it!”

  “Brutal jet lag, but we’ll manage,” Jane said. “I assume that’s not a real martini?”

  “Pomegranate-infused mineral water,” Billie said with a grin. She stepped over a low hedge of lavender—she wore orange Chaco sandals with thick hiking soles, footwear he owned himself—and came straight at him with a wide-eyed smile. “You’re the fake boyfriend, right?”

  “Not anymore,” Jane said.

  Billie’s eyes got wider. “Not fake anymore?”

  Grant thought of the kiss. That hadn’t been fake. He swallowed a smirk.

  “Not anything,” Jane said. “I told Mom he’s just a nice guy I barely know.”

  “Yeah, right.” Billie turned to him and held up her declawed martini. “Can I get you a real drink, nice guy? Grant, right?”

  “Yup. I’m Grant. Don’t put yourself out. I’m sure we can find something for ourselves inside.”

  “Actually, the drink table is in the backyard,” Billie said. “April’s the bartender. She’s another cousin. They’re thick on the ground around here. That’s her dog, Stool.”

  Grant looked down at the black dog, who had planted his tail on Grant’s best Keen oxfords and now gazed up at him adoringly. As soon as he had his own place, he was getting a dog. Maybe seven. He squatted down and cupped Stool’s face between his hands, scratching his cheeks. “Good name, buddy.”

  “It’s because he eats his own poop,” Billie said cheerfully, sipping her martini. “In addition to the three-leg thing.”

  Grant quickly put some distance between his mouth and the dog’s flapping tongue. “Seriously, buddy? You eat shit?” He glanced up at Billie. “Pardon my language.”

  Billie smiled. “No problem. I thought you should know. You looked like you were going in for a kiss.”

  “Tempting, but I’ll have to pass,” Grant said, patting Stool’s velvety head as he rose. He turned to Jane. “Want to go find that drink table?”

  “Dad and Sylvia are over at the other house, talking to Mark,” Billie said. “The twins are over there too. They flew up from San Diego.”

  Grant noticed Jane didn’t seem remotely tempted to greet her father and his other family. “Let’s go find that drink table,” she said. “Do we have to go through the house, or do we walk around?”

  As Billie pointed toward the yard between the houses, she was called back into the house by a group of people Grant didn’t know. He and Jane walked down the hill into a flat strip of lawn in the back. Beyond the trees stretched a view of the bay, almost white from reflected sunlight.

  “I should find Trixie and say hello,” Jane said, “but I’m kind of thirsty.”

  “That special kind of thirsty,” Grant said.

  “You know it.” Jane waved at a few middle-aged women on the other side of the yard, then jabbed her thumb at Grant. The women’s eyes all turned to him, raking him from head to toe and saying something to each other. They were too far to hear what they said, but Grant could lip-read nice.

  “They think I’m nice,” he told Jane, waving at the women. Then he put his arm around her waist and smiled down at her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You want them to think I’m your date, right?” he asked.

  “I don’t care what they think.”

  He kept his arm where it was. “Who are they?”

  “My mother, Ian’s mother, and some lady whose name I can’t remember. She may have been my teacher in second grade.” She freed himself from his arm.

  “Which one is your mother?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He was. The woman in the middle looked just like Jane, except a little older, with silver hair. She also wore a violet sweater and long, floral skirt instead of a sexy red dress. She wore a floppy hat, though. “Do people ask if you’re sisters?” he asked.

  “All the time. She loves it.”

  “Do you?”

  Jane adjusted her hat, tilting the brim to hide her eyes. “It bothered me when I was younger. It made me feel like I wasn’t really…” She paused. “Both of my parents had a second family. Sometimes… I was grown up for my age anyway, and the babies came along… I don’t know.”

  He stepped around her to see past the hat. “Did you maybe feel like you weren’t as much her kid as the others were?”

  She faced him. “I’ve always been hyperaware of being the oldest. Sometimes I’d like to… not be hyperaware.”

  “I’m the oldest,” he said. “It can suck. With great power comes great responsibility and whatnot.”

  Her lips curved. “Oh yeah? Like running the family business?”

  “With great responsibility comes great flaking.” He puffed up his chest. “For those strong enough to manage it.”

  She laughed. “I wish I were strong enough. I’d love to just dump everything and take off for a year or two, be a flake like you.”

  Like a hot poker through a campfire marshmallow, her words slid through his ribs and pierced his left ventricle. But he was an expert at hiding his feelings, especially the negative ones, and he smiled at her very funny joke. “Let’s find the booze.”

  “Let’s. Trixie has a thing for wine, but I like the hard stuff.”

  Sounded good to him. Flakes loved drinking too much.

  At the card table near the back door of the house, a young woman wearing a lime-green Fite Fitness baseball cap was tending bar. The sleeves of her denim shirt were pushed up, revealing several tattoos on each forearm. “What can I get you, Jane Garcia?”

  “Hi, April,” Jane said. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember me. We’ve only met a couple times.”

  “Of course I remember you. Mom made trading cards. She had pictures of you, Bil
lie, your mom, dad, everyone.” April grinned and held her hand out to Grant. “Hi, I’m one of the Johnson cousins. You must be the invited man meat.”

  “That I am,” Grant said, grinning back at her.

  “I’ll make your drink first,” April said, “and make my honey jealous. He’s in the house, hiding with Mark. They’re pretending to set up the video slideshow Mom made, but I don’t think it takes two hours to attach her laptop to the TV. Introverts make terrible party hosts.”

  “You guys are super nice to host my sister’s party here,” Jane said.

  “Aw, don’t sweat it,” April said. “I love parties. Mom and Liam and Bev do too. What can I get you, dude?”

  Grant tapped a bottle. “A little of this with a twist of lime?”

  April picked up the vodka. “Soda?”

  He nodded.

  “Same for me,” Jane said. “Minus the soda. Extra vodka.”

  “My kind of woman.” April made the drinks and handed them over. “Mothership approaching at eleven o’clock,” she muttered.

  “Yours?” Grant asked.

  April pointed at Jane. “Hers.”

  17

  “Shit,” Jane said, lifting her drink.

  “Too late for evasive maneuvers?” Grant mumbled to April.

  April smiled at someone over his shoulder and nodded.

  “Hey there, Jane, I thought you might come over and say hello to Mrs. Kilpatrick,” a woman said behind them. She sounded a lot like Jane, too.

  Jane turned. “I was just about to.”

  After sharing a meaningful eyebrow wiggle with April, Grant also turned around. Up close, Jane’s mother didn’t look as much like her. Her eyes were very different, a pale blue instead of brown, her skin was lighter, and she was much taller. But the bone structure and figure and expression were eerily similar.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m Grant. The invited man meat.”

  Behind him, he heard April snicker.

  “Sorry,” he added, genuinely regretting his joke. She was Jane’s mother, after all, and the party’s hostess. He held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs.—” He realized he didn’t know her surname.