Nothing in his tone even hinted that he knew Amanda had no idea what was involved, and since he'd given Amanda nothing to argue or complain about she had to say, "Fine, I guess," with very little grace.
She left without speaking to me or even looking at me. I knew I was supposed to feel guilty, and to change my mind. I did feel guilty, which bothered me, even though my guilt was nowhere near the level I'd have felt before the mess of last year's grad and there was no way I'd be changing my mind.
But I really wished Theo hadn't stepped in. I'd been on my way to shutting Amanda down completely, for the first time ever, and though the result had been what I'd wanted I hadn't been the cause. She'd definitely try again to convince me. I wasn't looking forward to it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Amanda stuck her head into my room the next morning before school. "I forgive you."
I blinked. "You do?"
"For the grad thing," she said, as if I'd asked what she meant.
I'd known exactly what she meant. My surprise was because I'd been bracing myself since I woke up to handle her trying to convince me to again chair the grad committee. Her forgiving me wasn't at all what I'd expected. Not that I needed to be forgiven.
"That Theo's pretty cute." She grinned. "I can see why you want to work with him." Before I could get my head around this, she said, "Look, what are you doing Saturday?"
"Nothing," I said, then remembered the date and cringed inside.
"Awesome. James is throwing me a birthday party at his parents' place." She rolled her eyes. "It has to be in the afternoon, though, because they're old and grouchy and the only time they'll leave the place to us is in the afternoon. But since they won't be there it'll still be great." She gave me a dreamy smile. "He keeps saying he bought me something amazing. I can't wait to see my ring! On my thirtieth, he's so sweet."
I couldn't imagine James meant he was going to propose. He'd probably bought her a video game system he'd been wanting or something like that. Or thirty bottles of beer. But we'd find out for sure on Saturday.
As it turned out, we found out on Sunday. Saturday morning, Amanda sent out a mass text message informing us that James's mom had a migraine and couldn't leave the house so the party was now on Sunday but still at noon.
I answered right away.
"I can't, I have a long run."
"Run today."
I couldn't, because I'd done a hard run yesterday and I'd discovered early in my training that I didn't do well running back-to-back days. I didn't want to miss the long run either; it was the second of our three thirty-two-kilometer runs, and since I had found the first one challenging I knew I needed this one. But there'd be no way to do it and be recovered by noon. "That won't work," I punched into the phone. "And the run is really important. I'm sorry."
It took her several minutes to respond, and though I kept telling myself I had the right to say no I was feeling sick by the time she replied.
"But my proposal is important too. And you made the chicken that made it happen. I want you there."
Her acknowledging that I had done all the engagement-chicken work touched me, and I wondered if perhaps my standing up to her over grad had made her realize how one-sided our friendship had become.
As I wavered, she sent, "Please. It means so much to me."
Andrew had told me missing one or two long runs wouldn't ruin my race. I'd hadn't missed anything else, except of course the one we'd cut short together. Did I really want to miss my friend's proposal if it actually happened?
"Okay. I'll be there."
"You're the best," she sent back immediately.
I knew Andrew wouldn't think so but I had to tell him I wouldn't see him tomorrow so I texted him to explain.
"You've trained hard. Should be okay. If the party's right for you, have fun."
I wasn't at all sure the party was right for me, but not going would likely be the end of my friendship with Amanda and I wasn't at all sure that was right either. After all, she finally seemed to be recognizing how much I'd done for her. Maybe we were about to take our relationship to a new level, one where we were equals instead of doormat and boot.
I arrived at the party Sunday at noon, and by five after I wanted to leave. Amanda had invited a few friends and some of our fellow teachers, but James had invited easily three times as many people so his parents' yard and house were filled with loud obnoxious males who didn't deserve to be called men. I'd already been hit on three times and received 'you're not hot enough for a god like me to hit on' looks from four guys I wouldn't date if the fate of the world depended on it.
Amanda didn't seem to notice how obnoxious they were. She'd barely spoken to anyone but had parked herself next to James and was giggling and flirting and doing everything but peeing on him to mark him as her territory. I found myself almost hoping he would propose because maybe that would give her the confidence to stop fawning over him.
"Honey, could you start the barbecue? We need to get the food going."
He settled deeper into his lounge chair, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "You do it."
"I don't know how," she whined.
"God, I have to do everything for you," he said, and I almost fell out of my chair. He hadn't ever done a single thing for her that I'd seen, unless painting her living room counted and I wasn't sure it did since he'd done it without her permission and the pale pink she had chosen and I had spent hours painting had been buried by him beneath the sludge green of the Toronto Hogs hockey team's jerseys.
He must have noticed my reaction because he said, "I can't believe how useless you are," in a joking tone that didn't feel like a joke then added, "Hey, make Megan help you. She doesn't have a boyfriend so if she has a barbecue she must know how to start it herself." He turned to me. "Right? Or are you as clueless as my girlfriend?"
His friends snickered and I struggled to find the right answer. I longed to get up and walk out of his life, and Amanda's too at this rate, but I couldn't do it.
In the end, I did get up, but I turned my back on him and went to the grill without a word.
"That's right, let the bitches cook," one of James's more obnoxious friends said, and they all laughed. Encouraged, and from the sound of his voice already drunk, he went on. "That's the only thing girls are good for. Well, that and... you know. And from what you've said I know Amanda's at least good at one thing. And it ain't cooking."
They all howled with laughter. The people Amanda had invited did not. Amanda herself turned and went, half-running, into the house.
I honestly wasn't quite sure how to fire up the barbecue but I'd have set myself on fire before admitting that to James. If he could manage it I had to be able to as well, and sure enough in a few moments I had it lit.
Amanda, her eyes red, came out of the house with a platter of raw burgers and hot dogs. She held them for me while I scooped the first few pieces of food onto the grill, but then James pushed himself to his feet and said, "Baby, come here. Ignore this jackass." He smacked the guy who'd spoken on the head. "I didn't tell him anything."
The platter landed precariously on the barbecue's small shelf, and I caught it as she took off and threw herself into James's arms. He squeezed her tight and whispered something in her ear, and she snuggled into him.
He turned his head toward his buddies and I snapped my attention back to the grill. I didn't want to see him rolling his eyes, or mouthing something nasty about her. I didn't want to see him at all.
James gave a grunt, and I looked up to see him back in his chair with Amanda settling onto his lap and winding her arms around his neck. "You're crushing my junk, baby," he said, catching her around the waist and lifting her roughly to a different spot on his leg which apparently avoided his crotch.
A shudder ran through me. Such a charming young man.
The scent of the cooking food grew ever stronger, and as the burgers and hot dogs neared perfection James stood up and deposited Amanda on her feet then ca
me over to me. Wafting cigarette smoke into my eyes in what seemed like a deliberate action, he said, "Didn't screw it up, did you?"
I didn't speak. I'd decided while cooking that I wouldn't speak to him again. Ever. I couldn't stand him.
He elbowed me hard. "Did you hear me?"
I turned to face him and looked into his eyes but still didn't speak.
I saw something flicker in his eyes. He knew how I felt. Of course he didn't care about my opinion, but I didn't think he liked the sting to his ego. He gave a laugh that to me sounded forced. "Look, guys. A broad who cooks and doesn't talk. Damn, I'm dating the wrong girl."
I couldn't have won, I knew. If I'd snapped at James he'd have made sure it ruined the party and then made that all my fault. If I'd been sweet... well, I couldn't have been. How could I, to someone like him? I wouldn't even have been able to fake it. Not talking had seemed like the least evil of my options.
Fortunately, there was enough food for everyone. After it was gone, James cleared his throat. "So, it's Amanda's birthday."
We all clapped.
"Yeah, she's a pretty good girl. And I kind of like her." His buddies rolled their eyes and he wrapped his arm around her waist. "That's why I got her this."
His free hand dipped into his shorts pocket and brought out...
My stomach clenched uncomfortably around the hamburger I'd eaten. A ring box. God help me, a ring box.
Amanda's face lit up and she squealed, "Really?"
He grinned, looking proud of himself. "Open it."
Even from across the yard I could see her hands shaking, but she got it open and peered inside. Her expression didn't really change, but the brightness went out of it somehow. "Oh. Oh, it's gorgeous."
"Isn't it?" He took the box from her and tugged the ring out, then slid it onto her right ring finger. "Baby, I promise you we'll get married someday. And whenever you look at this, you'll know."
Though I hadn't wanted them to get engaged, I felt sick for her. This was so far from what she wanted.
She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He rubbed her back then looked at his buddies and said, "I made her cry. I guess she must like it."
They gave sarcastic "Aw" sounds.
Amanda pulled herself together and stepped back. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I do. It's so pretty."
One of the guys yelled, "Forget the jewelry, what's for dessert?" and the others joined in.
"Forget dessert, show me the jewelry," a girl said from her spot on the first yeller's lap.
Amanda showed it off, and the girl and the others nearby raved over it, then James said, "Seriously, babe, I want that ice cream cake."
She nodded and headed for the house, and James turned up the stereo and began passing out beers, making his buddies cheer.
When Amanda reached me, she thrust the ring at me. "Look. It's awesome, isn't it?"
A sales clerk must have helped James choose the simple gold band topped with a delicate silver infinity sign with a diamond chip at the center point because I didn't think he'd have such good taste on his own. But she'd shown me some of the rings she loved and this wasn't at all her style. Plus, of course, it wasn't an engagement ring. "It's gorgeous," I said, trying to sound sincere.
She looked at me, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of emotions I couldn't quite separate until she leaned in and said beneath the noise, "You're jealous."
I laughed, unable to hold it back. "Of James?"
She ignored that. "Of me having someone. You're all by yourself. You're thirty already, have been for months, and you're single. At least I'm not alone."
Her words and the sharp bitterness of her tone fortunately left me speechless, because the first things I thought of to say would have ended our friendship on the spot. By the time I recovered, she was crying again.
"I'm sorry," she said through her sobs. "I shouldn't say that. I don't mean it. I'm thirty too now, and I'm just so..." The tears overwhelmed her and she buried her face in her hands.
Pity flooded me. She'd wanted to be married and a mother by thirty, and she wasn't even close. "Amanda, come on. It's okay. Look, let's go get the cake."
She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "He did say we'd get married eventually. So everything's fine. I knew he loved me and now I have proof." She wiggled her finger. "And soon it'll be an engagement ring and then a wedding!"
Unlikely.
"We'll just have to make the chicken again," she said over her shoulder as we walked into the kitchen.
"It's chicken, not a freaking miracle worker!"
She turned back and stared at me. "What?"
I stared too, shocked at my own words. I meant every syllable, but I couldn't believe I'd said them.
"You don't think it worked?" She waved the ring at me. "What do you call this?"
James's surprisingly clever way of getting Amanda off his back for a few months?
When I didn't speak, she said, "Exactly," and turned toward the freezer.
Yes. Exactly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
On the last Tuesday of September, less than four weeks before my marathon, I joined Kim in clearing the dinner dishes from our parents' table and noted with delight that I felt next to no residual stiffness from Sunday's long run.
In contrast to my first thirty-two-kilometer run, this last one had been almost easy. Andrew and I had run it together, just the two of us since Jeanine's musical theater schedule didn't let her run with us at all now, and I hadn't even felt particularly tired until my watch signaled we'd gone twenty-five kilometers. Then my feet and legs began to complain, but I'd still been able to move comfortably through the final seven kilometers and even produce a pretty decent kick of speed at the end. I'd been delighted with the run, and Andrew had been too but he'd also been careful to remind me, "That was a great run but don't get over-confident and go out too hard at the race. Better to start slow and finish fast than start fast and end up on the curb."
I knew he was right but I couldn't help feeling that such a good run was a good omen. At the bare minimum, it was a sign that I hadn't completely destroyed my chances for a good race by skipping that long run for Amanda's party.
The mere thought of Amanda made my stomach tighten. The day after the party, she'd taken up most of my much-needed prep period talking about how wonderful James was and how sweet he'd been to buy her the ring and how sure she was that they'd be getting married soon. When only five minutes remained I'd told her I really needed to use the bathroom before my kids returned, and she did leave, but on her way out she'd said, "I want you in the wedding, of course, but I'll probably have to make James's stupid cousin my maid of honor. She's useless, though, so I'll need you to help me make sure all the work gets done."
Need me to do all the work, more like. Do all the work then fade into the background without so much as a thank you. I'd seen a preview of this at the end of her party, when she'd accepted everyone's "Great party, you must have worked so hard" comments without even hinting that I had cooked all the food and done most of the cake cutting. I hadn't done those things for the pat on the back, but a pat would still have been nice.
Tosca constantly told me how our meetings were helping her with her teaching and dealings with parents, Andrew credited me with increasing his reading time and was grateful for it, and even Jeanine had thanked me for introducing her to my and now her favorite author. They didn't have to fawn over me, and I actually preferred that they didn't because it made me uncomfortable, but I naturally appreciated being acknowledged for what I'd done.
I acknowledged their kindnesses too, Tosca's willingness to help and Andrew's endless support with everything in my life and Jeanine's sharing of other great books, and each relationship seemed stronger for it. I'd thought of Amanda as my best friend for years, but now I was seeing how one-sided that friendship was. Still, she'd stuck by me during Kim's recovery and I did appreciate that, even though it was honestly the only nice thing she'd done for me in age
s. Maybe ever.
As I ferried the last dishes to the kitchen, I noticed Mom standing by the sink with her arms folded. She'd been quiet throughout dinner, listening to Brandon's chatter about his MMA training without interjecting her usual "don't let those boys hurt you" comments, and she clearly had something on her mind, which worried me.
Kim and I helped bring out the dessert plates then we all took our seats at the table again. My mother certainly had her faults, but her baking wasn't among them, and I'd just brought my first forkful of her chocolate cake to my lips with anticipation when she said, "So. Next month's dinner is for Kim's birthday, of course."
I set down my fork still laden with cake, my appetite shut down by dread. I knew exactly where she was going with this and also knew Kim wouldn't like it. From the way Kim stiffened in her chair next to me, I could tell she'd made the same connection.
"The sixteenth is a Sunday this year, so I thought we could all go to Grandma's house for the day to celebrate. I've already talked to her and she's thrilled."
"Sure, whatever," Brandon said. Grandma always gave us each a hundred bucks when we saw her and Brandon probably considered that sufficient payment for a day spent with his relatives.
I had a training run that morning, only sixteen kilometers since the race was a week away and we didn't want to exhaust ourselves, but I could move it to the Saturday if need be. But I wouldn't, because I had other plans for Sunday. With Kim.
I glanced at my sister and found her looking at me, her eyes wide and begging me for help.
"Well," I said, trying to sound casual, "I can't do Sunday. I have a training run. Could we make it Saturday instead?"
Mom gave a short sharp head shake. "You'll have to come over after the run's finished."
Andrew and I had been spending our Sunday afternoons together on his couch or mine, chatting and reading as we recovered from our workout. Skipping that wonderful relaxing time to drive the two hours to Grandma's place didn't appeal. In some ways, going to watch Kim skydive didn't either, but I knew how important it was to her and I wanted to be there for her.
Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9) Page 61