Breaking the Rules

by Cat Lavoie

  I could kick myself right now. Why can’t I look my fiancé in the eye and tell him that I can’t wait to be his bride?

  “I love you,” I say, trying to break the tension in the air. “I really, really, honest to God, am madly in love with you. I’m just really tired right now.”

  There. That should eliminate any doubts.

  Ethan loosens his grip on the steering wheel. “I know. But just for the record, I’d marry you tomorrow morning if you’d let me.”

  I consider telling him that I have an early meeting tomorrow morning and I might be able to squeeze him in during my lunch hour, but I doubt he’d appreciate my attempt at humor. Leaning over, I plant a kiss on his cheek and we stay silent for the rest of the drive home.

  Chapter Eight

  The phone is ringing.

  It’s the Grand Opening of my first restaurant, Chez Roxy. The phone is ringing. I’m standing in the middle of the crowded dining room watching as people eat and cheer. The food critics sitting at Table 4 are high-fiving each other and hugging the waiters, begging them to bring more food. The phone is ringing. I’ve poured myself into a dress that makes me look thirty pounds lighter and five inches taller. My date, Bradley Cooper, leans over and whispers in my ear, “My love, the phone is ringing.” I wake up when Bradley’s soft voice is chased away by Izzie screaming at me from Ollie’s room.

  “Roxy, the goddamn phone is ringing!”

  I turn over and look at my alarm clock: it’s four in the morning. I feel like screaming back at Izzie that the least she could do around here is answer a phone, but all I want is for the ringing to stop so I can go back to Johnny.

  After running around the living room a few times and banging my shin against the coffee table, I find the phone under a pile of clothes. Out of breath, I fall back on the couch.

  “Hello?” I mumble.

  “Rox! Sorry to wake you.” Ollie’s voice is filled with static. “Bad news, Dave died.”

  My heart races. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe it. Not Dave. ... Wait a minute. I make a quick mental list of all the Daves I know.

  “Who?” I ask. I can’t think of any Dave that would have Ollie calling me up this early. Have I forgotten anyone?

  “C’mon, Rox,” Ollie sighs, sounding annoyed that I hadn’t burst into tears at the news. “Dave. The Davemeister. Dave Hurley.”

  It takes me a minute to wade through the sea of traumatic high school memories I’ve stored neatly in the back of my mind and pinpoint Dave Hurley.

  “Crazy Davey,” I whisper into the phone.

  Dave Hurley (better known as Crazy Davey) was Monty High’s official class clown. He once stuck a pencil so far up his nose that he had to go to the hospital to have it taken out. A few months later, he did it again with a ballpoint pen. But I’ll always remember Dave as the guy who’d come running down the hall, crash into the locker next to mine and yell out, “How’s it going, Foxy Fuel?” or “What’s up, Moxy Mule?” It could have been worse. But Ollie was always there to keep an eye on me.

  I wasn’t anything close to popular in high school. My extra pounds, less-than fashionable glasses and braces would have been a recipe for disaster if Ollie hadn’t been around. Everyone knew that we were best friends and I was off-limits. Nobody wanted to get on Ollie’s bad side, not because he would beat them up or anything, but because Ollie was cool. Nobody enjoyed their high school experience more than Ollie. He was the founder of the Future Architects of America Club and he was part of the Chess Team and the Drama Club and he was the goalie for Monty High’s soccer team for a few years before quitting that and starting the Green Club, which he eventually merged into the Future Green Architects of America. Just thinking about this is making me exhausted.

  I’m about to fall asleep again when Ollie’s voice brings me back. “Rox. Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Dave. How’d he go?” I ask. Did he try to stick something up there one too many times? I cringe at the thought.

  “Sky-diving. Parachute never opened.”

  Even though I wasn’t a great fan of Crazy Davey and he’s the reason my name was rhymed with every letter of the alphabet throughout the eighth grade, I feel a shiver inch its way down my spine.

  “Listen, I have to go,” Ollie says a bit louder than the static. “My phone’s about to die. I’m at Heathrow right now. The wake is this afternoon and I’m booked on the next flight to New York. It leaves in an hour. I have to fly back Sunday morning. I’ll call you when I land and...”

  And then... nothing.

  “The airport? You’re coming home?” I ask, even though I know there’s nobody at the other end of the line.

  I put the phone down and stare into the darkness. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that Ollie is flying over from London because some guy we knew from high school and haven’t spoken to for ages died. Why do I feel sick to my stomach all of a sudden? Is it because someone I know has died or is it because I’m looking forward to seeing Ollie again? Maybe it’s a little of both.

  All I know is that I can’t go back to sleep. I stare at the ceiling until I hear my sisters stumble into the kitchen.

  “Who the hell was that on the phone?” Izzie asks, scooping coffee into the machine.

  I tell them all about Dave and his parachuting accident and Ollie’s sudden flight home. I try to keep my voice as steady and calm as possible. “Yeah, Ollie’s coming home. It’s no big deal, really. He’ll only be in town for a few hours. Maybe I’ll see him, maybe I won’t... I’m busy.”

  Steffi and Izzie look at me with their arms folded across their chests. They’re looking at me like I’m the worst liar in the world.

  “Maybe he’s coming back so you guys can talk about what happened before he left,” Steffi says a bit later on, in between bites of poached egg on toast. “You know, the kiss.”

  As if I could ever forget.

  “If Ollie wants to talk to Roxy about the kiss, he’s got the phone and email. Buying a plane ticket just to talk to someone is stupid,” Izzie says, putting down her cup of coffee and giving Steffi a hard stare. “And if he was coming here for that, it would only complicate things. Ethan is better for Roxy. I think we’ve already established that. Do we need to establish it again?”

  Steffi rolls her eyes. “Ethan’s a nice guy but he’s sooooo boring.”

  “Grow up, Steff. Just because he puts money in a 401(k) instead of buying Star Wars memorabilia off eBay does not make him boring. It makes him responsible.”

  “What’s a 401(k)?”

  Izzie groans and rests her head in her hands. Before she has the chance to start ranting and raving, I step in. “Girls, Ollie is coming over for Dave’s wake. That’s it. There’s no other reason.”

  I wish my sisters would just stay out of it. Steffi is qualified to give fashion advice and if I’m ever charged with a crime, I’d want Izzie on my defense team. But relationships? None of the Rule sisters are qualified to give advice on that subject. Especially to each other.

  When Ethan calls, I know I’m going to have to lie to him even before I pick up the phone. I have no choice. Ever since the disastrous dinner with Prudence Covington and the almost-as-disastrous drive home, I’ve been walking on eggshells around Ethan. I don’t want to say or do anything that will make him angry or hurt.

  “Good news, darling,” he says. “I’m free for the entire day. What do you want to do?”

  I chew at a particularly mangled fingernail. I can’t tell Ethan that I’m waiting for Ollie to call. In fact, I think it’s best not to mention Ollie at all. I mean, he’s not going to be here long. Barely a few hours, really. It’s for the best. The last thing I need is Ethan thinking I’d rather stand around looking at a dead body with Ollie than spend time with him.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I have to work today. Greta just called me and you know how she is. Everything’s an emergency.”

  That’s one of the good things about having Greta as a boss. Nobody would ever que
stion the fact that she called me in to work on a Saturday. A wave of guilt makes its way through my body and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. I hate this.

  “Just look on the bright side,” Ethan says. “You’re making some extra money and I’m sure Greta appreciates your dedication. It’s a win-win situation.”

  Then why do I feel like the world’s biggest loser, not to mention liar? I put down the phone and head to the kitchen. I realized a long time ago that stuffing myself with food won’t fill the void I sometimes feel in the pit of my stomach, but I never get tired of trying.

  Almost like a robot, I reach out for my mixing bowls and start beating some butter. I add sugar and a dash of vanilla extract and start whisking everything together like my life depends on the mixture being perfectly light and fluffy.

  “Mom is taking me and Izzie shopping. I need new clothes,” Steffi announces, joining me in the kitchen. She pulls at her pink T-shirt, which is clinging to her belly like plastic wrap. “Why don’t you come with us?”

  I throw a handful of chocolate chips into the mixing bowl and stare at her. “Didn’t I just tell you about Ollie and the wake about twenty minutes ago?”

  I’ve read about pregnant women having bad memories in the baby book that Steffi isn’t reading. But I can’t tell if it’s a side effect of the pregnancy or just Steffi being her normal ditzy self.

  “Right,” she says, rubbing her back. “I forgot about that. Izzie, are you ready?” She waddles out of the kitchen with one hand supporting her back and the other under her belly. I follow her, noticing her swollen ankles for the first time. I want to ask her if they hurt but I’m afraid of the answer.

  Twenty minutes later, the apartment is empty. I sit down on the couch and enjoy the peace and quiet for a minute. But I soon forget about peace and quiet when I notice the mess all around me. I don’t usually enjoy cleaning up, but now it seems like the only thing I want to do. I tune the radio to Golden Oldies and crank it up loud. What are the odds? They’re playing ‘My Girl.” I suddenly want to be in a car with Ethan, singing at the top of my lungs. When I feel guilt creeping up on me again, I switch the radio off and turn on the TV instead. Someone is baking cupcakes. Cupcakes make me happy.

  I fill up a laundry basket full of clothes and drag it downstairs. When I come back up, my sudden urge to clean is gone. I do my best to tidy up all the balls of yarn that Steffi has left lying around.

  When I’m done, I jump in the shower and stay there for ages, letting the lukewarm water run off my back. I wish soap and water could wash away more than the bits of cookie dough under my fingernails and the dusting of flour in my hair. Remembering one of Emma’s yoga techniques, I focus on pushing the stress and negative thoughts out of my body and visualize them disappearing down the drain. I’d never admit it to her but, after five minutes of this, I’m feeling more relaxed. But then the smoke alarm goes off. “Fuck,” I scream out, remembering the second batch of cookies in the oven. I run into the kitchen, almost slipping on the hardwood floor. Many other curse words ensue. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown this yoga thing.

  I hadn’t planned on falling asleep, but when Ollie finally calls, I’m drooling on a couch cushion with wet hair stuck to my face. It takes me a minute to remember what’s going on.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Waiting for my luggage. I’m hoping it’s not in China somewhere.”

  “Why did you bring luggage? I thought you were going back to London tomorrow.”

  “I am.” There’s a bit of irritation in his voice. “I’m waiting for an empty suitcase. I have to stop by Mr. and Mrs. Brent’s house so I can bring back clothes for Rachel.”

  I’m willing to bet that Rachel couldn’t care less about her clothes. She’s probably already bought a whole new London wardrobe. This is just her way of making Ollie’s trip all about her. She’s quite smart for a dumb blonde.

  “Meet me at the Quid in an hour, okay?” I can hear him making his way through a crowd of people. “I’ll be the guy carrying the pink suitcase with the giant pink bow.”

  “See you then,” I say. “Oh, and welcome home.”

  He gives Mr. Brent’s address to a cab driver. “Thanks,” he says before the line cuts. I’m not sure if he was talking to me or the cab driver.

  When I get to the Quid, I wave at Adam who’s pulling a pint behind the bar. Since one of his bartenders quit a few days ago, he’s been working non-stop and we’ve barely had a chance to talk. He’s been sleeping on an air mattress in the storage area but I’m not supposed to tell anyone because it might be some sort of health code violation.

  I choose a table in the back and order coffee from Jenny.

  Two hours later, Ollie still hasn’t shown up and I’ve downed five cups of coffee while listening to Adam tell me all about the bartender who quit and left him stranded. Turns out they’d been sleeping together and, one morning last week, Adam woke up and all the money in the cash register was gone and he’d disappeared.

  “Tali’s been giving me a really hard time,” he tells me, shaking his head. “She thinks I go out with losers on purpose because I know they’ll screw me over in the end and I don’t have to form any kind of emotional attachment.”

  Adam looks at me as though I can offer any kind of perspective on the matter. I’m the last person to ask about relationships, which is something I seem to be proving more and more with every passing day.

  “I think Tali needs to stop reading psych books and stick to Vogue,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Please don’t tell her I said that,” I add, fearing for my teeth.

  He laughs and winks. “Of course I won’t. Coffee’s on the house, by the way. The house may be poor and heartbroken but it knows how to treat friends.”

  Adam points to the door and that’s when I see Ollie coming into the Quid followed by a huge pink suitcase with a bow. I try not to laugh. Adam hugs Ollie on his way back to the bar and I just stare at my friend. I know we haven’t been apart for very long but he looks different and I can’t pinpoint why. Same disheveled brown hair, same broad smile, same eyes... wait. The eyes. They look tired. Must be the jet lag.

  I get up from my seat and walk towards Ollie. My heart is beating faster and my palms are sweaty. I don’t know if it’s because I’m happy or if it’s all that caffeine pulsing through my veins.

  “Roxy,” he says, wrapping his arms around me. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. Sorry I’m late. Mrs. Brent insisted I stay for lunch and I couldn’t call you because my bloody phone is dead and I forgot the charger...”

  “It’s okay,” I say, brushing cookie crumbs off the front of his shirt. “Come sit down. How was your flight?”

  “Bumpy. I thought I was going to end up in the Atlantic.”

  We sit at the table and—even though I know it by heart—I pick up the Quid’s menu and bury my face in it. “Do you want something to eat? Something to drink? Coffee? Nachos? Potato skins?” I turn around and try to spot Jenny, but Ollie takes the menu out of my hands and puts it back in its place.

  “Rox, stop it. Have you told Ethan about what happened? You know, the kiss?”

  His question catches me off-guard and I almost knock over an empty coffee cup. I guess we’re not doing the whole denial thing anymore. “Ummm, no I didn’t. But it’s not like you told Rachel so...”

  With impeccable timing, Jenny walks over to our table and puts a cup of coffee in front of Ollie. She stares at him with a huge grin on her face.

  “Thanks, Jenny,” he says.

  “Oh, you’re so very welcome.” She doesn’t move.

  “Jenny, get over here now,” I hear Adam hiss from the other side of the Quid.

  “Just give me a shout if you want more,” Jenny says, and I can’t help but think she isn’t just talking about the coffee.

  Ollie takes a long sip. “Actually, I have told Rachel.”

  I’m speechless. As if Rachel Brent didn’t hate me enough already. Now she’ll probably hire a hi
tman to kill me.

  “Rachel says I needed to get it out of my system,” he continues.

  What am I? A virus? “Oh, okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Speaking of Rachel, when are you going to propose?” I ask.

  He plays with a napkin and tears it into little pieces. “I proposed last week. Brought her to a bench overlooking Tower Bridge and asked her to be my wife.”

  I wait for the rest of the story. “And?”

  “She’s still thinking about it.” He says it as though he’s trying to convince me that it’s a good thing. “I’m fine with it, really. Marriage is a big step and it shouldn’t be rushed.” He looks up at me and tries to smile, but I’ve been able to see right through this boy since the second grade.

  I know Ollie expected her to shriek with joy and jump into his arms and say yes. But it’s all about control with Rachel. How dare he just ask for her hand. Asking is too easy. He has to work for it.

  Since talking about Rachel is starting to give me heartburn, I hurry up and change the subject. We talk about London and his new flat and the Borough Market. When Adam comes over to our table, Ollie tells him about spotting a guy who looked exactly like Hugh Grant getting into a cab outside his flat. Adam almost faints with joy and we laugh. He tells me about the new British words he uses now like “telly” and “bloke” and how “pants” mean underwear in England and how one of his new colleagues laughed at him when he said he needed to take his pants to the dry cleaners. We talk and drink and split a plate of the Quid’s famous nachos loaded with cheese and ground beef and hot peppers. We talk about Dave and all the old high school friends we’ll be seeing at his wake. We do everything except talk about the kiss and I’m grateful for that. It’s like I’m back with the old Ollie, before everything happened.

  “Oh no,” Ollie says, looking at his watch.

  “What is it?”

  “We should have been at Dave’s wake half an hour ago.”

  Is there such a thing as being fashionably late for a wake? Didn’t think so. “What are we going to do?” I ask.