War and Love

by Winter Renshaw

  I lock up and grab her bag, wheeling both of ours to the elevator.

  “Thanks again for doing this,” she says after pressing the call button. “You’re a saint. Truly.”

  I ignore her praise because I’m far from a goddamned saint. “So … was going to ask you … what do I say when someone asks who I am to you?”

  The elevator arrives and we step inside. Love makes a gagging face. “Labels are stupid. Just tell them it’s none of their business.”

  I smirk. “Seriously though. I can’t say that to your family. What do you want me to tell them?”

  Love presses the button for the lobby and shrugs. “Just say you’re my friend.”

  The doors close.

  “Is that all this is?” I ask. “A friendship?”

  She turns to me, her liquid hazel eyes resting on mine. “Honestly, I’ve been having way too much fun to even think about what I’d call this.”

  We step off the elevator a moment later, and I follow her through the lobby and out the revolving door where we wait for our ride beneath the black awning outside The Jasper.

  “We’ve been on several dates,” I say. “We’ve had sex more times than I can count. And I’m not seeing anyone else … are you?”

  “No,” she says.

  “I’m pretty sure that means you’re dating me.”

  Love’s nose crinkles but her eyes shine. “Is that what that means?”

  Releasing the handles of the bags, I slip my arm around her waist and pull her close. “That’s exactly what that means.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Love

  “You can park here,” I say to Jude as we approach my childhood home in our rented Chrysler. For some insane reason, my palms began to sweat as soon as we got off the plane. I have no reason to be nervous, though maybe it has something to do with the fact that just a few hours ago, Jude informed me that I’m dating him, which means I’m about to introduce him to my family as the guy I’m dating, and I’m not prepared for their eleventy-million questions. Putting people on the spot is what my family does. They have it down to a science.

  Unfastening my seatbelt, I climb out and eye the front door.

  “It used to be blue.” I frown as I try to determine if Mom painted it purple or magenta, because it’s hard to tell from this angle and in this sunset lighting.

  “What’s that?” Jude asks as he comes around the front of the car and takes my hand.

  “Nothing.”

  “You nervous?” he asks.

  “Nope,” I lie. “You should be though.”

  He laughs.

  “I told you. My family wrote the book on crazy. Yours’ll be a cakewalk. So relax,” he says when we reach the front stoop. Turning to face me, he gives me a quick and proper peck on the forehead before we head in, so unexpectedly respectable it makes me laugh.

  “Hello … we’re here,” I call out once we’re inside.

  A cocktailed fragrance of fresh flowers, fabric softener, mint, and cinnamon potpourri wafts around in the same entryway I’ve traipsed through thousands of times before. We kick off our shoes on the same multi-colored rug Mom’s had forever and I spot Jude leaning down to inspect a photo of my sister and me as gap-toothed kids posing with Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. Cameo’s pouting because she has to share the spotlight with me and I’m grinning ear to ear, just grateful to be there because I’d waited my entire life (eight years at that point) to meet my idol.

  “That her?” he asks, pointing to the pigtailed girl with tear-stained cheeks and folded arms standing a good foot away from a costumed Mickey.

  “Yup.”

  “Awesome.” He takes my hand and we share a smirk … like he just gets it.

  Voices trail from the kitchen, and judging by the cars parked out front, all three of my aunts are here as well as my Grandma Berta. And of course, I couldn’t miss Cameo’s shiny red Range Rover in the mix.

  Heading for the kitchen, we find everyone gathered around our old oak dining table, gabbing away while they have some sort of centerpiece assembly line thing going on. Over at the island, Grandma Berta is making mints shaped like wedding bells.

  As soon as they notice us, the commotion stops and Aunt Edie shrieks.

  “Love!” Aunt Edie pushes her chair out and waddles toward me, arms open wide and the familiar scent of Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds perfume wrapping around me. She squeezes me so tight I can’t breathe and then she lets me go, only to hug me once more. “Look at you. I haven’t seen you in years. How have you been? And oh, my, God, who is this handsome fellow you’ve got here?”

  Cameo glances up, lace ribbons in her hands. Her expression hardens when she sees that I brought someone.

  “Love,” she says, her voice sugar-sweet. “You said you weren’t bringing a plus one?”

  Sitting the lace aside, she leaves the table and comes over to us. “Hi. I’m Cameo Aldridge, Love’s sister.”

  “Jude Warner,” he says. “Love’s boyfriend.”

  Cameo’s eyes widen and whatever she’s trying to say seems to be caught on the edge of her tongue. Brownie points for Jude. No one’s ever been able to make my sister speechless.

  “Love?” My sister turns to me. “Can I talk to you in the next room for a sec?” She curls her finger and I follow her to the living room, trying not to laugh because she’s about to spaz out. “You RSVP’d for one. We don’t have a place setting for him. And what’s he going to eat? Fish or chicken?” Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she shakes her head and presses her mouth flat. “I’ve got to call the caterer now and the wedding planner. We’ll have to redo the seating arrangements at some of the tables.”

  “Cam.” I place my hand over her arm. “Just relax, okay? He’s really cool and laidback. He won’t care where you put him or what you feed him. He’s just happy to be here.”

  I sound like I’m describing a puppy.

  Cameo exhales, her arms dropping to her sides.

  “I know you’re stressed,” I say. “And I know you’re sad that Dad’s not here. But everything’s going to be fine. Perfect probably. Knowing you. So just smile and let’s try to have a good time and not worry about the little things, okay?”

  She manages to smile before wrapping her lithe arms around my shoulders. The number of times my sister has hugged me I could count on two hands. Dad would be elated if he were seeing this right now—and I like to think he is.

  As soon as she pulls away, she pats my shoulder and says, “Why don’t you come and help make centerpieces?”

  Just like that, she’s back to her original form. My tiger-striped sister will never change her tiger stripes.

  Heading back to the kitchen, I peek down the hall but I don’t see Jude.

  “Where’s Jude?” I ask. I’m still not comfortable using the word boyfriend because this all happened so fast. I feel like a label like this needs to be broken in a bit, like new leather shoes. Maybe one day it’ll feel natural. Until then, I’ll refrain from calling him anything besides his given name.

  “He’s out on the patio with the guys,” Mom says, wearing a dopey smile. She’s either been hitting the Fuzzy Navel wine coolers or hitting the Xanax. Probably both. “They’re smoking Cuban cigars.”

  “The doctor had them imported just for the wedding,” Cameo says to my aunts. “They’re engraved with our monogram.”

  “Oh, how nice,” Grandma Berta says, though I’m not sure if she can even hear the conversation from where she stands.

  I head over to say hello before making my rounds small talking with Aunt Clarice, Aunt Sheila, and Aunt Rosemary.

  The patio blinds are pulled back, and from here I can see Jude standing outside, one hand on his hip and the other one lifting a thick cigar to his lips. If Hunter were here, he’d be in the next room, checking his email on his phone or making calls. Jude seems comfortable, at least from what I can tell from here. He’s smiling and nodding and laughing and now he’s talking, saying something to the doc
tor.

  I hope he introduced himself as Bob Emsley and not “Doctor Robert Emsley the Third” or “the doctor.” Bob is nice, but he can be just as uppity as my sister sometimes. It’s why they’re perfect for each other.

  “So tell us about your boyfriend,” Mom says. “We had no idea you were seeing anyone.”

  Neither did I.

  Everyone stares at me, sending a quick flush to my cheeks. I haven’t even thought about “our” story, how this all came to be. All I know is that I met him outside my apartment, he chased me, he caught me, and now here we are. Any other details I could share wouldn’t exactly be rated G for General Audiences.

  The patio door slides open and I glance up, making eye contact with Jude, who briefly bites his lower lip before smiling. My heart revs.

  “Jude, why don’t you have a seat,” Mom says. “Cameo, can you grab an extra couple of folding chairs from the garage?”

  Cameo’s jaw falls, as if my mother had just asked her to scrub toilets in her wedding gown.

  “I’ll get them,” I say. When I return, everyone’s laughing except Jude. He wears a polite smirk. “What’d I miss?”

  “Your sister was just telling me about that time you were performing a clarinet solo in middle school and you fainted in front of the whole school and knocked one of your front teeth out,” Jude says.

  “It was hilarious,” Cameo says, clapping her hands. “Bet you never knew she had a fake front tooth, did you, Jude?”

  He looks to me, offering a wink. “Never would’ve guessed.”

  Jude comes toward me, taking the chairs from my hands and setting them up for us, and when I take the spot beside him, he rests his hand on my knee under the table and gives it a squeeze.

  “There was this other time when Love was supposed to go on a date with this boy but she went to the wrong house because it was one of those streets where every house looks the same,” Cameo says, waving her hand as she talks. “Anyway, she showed up at this house. The dad answered and said she was there for a date with their son. He tells her to come in and have a seat. A few minutes pass and out comes his son. Only it’s Gerald Poppitt, literally the nerdiest kid in the whole school. Looked like a twelve-year-old, thick glasses, whiny voice. But Love was too embarrassed to admit she was at the wrong house, so she ended up going on a date with him.”

  “I wasn’t embarrassed, I just didn’t want to hurt Gerald’s feelings,” I say.

  Jude nudges my arm. “That was really kind of you.”

  I can sense the weight of Cameo’s stare, and I don’t know why she’s making it her personal mission to try to rouse up as many embarrassing childhood stories for Jude as she can, but I’m two seconds from shutting this down in front of everyone if she continues.

  “Oh! Mom, do you remember that time Love—”

  My lips part, but before I can begin to put Cameo in her place, Jude lifts his hand and just like that, it’s as if he pressed the mute button I never knew my sister had.

  “All due respect, Cameo, I think I’d rather hear these stories from Love,” he says, “whenever she’s ready to share them with me.” He squeezes my hand under the table. “Did you guys know Love is opening a not-for-profit in Brooklyn?”

  Cameo sits up taller, elbows on the table and hands clasped beneath her chin. “I wasn’t aware, no.”

  “It’s called Agenda W,” I say. “I’ll be helping women find jobs and eventually financial independence.”

  “Isn’t that cute,” Cameo says, returning her attention to the lace bows she’s tying.

  “I think it’s pretty amazing,” Jude says, turning to me.

  Aunt Edie tells the group there’s rain in the forecast for Saturday, and Mom clucks her tongue while Grandma Berta says rain on a wedding day is good luck and Aunt Sheila tells us not to get Cameo more worked up than she already is, which only serves to send Cameo flitting into the next room, leaving us to finish her centerpieces.

  This is such a shit show and my crazy sister is center stage.

  “So, Jude, what is it that you do for a living?” she asks. “You’re in New York, right? I never did like the city.”

  “You’ve never been there, Mom,” I say under my breath.

  She rambles on, not giving Jude a chance to answer. “Too many people. All bumping into each other, yelling at each other. And I heard it stinks. I heard it smells like sewer gas, rotten eggs, and stuff. And everything’s so expensive. Eight dollars for a cup of coffee, are you kidding me? They’ve lost their damn minds. I bet it’s all that air pollution—what do they call that? Smog?”

  Aunt Sheila shakes her head.

  “You can’t pay me enough money to go to New York,” Mom continues, thin brows raised as she reaches for a roll of rose gold ribbon.

  “You’re really missing out,” Jude says. “There’s so much to do and see there. Some of the finest restaurants in the world are there. We’ve got museums. Broadway. Oh, and Love. She’s there too.”

  I nudge him under the table. Telling her to come see me is a lost cause that I haven’t fought in years. Once I almost got her to book a flight, but she asked if she could sleep on it and changed her mind in the morning. Carting her around the city and listening to her complain the whole time would be more work than it’s worth.

  Jude’s underhanded remark goes over her head and she goes right back to talking about what a shithole Manhattan is.

  “I heard they’ve got giant rats in the subways. And bed bugs!” She clasps the cross necklace dangling from her neck. “The whole city is infested with those disgusting things.”

  “Mom,” I say, cutting her off so I can put her back on track. “Jude’s a consultant.”

  “Oh, is that right?” Mom asks. Everyone turns to him. “What do people consult you for?”

  “I specialize in strategic business consulting,” he says. “Boring stuff.”

  “Oh, Edie, you know…” There goes Mom, changing the subject again. Or maybe she just needs to control the conversation because she needs something to control amidst all the chaos. “I ran into Carrie Ross down at the Wiggly Pig on Westwood the other day. You know her oldest just graduated from law school last month? Couldn’t pass the bar. Poor thing is so upset. All that tuition money down the drain. He’s going to try again, but can you imagine?”

  “You want to go?” I whisper to Jude.

  He shrugs. “It’s your call.”

  Rising, I tell everyone we’re heading out so we can get plenty of rest for the week. By the time we get back to the rental car, it’s been a solid fifteen minutes. Quick goodbyes aren’t a thing in my family. Someone always has to ask a question or chat your ear off so you can’t get away.

  “So,” I say when we climb in.

  Jude starts the car and fusses with the radio, tuning it to classic rock and adjusting the volume so we can still talk.

  “You survived,” I say.

  He laughs through his nose as he backs out of Mom’s driveway.

  “You really had no faith in me, did you?” He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips and depositing a kiss as we head to the hotel.

  “I was really set on coming to the wedding by myself,” I say, watching how natural he looks behind the wheel of a car with one hand slung over the steering wheel and a relaxed expression blanketing his handsome face. Impressive for a city boy. He claims he had a car before he moved to the city, a 1987 Firebird with T-tops, and he’s always kept his license current because he never knew when he was going to need it again. “But I’m kind of glad you weaseled your way into this.”

  He turns to me as we slow to a stop at a red light. “Weaseled? Is that what I did?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t think I do,” he says. “But feel free to show me just how glad you are as soon as we get back to the hotel …”

  He read my mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jude

  The hotel door opens Tuesday and I sit up, muting the TV. Love d
rags herself toward the bed, collapsing on the edge. She looks exhausted, but I know better than to tell a woman that. Besides, even as tired as she is from running around these last couple of days, she still looks amazing; messy hair, sleepy eyes, and all.

  “Here,” I say, scooting closer to her and rubbing her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

  “I feel like I could sleep for a million years,” she says, tilting her head from side to side as I massage her stiff muscles.

  “Why are you doing all these things for her? Can’t she delegate some of this stuff to other people? And doesn’t she have a wedding coordinator?”

  “All of her friends are fake and unreliable,” Love says, “and she’s my sister. She did the same things for me when I got married. Well … not quite to this extent, but still. There’s no one else.”

  “You’re way too damn nice, Love.”

  She exhales. “I know. I’m working on that.”

  “You’ll go crazy trying to please everyone.” I kiss a trail up the side of her neck and she giggles. “But feel free to please me anytime you want.”

  Turning, she straddles me, her hands on my chest and sliding over my shoulders. “God, you’re cheesy.”

  “You love it.”

  She kisses me, the shape of her grin pressing across my mouth, and another little part of me dies because I’d give anything for this to be real in a way that worked out for the both of us.

  “Oh. Bob’s bachelor party is this Thursday,” she says. “Cameo wanted to ask me if you’d go.”

  “Isn’t he too old for a bachelor party? What’s he going to do, watch golf and drink single malt Scotch?”

  “I didn’t realize there was an age restriction on bachelor parties,” she says. “Anyway, are you in or are you out?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely in.”

  Love’s hands hook around my neck and she leans in, grazing her lips on mine. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”