A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  “I do know everything,” I say, nose in the air.

  “Good to know,” he says. We drive the rest of the way to the restaurant in complete silence.

  ***

  I’m sure to anyone on the outside we look like the perfect couple, when on the inside, I feel like I’m dying. How I wish this could be a real date. I mean, we are in the most romantic place in the world, and here we are fighting.

  “Can we just…” I shake my head in frustration and throw my hands up, “…pretend like everything’s normal before I think of more ways to kill you?”

  “Your wish is my command.” Preston winks and reaches across the table to grab my hand.

  And in that moment I close my eyes, willing myself to capture the memory of what it feels like to have his strong hands wrapped around mine.

  “Good afternoon, welcome to Hard Rock Café Maui.”

  Our waiter is a balding man in his forties who looks like he has surfed the waves a little too long, if you know what I mean.

  “And let me be the first to congratulate both of you on your engagement!” I choke on my water as I stare at the insane man in front of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, leaning in. “What did you say?”

  “Well, your engagement to this fine young fellow!” He points at Preston.

  Preston looks at me so innocently I almost believe he is innocent, except part of his mouth twists up into a mischievous smile, proving to me, once and for all, he is anything but innocent.

  “We aren’t…” I begin to talk, but my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. Is it hot in here? Because I feel hot right now.

  Preston puts his hands over mine and shushes me with his finger. “It’s okay, darling. Let’s let the poor waiter read us the specials.”

  He looks toward the waiter then elbows him and whispers, “Foreign. She gets nervous in public places here in America.”

  The waiter nods at me sympathetically before leaning down and, rather loudly might I add, reading the specials in my ear.

  Horrified, I look at Preston, who can’t keep the smile from creeping across his lips now. I mean, come on! He said foreign, not deaf.

  I decide to go along with it and nod my head as if to say, Wow. How kind of you to read that in my native tongue. Oh, wait a second. He didn’t, because it was still English, just LOUD ENGLISH! Hello! Foreign people don’t have different hearing decibels.

  “So…” I sigh, looking at a totally joyful Preston, “…what country am I from?” I ask, rolling my eyes. I will so regret this.

  “YES!” he says, doing a small fist pump in the air. “Spain?”

  “No, my skin's not dark enough. Try again.”

  “Morocco?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Ooo, fun. Yes, let’s do Morocco!”

  I clap my hands in excitement then remember how angry I still am at Preston. Well, maybe one day we can be friends. A very long time from now.

  “I’m still mad at you,” I remind him, hoping he understands his little joke doesn’t just make everything better.

  “Of course you are, but do you know why you’re mad at me? Because, I’m betting the reason you are mad isn’t a reason at all.” He puts his menu down as if to challenge me.

  “Well, I don’t see how I could be getting any of my assumptions wrong. Plus, like I said before, words don’t lie.”

  “And what about intentions?” he asks

  “Are you ready to order?” The waiter bounces in front of us out of nowhere, causing me to spill my water all over the place. “IT’S OKAY,” he shouts, looking at me sadly. “I WILL CLEAN THIS UP.”

  People are now staring at us, wondering why in the heck our waiter is speaking so loud. I want to smile and wave and tell everyone it’s just a big joke, but instead I just duck my head and turn red.

  The waiter bounces in front of us, and yes, I mean he actually does bounce from side to side, as if there is some sort of music we don’t know about playing in the background. Poor guy. He then brings us coconut shrimp with dipping sauce.

  At one point, I contemplate stuffing everything in my mouth, just so Preston can’t have any, but I realize he will probably just order more, and then I will look like a glutton. Then he will make up some lame excuse to the waiter about how in our country we eat our food all at once. And the waiter will throw me another sympathetic glance, while speaking rather loudly to Preston about how it will not do my figure any favors. Thanks, bud. Got it.

  My mouth is full, but I don’t care about being attractive right now. “So, who are we picking up?” I look down at the greasy mess and sigh. I better start running a few extra miles when I get home. I take a sip of water.

  “Ashlyn,” Preston says, but I'm sure I don’t hear him. I am busy drinking my water so fast, I know my stomach will explode, thinking it will somehow kill the burning sensation in my chest.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I heard you say Ashlyn?” I choke.

  “I did.” He smirks. I shoot him a look that can only be described as hazardous to his health, while he beams at me as if I just confessed my love.

  “Um, I’m sorry, but did you ever stop to think how awkward that might be for me? OR how hurtful?” I am ready to get up and leave, but he pulls me back into my seat.

  “Do me a favor?” His eyes take on that heated smolder that both makes me want to cry and moan at the same time. I hate him for it.

  “What?” I groan.

  “Don’t make any rash decisions until after the airport. I give you full permission to beat me to death if you are unhappy. Wait, actually, I take that back. I give you permission to beat me if, in fact, your assumptions are correct.” He tilts his head to the side and asks, “Deal?”

  “Deal,” I say softly, taking another shrimp. I mean, I might as well eat my fill if he is going to just sit there and tell me he is flying his ex-wife to Hawaii. And why didn't he just let me go? I would be much happier on a plane right now, even if I was alone.

  Oh, and I’m sure the flight attendant, whatever country she is from, would walk up to me and be like, Why you cry? To which I would reply, Because the man I love doesn’t love me back. And then she would say, Oh, so sad, and walk away, but not before telling everyone in First Class how sad my situation is and not to bother me.

  Wow. Some great things to look forward to on the way home.

  We finish dinner and dessert and a long walk… before going to the airport. And I would bore you with the details, except the fact that my blood was boiling so much during said time, I can’t even recall what we talked about, or if we even talked. I guess you could call it being lost in thought… or lost in anger. I think I like the second one better.

  Anyway, we get to the airport, and guess what? The flight is delayed.

  Okay, I can’t lie. I ate way too many shrimp, and those little buggers are freakishly rich and making my stomach do this heave-ho-type thing with every breath I take. I am sure Preston can hear it. I mean, seriously. If he wasn’t running for the trees already, this would solidify it for me.

  “You okay?” he asks as he gently puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “Fine,” I reply, trying to keep the food in my stomach. I need the pink stuff bad.

  “Are you sure? Because you don’t look too well. I’m sorry, we’re stuck here for another hour or so. Do you think you’ll make it?”

  He looks genuinely concerned, which would normally touch me, if I wasn’t ready to blow half-digested shrimp all over his face.

  If I don’t stop burping up the sweet sauce from the coconut, I am going to lose my mind. “I think I just need to go to the restroom.”

  “To throw up…?” Preston asks, smiling kindly. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE SO NICE SOMETIMES?

  “Yes,” I groan weakly, and honestly, I feel like I am going to pass out any minute.

  “I have an idea,” he says.

  “Oh hell. Please, no more ideas. No more Angelina or Morocco or…” I can’t finish my sentence.

  “No, noth
ing like that,” he says, and within moments he is slowly walking me to the single, family bathroom and opening the door.

  I try to protest, but I feel too sick to open my mouth. HE DID THIS TO ME! He should know I tend to overeat when I’m nervous, or that I eat when I don’t have nice things to say to people.

  “You know, Amanda, you shouldn’t eat to get back at me. It’s mean to your body.”

  He shakes his head, but I don’t care if he’s kidding around at this point. I just need to get rid of the excess rich food.

  “Okay, so I’ll hold your hair,” he offers.

  “You will do no such thing!” I am completely mortified.

  “Yes, I will. I don’t want old shrimp on your cute dress or on your pretty face or in your hair, okay?”

  He is being difficult, and I don’t have time to argue, so I just nod my head and heave. Yeah, there it is. Everything I just ate at the restaurant making its encore appearance in the shiny toilet.

  The weird part is he doesn’t even say anything. He isn’t mocking me, he isn’t laughing, and he isn’t even getting grossed out. Maybe it’s a fireman thing? I don’t know, but I do know one thing, and that is I am RIDICULOUSLY embarrassed right now. I just threw up shrimp in front of the hottest guy I know, even if he is unavailable and a cheater. He is still good-looking, and, well, okay, I’ll admit, deep down he is a good guy. I can’t blame him for wanting his wife back or vice versa. I mean, I would want him back if I were her.

  I finish up and wash my tan face before finally working up enough guts (sorry, poor choice of words) to make eye contact. I look up to see Preston digging through his pockets. What in the world is he doing?

  He pulls out two breath mints, one of those disposable toothbrushes, and some lip balm. And then I cry. I know, I know. I’m pathetic. But I am just one of those girls who, once she doesn’t feel well, ends up crying, holding her teddy bear and calling her mom to ask her to please drive four hours to take care of her baby. I mean, it isn't that I am not independent, I just hate not feeling well. And here is Preston in the bathroom with me, offering ways to make me feel better. Not only that, but he doesn’t seem the least bit affected the way I just got rid of all of my lunch/dinner in the same room we are still standing in.

  He kisses me, yes, kisses me… on the forehead, before leaving. I sigh and cry to myself as I lean over the stainless steel countertop. How did this happen? How did I fall in love with the most wonderful guy on the planet just to find out I can’t have him? WHERE IS THE JUSTICE IN THIS, GOD? I wait, but don’t get an answer. Maybe my feelings will dissipate, and one day Preston will be like the brother I never had.

  I think on this for a while and shake my head. No way can I ever look at that man and think brother. I couldn’t think that even if he was a terrible kisser, which he isn’t. That man has a mouth on him, let me tell you. And I can’t see that perfect smile and tight body and think, Oh look, how nice! Preston and his wife are now having kids, and I’m still single. Nope, not going to happen. Oh hell, I’m going to have to move! I groan before trying to fix the mess I am in the mirror.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I walk outside to sit, only to find Preston already waiting there reading US Weekly. Yeah, right. Like he just happened to pick it up from the seat?

  “I got this for you.” He offers me the magazine and some 7-up.

  “I thought your stomach might be upset… Hey, did you know it says here that Brad and Angelina are cooperating with the Maui authorities to try to find their impersonators? Apparently, they have been on some sort of tour for World Hunger this whole week.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but I snatch the magazine from his hands.

  I begin searching the table of contents frantically until I hear laughing next to me. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?” I say in a panicked voice.

  “Oh yeah.” He peeks around the magazine. “You should have seen your face though — priceless.”

  I roll my eyes and try to hide my smile as I look through the magazine.

  ”Is that a smile I see on that pretty face?” he says, leaning in. WHY IS HE TORTURING ME?

  “No,” I lie, shaking my head.

  “Oh good. I wouldn’t want you being happy or anything.” He pats my leg then looks at his watch. “Time to go to the gate.”

  I follow him numbly. This is the moment I have been waiting for. This is where I finally see who this mystery woman is. This is… wait a second…

  “Hey, Bobby! Over here!”

  I look to see who Preston is talking to and see a kid — well okay, he’s probably around nineteen, a young adult — approaching us with some sort of crate.

  “Hey, brother. Long time no see!” They do some sort of ritualistic high five before both looking at me.

  “Amanda, I would like you to meet Bobby — or BJ for short.”

  BJ holds out his hand, and I take it. This isn’t the Bobby from my past. This is an entirely different person, and that means the text messages could have been from this Bobby. I immediately feel sick again.

  BJ looks back to Preston. “Sorry dude, when you called to talk to Ashlyn, I was in the process of getting patted down by some foreign guy in the airport. Get this, he made me take off my shirt? Who does that?”

  “Ah, so you’ve met Jorge,” I interrupt.

  “Yeah! That's his name. Hey, how’d you know?” BJ asks.

  “Oh, lucky guess.” I shrug.

  Preston looks at me and smiles then says, “Amanda, meet Ashlyn.” He opens up the crate and pulls out the tiniest and, honestly, the cutest little lab I have ever seen in my entire life. She is chocolate with deep-brown eyes. I nearly squeal from joy at the size of this little thing’s paw — Wait.

  “Ashlyn?” I swallow hard.

  “Ashlyn,” he repeats, positively pleased with himself.

  “Ashlyn, as in, Ashlyn is a dog?” I gasp. “As in, your ex-wife is a dog?” I ask, confused and half-hoping it is true, then I won’t look stupid.

  “No. Ashlyn, as in, Ashlyn the firehouse dog I’ve been taking care of the past few months,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

  “But I thought your wife was named Ashlyn!” I blurt, because I am panicking.

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Yeah,” BJ interrupts. “Her name is Sara, and she doesn’t even live around here anymore. Seriously, dude, if she were still dating Bobby, I would bring physical harm to that dude. Ugh — they deserve each other.”

  I’m listening to the conversation, but at the same time I feel rather faint. This means the texts from Bobby were really from BJ, and Ashlyn was the puppy, and… oh wait, this also means the bet had to do with something else entirely.

  “You bet you would marry me so you could get a dog?” I shriek as my fists tighten.

  “Um, no,” BJ interrupts again. “Actually, he bet he could marry you so he could give you the dog as a present. Because, apparently, he thinks your cat — Mrs. Butterworth, is it?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, your cat is like clinically depressed or something, because it has no hair. Which, if you ask me, is just weird. Anyway, Preston here has been my mentor at the firehouse, and he gets annoyed with how many times I call him and make mistakes with the dog and with… other things. So, I told him that if he could get a girl as hot as you, I would not only transfer to a different firehouse, but let him keep the dog. And well, he won. Because look at you. You look like you’re crazy in love, or maybe just crazy. I can’t tell. I blame my inability to commit.”

  He finishes his little rant, and I take a seat at the gate. OH MY HELL.

  I am going to kill Preston. I’m going to tell Mrs. Butterworth and Ashlyn to scratch his eyes out and feed them to the turtles in the pond by our hotel. I can’t help but smile evilly as I fantasize about my revenge and look toward Preston, who is starting to look a little worried.

  “Don’t.” He holds up his finger and then he takes off running.

  I jump up and chase him around the airport
, screaming, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

  I notice that he starts to sprint, smart man. I mean, I’m fast, and he knows it. I try to catch up to him but have to stop suddenly when he jerks someone else’s luggage between us to hinder my progress.

  “Now, Amanda,” he says, holding his hands out in front of him. “Let’s try and be reasonable. You never gave me a chance to explain. You just ran your mouth over and over again about what you thought was going on and never once asked me about it.” His hands were still out in front of him.

  I give him a polite smile before grabbing my purse and smacking him over the head with it.

  “Um, guys?” BJ says catching up to us. “Sorry to interrupt this bonding moment, but I gotta get on that next flight.”

  “Wait,” I say turning to him. “What do you mean, you’re getting on the next flight?”

  “Well,” he says, handing the crate over to Preston. “My parents own some property in Kona, and since the airlines wouldn’t let the dog travel alone, it was either go visit them or fly directly back to Boise, so…” he shakes my hand forcefully, “it was a pleasure meeting you, and I’m sure I will see a lot more of you now that you and Preston are getting married.”

  I hear Preston snicker behind me before I give him another warning lunge with my bag.

  He backs off slowly and walks around to give BJ a high five. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.” Preston winks.

  “Actually,” BJ says. “It was totally worth it, seeing her chase you with her purse like that. Just wait until I tell the guys. We’ll see ya!”

  He waves and walks off, while I turn to glare at Preston again.

  “Anything you wanna ask me,” he says, and then it hits me. All the shrimp, the throwing up, the talking incessantly about how hot he is to his face, the blaming, the embarrassment… I look at him, and my eyes widen in astonishment over all of the things I have said to his face over the past day.