Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy)

by Claire Matthews

  Once Jen is gone, the building seems unusually quiet. I straighten my desk a bit, then reach down to turn off my computer, and when I stand back up, Will’s in the doorway.

  “Holy crap,” I gasp, and my hand flies to my chest. “You scared me.”

  “Hi.” His voice comes out raspy. “Hi.” He gets it the second time.

  “Hi.” I feel the blood rush to my face.

  “How was the interview?” He seems so stilted and formal. My stomach lurches.

  “I don’t want to talk about the interview. I want to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “I want to know if you are ever going to ask me out. On a date.”

  His eyes grow wide, and he takes the tiniest step backwards. Oh God, I shouldn’t have just blurted that out—he looks like he wants to run away. Thanks for nothing, Mom.

  I clear my throat quickly. “Umm, because, if you did…you know, I’d say yes. But if you didn’t, that would be fine, too…I mean, that’s just as well…” I finish weakly and stare at the floor. This isn’t how I was expecting things to go at all. For a long moment, silence consumes the room.

  “Lucy.” When I look up, his eyes bore into mine. “We both know I’m a fool for you. So I need to know if you’re serious.” I swallow hard. “Are you?”

  “Yes.” My voice is thin and wobbly. We’re still staring at each other, and I don’t know how I ever thought he wasn’t as handsome as Paul. He’s so much handsomer. More handsome. Whatever.

  “Friday night, then?”

  “What?”

  “Would you like to go out on Friday night?”

  Oh, he’s asking me out. On a proper date. A gurgle of nervous laughter bubbles up from my chest. “Sure.”

  “Great,” says Will, with finality. He backs up awkwardly, and gives the side of the doorframe a little tap, as if we’ve just wrapped up some kind of important negotiation. “Friday it is.” Then he turns to leave.

  Wait--that’s it? Where the hell is he going?

  “Will!” I can tell I’ve startled him. He stops and turns back towards me.

  “Yes?”

  “Umm, I was thinking. On Friday, could we maybe go bowling?”

  His slow smile melts something in my chest, and now it’s all just warm, flowing syrup running through my veins. “Sure.” He takes a step towards me, and my heart starts thwomping in my chest. Somehow I’m moving towards him, too.

  “And an Icee. I’ll want an Icee. Just to warn you, you know.”

  “Bowling and an Icee,” he repeats to himself, as if making a mental list.

  “And the big string of Laffy Taffy.”

  He nods knowingly. “Banana.” We’re so close I can feel his breath on my forehead. The hairs on the back of my neck are all prickly, and he reaches down and cups my face in his hands.

  And then we’re kissing, and his mouth is hot and sweet, and it fits over mine like it was made to go there. His stubble rubs against my chin, and our arms wrap desperately around each other, and I feel my body curving sharply into his. I’ve never kissed like this before. I’ve never felt like this before.

  When he breaks away, I’m left staring up at him, breathing heavily. My lips are swollen and wet. Every inch of my body is crying out for his touch. Arms still wrapped around his waist, I lean into him shamelessly, but he kisses the tip of my nose and backs up, out of my embrace.

  “I’ve got to go…I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says in a husky voice, and then he’s gone.

  Oh my God, he is such a tease.

  ***

  On my way home from work, Paul texts me. Again. I’m having a hard time even concentrating at this point, since my mind has been completely overtaken with thoughts of Will, and his lips, and his heart slamming against mine as he kissed me. Just thinking about it sends a delicious shiver down my back.

  I pick up my phone and dial Paul’s number.

  “Hey, Luce.”

  “Hey, I got your text. Listen, I’m driving into the parking lot right now. I’ll call you after the inspector leaves.”

  “No need, I’m here at the condo.”

  “What?” But I already see his car, in my parking space, as I make my way to the back of the lot. “Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “You’re in the condo? Paul, you can’t just barge in without asking me.” I’m beyond irritated. I think I left a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, and there are no fewer than three silk bras hanging off the blades of the ceiling fan, drying after their Woolite treatment. I mean, it’s not like he’s never seen my tampons or my bras, but still. A little privacy here.

  “Lucy, I have as much right to be here for this inspection as you do.”

  “Fine, but just wait until I get home, for fuck’s sake.” I hear Paul’s intake of breath. He can’t stand it when I curse. He thinks it’s trashy.

  Well, fuck him, lord of the fucking manor. I hang up on him.

  Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean…

  When I walk through the front door, I see Paul at the kitchen table, going through a huge stack of mail that I’ve been holding for him.

  “Hey, I brought Vietnamese,” he says, nodding towards the two white bags at the end of the table. Van Loc. He knows I’m a sucker for their noodles.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, still pissed, but also starving. I go to the kitchen to grab some big soup bowls and spoons, and Paul begins to unload the Styrofoam containers from the bags.

  “How was your day?” He calls from the dining area, and shit, this is way too couple-y for my taste.

  “Fine. It was fine. Don’t ask me that.”

  “What, I’m not allowed to ask you how your day was?’

  I walk back in and slam the bowls down on the table. “No. You’re not. You’re not my boyfriend, and it’s none of your business how my day was.”

  “Wow,” he says, looking wounded. Oh, give me a break. We split the entree like we always do (I get extra pork, he gets extra egg roll), and I start to feel the tiniest bit bad as we eat in strained silence. I mean, he did bring noodles.

  “Thanks for bringing dinner,” I say grudgingly. He gives me a tight smile. “I’m going to clean up the bathroom and kitchen before the inspector gets here.”

  “Do you want me to run the vacuum in the bedrooms?” For some reason, this instantly pisses me off.

  “What do you mean? You think I never clean? I’ll have you know I vacuumed the entire place two days ago.”

  “Jesus, Lucy, I was trying to be helpful.” Okay, so maybe I have my bitch volume turned up a tad too high. It just feels weird, talking to Paul, someone I used to sleep with, when all I can think about is how long I have to wait before I can sleep with Will. I want to sleep with Will. Oh my God, I really want to sleep with Will.

  “Lucy…” Paul’s waving his chopsticks in front of me, as I seem to have zoned out for a moment.

  “Yes. What?” I’m irritated again.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, but your head seems to be somewhere else tonight.”

  “Well…it is, I guess.” I figure this is as good a time as any to set things straight with Paul—the texts and phone messages need to stop. “I’m kind of starting a new relationship right now.”

  “Oh yeah?” He looks interested, but not upset. That’s good.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “It’s not anything yet. But I’d like it to be.”

  Paul pauses for a short moment, then says, “That’s great, Luce. Really.” His smile is genuine, as is the one I give him in return. See, here we are, selling our condo, talking like civilized adults, eating noodles.

  “So, who is this guy? Someone at work?”

  Hmm, how’s this going to fly? “Actually, it’s Will.”

  “Ahh, Will. Right. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “What do you mean?” I’m instantly on the defensive.

  “Nothing, nothing. I just mean that there was always so
mething between you two. Some spark, I guess.”

  “Paul, we never—“

  “I know. Lucy, I know. I’m just saying, you two have a special relationship. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous, but I’m happy for you. I hope it works out.”

  “Thanks.” And I mean it--I’m really touched. Maybe Paul and I can salvage some kind of friendship after all.

  “So is Jen cool with all this?” He’s stabbing his egg roll with the end of his chopstick, like a spear. He always sucked at chopsticks.

  “Umm, sure--why wouldn’t she be?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I just thought, with their history and all…”

  “What history?”

  Paul’s abandons his egg roll and glances over at me. When his eyes meet mine, his face kind of freezes, and the look he gives me drops a brick in the pit of my stomach. I know that look--I’ve lived that look. Fifth grade, when Evan and I discovered a stash of Christmas presents in the coat closet, underneath a big hunting blanket. I began to spout off, with all my big-sisterly wisdom, which presents would be from Mom and Dad, and which ones would end up being from “Santa”. Only Evan still believed in Santa. Whoops.

  “Exactly what ‘history’ are you referring to?” Is that my voice? It sounds awfully shrill.

  “Nothing. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He’s now completely engrossed in his egg roll.

  “Yes, you do. What ‘history’?” The more uncomfortable Paul looks, the more nervous I get. What could he possibly be hinting at? Jen met Will when I did, four years ago. There is no history—at least, no history that I’m not aware of.

  “Lucy, it’s nothing, okay?” He stands to take his empty bowl to the kitchen.

  “Well, if it’s nothing, then tell me.” Wheedling information is one thing I’m actually very good at. I can’t stand to be left in the dark about things. When my mother first got sick, she and my dad tried to hide it from Evan and me. For a long time, she had mysterious “dentist appointments,” sometimes two or three days a week. Since I was a senior in high school, wrapped up in my own selfish world, she was able to pull off the charade for months. But when I finally found out the truth, I was devastated. Not just because of her illness, but because she’d lied to me. She’d left me out. In my mind, it’s always been the ultimate betrayal.

  “Why don’t you ask Will?” He says when he returns to the dining area.

  “You know, I’ll do that, but right now I’m asking you.”

  He sighs heavily and sits back down at the kitchen table. “Listen, Luce, it was probably nothing.”

  “What was nothing?” God, he’s really irritating me.

  “Fine. Remember when we had the condo repainted, at the beginning of last year?” I nod automatically. I was still taking graduate classes at the time, and while we were temporarily homeless, Paul stayed at his parents’ house, and I stayed with Jen.

  “Well, do you remember that night that you asked me to stop over at Jen’s place and pick up your Imitrex before we went to the football game?” Now that I don’t remember, but it sounds like something I would do. I have a tendency to get migraines, particularly when I’m in a crowd.

  “I didn’t think Jen was home, so I let myself in, with the key you gave me. But she was home, and Will was there, and they were on the couch, like…together.”

  Silence fills the room. “Together how?” I know what he’s saying, but I need him to spell it out for me. Because this is fucking unbelievable.

  “Luce, they were together, okay? But I don’t know the whole story. Maybe there’s some kind of explanation.”

  “What…I mean, what did they say when they saw you?”

  “They didn’t see me. I opened the door, saw them on the couch, and left. And then I met you at the game and told you I couldn’t find your pills.” Now I remember. I remember thinking that Paul was just too lazy to go by the apartment. The pills were right there on the bathroom counter.

  My mind is spinning, and I place my palm on my forehead. He’s not lying. I know he’s not. Paul is many things, many unpleasant things, but liar is not one of them.

  “Whatever it is you think you saw, you just…misunderstood. There is no way Will and Jen were ever involved. You know, like that.” My voice is loud with certainty.

  “You’re probably right,” he agrees quickly. I can tell he just wants out of this conversation. The brick in my stomach sinks even lower. We finish dinner in silence and straighten the condo, and the visit from the inspector goes without a hitch, since Paul does all the talking, while I mope around like a heartsick cow. We’re done by nine o’clock, and I walk out to the parking lot with Paul.

  “You don’t have to escort me to my car, you know. I promise to leave the premises.” He gives me a small grin, and I just shrug. I’m not in the mood. When we get to his shiny black BMW, he takes me by the shoulders.

  “Luce, I’m sorry I opened my big mouth. Just…talk to Will. Whatever it is, you guys can work it out.” He’s being so nice and reasonable--it reminds me that he wasn’t always a dick.

  “Thanks, Paul. I’ll call you when I get the inspector’s report.” I lean over to give him a hug, and his arms feel strong and warm around me. I can’t help but remember when things were good between us. Then I feel his hand slide down and cup my ass over thick denim. Right--he’s still a dick.

  “Umm, Paul…you need to release my backside.”

  I feel him smile against my shoulder. “Luce, I can’t help it. Your backside is looking mighty spectacular since you started working out. Plus, I’m horny.”

  I can’t help but laugh at his honesty, even if I’m not the least bit interested in his intentions “Well, you’ve got a shower and a right hand, so I think you’re good to go.” We’re both still grinning, but I’m serious, and he knows it. A car creeps by us in the parking lot, and inexplicably stops a few feet away. What the hell?

  Oh, crap.

  Crap!

  It’s Will.

  He’s seen me and Paul hugging. He’s seen Paul cupping my butt in his hand. He’s seen us laughing. I can see his face through the passenger window, and his expression is unreadable. Paul clears his throat and releases my ass from his grasp. Nice.

  I give Paul an impatient shove and hurry over to the Jeep. Will rolls down the passenger window, and I peer in cautiously.

  “Hey, Guillaume.” Maybe a bit of French will bring a smile to his face.

  “Hey.”

  Okay, maybe not.

  “Paul came over to meet the inspector.” Silence. “He’s just leaving.” Wow, more silence. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought back your bike.” Now I notice my Cannondale, hooked on the rack attached to the tailgate. I also can’t help but notice the bouquet of irises sitting in the passenger seat--my heart skips several beats, but when I look back up at Will, all I see is his back exiting the car.

  “Here you go,” he says tightly, unhooking the bike and rolling it around to my side of the Jeep. Thank God Paul has climbed in his car--he drives past with a sheepish wave as I take the handlebars from Will.

  “Will…” my voice sounds pleading, but he’s already walking determinedly back to the driver’s seat. I back up and stick my head in the passenger side window. “What are those?” My eyes move to the blue and yellow irises, their sweet fragrance filling the air between us.

  “Nothing,” he says quietly, and then he drives away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Don’t you hate when you cry yourself to sleep, and your hair gets caught in your dried tears and sticks to your cheeks?

  Yeah, me too.

  It’s Tuesday morning, I’ve had virtually no sleep, and I’m supposed to meet Jen and Will at the track this morning for a training run. The mere thought makes fresh tears spring to my eyes. My feelings sway unsteadily from regret and guilt at the thought of Will’s sad face last night, to anger and pain when I allow the thought of him and Jen, together, to creep into my
consciousness.

  Plus, I really don’t want to run five miles this morning. I pick up my cell and speed-dial Jen.

  “What?” Jen’s telephone skills are legendary.

  “Hey, I’m sick. You and Will run without me this morning.”

  “Too late, faker. Will just called with the same lame excuse. Have you two been swapping germy spit or something?”

  “No.” The fact that I don’t take her bait alerts Jen to my bad mood.

  “What’s the deal? Did you have a fight?”

  I really don’t want to go into the whole Paul-and-me-in-the-parking-lot thing, so I decide to be mad a Jen instead. “If I ask you a question, do you promise to tell me the truth?”

  “I’d have to hear the question first. Is it about your boobs? Because I’ll tell you straight up, they aren’t as big as you think they are.”

  I’m not amused. “Did you sleep with Will?”

  Her pause is long enough to make the bile churn in my stomach. Oh, my God.

  “What?” Jen’s voice is low and hard. I can’t even answer her, because suddenly a combat boot has lodged itself in my throat.

  “Don’t move. I’m coming over,” she hisses, and then the line goes dead.

  Ten minutes later, I hear the front door open from my spot on the couch. As directed, I haven’t moved, except to rest my head on the sofa cushion and wish my life didn’t suck quite so hard.

  “Lucy?”

  “In here,” I moan miserably. My head is still buried in the crook of my arm, but I feel the couch shift as Jen sits down next to me. We sit in silence for a moment, until I gather the momentum to sit up.