“Trent and I have been neighbors all our lives.”
“I think that’s very cool. To have someone you’ve known your whole life.”
It is pretty cool. Even if things are changing by the minute. Might as well lay another card on the table.
“What happened to Braedyn? I saw her get in your car after church.”
I would swear an “oh-please” look passes over his face. Do guys think that way?
“When she saw me standing by my car, she went on and on about how she loves Jaguars and she’d never had a chance to ride in one. So I obliged. Then she said she was disappointed when I had to take her back to her boring, old car at the church.”
He’s so blasé, nonchalant, like my heart hadn’t hurt when I witnessed him obliging her. But he wouldn’t know about my heart.
He’s Mr. Celebrity Baseball Player who has joined our Sunday school class, integrated his way into our lives and is in the processing of sweeping me off my feet whether he knows it or not.
So based on his answer, Braedyn isn’t in the picture.
Problem two solved. Problem one had been the awesome issue and problem three is still unsolved.
The article. And I have now a problem four.
The kiss.
In itself, it’s by far not a problem, but combined with all the other variables it could be.
Will there be another one? Kiss, that is, not problem.
If there isn’t, that would be problem number five.
Monday came and went with absolutely nothing out of the ordinary happening. Well, nothing too out of the ordinary. There is the matter of Trelvet.
They want to speak with me.
Tonight. After I get home from work.
I’m driving now, my favorite Passion CD playing trying to rid myself of Trelvet anxiety. I’ve been avoiding the solo encounter entirely, but tonight there is no escape.
I’ve been summoned.
I’m going to try and not over-dramatize the situation because it’s probably regarding my mother’s party. I’m sure Velvet just wants to make some changes and has recruited Trent as backup. At this point, I’ll gladly leave the party arrangements totally in her hands. I don’t do parties well, and they, along with decorating, are Velvet’s forte.
Let’s face it. Anyone who can work out a beach barbecue deserves complete control.
My convertible pulls into my driveway much too soon, but the time has come. I make my way to Trent’s door. Velvet answers. Another very couple’s thing.
We hug, like normal. Somehow I don’t think anything else about this night is going to be normal.
I don’t notice anything different about Trent’s living room, which means the redecorate hasn’t physically started yet. It’s probably still in some drafting stage where there’s a beautiful picture of Trent’s new and improved living room sitting on someone’s work desk.
That would be Velvet’s. And I wouldn’t be surprised if a picture of Trent shows up on her desk sometime soon, too.
We make our way to the kitchen where Trent is cooking something incredible. There’s a delicious smell in the air.
Incredible. Ashton’s kiss. Delicious. Mmmmm.
Thank God for memories.
“I thought we’d talk over dinner, all right?” Trent asks.
“Sure.” I guess. The fact that Trent made that statement and his tone of voice set me on edge. Could it be they don’t want to talk about the party?
Could it be they have something else they want to talk about?
Is this going to be a Trelvet conversation? Only one thought comes to mind. They’ve been spending every available minute together these last couple of weeks. They both walk around with some dreamy glow about them.
I hope they aren’t going to make some sort of announcement. I don’t know if I can handle that right now.
The solo encounter isn’t going well for me.
Suddenly I’m not so hungry. Velvet is setting the table like she already lives here, while Trent stirs this and bakes that. Meanwhile love pats, swatting towels, quick kisses and laughter fly around the kitchen like they are printed on a recipe card.
This is harder than I imagined. Instead of making progress, I’m regressing.
“Dinner is served,” Velvet announces with a pride she can’t hide.
As I sit, she slides a plate full of spaghetti in front of me. Momentarily Trelvet is seated also.
We say a blessing and dig in.
The garlic bread smells wonderful. The salad is very colorful with its green lettuce, red tomatoes, and orange carrots.
I’m sure it all tastes very good, but my taste buds seem a bit numb.
“I want to talk to you about Ashton Boyd,” Trent says as I have a forkful of salad poised in front of my mouth.
I set my fork down. This could not possibly be the reason they have asked me here, blindsided me with delicious, colorful food. Could it?
Trent’s blue eyes are serious while Velvet gives me the I’m sorry look. Okay, I get it. She’s an apparent partner in this forthcoming lecture. I’ve known Trent too long not to see a lecture coming. I can only hope he doesn’t teach Velvet how to lecture.
“What about Ashton?” I ask, not really sure if I want to know. After all, it has been just twenty-four hours since the man rocked my world with his kiss, then apprised me of his plans to go on a mission trip.
Top that, Trent.
But wait. Maybe I’m jumping the gun. Maybe Trent wants to sing Ashton’s praises.
“Velvet showed me the article last week, but I didn’t think much about it.”
He didn’t think much about it? Ashton called me “his girl”, and Trent didn’t think much about it?
Guys are clueless sometimes. Or in love.
“Now I find out you had dinner with him last week, and he’s joining the mission team. He also went to your house after he left here yesterday.”
Trent obviously has too much time on his hands if he can keep up with Ashton. I can’t keep up with Ashton.
“And your point?” I ask.
“No point. I, rather we—” He takes a quick look at Velvet—“just want you to be careful.”
“Careful? In what way?”
Trent hesitates. “Don’t get too attached.”
I’ve had more than one lecture from Trent, but never one where he seems to be stammering his way through. At this point he’s looking at Velvet like he’s calling in reinforcements, but she just keeps eating.
“Is it that way with him, Allison? Are you getting attached?” he asks after a long silence.
Good question Trent. I wish I could answer it for you.
“What do you mean by attached? He’s not at my hip. I haven’t talked to him all day. And what’s the big deal anyway?”
He has twirled his spaghetti so long that his fork is just a big ball of pasta. He lays the fork down.
“Ashton has a reputation with women. That’s all. I just want you to be careful.”
His kisses probably have a reputation. They deserve it.
“What kind of reputation?” I ask. (Remember the warped female aspect? Just having to know?)
“I’m not going to go into details.”
Oh yes, you are.
“Spill it, Trent. Does he go after rich ones and steal them blind? Does he rob the cradle? What kind of reputation?”
“Let me just say he’s not the settling down type of guy.”
Who wants to settle down? Maybe Trelvet?
“You know, Trent, a month ago people would have said the same thing about you.”
He looks at Velvet.
“We just don’t want you to get hurt, Allison.”
Trelvet is clueless. Right now, Ashton hurting me is the very least of my worries.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can look out for myself just fine,” I say, slicing the silence as I scoot my chair away from the table, unwilling to listen to Trelvet spout off reasons why I shouldn’t be Allishton.
The subject matter is inconsequential.
A soft rain has started to fall, the drops lacing my glasses and mixing with my tears. I can’t decide if I’m more mad than hurt or vice versa. Mad is bolder. It grants permission to yell, scream, rant, stomp, every action justifiable.
Hurt is harder, lingering until a resolution is reached. It’s uncontrolled, irrational at times and absolutely no fun.
It’s obvious Trelvet has made a stand. A stand together. Not that their stand is against me. I know deep in my heart it’s not that way.
But my mind needs time to process this dramatic turn our relationship has taken.
It’s now their relationship.
I’m simply a bystander.
CHAPTER 9
It’s Wednesday night and I’m at home alone. It’s become obvious over the last couple of weeks that Fridays, Sundays, and Mondays have been the exciting days of the week. I see Ashton on Sundays, then for some reason he always feels compelled to call or show up on Mondays, but then nada the rest of the week. Except for that one Friday.
What does Celebrity Baseball Player do Tuesday through Saturday? Where does he live? Does he work? At all? Anywhere?
Ever since the Trelvet betrayal my mind is focusing on Ashton and what he’s doing or not doing.
It’s funny, but even after that incredible kiss I don’t consider us a couple. As incredible as the kiss was, it was still brief. Spontaneous.
Bottom line? It wasn’t a couple’s kiss.
A couple’s kiss would be longer, deeper, and it would end with heads resting on shoulders, hands rubbing the back of the neck. Maybe it would end by leading into another kiss.
Ours was definitely a non-couples kiss.
It’s a good thing we aren’t a couple. I could see me telling my mother I’m dating a guy who doesn’t have a job.
That would go over oh, so well. Especially since she doesn’t have to work, but took her Clinique job to “keep busy and stay in the know.”
Allison, since your father died my days are empty. Even though I don’t need the money, I need the mental stimulation. A few days a week meeting people and keeping up with what’s current is what I need.
This is what she told me after she had been hired. I didn’t really mind, but I never would have guessed that given a choice of who knows how many jobs, she would chose to be a Clinique representative.
At first Velvet and I would go there for free makeovers. Especially if we had a date. Mother would do us up right and sometimes when she came home she would have bought us one of the products she thought looked good on us.
Now I don’t wear much makeup. Mother hasn’t made any comments in that area. Oh, well there was one. Something about not being able to see the pretty shadows behind my glasses?
I’m sitting at my vanity. Maybe that’s why I’m on this makeup-looks kick here. I pull my hair out of its ponytail holder and start to brush.
I pull the brush through, stroke after stroke. My hair is long. When I curl it to wear down, the curl never holds. When I wear it straight it doesn’t look sexy like Jennifer Anniston’s. It looks like it needs some curl. What a vicious cycle.
Maybe I should get a trim. A couple of layers. Mitch, the guy who does my hair, is always trying to talk me into putting some “oomph” into my hair.
But I never let him.
Let the record stand. I’m not adventurous like my mother. And I’m not sure if I’m ready for any oomph.
After all, I can’t even handle a non-couples kiss.
The other half of my non-couples kiss had called me early this morning asking me if I wanted to ride together to Randy’s house for our Thursday prayer meeting tonight. He said he would pick me up at my house at six-thirty.
So it’s six-twenty, I’m standing in my room in front of my vanity (yes, again), right hand poised on my pony tail holder as if at any moment it might yank it out. My left hand reaches over and slaps the top of my right hand.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Before any type of confrontation can occur between the right and the left, my cell phone rings.
Caller ID equals Braedyn.
“Hi, Braedyn.”
“Allison. Hi. I’m glad I caught you. There’s been a change in plans this evening. We’re meeting at my house, not Randy’s. He didn’t know his wife scheduled a slumber party for their eight year old daughter and there are about fifteen girls coming.”
“Yikes. That’s a crowd.”
“Yeah. So, I’ve reached everybody except Ashton. Do you have a number for him by chance?”
Rub it in Braedyn. Rub it in.
“No. I don’t have a number,” I say.
And Braedyn asking for Ashton’s number leads me to believe she doesn’t have it either. Praise God.
I don’t want to tell her on the phone that he’s picking me up because then there’s the possibility that she’ll have an attitude. If Ashton and I just show up together, she’ll put the attitude off until she and I are alone, and days will have passed by then and she’ll have toned it down considerably. I hope.
“Randy doesn’t have his number?” I ask.
“No. But his wife will direct Ashton to my house when he shows up.”
“Oh, okay.”
“All right then, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Braedyn says.
“Sure. Bye.”
Okay. I know the omission factor here wasn’t very nice. But I want to hug this strange friendship Ashton and I have close to my body and not share it for as long as I can.
I guess it’s obvious by now what’s happening here. I’m on the rebound. The friendship rebound.
Trelvet has left me, and Ashton has arrived. Should I tell him? Make him aware of his status in my life?
I don’t think so. Truth be told, he probably has some rebound issues himself from not playing baseball.
Downstairs, Mother is in the kitchen eating a Lean Cuisine. It always amazes me that the food in that little tray can fill her up. She’s lost twenty five pounds since Daddy died and doesn’t need to lose anymore. She insists she’s maintaining, but I try to keep an eye on her.
“What time is your baseball player friend supposed to be here?” she asks as she rinses her fork and the little black tray then places them in the dishwasher. I can’t comprehend how many of those little black trays we have stacked in the cupboard, yet I’ve never seen her re-use one.
“His name is Ashton and he should be here any minute,” I reply hoping against all hope she doesn’t reference him as my baseball player friend when she meets him.
“Oh, yes. Ashton Boyd. That pitcher who had those problems and can’t pitch anymore. What does he do now?”
“I’m not really sure, Mother.”
“Not sure? How many times have you been out with him?”
“Mother, don’t say out like a date. We’re friends, that’s all.”
My mother has picked up her cellular phone.
“Expecting a call?” I ask.
“No. I guess not.” She lays her phone back down.
The doorbell rings bringing a feeling of relief, then guilt. I should pay more attention to my mother and what’s going on with her. But shoot, at forty-nine she looks great and has way more dates than I do.
She should pay more attention to me.
She follows me to the door. (Enough attention, Mother.)
She stands behind me as I open the door to let Ashton in.
“Hi,” he says. “You look—”
“Great,” I interrupt. “I know. Don’t I always?”
I can never believe him now when he tells me I look great. If he were my guy (even though I’m his girl, I’m not labeling him as my guy, because being my guy has a whole lot of responsibility attached to the job) I’d have to break him of this habit he probably doesn�
�t even know he has.
“Yes, you do,” he says with a puzzled look guys seem to have a lot. “Always.”
My mother clears her throat behind me. Oh. Yeah.
Ashton steps in, I close the door and step aside to reveal Mother.
“Ashton Boyd, my mother, Nina Doll.”
They shake hands and I try to read my mother. She’s smiling, which is good.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Doll,” Ashton says.
“Oh, please. Call me Nina,” Mother replies.
“Nina it is,” he says. “You two really look alike. It’s amazing.”
Amazing. That’s a synonym for awesome.
“We would look more alike if Allison didn’t wear that ponytail all the time,” Mother says.
No, she did not say that. But she did. At least she could have softened the comment with a laugh.
“I like her ponytail,” Ashton says. “It makes her unique.”
“I’m glad somebody handsome like you thinks so,” Mother says.
Maybe there’ll come a day when my mother doesn’t embarrass me. Today is not that day.
“Come on, Ashton. We need to go.”
I kiss my mother on the cheek, Ashton waves and we both tell her goodbye.
“The plans have changed,” I say as I buckle my seat belt. “We’re not going to Randy’s, we’re headed to Braedyn’s. Randy’s wife scheduled a sleep-over for their little girl, so Braedyn offered her home for tonight.”
“Okay by me,” he says, backing out of the driveway.
“Head toward the church and I’ll give you directions as we go.”
He puts the car in drive and pushes the gas pedal.
“I know the way.”
For a girl who knows she’s not part of a couple, that statement inflicts a very strange reaction. It’s called pain. It has also teaches me something. Being in a classic Jag doesn’t relieve pain. People in luxurious surroundings can hurt too.
I need to will my mind to take over at this point, because my heart is spinning out of control. My mind knows there is nothing to be hurt over, but my heart refuses to listen.
I glance over at Ashton, and he’s steering the car (I guess that’s a good thing) as he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
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