Thursday Nights (The Charistown Series)

by Lisa N. Paul

  She raised her hand to stop Janie from interrupting her. “Zip it, I’m on a roll here. I am not telling you this so that you can fix him. That is where you tend to fuck things up. Let him do that himself, and then he can come to you. It’s time for you to work on mending you. I don’t want to see you hurt again.” Lyla’s eyes started to glaze, something so rare Janie was aghast, so she sat silent, letting her friend continue.

  “Your father abandoned you and your family. Your mother taught you to survive by throwing you into the fire. She was a drunk and a junkie, Jane. Your siblings were gone, and you were taking care of yourself and her. I know that you pity her, but I hate her for you. Parents are supposed to love and support their children”—tears gathered in Lyla’s eyes—“not the other way around. It’s time you start focusing on you. You are worth so much more than you think.”

  One tear fell down Lyla’s cheek before she wiped them all away and stood up to walk into the bathroom.

  As the emotional one of the pair, tears were already streaming down Janie’s cheeks unabashed. She called after her friend, trying to mask her surprise with humor. “Hey, Ly, was that a tear I saw?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lyla called from the bathroom. Sounds of Lyla blowing her nose emanated from down the hall.

  “Crying is for pussies, Ly.” Janie snorted through her tears when she heard a loud thump, one that could only be Lyla’s head hitting the wall as she quietly giggled in the small bathroom.

  It was three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, and Janie was helping Lyla with last-minute dinner preparations. Janie loved how their intimate Sunday dinners had turned into large family-style events, and she knew Lyla felt the same way. Neither of them grew up with kitchens full of wonderful home-cooked food or family rooms filled with laughter and love. The smells and sounds of Sundays had become a sort of balm to each of their souls.

  Being the “oops” child in an already struggling family of seven won Janie no admirers in the Silver household. Her four siblings had formed their bond before she ever came along. Janie couldn’t blame them. Their parents were selfish, alcoholic abusers, and they had bonded with each other to stay safe. By the time Janie was six, her father had finally up and left the family—which was good in some ways and bad in others—and her mother quickly turned child neglect into an art form. When her mother wasn’t drunk or high, young Janie thought she could see some love in her mother’s eyes, and it was because of that fleeting glimpse that Janie always came back to care for her mom after her “boyfriends” left or the “medicine” wore off. It would be years before Janie would finally give up on the dream of having a “real” mom.

  As for her siblings, Janie had limited communication with them. For years she had tried to maintain relationships with each of her brothers and sisters, but they only seemed bothered by her presence.

  “Why don’t they love me, Lyla? What have I done to make them hate me so much?” Lyla would hold Janie while she cried and explain that it wasn’t Janie’s fault, that her siblings were probably feeling guilty about leaving their little sister behind. Lyla always seemed so certain of the explanation that Janie actually started to believe her. So it came as little surprise when Janie’s oldest brother called her just after Janie’s college graduation and asked to meet with her. Angry and hurt, Janie refused the face-to-face but did speak with him on the phone. With Lyla holding her hand, Janie listed to her brother’s heartfelt apologies about his abandonment and neglect.

  “We just had to get out of there,” he had said. “We never thought about saving you too. There will never be a day that I don’t hate myself for leaving you, Janie.”

  Janie had responded with an anger she had never felt or unleashed before. “And there will never be a day that I don’t hate all of you for exactly that.” She hung up the phone and cried for hours.

  “Do you feel better?” Lyla had gently asked while stroking her back. Janie, eyes red and swollen, shook her head.

  Lyla had handed Janie the phone. “You’ve been holding that in for years. You needed to get it out. But honey, you don’t do angry…it’s not you. Call your brother and get un-angry.”

  With Lyla’s encouragement, Janie called each of her siblings. While it never made them close, they learned to talk occasionally and see each other a few times a year. That is as much of her biological family Janie wanted, though.

  “This is as good as it gets, Jane,” Lyla said as she tossed the ingredients for the salad. Janie didn’t respond, and Lyla snapped her fingers in front of her friend’s face. “Earth to Janie!”

  Janie shook off the memory. “I’m sorry, Ly, what were you saying?”

  “I was asking you if you heard from Max,” Lyla lied with a smile.

  “Lyla Paige Dalton, you may be a wonderful writer, but you’re a horrible liar, and that is one reason why I love you so much. You were not asking about Max. But since you are now… yes, he texted me. He texted me,” she repeated, her voice tinged with anger. “Nothing says thanks for the smokin’ hot sex like a text. Oh, and before you ask, he wanted to know if dinner was at my place or yours.”

  Lyla said nothing; she didn’t have to because Janie kept talking. “I texted him back one word— Lyla’s—and that was it. I’m beginning to wonder if Thursday night was just a figment of my imagination.”

  “Nope.” Lyla glided past Janie, placing a kiss on her head. “I heard him in your kitchen on Friday morning with my own ears. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he sounded like a happy man. Play tonight by ear, and let’s see what happens. And remember, you guys were friends first.”

  Frustration coiled in Janie’s belly. “Right…friends.”

  The doorbell chimed at four o’clock, bringing the first guests. Ashley and Ryan were a modern-day Barbie-and-Ken combo standing there at the door, each accessorized with tattoos and perfectly placed piercings. They worked at Danny’s together, rented a house together, but God forbid anyone imply that they were more than roommates—daggers would fly from both of them. They were the most beautiful non-couple you could imagine, though.

  Janie thought back to when she and Lyla had first started hanging out with the crew from the bar. No one had warned either woman not to ask about the apparently touchy subject of Ryan and Ashley’s non-relationship. In fact, it seemed as if Lyla and Janie were encouraged to ask. When the topic finally came up one night after the bar had closed and the women were loosened up from margaritas, Ryan and Ashley performed their own version of the Exorcist while the rest of the group laughed hysterically at Janie’s and Lyla’s expense. It was the proverbial “Welcome to the Family.” Janie stifled a giggle at the memory.

  “Asshole here forgot to pick up flowers on the way home from the gym,” Ashley said with a wink. Everything Ashley said and did was done with grace and ease—even calling one of her best friends an asshole. She saved all of the drama for Ryan himself. It just made Janie laugh. Ashley was too easygoing to ever be annoyed with, a rare quality to find in a girlfriend, so Janie cherished their time together.

  “First of all, I am not an asshole. Second, what Princess forgot to mention is that she sent me a text asking me to pick up the flowers when she heard the front door open as I got home from the gym. Nice timing, sweetness.” Ryan shot Ashley a look that Janie couldn’t decipher. “Besides, I brought beer.” He winked and kissed both Lyla and Janie before he went to the kitchen to put the beer in the refrigerator.

  “Ok, children,” Janie announced in her teacher voice. “Go to your corners or you’ll both end up in time out.” She put her hands on her hips. “And no recess!”

  Ryan chuckled. “Janie, if you were my teacher, I would have never missed a day of school.”

  “Ass kisser,” Ashley teased. With that, there was a knock at the door. The rest of the group had arrived.

  Danny and Julie came with cookies and wine, and Kyle showed up looking hungover but still sexy as hell in all his scruffiness. His eyes were red-rimmed with dark ci
rcles underneath, though, and worry for Kyle bloomed in Janie’s chest. He was leaning against the door in his I’m-too-cool-for-this way, but Janie had a feeling if the doorjamb moved, Kyle would fall over.

  “Rough night, buddy?” Ryan asked with a smile.

  “Something like that,” Kyle muttered. He leaned down to Lyla and kissed her cheek. “Hey, sexy,” he said in his usual flirty tone, but his eyes held exhaustion instead of a sparkle. Janie watched with fascination as Lyla breathed him in and then rubbed her arms. Lyla is digging Kyle still? Huh…interesting.

  Kyle was a beautiful man—six-foot-three, black hair, green eyes, olive skin. He was walking, talking sex. Ladies at the bar lined up to get his attention, and it wasn’t abnormal for them to follow him into the bathroom, just in case he needed “help.”

  “Where’s Max?” Janie heard someone ask as the doorbell sounded again.

  Max stood outside Lyla’s door for five minutes before ringing the bell. He couldn’t decide if he should join his family for dinner or go home to his empty house. He knew she was in there. He knew he was a bastard for not calling her, but he also knew that he couldn’t walk away from Lyla’s house without seeing Janie. So he rang the bell.

  Lyla opened the door, and while her mouth smiled, he could see the disappointment in her eyes. Lyla was a horrible liar.

  “It’s good to see you, Max. Come on in.” Max leaned in to hug and kiss his friend, and his eyes immediately found Janie in the crowded room. He felt his shoulders tense and his spine straighten.

  “Breathe,” Lyla whispered in his ear. “You know I adore you, but you did promise to be a kind man. And I hate broken promises.”

  Stepping back, she motioned for him to come in. “Come on in,” she voiced cheerfully—and louder this time. “Can’t start dinner without you.”

  Max looked down at the petite, espresso-haired girl whose presence was so much bigger than her form. Not to mention her uncanny ability to always have the answers, even to the questions unasked.

  Max he nodded his head. “I hope not,” he said, stalking further into the house.

  The slow, easy pace of the evening was familiar and comfortable. Sunday dinners were always about relaxing, never formality. Max watched Janie bounce from room to room with a light that he could only wish would warm him again. The first ten or fifteen minutes after he had arrived were straight-up awkward. She won’t even look at me, he thought to himself. He knew he deserved her cold shoulder, but it felt like an ice pick through his heart. He had to do something.

  He approached her on her way back from what must have been Lyla’s guest room. In that moment, Max realized after all the times he had been to Lyla’s he had never seen the bedrooms nestled in the back. Lyla had a way of making you feel at home in her house without ever letting anyone get too close.

  Shock crossed Janie’s face when she first came out of the room, but he preferred shock over the wooden smile that took its place. “The bathroom is over there, Max. You know that.”

  Before Janie could move farther away, Max gently slipped his large hand around her arm and kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Janie—”

  Max didn’t get to complete his sentence before Janie interrupted him. “Look, it’s no big deal. You wanted me, I wanted you. Sex with friends, right? I guess a call would have been the friendly thing to do but…whatever.” She sighed. “I’ll get over it. I’m not gonna go all psycho-chick on you, okay? We’re good.” Janie stood on her tiptoes and kissed Max’s cheek.

  “We’re good,” he heard her repeat to him, as well as to herself, as she walked away. Max was stunned stupid. Here, he was going to apologize for acting like an asshole. He wanted tell Janie that he wasn’t good enough for her. He wanted her to have something better than what he could give her. But, God love her, Janie thought he could just be done with her already? When she’d occupied his every thought for the past three days?

  Max shook his head.

  Sex with fucking friends—what was he thinking?

  Okay, Janie thought to herself, that sounded believable. I can totally do this. Sure, she was hurt. After the night they shared, how could he walk away and not look back? But she was more disappointed in herself. She knew Max didn’t do relationships. She didn’t know why because he never opened up about that kind of stuff, but she knew he steered clear. She had taken what he offered on Thursday night like a kid trick-or-treating, and now she needed to find a way to be happy with the candy she had in her bag and move on. I can get through tonight without looking like a kicked puppy...I know I can.

  Janie tried to focus on the girlfriends who sat around her in the small family room, drawing their strength unknowingly. But all she could hear were mother’s words echoed in her head.

  “My God, kid. Don’t be so pathetic—you look like a whipped puppy,” her mother would hiss. “You know the drill. I just need the apartment for an hour or so. Get your shit, and go to the park. I’ll try to be done by dark. If not, wait on the steps outside.” Janie would take her warmest sweatshirt, her blanket, and her book of fairy tales and walk to the closest playground, so her mother could meet with her current “boyfriend” to get her “medicine.”

  The sound of Ashley’s voice pulled Janie out of her past.

  “I love how you instituted the rule on clean up, Ly.” Ashley giggled. Danny, Ryan, Kyle, and Max cleared the table while Janie, Lyla, Ashley, and Julie sat drinking cocktails.

  “Seriously, I’ve been married to Danny for close to thirty years, and I have to ask him almost every night to help me,” Julie said. “How the hell do you pull off telling, not asking, only once and get all of the men fall into line like that?”

  With all eyes on Lyla, she nonchalantly looked toward the kitchen, then back at the women around her. “It’s easy. I’m not fucking any of those men. I’m not living with any of those men. And I don’t have to cook for them. They know that if they want to continue to eat in my house, they need to help out. Period!”

  The ladies all hooted with laughter and clinked their glasses together. Before the laughter ended, the men had finished in the kitchen and joined them in the family room.

  “What’s so funny?” Ryan asked, his pierced brow arched and steely gaze focused on Ashley.

  Ashley stared right back and answered with a sarcastic grin. “Absolutely nothing.”

  “I’m getting another drink. Anyone need one?” Janie asked. Seven hands shot up. “Kyle, I am not getting you two drinks. By the looks of you, I’m thinking water should be the only liquid you add to your system,” Janie said, her voice concerned.

  “Jane, get me a vodka and tonic…and loose the tonic,” Kyle snapped.

  How many drinks has he had tonight? Janie thought to herself as she shrugged her shoulders in defeat and headed to the kitchen to fetch the drinks. A chill ran up her spine as soon as Max entered the room behind her. She breathed in deeply as the light scent of sandalwood and spice permeated her senses.

  Pull it together, Janie, she thought.

  “Hey, Max. Did you decide you wanted something after all?”

  Max cleared his throat, and in his deep, sexy tone replied, “No, babe. I just thought you could use a hand bringing the drinks back to the group.”

  Babe. The term of endearment Max used for her now felt like pins being pushed into her skin.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, trying to keep the unsteadiness from her voice.

  While Max mixed and poured the requested cocktails, Janie grabbed a few beers from the fridge, and they headed back to the family room. This time, when they took their seats, Max sat next to her on the floor.

  During the next few hours, the group spent their “family time” telling stories from their pasts, regaling Lyla and Janie with bar horror stories, which included everything from bar fights, to cat fights, to drunk and sick patrons. Some of the stories had been shared before; however, they were the kind of tales that would be funny no matter how many times they were told. Janie was grateful for the cons
tant chatter, either way. Without it she would be too focused on the sexy man sitting to her right. It was bad enough that she could hear his shallow breaths and feel the heat from his body seeping into hers. If she thought about what might actually be going on in his head she might go crazy.

  “Do you want to tell them or should I?” Lyla asked suddenly, her face open and happy.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Janie looked at Lyla, confused.

  “They want our story, Jane. They swear we’ve never told them.” Lyla winked, and Janie forced a giggle. It was true—Janie and Lyla didn’t do a whole lot of fuzzy-get-to-know-us bullshit. They kept their history where it belonged…in the past.

  Max watched as Lyla gave a shoulder shrug. It was clearly the nonverbal cue that gave Janie the go-ahead to finally answer some of the endless questions they had managed to evade for close to six months. In a tandem telling, Janie and Lyla gave the long and colorful story of how they met as roommates at the University of Pittsburgh. How they realized that they were both from different suburbs of Philadelphia and how they knew from the first week that they were going to be best friends. It had something to do with Jagermeister shots and four-dollar pizza pies from a place called the “O.”

  Janie recalled a lot of long nights studying while Lyla laughed, saying those memories were lost to her due to the long nights of partying. Max felt something strange in the pit of his stomach as he watched Janie tell her story. She was so relaxed and so beautiful, not at all how she was with him earlier. He wanted that Janie back. No, man, he quickly chastised himself. Don’t go there. Friends…just friends.

  While they regaled their friends with the silliness of their younger selves, Janie thought about the part of their story that they didn’t share. The part that even she and Lyla no longer discussed What they left out were the gory details of what really brought them together and helped to form their unbreakable bond. A bond that was forged during the countless nights when Janie would awaken to Lyla’s screams and pleads to be let go, her begging of “no…please no.”