by Ivy M. Jones
I blink again and watch silently while he puts the rest of my rootbeer away into the cabinet he declared specifically for them back when I first brought them home.
He's right.
"I'm not on the lease," I point out.
"So?"
"So, legally, it's yours."
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Seriously? We can go fix that tomorrow morning if it makes you realize you live here."
"I have a house," I say, pointing out the window. I'm bad with directions, so if I'm pointing in a northwesterly direction, I have no idea.
"You have a vacation home where you throw pool parties for the band. Sometimes our friends get engaged there, apparently."
"A vacation home?"
"Yeah, man. Are you stupid? Why do you think I got a place with two full bedroom suites? I always knew you were going to move in."
Apparently, I am stupid, because I had no idea that was my plan.
"Wow," he says cynically. "Did not peg you for a moron."
I shoot him the finger and take a pull of my rootbeer.
"You seriously didn't know? I mean, I always just assumed. Maybe you never meant to stay..." Concern pulls his brows tight.
"I never really thought about it, dude."
"So, what are you going to do about your girl?"
I smile. "We're going to eat your lasagna and then I'm gonna spend the rest of the night not worried at all that you can hear what's going on because you're gonna be gone."
He sticks his hand in a drawer and pulls out the spare set of keys for Nicki's place. "I don't want to hear the details," he says, spinning them around his finger. "Enjoy the lasagna. The bread goes in around ten minutes to the end. Read the package."
I give him a bro hug he's not expecting.
"Thanks, Dad. You're pretty awesome."
He cracks up. "You know I hate that you call me that, right? I'm, like, four months older than you."
"I know. But you're my best friend, and better than any dad I ever had, so take the honor as it's intended."
He smirks and pulls his coat back on, pocketing Nicki's keys. I know he won't suffer tonight- Nicki's got the nicest place out of all of us. She tried to get Justin a nicer place, but he said it was too weird asking his cousin to vet his offer.
"Alright then, Son. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Be safe."
I must be turning a million shades of red because his jaw drops.
"Dude! You bag that shit! Seriously?" He twists around the kitchen as if in pain.
"ONCE, man! Just once and..." I guess my quiet is odd because he just stares at me from the floor.
"And?"
"I'm really hoping I knocked her up. It's dumb, but I'm kind of hoping," I admit, shrugging.
He scrapes himself off the floor.
"I see it. Probably the only way a smart, beautiful woman would ever stay with you," he says, nodding all straight-faced.
I happen to agree with him, but he gets a fist to the shoulder for saying it out loud.
"Ooph!" He rubs his shoulder. I didn't hit him hard. He's playing it up.
"What time is she going to get here?" he asks, looking at the clock.
I look, too. I've blown nearly thirty minutes goofing off with him.
"Any minute now." I start tidying up anything I see out in the kitchen as I answer. Cy hands me two plates and two sets of silverware. I put them on the table next to each other.
"Chicks sit across from their dates, man. Has it really been that long for you? This girl's gonna think you're trying to cop a feel all through dinner." He gestures for me to move the second plate.
"The girl's got a name, you know," I say, moving the place setting. I never did this when we dated in high school. We never ate out at restaurants and when we got food out, it was fast food and we ate it side by side on the hood of whichever vehicle we drove to the lake. I was broke and she liked to respect my need to provide for her in whatever way I could. I worked the bar for my dad from age fifteen - which was illegal, but no one ever said anything - until the night I left, so I had some cash to spend on her.
"Yeah, Sarah, right?"
"Yeah." I put two glasses of ice water on the table.
"Zach and Sarah..."
I wait for it.
"Like the song?"
There it is. I wince. "Nope, that's Zak without a C and Sara with no H. Not us."
"Oh shit man! The Zach in the song is a musician, too!"
The song came out a few years after I left Lakemont and was the bane of my existence for too long. Every time I turned on the radio, it seemed to be on, reminding me of who I left behind. For the longest time, I couldn't listen to it, going so far as to switch stations when it came on. Now I wonder what my reaction will be to hearing it.
I mean, it's a really weird song if you listen to the lyrics...
And I was such a huge Ben Folds fan before that song, too, which explains my latest endeavor with Justin.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I'm here. Headed to my apt first. C u in 5.
I push Cy toward the door.
"I take it she's here. You're not going to introduce me?" he whines and pouts.
"You're the last single guy in Dark Fire. Why in hell would I risk my chances now?" I growl.
"Yeah, especially since you don't know for sure that you got her knocked up," he laughs.
He's not wrong.
Would proposing to her tonight be too much?
I push him out the door to the sound of his laughter.
I have the bread about to go in and the lasagna bubbling when there's a delicate, light knock on the door. I open it to find Sarah in her work clothes, a small bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other, standing in my doorway.
Yeah, I'm toast. The first thing I do is pull her into my arms. The door slams closed when I nudge it with my foot. Her purse and the tote bag fall to the floor and I kiss her until the need for oxygen forces us apart. I stare down into her eyes as we catch our breath.
"You like lasagna, right?"
She grins. "Yeah. Lasagna's good." She bites her lip which quirks up like she's trying to hold down that grin.
"You wanna try the best rootbeer that has ever existed?"
She's surprised, and to be fair, so am I. There's a part of me that's ready to carry her caveman-style, drop her into bed, and get her so pregnant she has triplets. Another part of me, a more logical one, reminds me that kids are rough and it's probably better to wait and enjoy our time together as a couple first. Basically, it's the same caveman-carrying, toss-her-into-bed, sex all night long hindbrain, but this part of my brain sounds like Cy, reminding me to wrap that shit up.
But the over-riding voice is the one that tells me that I love this woman and she deserves dinner and hand-holding and ten years of all the stuff we missed.
Which includes the sex, my hindbrain points out.
I'm still going to feed her first, my forebrain argues.
While I'm having this little conversation with myself, Sarah's agreed to try the vintage rootbeer I found at a shop downtown the year Cy and I moved into this apartment together. I hand her a fresh bottle from the fridge, knocking the cap off on the edge of the counter. I toss the cap into the trash and then take two warm bottles from the cabinet and put them into the fridge. Sarah gives me a contemplative brow lift at this.
"Yes, I'm housebroken and domesticated," I quip.
She takes the bottle I hand her and I wait until she's taken a sip. "Aaaaaand?" I hop on my toes.
I don't know why I'm so excited about her reaction to my favorite rootbeer. It's kind of the first thing I've shared with her in nearly a decade, so maybe that's it. When we found new things to show each other in high school, the same anticipation was there, too, so maybe this is just me regressing back to that first year we spent together.
She swallows her sip, nodding slowly. "It's good," she says, thoughtfully.
"Just good?" I'm dazed. "This is the single best
thing I've ever tasted since I came to this city." The moment the words leave my lips, I realize what I've said. And that it's not true anymore.
"Really?" she whispers, a hint of a smirk on her face. Her pink lips twist ruefully.
"Well, it was until about three weeks ago," I say, lifting my own bottle to my lips.
Sarah mimics the movement, licking her lips after she swallows. My eyes stay locked on those pink, wet lips, and the memory of her sucking me dry takes over. My hand shakes a little and I have to put the bottle down.
"I like lasagna, Zach," she murmurs, coming up right in front of me.
"Uh huh," I nod. I stare at her and try to swallow over the knot of want piling up in my throat. My inner caveman and gentleman are going medieval on each other while I lean against the counter watching Sarah get closer and closer. Her chest presses against mine.
"It will take some time to cool, though. Right?"
"I, uh..." I turn to look at the box that Cy left on the counter so I could read the directions. Sure enough, the directions specifically note to wait five to ten minutes before eating. CAUTION: FOOD WILL BE HOT.
"Five to ten minutes, it says."
I turn back and there she is, still pressed against me. She gently puts her rootbeer down on the counter behind my hip. Her eyes go to the oven at my right.
"Two minutes," she says.
I have no idea what she's talking about, but I nod anyway.
She just stares at me, taking sips from the vintage glass bottle at my hip until I hear a shrill alarm go off.
"Oven mitts?" she asks.
Forebrain knows what those are and grabs them from a drawer for her. The rest of me just watches, unable to get beyond, Need to smack that ass when I mount her from behind.
The lasagna is cooling on the stovetop, the oven mitts are back in the drawer, and Sarah's pulling me toward my bedroom.
I can call it that now. Cy said it was mine. Forebrain is tossing bits in, trying to be helpful now, but I think I can tell him his services are no longer required.
Sarah stands in front of my bed and pulls a wad of condoms from her pocket, blushing.
"I figured if I'm not pregnant, we probably shouldn't tempt fate. If I am, it won't matter anyway."
I nod.
"Lasagna has to cool. Five to ten minutes," she reminds me.
Yup- forebrain, you have the night off.
The lasagna is only warm in the middle when we finally get to dinner. I never put the bread in.
And when she sees the table, Sarah moves her place setting next to mine, just like I had it before.
Sarah
It's not what I expected. When Zach invited to come to their I Heart NYC show tonight, I think I expected something bigger, even though that clearly wasn't what the tour was about. He'd explained about the small venues they'd first managed to play, and how much it meant to them to get jobs working in little clubs like this. I thought it was romantic sounding and an awesome opportunity to see him live, so of course I said yes.
I'm sitting at a high top table in an upper balcony reserved for VIPs, all alone, when a bouncer in a tight sky blue t-shirt with the logo for FishBowl ushers over another woman with a high platinum blonde ponytail, a cast from her fingers up past her elbow, and the faintest baby bump. A waiter is at the table before we can introduce ourselves and she confirms my pregnancy theory when she orders water with lemon.
"You must be Sarah," she says, smiling broadly, her uncasted hand out. The club lighting is a muted blue washout but I can still see that her eyes are the most expressive hazel color I've ever seen.
"Yes, hi."
"Andy. Well, Andrea. But everyone calls me Andy."
I shake her hand and she sits back in her seat to get comfortable. It's not hard in seats like these; the seats are actual leather with high captain's backs and actual arms. They swivel a little, reminding me of the desk chair in front of my computer, but much taller.
Thoughts of the desk chair remind me that I still haven't bought a new keyboard for the computer. I haven't even turned the thing on since that Monday.
Another woman comes flying in, ignoring the ushering bouncer. She waves him off and comes to stand in front of Andy, her cute red skirt flaring around her until it settles. She's wearing a puffy black jacket which she shucks and drops into an empty chair before enveloping Andy in a hug.
The woman in the red skirt sits, collapsing into the chair, all skinny arms and legs. Out of her puffy jacket, she's wearing a tight tank and what looks like a lightweight cotton biker jacket. Both woman are dressed better than me. Andy's wearing designer jeans and a glittery tight top that barely shows her belly bump. In fact, I wouldn't have noticed except that she turned slightly when she sat down and it pulled her shirt tight over that one spot.
And both woman are so much skinnier than me. I want to cry. Even pregnant Andy is probably half my size.
"So you're Zach's Sarah," the newest arrival says. "I'm Nicolette. Nicki." She presents her hand.
I shake. "Nice to meet you."
It's not. I don't know what I was thinking coming here. Zach had to duck backstage so no one would see him and then a bouncer/usher brought me to the table. Zach had explained that some friends would be at the same table, so I sat down, happy and ready to introduce myself. It never occurred to me that Zach was now one of the Beautiful People and as such, all the people around him would be beautiful, too.
The shock keeps me quiet when the waiter comes back quickly to ask Nicki for her order. He drops Andy's water down in front of her and I watch her dig through her purse until she comes up with a travel pillbox.
"Still?" Nicki asks, laughing.
"It's not so bad anymore," Andy laughs. "I just don't like to risk it."
They notice my quiet and Andy turns to me to explain, "I've had morning sickness twenty-four hours a day." She holds up the little travel pillbox. "This little miracle means I hopefully won't lose anymore than that first twenty pounds."
I gasp. "You've lost twenty pounds? You don't look like you have that much to lose!"
Andy laughs, "I know, right? I've put a bit back on, but it's amazing how dehydrated you can get when you're tossing your cookies...and everything else...every time you put anything in your mouth. Thank god Justin introduced me to his mom. She got me these little miracles. God, I have never enjoyed pot roast more in my life than that night."
"I'm glad to hear you're better," I say blinking wildly.
If I'm pregnant, will I get morning sickness like that? It's not something I really thought about when Zach and I were talking about how much we hoped our mistake was permanent. Suddenly, I'm not so thrilled. I still love the idea of a permanent connection to Zach like that, but at the expense of my health? And is a kid really the way you want to tie yourself to another person?
Nicki takes a long sip of her drink - something with an umbrella in it - and I watch Andy look longingly at it. I look longingly at it, too. I'm stirring my Shirley Temple like it's really something stronger, moving the two little red straws like I need to keep the alcohol mixed. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? I drop my hand to the table.
"So. Sarah. You've known Zach for, like, EVER," Nicki says, planting her elbows on the table. "Give us dirt!" She's grinning like a loon.
"Yeah, but most of it was eight to ten years ago," I explain.
"Yes, and did he ever fight for your honor? Come in through your window at night? Hold a boombox outside your window? Details, woman, details!"
She's entirely too excited about this. I put my hands on the table to stabilize myself.
"Um, no, he never fought for my honor. My Dad was the Police Chief, so no, he never came in through my window at night. And the boombox thing? Is that even something guys do outside of eighties movies?"
Andy thumps her cast down on the table and I flinch. "She's seen it! Oh my god! They're perfect together," she crows.
"What?" I'm lost. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy in his fifties actively
watching the table from the edge of the crowd but his stance and dress tell me he's security. I watch him take a good luck at the table, see that everything's fine, and settle back into his position.
"So Zach made the offhand comment the other day that if Griffin ever did anything to really piss me off, he could always do the boombox thing and win me back. I had no idea what he was talking about, so he told us all watch the movie."
"I cried," Andy says, raising her hand.
"No offense, but you cry about everything now," Nicki says, waving her off.
"True," Andy says.
"Wait, Griffin? As in Griffin Rupert? I think I'm going to your reception this weekend."
"You think you are, or you are?" Nicki asks, sliding forward like she's getting amazing dirt and desperate for more.
"I still need a dress, but I was planning on it."
Andy thumps her cast on the table again. This time I don't flinch.
"I have the perfect place," she says, nodding.
I take in her body and then glance down at myself. I'm a ten. It's been my joke with myself. Guys are always looking for 'A Ten', right? Here I am. Zach is the only one who's ever seen me without clothes on, so it never occurred to me to be self-conscious about it. Until now.
"I don't mean to be impolite, because you guys seem really nice, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to find anything at whatever store you're shopping at."
They look at me like I might be on drugs.
"Why?"
I let out a harsh breath and point to Nicki. "You're what, like a four? Six, tops? And you," I point to Andy. "I don't know if your pants even come with numbers on them. Even nine months pregnant, you still could fit in my pants."
Andy looks like she's about to cry and Nicki's giggling.
"What?" I ask.
"Trust me, you're not exactly the fat lady. Besides, we found this place couple of weeks ago when Andy and I were looking for a place to have lunch. We walked in and the entire shop is filled with these absolutely unique, totally amazing outfits by these unknown designers. In all sizes, okay? Not just zero through six. There's this one woman whose design goal is to create red carpet dresses for women size twelve or higher only. We told them we were going to be seen with Dark Fire and they promised to make us anything we want, in any size, as long as we credit the designer if asked."