Rhymes with Cupid

by Anna Humphrey

  “So then after you got mad at me, I just tried to do stuff for you in secret, because at least then you wouldn’t be disappointed if I messed it up. But, knowing me, I probably screwed it up anyway. Like the driveway—you probably didn’t want it shoveled. And the Cupid doll. I probably gave it to the wrong sick baby. And then, after the whole stupid thing with the Lyme disease, I went and lied about having scurvy, which is a real disease brought on by a vitamin deficiency, you know. It’s not something to joke about.”

  “Shut up,” I said again.

  “Right. Shutting up.” He turned, but I put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Before he could have known what was happening, and before I even had a chance to think about it, I was in front of him. And I was kissing him. At first he must have been shocked. His arms hung limply at his sides, but a second later, I felt one of his hands on my back, then moving up my shoulders. His fingers brushed the back of my head lightly. I thought he was going to run his fingers through my hair—all passionate and romantic—but a second later, I felt what he was really doing: sliding his panda ears onto my head. I pulled away and looked up, laughing. “Thanks,” I said, straightening them.

  “You’re welcome,” Patrick said, obviously trying to assess the situation. We stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. “Can I take what just happened to mean you don’t hate me?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I answered.

  “Okay.” He hesitated. “Can I take it to mean that you like me?”

  “I like you,” I told him.

  “You do? I like you, too,” he answered.

  “Yeah. I kind of figured,” I said. “From the song . . .”

  “And Dina? She’s nice. And yeah, even pretty, but I don’t feel that way about her. I was helping her out with the music as a way to be closer to you. The reason I asked if she was single . . . that was for Jax.”

  He looked toward the front window of Dina’s house. Inside, I could see Patrick’s coworker, Jax, coiling up different cables. “He’s really into saving the whales,” Patrick explained. I remembered the tattoo of the killer whale I’d seen on his arm the day I’d gone looking for Patrick at the Keyhole. “I thought maybe they’d get along. I don’t know. Combine forces and save some new animal. Sea horses, or something. You never see anyone saving them. But it looks like she’s interested in that older guy who showed up. So . . .”

  “Too bad for the sea horses,” I supplied. Jax seemed like a really nice guy. I had no doubt, at least, he would have treated Dina better than Damien did. But what could you do?

  “Yeah. Rotten luck for the sea horses.” Patrick paused. “So. You like me?” he asked again, like he still didn’t believe what I was saying.

  “Yes,” I answered, laughing. “I like you. Come here.” I grabbed his hand and led him around to the back of the car. “I made you a present.” I opened the trunk and lifted the lid off a cardboard box.

  “You did this?” he asked, leaning down to look at the huge layer cake I’d made. The top was decorated with tiny icing roadways. Buildings and houses made of shortbread cookies lined the streets, and matchbox cars zoomed along the roads.

  “This one here is an Audi A4,” I said, pointing to a car. “It’d run you about forty thousand dollars. And here’s the BMW 7-Series. Eighty thousand minimum.” He blushed. “And here I am”—I pointed to a small red car between them—“extreme parallel parking between them, and passing my road test with a near-perfect score.”

  “Did you really?” he asked, beaming.

  “I really did.” He hugged me. “And here,” I said, turning back to the cake and pointing out the lettering at the bottom, “is where it says ‘Thank you, Patrick’ because I realized I never said that to you in person. Not sincerely, anyway. And I should have. Even if I’d failed my road test, I still owe you huge just for believing in me and refusing to give up, even when I wasn’t exactly always nice to you. I’m not so great at accepting help from people,” I admitted. “Or dealing with big, romantic gestures. I guess I’m kind of working on that.”

  He smiled and stuck his finger in the icing, licking it clean. “Can I eat it?” he asked after the fact.

  “Well, yeah. Now that you licked it.”

  “Awesome. Can we bring it inside first? My feet are about to fall off.” I looked down and noticed for the first time that he’d been in such a rush to run after me that he hadn’t even put his boots on.

  I reached into the trunk for the cake. “Here,” Patrick said, getting in front of me. “I’ll get it.”

  “I can—” I started, then stopped myself. I took a step back. “Thanks,” I said, letting him lift it out. I slammed the trunk closed, leaned over the cake box he was holding, and kissed him once more, softly on the lips. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss, but the second I pulled my lips away, he ran up the walkway, stopping halfway and hopping around frantically on the balls of his feet while he waited for me to catch up. He had an enormous grin on his face, and it was hard to tell if he was bouncing around like that because his feet were cold, or because he was happy . . . but if how I was feeling myself was any indication, I was willing to bet it had more to do with option two.

  Epilogue

  One and a half years later . . .

  Patrick!” I yelled, leaning out my bedroom window. “Jax! Would you shut that thing off and go get ready?”

  My gorgeous, curly-haired boyfriend looked up at me from the backyard, smiling. “But we’ve almost got it working perfectly. Look.” He turned to his friend who, by now, was as much my friend. “Okay, Jax. Really get into character. Be the raccoon.”

  Jax made rings with his fingers and held them up over his eyes, crouching down low and sneaking across the yard. He approached the garbage bins, sniffing at the air as if smelling delicious, rotting things. But when he went to lift the lid of the organic waste bin, a 200-watt floodlight instantly flicked on, an automated motion-detector sprinkler system kicked in, and incredibly loud soft-rock music filled the air (Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”). Patrick didn’t have any real proof, but he was convinced this particular song would send the two raccoons—who had built a nest in the roof of our shed and given birth to six young—packing. They’d taught themselves to undo the raccoon-proof garbage straps the spring after Patrick had installed them for me and, since then, my mom, Patrick, and I had been locked in an epic battle with them.

  Jax fake-screeched and ran away, his clothes dripping sprinkler water.

  I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips, but I stifled it quickly. “Shut it off!” I yelled over the music. “You guys, you’re getting the grass wet! The ceremony’s only an hour away!” A small circle of chairs was already set up at the far end of the yard near the Japanese cherry tree, which was in full bloom.

  “Oh. Right,” Patrick said. “Sorry!” He turned off the sprinkler. “So?” He stood back. “What do you think?”

  “It’s impressive,” I answered. “It’s great, really. I love it.” There was a knock at my door. “Now go.” I shooed Patrick and Jax away. “Get dressed.”

  “Going,” Patrick answered. “See you soon, raccoon.” He blew me a kiss, which I pretended to ignore.

  “I’m decent. Come in,” I yelled in the direction of my door, figuring it was my mother, or maybe Dina arriving early to show me her dress. Since she and Damien had finally broken up the month before (something that had been a long time coming, if you asked me), she’d been planning her outfit for this day, hoping to look so hot Jax would be forced to see her as more than just a friend. I had a feeling she wouldn’t have a hard time. He’d had a crush on her for ages. But even though she’d long since stopped being mad at me for trying to set her up with Patrick when I liked him myself, she refused to let me play any part in setting her up with his best friend.

  “No offense,” she’d said, “but your matchmaking skills are worse than your driving skills used to be.” She was right, and I didn’t take it personally.

 
; But it wasn’t Dina at the door. “What’s that? Didn’t quite hear you,” a familiar voice answered. I slid the window shut and crossed the room.

  “Mr. Connor! I mean, Frank.” I was more than a little surprised to see Patrick’s grandfather standing in the hallway outside my bedroom, already dressed in his suit. Since Patrick and I had started dating, our families had become close, and he stopped by often to have tea with me or my mom. But his arthritis was getting worse. He didn’t usually climb our steep stairs if he could avoid it.

  “Oh, well,” he said, taking me in. “Don’t you look lovely, Elyse.” I stepped back to let him in, enjoying the way my long, silk dress rippled around my ankles. “I wanted to bring this by.” He pressed something into my hand. I looked down at the tiny heart-shaped opal pendant. “Something old. Something blue. Something borrowed. It’s been a long time since there’s been a wedding in this house,” he said.

  “Thank you.” I hugged him tightly.

  After I helped Mr. Connor down the stairs, I came back and sat on my bed, holding the pendant in my hand and marveling at how much had changed since Valentine’s Day a year and a half ago.

  For one thing, Dina and I had both been fired. It happened the day after Dina’s party, when Mr. Goodman discovered the empty chocolate box in the storage room and talked to a few customers. He was really disappointed in us, even after we explained that we’d stolen the chocolates for the greater good of the forest-dwelling bears of China. And while he didn’t take our pay bonuses away (between that and the party, Dina raised enough money to adopt Oreo and his sister Domino), he did say that he couldn’t condone our behavior, and that keeping us on would send the wrong message to the rest of the staff.

  It was upsetting at first, but in the long run it worked out. Dina got a part-time job cleaning cages and coordinating adoptions at Piggies in Crisis, a local guinea pig rescue organization. And, as for me, I found a woman in our area who ran a cake-baking business and needed help in the afternoons icing cakes and doing deliveries. I loved the work—not to mention the free cake I got to bring home sometimes—and the customers were great, too. Mrs. Conchetti even ordered a heart-shaped cake from us last February, to celebrate her grandson’s first birthday.

  And then there was my boyfriend . . . sweet, loyal, loving Patrick, who—when he wasn’t busy building me state-of-the-art raccoon deterrent systems—could usually be found helping my mom change the oil in our car, or stopping by Piggies in Crisis with a fresh load of free woodchips for Dina. Even though he’d graduated from high school and was busier than ever doing an apprenticeship as a cabinetmaker, he never passed up an opportunity to help anyone with anything. He also never stopped trying to get the whole romance thing right: a candlelit dinner with home-cooked chicken à la king for my birthday (which I pretended not to notice was almost too dry to eat), surprise cards and flowers for no reason at all, picnics in the park. Even though I kept telling him I didn’t need that stuff, the truth was, it made him so happy to do it for me that I’d almost grown to like it.

  Even his over-the-top helpfulness seemed charming to me most of the time these days, but there was still the odd time when he made me sigh in exasperation. Like the day last month when he oh-so-helpfully stopped by the house on his lunch break and checked our mail, then drove halfway across the city to find me at school, interrupting a last-minute cramming session before my calculus exam.

  “Elyse!” he’d said, kissing me on the cheek before sliding onto the bench of the cafeteria table with so much enthusiasm he nearly knocked me to the floor. “It’s here. Open it. Open it right now.” I’d held up one finger, then finished the equation I’d been working on before setting my calculus book down carefully. “Please!” he’d said, bouncing around like a kid waiting to open a birthday present. “You’re killing me here. Open it.”

  I’d looked over at him with trepidation. After all, the contents of that envelope could easily change everything—and not necessarily for the better. “You open it,” I’d said, then winced as he tore the paper. The crinkling noise of the letter unfolding had somehow seemed magnified, even in the noisy cafeteria.

  “Hmmm.” He scrunched up his face as he read. “Well . . .”

  “Give me that!” I’d grabbed it from him.

  “You did it!” A grin spread across his face. “A full scholarship.” Then he’d pulled me to my feet and hugged me before lifting me up and twirling me around. “My girlfriend is the smartest person in the entire world!” he’d yelled to the whole cafeteria.

  Since then, Patrick had helped me to prepare in a dozen different ways: visiting the campus with me, poring over course calendars, making phone calls to look for a student apartment, booking a moving van. But nothing he did could really prepare either one of us for the reality we’d be facing in just a few short months. I’d be heading off to college in upstate New York. He’d be staying in Middleford, continuing his apprenticeship and looking after his grandfather. We’d see each other in the summers, and over the holidays, of course. But I couldn’t imagine how that would be enough. We’d barely spent a day apart in the last year and a half. Then again, I decided, it would just have to be enough—because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. I loved Patrick more than I’d ever thought possible.

  “Elyse?” Another knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. “Can I come in?”

  My mother didn’t wait for an answer. She stepped into the room. Her hair was arranged in careful ringlets and she looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen her. Like all the heroines in the sappy romantic comedies she watched, she looked radiant and hopeful—ready to enjoy her happily ever after.

  “Oh, Mom.” I stood up.

  She twirled in her antique lace dress, seeming kind of embarrassed. “Thanks, sweetie.”

  “I’ve got something for you from Mr. Connor,” I said, opening my palm to show her the necklace. “Something old, blue, and borrowed. Here, turn around.” I lifted her curls and fastened the clasp of the opal pendant around her neck, then stepped back to take in the full picture. She looked stunning in the cream-colored dress, and the iridescent aqua color of the pendant brought out the blue flecks in her eyes, just like it had the times I’d worn it. “Are you nervous?” I asked.

  “Not as nervous as Valter is,” she said, laughing.

  As it turned out, what happened in Mexico didn’t stay in Mexico. Not by a long shot. At first, I’d resented Valter—the way he’d tried to befriend me with offers of ice cream (like I was a five-year-old), the nights he and my mother stayed out late dancing like they were the ones who were teenagers, and, worse, the times he spent the night and I’d wake to find him in our kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal like he owned the place. But, over time, I’d come not to mind him as much. If Valter Bigaskis made my mother happy—and he did—then who was I to stand in the way?

  I looked at the clock. “Okay. You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” my mom answered. We hugged each other once, then started down the stairs.

  “Here they come,” I heard Patrick say as our feet hit the creaky third stair from the top.

  “What’s that?” Patrick’s grandfather asked loudly. “You want some gum?” But then he saw us and his eyes got a faraway look. “Well, now I can say I’ve seen the two most beautiful brides in the world come down that staircase,” he told my mother. She blushed.

  When my mom had asked Patrick’s grandfather to walk her down the aisle, he’d been overjoyed, but when she’d told him she’d be saying her vows with Valter under the same flowering Japanese cherry tree as he and Jeannie had, he’d been so touched that he’d nearly cried.

  “Shall we, Michelle?” My mother reached for Frank’s arm and he led her into the kitchen.

  Patrick came forward next, took me by the hand, and twirled me around. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  I smiled at him in his suit. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I answered, kissing him softly on the lips.

 
“You know, Elyse . . .” He hesitated, pulling back and giving me a serious look. “It’s still not too late for you to reconsider.”

  I headed over to the hallway mirror to straighten the chain on my necklace—a small pearl pendant Patrick had given me on our first anniversary/Valentine’s Day. He came up behind me, lacing his arms around my waist and looking over my shoulder. “Elyse Big-ass-kiss,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. I cleared my throat. “I’m a member of the Big-ass-kiss family.” I winced. “Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand toward the mirror. “I’m a Big-ass-kiss.” Patrick snorted, covering his mouth. Thankfully, my mother was out of earshot in the kitchen, fussing with her bouquet.

  “Hmmm.” Patrick made a pained face.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Not so much.”

  “Well then, Elyse Ulrich,” he said, holding out his arm the same way his grandfather had done for my mother. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, Patrick Connor, I think we shall,” I answered. Then we linked arms and walked out into the sunshine toward the waiting guests.

  Copyright

  Rhymes with Cupid

  Copyright © 2011 by Anna Humphrey

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