On the first level, when I’m already so impaired, I don’t like having yet another of my senses taken away. It makes me feel uneasy. Helpless. At first, I thought the blindfold was sexy, but the second it went on, I panicked. I mean, I know I could get this blindfold off me, but it’s still not a great feeling.
On the second level, when you’re a quad, feeding yourself is always at least somewhat of a challenge. But when I first got injured, it was an impossibility. I couldn’t feed myself because my arms barely moved. For a short time, I got fed through the tube in my stomach, but when I started eating and drinking again, I had to be fed. By a nurse or by my mother.
Being a twenty-five-year-old man having to be fed like an infant was a truly awful experience. I had no idea whether I’d ever be able to feed myself. I remember a nurses’ aid impatiently holding a forkful of food at my lips or lifting a straw for me to take into my mouth, and how much I hated my life.
And while I have progressed from that, I haven’t progressed so far that it doesn’t throw chills down my spine to think about it.
“Are you okay, John?” Kirby is asking me.
I need to get the fuck over this. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down, but a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. My heart is going a million miles an hour in my chest. I feel like it’s about to explode.
Shit. I’ve got to get this blindfold off.
I try to hook my thumb into the blindfold but I can’t get the goddamn thing off. Kirby tied it too tightly. I’m shaking now as I try to get this sexy scarf off me without much luck. After a few seconds of struggling that feel like an eternity, Kirby takes it off for me.
The relief I feel when the blindfold comes off is palpable. I blink my eyes a few times at the light, allowing Kirby’s worried face to come into focus. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I nod. Now that the blindfold is off, I feel like an idiot. “I guess I got a little… claustrophobic.”
Kirby bites her lip. “How about this? You could just turn away from the table while I fill the cups. I mean, I highly doubt you can tell the difference based on the appearance of the soda, right?”
“I concede that point,” I say, allowing myself a tiny smile.
Now that I’m not having a fucking panic attack, I can focus on the task at hand. Out of ten trials of soda, I get every single one correct. Kirby keeps asking me if I’m peeking.
“I told you I could tell the difference,” I say. “You owe me ten bucks.”
“Maybe it really is how the soda looks,” Kirby says, holding a tiny cup of Pepsi up to the light.
“Stop making excuses.”
“I’ll tell you what.” She grins at me in a way that’s very adorable. “You can keep the soda bottles and we’ll call it even.”
I shake my head at her. “I don’t even want that bottle of Pepsi in my house. I’ll hold on to the Coke though.”
She laughs. “Okay, but you might want to put the Coke in the fridge. It will go flat if you leave it out.”
I look at the large bottle of Coke. It probably weighs five pounds. I’m not strong enough to lift it. My grip isn’t strong enough to hold something that heavy—I can manage a one liter bottle, but anything more than that isn’t going to happen. Kirby probably carried two of those bottles a good five minutes on her way to my apartment, but I’m not even strong enough to carry it to the fridge. I couldn’t even lift it off the table.
It sucks being a man with no strength in my arms. In a lot of ways, it would be easier to deal with my disability if I were female. But men are expected to be strong. What the fuck kind of man am I if I need a girl to lift a bottle of soda for me?
I remember back when I was in my early twenties, I helped one of my girlfriends move. Me and Ted did it together, actually. The two of us hauled all her furniture into a U-Haul and then unloaded it into her apartment. I wasn’t any kind of muscle man, but it was easy for me to lift one end of her couch or her boxes. Ted and I laughed when she couldn’t even lift one of her boxes off the ground.
Fast forward to a few years later, when I moved into this apartment. I couldn’t lift any of the boxes. I could barely even help with packing. My mom did most of it for me.
“I don’t mind the soda being flat,” I lie. I’ll just leave the bottle there. Maddie can throw it away for me when she comes.
“Seriously?” Kirby raises her eyebrows at me. “You definitely seem like the kind of guy who minds a flat soda.”
What the hell does that mean?
“It’s fine,” I say.
Kirby looks at the soda again. This time, without asking, she picks it up and puts it in the refrigerator for me. Not that I’ll be able to pour it myself, but Maddie will drink it. Except she won’t because it’s not diet.
“Thanks,” I mumble as she swings the fridge door shut and a little part of me dies.
Chapter 24: Kirby
“One… two… three… lift!”
Amy has got one end of my couch and I’ve got the other end. But on my command, the couch doesn’t move. It doesn’t lift. It doesn’t budge.
“You didn’t lift,” I say accusingly.
Amy blows a strand of her chin-length stringy brown hair from her face. “Well, neither did you.”
“Only because I knew you weren’t going to.”
“Well, me too.”
I look at Amy in exasperation. I back up and look at the couch, which suddenly seems way, way too big. Why did I buy such a big couch? I do like my couch a lot—it’s comfortable, and if I fall asleep on it by accident, I don’t wake up with my back aching. But it’s so big.
Amy scratches at her chin. “Um, why are we moving this couch again?”
“Because the way it’s positioned, John can’t see the television from his wheelchair,” I explain.
Amy considers this for a moment. I don’t like the way her brown eyes narrow at me. “So… you’re rearranging your living room for your fiancé’s best man?”
I shake my head at her. “I told you, he’s a nice guy. We have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, I noticed you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with him…”
For some reason, my cheeks grow warm. I don’t know why though. There’s nothing wrong with John and me spending time together. It’s as innocent as it gets.
“It’s not like that,” is all I say.
Amy looks at me long and hard. I’ve known Amy since college, although we didn’t get to be friends until after graduation. Back in college, Amy wasn’t fun to hang out with—she mostly stayed in her dorm room and studied. When she saw a bunch of drunk college kids, she’d shake her head in disapproval—her parents are very religious and while she isn’t quite so religious, I think she shared their values.
At graduation, she told me she was moving to Jersey City and suggested we hang out, and I said sure. And the truth is, I really got to like Amy. She’s sarcastic and funny and sometimes too smart for her own good. When it comes to my relationships, she has better intuition than anyone I’ve ever known. She told me that Ted was going to propose a week before he actually did it, back when I thought for sure Ted was going to break up with me.
But when it comes to her own love life, Amy has been a failure. She never dates. I don’t think she’s had one serious boyfriend in all the time I’ve known her. It’s a shame because I know the right man could really make Amy happy.
Once again, I consider getting her and John together. He could be just the guy she needs.
“Look,” Amy says, “if the problem is that he can’t see the TV, why don’t we just move the TV? It’s much lighter.”
I look at my flat screen television sitting across the room. Damn, she’s right. That’s why I’m a baker and Amy works in finance.
The television and stand together aren’t exactly light, but lighter than the couch, at least. Amy and I manage to successfully reposition it, and I confirm that John should be able to see it without transferring to the couch. We don’t want him to have to do th
at again.
“This is perfect,” I tell Amy. “Thanks so much.”
“I’m sure you’ll make him very happy,” she murmurs.
I’m not crazy about the undertone in her voice. I don’t know what she’s implying. There’s nothing between me and John. Nothing at all.
Chapter 25: John
Kirby has got me watching this show called Cupcake Wars. It’s a show about cupcakes, so of course she loves it. At first I was just watching it because I got a kick out of how much Kirby liked it, but now I actually really like the show. I’m starting to see what the hype is about cupcakes. Don’t tell anyone though. I’d never live it down.
I haven’t been over to Kirby’s house much since I nearly got stuck on her couch, but tonight she insists I come over to watch an episode she recorded of Cupcake Wars.
So I come. I don’t have anything better to do on a Saturday night, and Kirby knows it—I’m not fooling her at this point. Worst comes to worst, I won’t have a good view of the television. I want to spend this time with her while I can. Once she marries Ted and they move in together, that will be it.
When I come into the house though, I get a surprise—she moved the television over several feet and has also pushed a bookcase to the side so that I would be able to see the screen. Kirby rearranged her whole living room for me. For me. I can’t fucking believe this.
“Wow,” I say. “Thanks for doing that.”
“Well, we watch so many movies together,” she points out. True fact. “This way you can drag your lazy bum over here instead of making me come to your place.”
“I’ll come here any time you want,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
What a dumb thing to say. I sound like a lovesick idiot. But Kirby just smiles at me. “Cupcake Wars?”
I nod. Kirby flops down on the couch and I pull up my wheelchair beside her. We’re right next to each other, but separated by the large armrest of her sofa.
Cupcake Wars is a cooking competition on the Food Network. It always starts out with a taste competition, where the competitors are given crazy ingredients and forced to make something not disgusting. I’m not sure how someone could make a tasty cupcake using tomatoes and shrimp, but they do it (sometimes).
Today’s challenge is sponsored by a coffee company, and the challenge involves making a cupcake out of things you might find in a coffee or coffee shop. The ingredients the bakers have to work from include coffee beans (of course), peppermint, green tea, cream, cinnamon, ginger, and chai. They have an hour to make their cupcakes.
“You know…” Kirby is chewing on her thumb thoughtfully. “I actually have all those ingredients in the house. Well, except for chai.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Well, Miss Matthews, I think you know what that means. You’ve got forty-five minutes to make us a cupcake featuring these ingredients.” When she doesn’t budge from the couch, I add, “Starting… now!”
She leaps up off the couch and I follow her. I can’t say I’ve ever seen any of the contestants on Cupcake Wars competing in pink sweatpants and a tank top before, but aside from that, she takes it very seriously. She pulls all the ingredients out of her pantry, and looks at them thoughtfully.
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees, watching her. She’s so freaking adorable. “So what are you thinking about doing with our ingredients, Miss Matthews?”
“Well,” she says, “I’m thinking about a play on my favorite drink, which is a peppermint mocha latte.”
I get this ache in my chest. That’s my favorite drink too. I never even told her that.
“So I’m going to do a dark chocolate cupcake that’s flavored with coffee and peppermint, and then a peppermint buttercream frosting on top,” she says.
“Hmm,” I say. “Chocolate is not one of the ingredients here, and we do expect you to feature our theme-related ingredients.”
“Don’t worry,” Kirby says, “you will definitely bite into this and think of a peppermint mocha.”
I watch her mixing up the batter, splattering her light pink tank top with chocolate icing. I can see her tits bouncing with the effort of moving so quickly. She’s really focused on making these cupcakes.
I want to kiss her. I want to wheel over to her and pull her into my lap, into my arms. Only the knowledge of how she’d react keeps me from actually doing it.
Kirby’s phone is on the kitchen counter and it sounds off with twenty minutes left to go (cupcakes are in the oven, now making the frosting). She leans over to look at who’s calling her and frowns. “It’s Ted.”
“Oh,” I say. I’ve only seen her talk to Ted in front of me a handful of times, and it always makes me feel like shit. “Do you want to pause the competition?”
“No!” Kirby looks at me like I’m crazy. “Could you answer for me?”
I look at the phone doubtfully, but it’s always hard to say no to Kirby. I scoop up the phone and hit the “talk” button with my thumb. I hold the phone to my ear and answer, “Kirby’s phone.”
There’s a pause on the other line. When a voice speaks, it’s laced with anger: “Who the fuck is this?”
Shit. Ted’s pissed off. Rightfully so. I mean, a man answered his girlfriend’s phone on a Saturday night—it didn’t even occur to me how this would look to him. I want to hang up quickly and pretend this never happened. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Uh, hey,” I finally say. “Ted… it’s John.”
There’s another long pause. When Ted’s voice comes back on the line, the anger has dissipated, replaced with surprise: “Johnny? Oh, Christ, I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” I say quickly. I’m just glad he’s not angry at me. Of course he’s not angry—I’m the ultimate asexual friend. “I was just keeping Kirby company while she’s baking.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Ted says. “I was just checking in since it’s, well, Saturday night, but I won’t bother her if she’s baking.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry I yelled like that.” Ted sounds sheepish. “It’s just that… Kirby has seemed so distracted lately and I was worried that… well, you know how it seemed when I heard a guy answer the phone on a Saturday night.”
“No, I don’t blame you.”
He lets out a breath. “I’m glad you’re with her, Johnny. Keep her safe from the wolves, will ya?”
Unfortunately, Kirby is a hundred percent safe from sexual temptations when she’s with me. That’s something he doesn’t have to worry about.
When I get off the phone, Kirby has her cupcakes cooling in the fridge and she’s finishing off her icing. She sticks her finger into the icing and takes a lick. “Oh my God, John, this is the best icing ever.”
“Miss Matthews! Did you just taste the icing with your finger?” I gasp. “I think you may be disqualified.”
She giggles. “Are you saying you won’t eat icing off my finger?”
Is that a trick question?
Still giggling, Kirby scoops more icing onto her finger and licks it off in a really exaggerated way. I don’t know if she means it to be quite as sexy as it is. Watching her do that makes it hard for me to swallow.
She scoops more icing onto her finger and holds it out to me. “Want a lick?”
It takes every ounce of my self-restraint to mutely shake my head no. She expected me to say no. She wasn’t really going to put her finger in my mouth.
Was she?
Christ.
She finishes icing the cupcake at exactly the forty-five minute mark. She does it on purpose, putting the finishing flourish of a dusting of finely crushed peppermint (old candy canes) on the top just as I’m counting down the final ten seconds. When I call “time,” she holds up her hands and backs away from the cupcakes.
“I’m not sure how to judge it,” I say, “considering you’re the only contestant.”
“Well, just tell me if it’s any good,” she says.
She peels off the wrapper for me. I could do it myself
, but I’d make a mess, so it’s better if she does it. She cuts the cupcake into four equal slices. At first, I think she’s going to put one of them into my mouth, but instead she drops it into my hand. I toss it in my mouth.
“Well?” she asks.
Wow. It’s actually really good. It reminds me of a peppermint mocha, but it’s sweet like a cupcake. This is incredible.
I look up at Kirby and the frustration rips at my chest. Kirby is everything. She’s every fucking thing I want. It was painful when Becky dumped me, but deep down, I always knew she wasn’t right for me. But it’s different with Kirby. I don’t know if I can watch her marry Ted—I may have to make up an excuse to miss the wedding. Someone else will have to be the best man—I just can’t do it.
“John?” she says.
“It’s really good,” I manage. I add, “I definitely wouldn’t eliminate you.”
Her freckled face lights up. I love the way she smiles.
Chapter 26: Kirby
John has roped me into another best man activity today. Believe it or not, I’m helping him pick out tuxedos for the wedding.
Really, he’s not exactly picking them out. He’s just approving one of the ones that Ted probably selected completely randomly, and then handing over the list of groomsmen and their measurements that he collected.
I almost said no when he asked me to come along with him. I’m not sure what’s going on lately, but that night when John and I were playing Cupcake Wars, things got oddly intense. I was licking frosting out of the bowl with my finger—something you can never, ever do in a bakery but that’s super fun to do at home—when I got the urge to offer John my finger to lick the frosting off it. We were talking and laughing together, and I just felt so close to him. And he was smiling his sexy smile and I thought about how it would feel if his lips were around my finger and…
Wow. Why am I thinking this stuff? I’m getting married to Ted in a few months. Ted—a great guy who’s very cute and I love very much. I’m just missing Ted, that’s all. A long distance relationship is rough.
The Best Man Page 11