“What happened was a mistake. We were drunk, it was late, it never should have happened. It’s over. There’s nothing to talk about.”
He was wearing a faded black t-shirt and blue jeans. He was a big man, much bigger than Paul, which she supposed was part of the attraction. And those eyelashes. It was unfair to give men eyelashes like that. How was a woman supposed to go about her day when Martin was there with his eyelashes?
“Let me say my bit and I won’t bug you anymore, okay? Five minutes,” he said.
She snapped back to focus. Ignore his pretty eyelashes and thick brown hair.
“I won't tell Paul if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continued.
Her famous temper erupted, and she stepped closer, pointing her finger upwards into his face. He loomed over her by about eight inches, but she had no fear. “If you ever tell Paul, I will fucking kill you. I don’t mean that figuratively.”
He stepped back and again put his hands up in front of him. “It would ruin my life too, Krista. It’s not what I want.”
“What do you want, Martin? We got drunk, we hooked up, we had sex. We’ve both agreed it was a mistake, so what’s left?”
“You agreed it was a mistake. I didn’t. I don’t regret it at all.”
She rubbed her face and sighed.
He continued. “We had fun at the last barbecue. That’s it, and I agree that’s it. I don’t love you and I don’t want to leave Sharon for you. I don’t want to explore being in a relationship,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “and I don’t want to talk about our feelings.”
“Okay,” she said, “So what do you want?”
He grinned out of the side of his mouth, an arrogant smirk that probably got him a lot of phone numbers way back when. He had a weird aggressive charm that confused her.
“I want to try again.”
Her temper raced back to the forefront, and he kept talking.
“Nothing formal,” he said. “We hook up, it means nothing. It’s a diversion for both of us. It doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. Two adults, in a consenting agreement. No strings attached.”
The absolute balls of the proposal left her speechless. Was he serious?
“You want me to be your next-door-neighbor booty call.” Her voice was flat and in her own head, seemed to come from a great distance.
“I want to keep having fun with you. That’s it.”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath through her nose. When she opened them again, he was still there. “Get the fuck out of my garage,” she said.
“Wait.”
“Get the fuck out!” she screamed at him and pushed him back. She wanted to hit him. The smirk left his face, and he looked small and confused. Wounded, like a kicked puppy. The rage that gave her so much energy left, leaving her collapsed and tired. She rubbed her face.
“Just leave me alone, Martin.” She didn’t have energy left for this. “I don’t want to fuck you one more time, let alone multiple times. What you’re talking about is an affair. You can pretty it up however you want, but that’s what it is. I love my husband. I made a mistake. One stupid goddamn mistake. Please don’t punish me for it.”
She never imagined a world where she would stand in her garage, telling her neighbor she didn’t want to cheat on her husband again. What the hell went so wrong that things had come to this?
Martin faced her with slack-jawed confusion, and she barreled forward. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe there was anything more. It would be best if we stayed away from each other and tried to move on with our lives. Okay?” She reached out and touched his forearm to let him know she wasn’t angry. It was about the most open apology she could give. She wanted this over with.
His face flushed, taking with it his mood. “Fine,” he spat. “But now you mention it, it would be real shitty if anyone found about what happened. Might do a number on your marriage.” He took a step closer.
Jesus Christ. Men. She spent all day working with guys like Martin: bombastic type-A personalities that would use their size and voice to intimidate. It didn’t work on her at the office and it wouldn’t work on her now.
“It would be shitty, Martin.” She rubbed her eyes. So tired, and it came out of nowhere. She pushed her dark hair back and looked at Martin straight on, her fear carried away by exhaustion. “I don’t know what kind of marriage you have with Sharon, but I’ve had enough chats with her to know she thinks the world of you. I wonder how Heather would react, knowing what her dad did? If you believe the damage from this would stop at me, you’re wrong.” She took a step towards him, invading his space, letting her anger fill her up. “I’d come after you with everything I have, Martin. You’re threatening my family. I would ensure you regret your decision.”
The threat landed in the air between them, expanding to fill the silence, and they both admired it. Martin stared at her, mouth hanging wide open. She glared at him, her chin extended.
“Jesus Christ, settle down.” He held his hands up in surrender and that twisted grin returned. How had she ever found that charming? “I was only talking. You take everything so serious. I was paying you a compliment. You’d think at your age you’d enjoy attention from a guy.”
At her age. Nice. Martin was transitioning right into Alpha-male pick-up 101. Get the woman insecure about her appearance so she’d be more pliable. Sadly for him, she knew all the moves.
“Martin, do you think I'm unaware what I look like? That somehow, I’ve never been in front of a mirror? My self-worth doesn’t rely on your approval.”
Okay, so truthfully, her self-worth was a little bruised, but it had nothing to do with how she looked. She still turned the occasional eye, with a smile Paul called 'quirky' and the mess of impossible black curls on her head.
“Even if you don’t want it, you have it. My approval.” He took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder.
God, he wouldn’t stop.
“You can honestly go fuck-”
Before she could provide clear instructions to Martin on what object he could have sex with, Paul pulled up in the driveway in their tired second car. Martin took a step back and jammed his hands in his pockets. Krista turned away, hoping her guilt wasn’t flashing like a neon light across her face.
Paul pulled a few bags of ice out of the trunk and carried them into the garage, a smile on his face. “Hey, you two. Everything set for the barbecue tonight?” He stuck out his hand and Martin gave it a hearty shake.
“You know it,” Martin transitioned to ‘just one of the guys’. “I got prime ground for the burgers. Quality stuff, you'll love it. Well done, right?” He flipped a wink at Paul and her stomach roiled. She couldn't force herself to lift her stare from the floor of the garage, and she covered by continuing to look for the cooler.
“Nice.” Paul continued, shredding her with his ignorant friendliness. “Hey, thanks again for starting these barbecues. It’s been great to get to meet everyone. Brings the neighbors closer.”
“That’s the whole point.” Martin showed his teeth to Paul, but he didn’t smile. He looked right at Krista while he said it. Fucker. “Well, I'll let you both get back to it,” he continued. “Sure hope this weird weather breaks up.”
“Yeah, it’s nuts,” Paul said. “That’s not a normal sky.”
They said their goodbyes and her legs buckled under the guilt. Martin sauntered down the driveway, back to his house, while Paul whistled happily. Sweet Paul, her soft and fragile prince.
“Any luck finding that cooler?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s right here.” She pointed to the top shelf and realized her hand was shaking. Before Paul could notice, she dropped it behind her back.
“Okay, pull it down then. I’ll get the rest of the stuff from the car.”
She had become talented in hiding her agitation from Paul. He didn’t ask her why she was so quiet, or even notice how little she was looking forward to today. Paul danced to her beat and if she
wasn’t drumming, he’d let life pass him by.
She sighed. Did she love Paul? Really? Was that why she did what she did? Even worse – did it even fucking matter? Regardless. She only needed to survive the next couple hours and then she’d get on with her life.
Barbecue day. Fuck.
Paul
Paul whistled while he filled the coolers with pop.
He loved barbecue day.
Day 1: The Attac
k
Matt
Matt and Pete sat on the curb at the side of the road, their backs to the forest, watching the grownups huddle around the grill Heather’s dad hauled out. It reflected its owner: loud, over-sized, and dominating. Beside them, wires from underneath the street spewed from a hole where the city was performing maintenance. Both boys had been warned several times not to go near it, so instead, they leaned against the empty metal junction box that would eventually cover the wires.
Matt scanned the crowd. About thirty neighbors gathered at this end of the crescent to have talks about taxes and laundry detergent, or whatever dumb things adults discussed. While he couldn’t remember everyone’s name, especially the people who lived closer to the top of the street, he knew most by sight. Kate and her family were making a rare appearance, and from time to time, she'd glance at him and smile, but he flushed with embarrassment and pretended not to notice.
Mr. Keene stood in front of his flame-spitting barbecue and waved at people with his spatula, like a King granting an audience. Do you want a burger? Supplicate before your ruler and provide homage. I grant thee one pop from the cooler.
Matt’s dad chatted with Mr. Gardner, the old British guy who lived next door by himself since his wife died a few years back. His mom said he was “having a rough time”. She made Matt take him casseroles or cookies she somehow found time to make on the weekends. Matt liked him fine, although he would go on with dull stories from when he was Matt’s age that always seemed to involve ‘scraps’ with other kids or something. He'd laugh about it with Pete, but Mom said he needed to be nice.
Down the road, his little sister Abby was playing a game with Deidre, Pete’s sister. It involved squealing, a rope, and lots of running from one end of the court to the other. Abby had her hair tied up in a bandanna, a look she’d borrowed from his mom. They both had that same dark, curly hair that resisted all attempts to control.
"Are you going to talk to her?" Pete asked, gesturing to Kate.
“Nope.”
“There’s a hashtag trending on Instagram. MadPuker.”
“Seriously?” Matt pulled his phone out and checked. He’d been avoiding social media since this morning for this reason. “Who started it?”
“Kate told Steve Paulson.”
“Figures. That prick. I wasn’t even mad.”
“What?”
“Mad puker. I wasn’t angry, like the name implies something irritated me or like I was frantic with puke. Neither of those things are true. Run-chucker would have made more sense.” Matt glanced over where Kate and Heather were laughing at something, probably vomit-related.
“Well, Steve’s a Neanderthal,” Pete said. “Regardless, you’ve got to do something soon. You’ve been screwing around for too long. You'll end up in the friend zone.”
Pete had a whole theory on how it all worked with girls. You needed to stay out of the friend zone, was the thing. It’s where you are friends with a girl for so long, she stops seeing you as possible dating material, i.e. hot, and only sees you as a good friend or maybe even a brother, i.e. not hot.
“I don’t get why it’s bad to be friends with a girl,” Matt said. He complained, but Pete had so much more experience with this than him. Most of Matt’s high school life was consumed by science projects and grades. He couldn’t wait for college and the new start that would come with it. Two months left.
“If you like her it’s bad to be friends.” Pete steepled his hands in front of his face and nodded wisely.
“But you and Liz were friends for years before you dated. We’ve all known each other since we were kids, except Heather.”
“That’s true. That’s true. But,” a finger in the air, “if you’re too good of friends, then it’s bad again.” Sermon delivered, Pete leaned back against the curb.
Matt feared that if he asked more questions, Pete would think he knew nothing about girls. This was the problem with high school. Everything changed. He turned eighteen this year and already the dynamic was fracturing. Pete was growing apart from him, eclipsing Matt in looks and popularity. He had an easy way that girls took notice of. Not that it did them any good. Pete had been dating Liz for months now, and they seemed serious.
“I think my parents are friends.” He threw the comment out, seeing if Pete would pick it up.
“Sure. Once you get married and you have kids, you’re not even a couple anymore. What’s left except being friends?”
Dating was more complicated than the theory of relativity.
“So, you need to not start as good friends, so you can date and stay not good friends, so when you marry you can become great friends?” Something seemed off with that sentence, but Pete only took a deep swallow of his drink and snapped his fingers.
“Exactly.”
Jesus Christ.
Matt shook his head. None of this mattered right now. The only thing that mattered was getting his courage back up to go talk to Kate although he didn’t have a clear plan on how to recover from the vomiting. Nothing with the weather helped his mood either. The strange purple clouds had faded, but the sky remained striated with dark, unnatural streaks. Everyone seemed on edge. Even his planned approach seemed off now. He’d gone over a few opening lines in his head, but none seemed right. He ran through them.
Nice run this morning, sorry about the puke. Hey, there’s a movie playing this week, we should go together. No, that was too casual, she might mistake it for a friendly gesture. And it would be best not to draw attention to the madness of his puking.
Maybe: We should see a movie together in the specific context of a romantic date. Too clinical.
Or: We should go to movie together and I like you and your smile gives me butterflies. No, too crazy.
How about a movie? Maybe the Exorcist? I can give Linda Blair some pointers. That was it. The perfect combination of assertive and self-deprecating. That was the one.
“I’m doing this.” He stood up and Pete clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good luck, man.”
Before he could make any movement, old Mr. Gardner from next door jogged over with a football.
“Ahoy, lads!” he called with his distinct British accent, throwing the football back and forth. “Let’s have a catch before dinner. Go long, I’ll pass it to you.”
“Oh god,” Pete said, low enough that only Matt could hear. Mr. Gardner loved himself a good catch. Every barbecue, he made it his mission to ‘toss the ole pigskin’ around. Pigskin, ha. Matt researched and learned modern footballs were made from vulcanized rubber. Sporting equipment notwithstanding, Mr. Gardner wasn’t giving up, and he mimicked throwing gestures at them.
He seemed in good shape for a guy his age, with a lean build. Matt thought he was in his sixties. His thinning white hair blew in the errant breezes that continued to crop up, blowing both hot and cold air at the same time. Matt rolled his eyes at Pete and they both got off the curb. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Kate and Heather giggle into their hands.
“Buddy, I can handle this one,” Pete said. “I’ll take a few throws, you go talk to her. Remember to be confident. Girls like that.”
“I thought girls like it when you aren’t pushy?”
“They like lots of things, they’re people. Hustle.” Pete slapped him on the shoulder and ran to the top of the street to take a pass.
“Look alive, Pete.” Mr. Gardner threw a wobbly spiral that sailed well over Pete’s head. “You gotta hustle, son!”
Helpful advice. Hustle. He’d best get to it.
The neighborhood crowded around the giant barbecue in front of Heather’s house. He thought there must be ten pounds of meet on the folding table beside it. Matt had to force himself to put one foot in front of the other to approach the girls and kept wiping his sweaty palms on his shirt. He passed Pete’s parents, who were swinging Deidre between them.
“Hey Matty,” Pete’s dad waved. “We're going for a walk before dinner.”
“I thought you burned off calories after the meal?” Matt said.
“We’ll do that, too.” Pete’s mom smiled at him. He spent so much time with the Carters, they were like his second family, and in his secret heart, he thought Mrs. Carter made better cookies than his Mom. He would never, never, tell anyone that.
“Abby wants to play tag.” Deidre stopped her swinging to stand in front of Matt. “She says you never play with her and you’re being a bad brother who is not fun.”
“Those are some serious accusations, Matty.” Mrs. Carter smiled behind her hand and Matt sighed. Abby and Diedre were only ten and the age gap meant he sometimes played more of a parent role than a big brother role.
“Tell Abby I’ll play with her after dinner, okay? When you all get back, we’ll have a huge game of tag.”
“Maybe Kate can play too,” Pete’s dad said, winking.
Did everyone know about her? Was there some Facebook group he didn’t know about? Were they sending each other updates?
“You guys enjoy your walk. You need to get Pete away from Mr. Gardner first if you want him to come. They’re playing catch.”
They waved and continued their walk, leaving Matt free to pursue his mission. Everyone was out of his way. This time, nothing would stop him.
Heather
Heather watched her Dad flip burgers, glad-handling the neighbors. He had a good turnout and it seemed like the whole street showed up. Even the people from the top, above the circular curve that made up the base of the court. She only recognized a handful of people. Matty Cutler and Pete Carter sat at the end of the street. Or at least Pete did, it appeared Matt was coming over to talk to her and Kate. Mr. Gardner followed behind, done with his quick game of catch with Pete.
Aliens and Ice Cream Page 3