Hard to Get Over

by Jenny Gardiner

  “Well, it turns out it’s the same dude. He showed up last night and is making my life a living hell.”

  Binti’s eyes opened wide. “You want me to help you get rid of him? Should we call the police or something?”

  Daphne waved her hand. “Thanks, but it’s not that kind of thing. He’s insinuating himself into this house situation and I’m worried he’s going to cause me problems because I want to live here outright. For good.” The doorbell rang again and Tortellini jumped against the door, barking. Daphne pretended to pull out her hair in exasperation. She opened the door to see his hands weighed down with paper bags. “Can I help you?” She tried hard to sound as if she was only saying it to be polite. Probably because she was just saying it to be polite.

  He held up his bags. “I brought dinner!”

  Daphne grimaced as he helped himself into the foyer. “Make yourself right at home,” she growled—yes, actually growled. This guy was turning her into someone she was not.

  He looked up to see Binti, arms crossed, taking in the scene, and he reached out his hand. “Hey there! I’m Brady. Hope I wasn’t disrupting anything?”

  Binti held up her hands. “All good.” She pointed at the bags. “What’d you bring? Smells amazing.”

  “I ordered Afghani food. Figured it was a little more interesting than a pepperoni pizza.”

  “Oh, yum, I love Afghani food.” Binti grabbed a bag, carried it to the kitchen, and set it down on the black granite counter.

  Daphne leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Whose side are you on here? Let’s practice a little ambivalence, here, okay?”

  Binti shrugged. “Sorry, he picked my favorite food. It’s not like I can say no. You understand.”

  Jesus. First the dog sells out, then her best friend?

  Binti and Brady unloaded the packages and spread them out on the island.

  “You got the soup? I love this soup!”

  “Right? The aush soup is amazing.”

  Daphne rolled her eyes yet again, determined to hate this food.

  “Ahhh, and the sambosay goshti. I tried to make these at home one time—it was a disaster!”

  “You cook?” Brady rubbed his palms together after setting down the last container, like he was ready to dig in.

  “I love to cook, and I bake a ton,” Binti said.

  Normally Daphne would pipe in and brag on her friend’s dope culinary skills, but she had no intention of inserting herself into this conversation with Mr. Yuck.

  “I think I’d enjoy cooking, but I’ve not been anywhere long enough to have a place to do it,” he said. “Hostels don’t do the trick, although you can bake the occasional brownie there.”

  “Get out—you can bake in a hostel?”

  What was with the cheery chitchat? This night was rapidly going off the rails.

  “Who doesn’t have a place to call home at your age? Hostel kitchens? Sounds awfully lonely to me.” Daphne maybe felt a little smug saying that but seriously, what the hell? He was too old to wander aimlessly, wasn’t he?

  “Oh, I don’t know, Daph,” Binti said. “I kind of admire someone who follows their heart. Is that what you do?” She pointed at Brady.

  He thrust his lower lip out as he shrugged. “I guess I never gave it much consideration. I kind of go with the flow. But I suppose you could call that following your heart.”

  “Who ‘goes with the flow’ when you’ve been out of college for nearly a decade?” Daphne made facetious air quotes to drive home her point.

  “Someone who can?” Binti held her hands up in her own sort of shrug.

  Daphne turned her back to Brady and hissed at Binti, “Whose friend are you? He’s the bad guy here, B. Back me up!”

  “Daph, I don’t even know what this is all about, but he seems nice. Plus he brought yummy food. Let’s give him a chance and see what he has to say.” She refilled her wine and held up the bottle. “Would you like a glass of pinot?” She nodded at Brady.

  She’s giving him our fucking wine? What was next? Inviting him to watch the movie with them? Or going on vacation together? Or stealing my home right out from under me?

  Daphne closed her eyes. Breathe, Daphne. Imagine yourself in a lush garden. Butterflies flitting about. Or better yet, make that the ocean. A gentle breeze wafts across you as you’re enveloped in warm, soothing waters while you listen to the soothing sound of waves rolling onto shore. But suddenly you see a fin surfacing and you immediately scream for help, kicking and paddling frantically to get to shore before it devours you,

  Daphne shook her head. Jesus, girl, you need to get it together.

  “I’d love some,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Huh. Wonder if he smiled like that when he quietly slipped out of my apartment like a thief, with not so much as a “see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya”?

  “Hope red’s okay.” She reached into the cabinet for another glass and filled it for him.

  “My favorite kind,” he said. “I spent a half a year working at a vineyard in Italy, so I got to drink some amazing Super Tuscans at the time.”

  In her head, Daphne was using her fingers like hand puppets at him, mocking his braggy nonsense. Aren’t I so cool, I worked at a vineyard in Italy. I’m a veritable oenophile. Blah blah blah blah blah. “Blah!”

  Brady and Binti turned and stared at her. “Bleh? You don’t like this wine, Daph?” her friend said.

  Daphne shook her head clear. “Um, well, uh. I don’t know what I was saying. Not ‘bleh’ though. Definitely not bleh. I love this wine. You know me. There’s not a red out there I don’t adore.”

  Binti squinted at her and cocked her head. “You okay?”

  Daphne clenched her teeth and allowed her lips to part in the fakest of smiles she could muster. Like the kind she did for her orthodontist after she got her braces off when he needed to take pictures for his records. The “get me out of here, stat!” smile. “I’m super, just super. Absolutely fine. Amazing in fact.”

  “Well, great,” Brady said, rubbing his greedy little paws together again. “Let’s dig in.”

  Binti didn’t let even a moment get in the way of inhaling the bribery meal the jerkball brought, so she pulled out the plates and utensils and set them on the counter near the food. “Dig in, guys!”

  “I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Daphne said as Binti filled her plate.

  “I wasn’t. Until the best food ever showed up. It made me insta-hungry.” She started making pig snorting sounds and she and Brady laughed as they carried their food to the table.

  The two of them sat down and waited for Daphne, who began handwashing some dirty dishes in the sink, then moved on to the dishwasher to unload the clean ones there.

  Binti clinked on her wineglass with her fork. “Uh, hello! Earth to Daphne. We’re waiting for you over here. Are you not joining us?”

  She shook he head. “Seems I’ve lost my appetite.” She picked up a sponge and wiped down all the countertops, then pulled out the Windex and some paper towels to finish the job.

  Her friend stood and came into the kitchen, picking up the last plate. “Are you planning to clean the toilets next? Come on, now. You have to eat. And if you have to eat, it might as well be something delicious. Here, take one of these shish kebab thingies.” She placed a skewered chicken kebab on the plate. “And then this rice is really yummy. And the appetizer, of course. You have to try the sambosay goshti.”

  “Don’t forget the soup!” Mr. Know-It-All piped in from his seat—at the head of the table. Like he was some kind of Lion King or something.

  Binti scooped some of the aush soup into a bowl and carried her friend’s dishes to the table. She then went back and locked arms with Daphne and led her to join them. “I kept this seat warm just for you.” She pointed at the chair that naturally had to be next to the poseur. Not only was she now stuck next to him but, since he sat at the head of the table, she had to actually look at him. Great.

  Binti kept glancing a
t Daphne and nodding at her, encouraging her to take bites like a toddler. Next thing she knew Binti would be chanting “here comes the airplane” as she tried to force food into her piehole. “See, isn’t that amazing?” she said after Daphne finally sucked it up and bit into the appetizer. “It’s almost like an egg roll, Afghani-style.”

  Daphne pursed her lips and acted as if she were eating slug entrails. But then she took another bite. And another bite. And then took a spoonful of soup.

  “See, not so bad, right?” her friend said.

  Daphne allowed a half smile to pierce her frown.

  “Right? You can admit it. It’ll be our secret.” Binti curled up her napkin and threw it across the table, hitting Daphne in the forehead.

  “Okay, fine, it’s not half bad.” She wasn’t going to exactly wax eloquent about it, if that’s what they were looking for. But in truth, it was delicious. And when they weren’t looking, she was going to nab seconds. That is if Pig Man didn’t gobble them all up, being that he’d already retreated to the kitchen for round two.

  “Just goes to show you,” Brady said as he seated himself again. “Sometimes the thing you think you hate the most ends up being something you learn to like.”

  Daphne took Binti’s balled-up napkin, scrunched it hard, and lobbed it right at Brady’s head. “Don’t get your hopes up, or you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  The last thing she planned to do was devour a heaping helping of “I told you so” from the likes of Brady McGovern.

  Chapter Six

  “SO, BRADY, WHAT EXACTLY is your connection to my good friend here?”

  Brady couldn’t believe it had taken this long for Binti to ask that. He didn’t get the impression she was hep to whatever bad blood was coursing through the veins of her good buddy.

  They were sitting on the sofa, drinking wine. The cute dog had curled up next to Brady, so he petted her soft ears while he talked.

  “Well, Violet left part of this place to me,” he said, not sure how far into the weeds he wanted to get with his explanation. Did Binti know about how he’d ditched Daphne back in college? Probably not, or she’d have no doubt girl-ganged up on him. And while he wasn’t too proud of his “hell hath no fury” line from last night, it had been impossible to not say it. ’Cause it was true. And two women going after him would be even worse. Of course, Daphne had good reason to be pissed. But he didn’t want to deal with that right now. He wanted to focus on the business at hand.

  “What he’s omitting is that Mr. Magnanimous-Make-Nice-and-Bring-Dinner-Over here, was what’s known in the business as a bang-and-run practitioner.”

  He blanched. She wasn’t going there, was she? To think things had been going so well this evening.

  Binti blurted out a laugh, nearly spitting her wine all over the sofa. “Wha—?”

  “Yeah. So, long story, super short, turns out we dated in college. We had sex the night we graduated, many times, as a matter of fact. I would have even said we’d made love, except in hindsight it was obviously nothing but sex—lousy sex at that, if you know what I mean.” She held up her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, winking at Binti for emphasis. “Then he disappeared. Never heard from him again. Till now. And he wants to sell my home out from under me. The end.”

  “Whoa.” Binti took a sip of wine. “What do you have to say about this?” She looked at Brady, whose eyes had grown wide and who probably looked like he wanted to slip out the nearest exit. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more—her general accosting of him, or her implying that he had a little dick. Which, to set the record straight, was a total fallacy. Make that a phallicsy. He couldn’t believe he was making up jokes in his mind about such a serious matter.

  “It’s complicated,” he said at last.

  “Complicated? Are you freaking joking?”

  Brady looked to where the loud voice had come from, only to see Daphne’s eyes closed as she muttered something that sounded like an incantation to herself. It involved a butterfly and an ocean and a shark fin, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  Binti held up her hands like a traffic cop trying to keep cars from plowing into the intersection after the lights stop working. “Okay, so let’s start this again. So, Brady, you’ve got some interest in Violet’s house, I gather. And Daphne, you, too, have some interest in Violet’s house. So, what you have in common is Violet, amiright? And Daphne, you have a whole house of Violet’s stuff you need to go through. And Brady, it sounds like it would be helpful for you to know Violet a bit better, yes?”

  They both stared at Binti, Brady twirling Tortellini’s ear with his finger, and Daphne speed-drinking her recently refilled glass of wine in three quick gulps.

  “So I propose that you both get to work going through Violet’s things. It will give you each a chance to become reacquainted, maybe bury the hatchet, Daphne, and not in any flesh. And it will serve to make some headway in the house. ’Cause girlfriend, not gonna lie, you’ve got a shit ton of work to do in that place before you can do anything with it. We loved Violet, but she was not a fan of throwing anything out, was she?”

  Brady could see Daphne making some subtle slicing motion across her throat, no doubt trying to throw Binti off this idea. But he liked it. Digging through a lifetime of Violet’s things to learn exactly who his benefactress was sounded kind of interesting.

  Daphne stuck her finger up as if to make a point but Binti, who clearly had an assertive streak a mile wide, kept telling her to “zip it.” Amazingly, she obliged.

  Before he knew it, Binti had gotten an agreement from Daphne for her to meet him inside Violet’s place at eight sharp. Who knew that feeding a frenemy’s BFF some tasty food could lead to an even better outcome than he’d ever thought possible? This was going to be interesting. Or dangerous. Time would tell.

  BRADY’S SLEEP WAS WHACKED and he was lucky if he’d slept three hours the whole night. Jet lag was torture. And he needed coffee, badly. After googling a decent bakery nearby, one that would serve basic black coffee while supporting the mainlining of some much-needed sugar, he Ubered there. He picked up a selection of pastries and two black coffees while his driver waited and returned just shy of eight. He wondered if Daphne would even honor her commitment. If not, what was he going to do? Sit in the rubble of this old gal’s life, twiddling his thumbs? Or hire a lawyer to take care of whatever and skip town? Again. As tempting as that notion was, no way could he do that. It would only reinforce to her what an asshole he was. And he had been an asshole. Didn’t mean he was one now. He’d done a lot of growing up over the years, some of it forced on him due to circumstances beyond his control. Like his parents’ deaths.

  At five after eight, he heard a barely discernable sound at the door. He wouldn’t accuse it of being an actual knock—more like an accidental meeting of knuckle against wood, once, twice, then a third time.

  Brady opened the door and thrust the to-go cup of coffee into Daphne’s hand. “Here. Figured the way you were downing that wine last night, you might need this.”

  She glared at him. “I wouldn’t have had to down wine like it was water were it not for your unwelcome presence.”

  Deciding to ignore that comment, he got down to business. “So, I took the liberty of researching how to go through a stranger’s things—”

  “You actually researched that?” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Who does that?”

  He side-eyed her. “Well, someone tasked with doing that, of course.”

  “That is the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard far stranger things in your life.”

  “Yeah, like the sound of you pretending you liked me.”

  Brady glanced around the living room and spread his hands out wide. “Well, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us. I think we divide our piles into three things: keep, donate, and throw out.”

  Daphne heaved a sigh. “You forgot an important one: sell. Or does that not matter to you since they�
�re not yours to sell?”

  “You sound awfully anxious to profit off of Aunt Violet’s life.” He knew that was a low blow and regretted the words the minute they passed his lips. He held up his hands to erase them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Let’s forget I even said it.”

  She glared at him through slitted eyes and poked her finger into his chest. “Fine. But understand this, Brady McGovern: I’m in charge here. Everything—and I mean everything, right down to a mousetrap or an ant motel—has to be cleared through me before it gets trashed. You got it?”

  Boy, Daphne sure had turned surly in her old age. He held up his hands in defeat. “Whatever. Just point me where to go and tell me what to do.” He shoved the bag of pastries in front of her. “By the way, here’s your breakfast.”

  Chapter Seven

  AWWW, MAN.

  Every time Daphne thought she could one-up Brady with a zinger of some sort, he’d swoop in with an unwelcome kind gesture to make her feel like a complete heel for being a complete heel. Which she knew she was being, yet somehow she couldn’t help herself.

  It was against her better judgment, but she was hungry, so she took a bite of the flaky, buttery, French onion croissant he’d gotten her. How had he known she’d want such an unusual type of croissant? Not as if she’d ever eaten something like that around him—she’d never even seen a French onion croissant before. Though she always did go to obscene lengths for a good French onion soup... Maybe he remembered that? But why would he remember something like that about someone he didn’t even care about?

  She took a bite and it was so sublime her eyes rolled back in her head. Who knew a specialty croissant could be better than sex? Not that she would even remember how good sex was at this point; it had been so damned long. She’d given up even bothering to find someone she might want to consider doing it with. Nowadays between the shallow men you had to swipe through on dating apps and the fact that every guy on the planet was so hooked on internet porn there was no way to meet their expectations, it all seemed a moot point. So it was official: she would stick to caramelized onion on a croissant instead. She woke from her reverie to realize she’d been moaning while eating the thing. Moaning. God, what was wrong with her? She glanced over to see Brady staring at her with a knowing grin pasted on his face.