I didn’t feel comfortable calling Oscar and Hale, even though they had some travel delay that kept them from leaving for their honeymoon right away. Then, at the end of the two weeks, I still hadn’t heard from Sher and the newlyweds finally left for their four-week honeymoon. I suffered through the next two weeks in a sporadic state of panic, like a drowning man who can’t reach for a life preserver.
Now, with Oscar and Hale only three weeks into their month-long honeymoon, it’s not like I can just call them up and ask Hale to find out what’s up with Sher. And it’s driving me nuts.
Mostly, I keep hoping that Sher hasn’t called me back because she’s realized we weren’t meant to be. I try to convince myself of it for the rest of the week, whenever the thought of her pops up. I try to believe that she really meant everything she said about wanting to dump her virginity.
I try to believe it, but by the middle of the third week, I’m wondering if she’d gotten either of my calls at all. I wonder if her phone has been turned off, or if she’s misplaced or lost it. For all I know, I could be leaving messages on a phone that’s in the bottom of a sewer. I can’t remember anymore if I left my number with my messages, in case she wants to buzz me back, and on reflection, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. Maybe her call log isn’t working. Or she could have programmed her phone with the wrong number to begin with, when I recited it to her at the end of the night. We were both drinking. Well, mostly me. I was a full blown 10 bananas by the end of the wedding and who knows what number actually came out of my mouth. Who knows? She might have been calling some payphone in Zimbabwe for the last three weeks.
I dial her number for the last time.
***
It’s the end of the fourth week and this is absolutely insane. I’ve left my phone on my desk all week and I check it every ten seconds, to be sure the thing isn’t malfunctioning. I’ve become a deranged lab rat.
I decide to call her one more time. This is it.
The automated message comes on, and it doesn’t say her message box is full, so I leave her my name and number again and ask her to let me know if she gets the call. I hang up and go about my business for the next ten seconds. Then I pick up the phone and check the blank screen again, right before I slam the damn thing back down on my desk.
I’d like to say I’m secure in the knowledge that at least I’ve done my part with the whole follow-up-with-the-virgin thing, but my confidence has been completely kicked over, and it’s time to face the hard facts.
I know this: I’m safe. I’m definitely not a douchebag.
I’ve just turned into a fucking stalker.
It’s the end of the fourth week and I have to give up. I have to, for my own sanity, if nothing else. If her phone is busted, or sitting in the bottom of a well, or if she’s just kicked back someplace, selectively deleting my calls to keep me in the douchebag group, I’ve still got to give up. I’ve done everything I could do.
It is all I am going to do too, until Oscar gives me a call two weeks later.
“Want to swing by tonight? We’re having dinner. We got the photos back from our trip.”
“Hell yes, I’ll come by,” I tell him. “It was a good time then?”
“Beyond good,” he says. “The best.”
“Good. Good. Hey, listen, do you know if Hale’s heard anything out of Sher?”
“Yeah, she talked to her right before I called you. What’s up?”
“It’s no big deal.” I feel a weird shrug inside me that isn’t strong enough to lift my shoulders. “I just called her a couple times and haven’t heard back.”
“I can ask Hale about it,” he says.
“No, don’t bother. Like I said, it’s no big deal.”
“You for sure? You like the girl? I was wondering if you were going to make a move after the wedding.”
“She was a good girl,” I say with hesitance. “You know how it went down. I had no idea and I didn’t want to do the drop on her like that.”
“Ah,” Oscar says. “Got it. You liked her, but you didn’t like her.”
“No, I did like her, but...holy shit, do you know how much that girl giggles? It’s like a language to her. Or a disease. Half the time, she couldn’t even talk, because she was too busy giggling. It was just over the top, man. I feel like a douche for doing the deed, but I tried calling her and she never got back to me. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of relieved. The girl can’t even get a whole sentence out without giggling!”
My stomach feels like liver left out in the sun as I try to sell how relieved I am, but on the other end of the line, Oscar just laughs. “I know exactly what you mean. I’ve talked to her.”
“Damn, does it ever stop?”
“Not that I can tell. But I know she actually does talk to Hale for hours. She is capable, but whenever I’m in on the conversation, she starts up again. Must be a nervous reaction to men.”
“That’s great,” I say. “I’ve got the luck lately, don’t I? Is she coming tonight too?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“Alright,” I sigh, but my insides tighten up in a way that makes me think I’m going to burp out my own giggle. “Alright. Might as well get it over with.”
“She’s Hale’s bestie, so you better come and make nice so you don’t get kicked out of all the future gatherings.”
“You’d do that? Throw me under the bus for Hale’s friend?” I laugh.
“C’mon, you know I wouldn’t, but it’s not up to me anymore.” Oscar chuckles. “I’ll see you tonight, buddy.”
I hear Hale asking Oscar if it is me on the phone, right before he hangs up. It sets me to wondering all over again, if Sher was asking Hale about me. If the calls somehow didn’t get through.
I get back to work and figure I’ll just sort it out when I get there.
CHAPTER THREE
I THINK ABOUT IT all damn day. I think about her at lunch, on my way home from work, while I shower for dinner. I weigh the thoughts of Sher beneath me, biting her lip and dragging her nails down my shoulders, against the memory of her giggling. I think of all the stalker calls I made, while I dress and slap on cologne. I think of it all on the ride over to the Marees’, and by the time I get to the front door, I’m wondering what exactly is going to go down. Sher could be on the attack or she could be confused. Either way, my guilt keeps driving it home that this second meeting probably isn’t going to go well.
I walk right into the main house without knocking, like I always have, and shout from the atrium, “Honey! I’m home!”
Oscar, pushing his voice to be a little deeper than usual, calls from the living room, “In here, sweetie!”
I go down the hall and turn the corner into the enormous living room. She’s the first one I see and I don’t look past her.
Sher is sitting on the end cushion of one of the huge, white couches. She looks a little thinner than I remember. Her honey-blond hair is tied up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a red top with jeans that triggers the memory, in vivid detail, of what she felt like beneath me. I rub my fingertips together, remembering how soft her shiny, bridesmaid dress was, and how it still wasn’t even half as silky as her skin. I swear I can smell her perfume from across the room. I twitch in my pants as her eyes meet mine.
Oscar and I shake hands, I kiss Hale’s cheek, and I smile at Sher as I lean down to give her cheek a polite peck too. I breathe her in and the smell of her fills up my lungs. I twitch again.
“How’ve you been?” I inquire lightly annnd...she giggles. Damn. It’s like a bucket of ice in my shorts. I swing back toward Hale. “O.C. said it was a good trip?”
“The best,” she says, beaming. I laugh.
“Must’ve been. That’s exactly what he said.”
“You did?” Hale asks Oscar and he nods and leans in for a kiss. Like any non-couple that is subjected to a newly-wed, kissing couple, Sher and I scan the floor and the walls, waiting for them to finish. I finally meet Sher’ eyes, because there’s nowhere else to
look, but Sher only gives me a low-pitched giggle before her gaze darts away.
I clasp my hands in front of me and wait for the kiss to end. And despite how much the giggling drives me hairball, I still hope Sher’s eyes will find their way back to me again. Unfortunately, the kiss ends first and only because Linda, the Marees’ maid, announces that dinner is ready.
“So, let’s eat and then we’ll look at the photos, okay?” Hale says.
“We’ll eat first,” Sher repeats, but her smile is suddenly less enthusiastic than her voice. We follow Hale and Oscar out of the living room, me at the end of the procession. I watch Sher’s frayed denim dukes swish along in front of me, even though her giggle echoes off the hallway walls and blocks some of my enjoyment.
The Marees’ dining room looks like the ones that appear in movies. There’s a long, dark wood table lodged in the middle of the room, a china cabinet at the far end, and a tear-drop chandelier suspended over the center of the table. I remember Oscar and I, as kids, climbing under the table and Oscar barfing on the Persian rug. I also remember a wild night with our prom dates, which resulted in Oscar finding a pair of discarded panties at breakfast, just seconds before Linda noticed them. I suppose that is why I always see the dining room as a little less sophisticated and glamorous than I think others might view it. I know a few of the room’s secrets, so it’s more like home.
Linda rolls a cart stacked with pizza boxes, the good, greasy, deep-dish pies, delivered from Vento’s Pizza, the best place in town. There’s an antipasto salad and a couple 2-liters, one diet, one regular.
“I feel like we’re at a kid’s birthday party,” Hale says as she loads her plate. Sher takes a plate, but there is a frown on her face. She must hate pizza; she hardly takes any. She fills a cup with Coke instead and sips it. I pull out a chair for her, one with scuffs half
way up the back legs. This is the side of the table O.C. and I always sat on. These were the chairs we always leaned back in, sometimes a little too far. One time, I had a goose egg on the back of my head for three days straight, after bashing my melon on the wainscoting. Good times.
“What’s the matter?” Hale asks, once she’s taken her seat and noticed Sher’s mostly-empty plate. “You love Vento’s pizza. Are you sick?”
“I just have an upset stomach,” Sher giggles weakly, taking another sip. But then she makes a little gag noise behind the lip of her cup.
“Oh my gosh, you really are sick!” Hale drops her food, but Sher puts up a hand to calm her.
“Really, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine to me. Come on, we’ll go get you some Pepto or something.” Hale turns to Oscar. “What do you take for puking?”
“You take a pregnancy test,” Sher says as her giggle dies away. “And when it’s positive, you know you’re gonna have a few months of it.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE DAMN FLOOR DROPS OUT. Oscar’s smile is stuck to his face, but his eyes switch from Sher to me and the question dangles there. He knows the answer. I know the answer. I think I’m pregnant too, the way my stomach dips into my shoes and bungees back up into my throat.
“You’re pregnant?” Hale shouts. She bounces out of her seat and around the table, throwing her arms around Sher. “I’m going to be an auntie?”
“Well,” Sher’s voice squeezes thin. “I don’t know about that.”
“What do you mean? You’re not going to keep it?”
“You know how my mom is, Hayley Williams. This is going to kill her. Right after she kills me.”
Hale’s eyebrows worry to a peak on her forehead, as she tucks back stray locks of hair behind Sher’s ears.
“What are you going to tell her? I can come with you...”
“I’m not going to tell her anything,” Sher says. Hale drops into the chair on Sher’s other side.
“She’s got to know…”
“It’s not like it will make any difference. All she’s going to say is get out.” The edges of her lips try to make a smile, but miss. She hasn’t looked at me even once.
“Oh no,” Hale breathes, draping her arms around Sher again. “Oscar, she can stay with us, can’t she? There’s tons of room, right?”
“Sure. Of course.” Oscar’s fingers flutter up, more like surrender than agreement.
“See? You can stay with us, in the guest house. Everything’s going to be fine,” Sher gushes. Oscar nods. He’s the most generous guy on Earth, and I know for a fact that he’d never refuse help to anybody that needs it, but I can also imagine that the last thing he is dying to do, right on the tails of his honeymoon, is put up his wife’s knocked-up bestie in a room down the hall from his.
“No, no,” I say, pushing my plate away. “This is my problem and I’ll take care of it.”
Sher, who had been pretty stoic all along, suddenly jumps out of her seat, bursting into tears as she streaks from the room. I’m paralyzed in my chair and it takes Hale’s voice for me to react.
“Are you a moron?” Hale shouts at me. “She’s your problem? She’s not anybody’s problem.”
“I didn’t mean it like that…” I stumble, but Hale cuts me right off.
“Then WHY are you still SITTING HERE? GO AFTER HER!”
***
I’m dumbfounded, but Hale’s yelling snaps me out of it. I jump up from the table and go after Sher. The back door, leading to the garden, is still latched, so I figure she went out the front, and I’m right. I spot her running down the drive. It’s a long, winding drive, so I don’t know where she thinks she’ll get, but I jump in my car and catch up to her. Since she doesn’t stop or even slow down, I pull up ahead of her and run the car diagonal across the shoulder to block her path. Right as I jump out, she’s heading around my back fender.
“Would you hold on and just talk to me for a minute?” I shout at her.
“No!” she shouts back. I sprint around the car and catch up to her in less than a second. I grab her arm and jerk her to a stop.
“You’re going to talk to me,” I tell her. “You owe me that.”
“Wrong!” She clangs the word like a bell right before she dives down on my arm, sinking her teeth into me. I let go, but grab her with the other hand. She does it again.
“Dammit!” I growl. “Stop doing that!”
I grab her again and she bites me again. I try to hang on for a few seconds, but she really clamps down and I have to let go.
“I shouldn’t have said that thing about this being my problem!” I shout and when I grab her this time, it’s around the wrist and I don’t let go, even as I tug my hand away from her descending mouth. It’s like playing with a cobra. But someone’s taught her some self defense moves. She rolls her wrist in my grasp, jerking her hand away through the weak point between my thumb and forefinger.
“No, you were 100% right, dumbass!” she hollers when she’s free. “I’m not your problem.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant the situation is our problem,” I tell her. “Not just yours.”
It hardly pacifies her.
“Not after tomorrow,” she snaps, but the tears return. “It’s nobody’s problem after tomorrow.”
It stops me cold. “You’re getting an abortion?”
“Yup.” The tears run off her chin.
“So you’re not giving me any say in this?”
“Nope. Not unless you want to cart around a fetus in your own fanny pack. It’s my body, so it’s my call.”
I stand there, so shocked, I almost let go of her.
“But I put it there,” I add softly.
“So what? It’s not like we were going out or anything, Landon. We had a quickie. I fucked up. It was a mistake that I’m going to fix. You’re off the hook.”
Off the hook. My blood does a rapid boil in my chest. Those particular words stir up a lot of crap in my head. My father left my mother because he wanted ‘off the hook’. Those were the words he used and the ones my mother told me, when I was old enough to ask when
and how and why my coward of a father exited our lives. My mother didn’t cry when she told me the story of my dad packing up and leaving her with nothing but six kids to raise, but the lines in my mother’s face told me she cried herself dry, long before she had to tell me the story. She had stayed on the hook and raised all of us, even though she had to give up everything she wanted for herself in order to do it.
“I’m not ‘off the hook’,” I growl at her, “and you don’t have anywhere to go.”
“I’ll stay with Hale.”
“No you won’t. You can stay with me. I did this. I’ll get you through it.”
“How heroic,” she sneers. “But this problem isn’t staying with you. I don’t even know you.”
“Yeah you do. Remember me? The guy at the wedding?” I growl again, tugging her closer. We stand toe to toe and she meets my gaze with fire. “I was the one between your legs.”
“It’s hard to remember...oh wait,” She extends a thoughtful finger beneath my nose. “Minute Man, right?”
“Glad you remember me, Snow White.”
“You’re just a dick,” she says, yanking her hand free. “Then and now.”
“And it’s this dick that can make things really hard on you, if that’s the way you want it,” I say. “We’re not dumping our mess on the newlyweds. You’re staying with me for now.”
“I told you, I’m not. You could be some psychotic killer.”
“You could be so lucky,” I grumble. She plants her hands on her hips.
“Just because this happened, it doesn’t mean I’m open for business.”
“Business?” I crook my neck and squint at her. “Don’t strain yourself, Mother Mary. It’s not like you can get more pregnant. Besides, I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
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