“Really? And who is this?” Marge wanted to know.
“What does he do?” her father asked.
“Um . . . well I don’t really know him that well, actually. He’s just someone I’m sort of interested in.”
She remembered her high school boyfriend, Greg. He had an earring and had taken it out as if he were concealing a weapon every time he came to her parents’ house. He and Elise had both feared the discovery of that earring, as if they were serial killers worrying about the bodies in their freezer being found. Their worst nightmare came true when by pure chance they’d run into her mother at the mall. After noticing the earring, her parents were so disappointed in Elise’s choice in boyfriends that there had actually been talk of sending her to a psychiatrist.
Then she remembered Stan. He had a small tattoo of a clover on his back. For five years he’d successfully kept it a secret. One Thanksgiving he’d spilled red wine on his shirt. Maybe it was the wine that made him momentarily forget the clover, but he made the grave mistake of removing his shirt in front of everyone. Her mother had reacted to the tattoo as if they’d discovered that Stan was secretly leading a double life as a gay porn star. The whole holiday was ruined. So ruined, in fact, Marge couldn’t continue cooking the turkey. She locked herself in her bedroom, letting only Hal in for consolation. Melissa had lucked out and was with her in-laws. But Elise and Stan went hungry while watching a lousy football game.
Every Thanksgiving since, there had been tears and devastation while Marge stuffed the turkey and sadly remembered the horrible Thanksgiving when they found out about Stan’s awful secret. Elise had spent the last three Thanksgivings in the kitchen saving the holiday and distracting her mother from dwelling too much on Stan’s tattoo, reminding her that it was only a clover, not a naked lady.
What would they think if she brought Max home? If they rode up to her parents’ house on the back of his motorcycle, his tattoos peeking out from all edges of his T-shirt? Every holiday for the rest of Elise’s life would be ruined.
“Who is it?” Stan asked.
“No one. Just somebody I met through Justine.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you trust her choice in friends? Look at her boyfriend.”
Why had she ever brought this up? Why? But then something occurred to her. Stan knew Max. She could find out more about him. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots running toward their table. She looked over her shoulder and saw Jeffrey weaving through tables as he ran toward Stan with a gift in his hand. He wore his cowboy boots. This time with khaki shorts and a child-sized blazer with gold buttons.
“Oh!” her mother gasped happily. “Isn’t it great that Melissa is letting him think for himself?”
“Hand Uncle Tan his gift,” Melissa said.
He shoved Uncle Tan’s gift toward him and then said, “Me open.”
Melissa and Marge thought it was the cutest thing ever, and Stan handed the gift back. “Okay,” he said.
They all watched as Jeffrey ripped the gift wrap from what was shaped as a book. It was a cookbook called Gourmet Cooking and featured a small piece of steak atop a pastry shell shaped like a basket.
“Thanks,” Stan said as he took the book. Whether he would ever use it would remain to be seen.
“Let’s see,” Marge said. “Why don’t you pass it around?”
“Condy,” Jeffrey whined to his mother. “Want condy.”
He sounded British when he said candy. Melissa frantically searched through her purse. “Condy,” he said again.
She listened to her nephew ask for “condy” at least twenty more times while waiting for the cookbook to make its rounds to her. Her father passed it to her without looking inside. She was actually kind of curious to flip through the pages. She could use a few cooking tips. She opened the first page and noticed that Melissa and Brice had actually written something to Stan inside the book. What a sweet gesture , she thought. This made it so much more meaningful. Being nosy, she had to read.
Melissa and Brice,
You two are a fabulous couple. Hope this comes in handy in your married life.
Love, Diane and Rick
Who the hell were Diane and Rick? Clearly, her sister had done a horrible job of regifting.
After Rancho’s, Elise decided to head with Stan to Winston’s in Ocean Beach. She called Carly, who was sitting around waiting for Marcus to call, as usual. After several minutes of persuasion, she finally convinced her to meet them for a drink.
“Those girls you met the other day at the bay are going to be there,” Stan said as they walked to the bar. “Brooke and Tracey. Remember?”
The ocean air was crisp, and she pulled her sweater tight around her shoulders. “They seem cool, and they’re cute. Why don’t you date one of them?”
He shrugged. “They are pretty. And they’re nice. But I don’t know. They’re both just missing something.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re just kind of . . . I don’t know. Not what I’m looking for.”
She never knew he was looking for anything more than some fun.
“What are you looking for?” Having conversations about women with her brother was always interesting. His insight was a valuable and rare glimpse into the male species, and she was curious as to what made him stable.
“Brooke slept with two of my friends when she first moved here. Tracey gets drunk and tries to hook up with me, but something about her just turns me off. I don’t know. She’s kind of an airhead. I want someone who wants to have fun but also has her head screwed on straight.”
Elise was proud of him. She knew he had gotten plenty of action throughout bachelorhood. He could’ve easily taken advantage of his good looks, hooked up with both of them by now, and used them a million times for booty call. However, he was maturing into a good guy, looking for more substance than an easy fling. She hoped he found a great girl, someone that she could be friends with, too.
Winston’s was crowded when they arrived. A band Elise had never heard of was playing, and the lead singer reminded her a little of Pete Yorn. She was dying to ask Stan about Max but realized it was going to be difficult with all of his friends there.
Tracey had brought a date, and Brooke was dressed as if she were out on the prowl in her hip-hugger jeans and hot pink halter top. Brooke was one of those girls who had a way of making Elise feel like a Smurf—small and unshapely. Unlike Elise’s thin little body, Brooke had voluptuous J.Lo curves, and the kind of boobs people paid a lot of money for. She caught up with them for a few minutes before they said they wanted to hit the dance floor. Elise would’ve joined them but was waiting for Carly to meet her at the bar. She was standing by herself, sipping a Long Island when she felt a presence next to her.
“What are you drinking?” a male voice asked.
She was afraid to face the person. If he was beastly and offering to buy her a drink, she’d be stuck making polite conversation. She always felt bad refusing drinks from a guy. She turned around and felt adrenaline rush through her veins when she looked at Max leaning against the bar beside her. “Hi,” she said, trying desperately to mentally murder the giddy little monster that threatened to reveal herself at any moment. “I had no idea you were here.”
He nodded. “I’m a guitar tech for this band. I’m helping them with sound tonight.”
“Oh. Cool. Do you do sound for a lot of bands?”
“Yeah. I might go on the road with these guys next month.” No! She wanted to shout. Then I’ll really never be able to see you. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
She looked at her glass, which now consisted mostly of ice. “A Long Island.”
“I read your book,” he said.
“You did?”
“Yeah, I liked it. I told my mom to read it, too. She loves mysteries.”
“Thanks.” She couldn’t help the enormous grin that consumed her face.
“I think you have an awesome ca
reer.” He was really gorgeous, and she had to admit his tattoos turned her on. They weren’t loud and obnoxious like he was trying to be Mr. Tough and Trashy Tattoo like that motorcycle guy with the dreads on the Discovery channel. Rather, his tattoos were a little more chill, like Johnny Depp. He looked at the bartender. “A Long Island and another Budweiser.”
“You got it.” The bartender popped the cap off the beer and made Elise’s Long Island in a bigger glass. “No charge for these,” he said as he knocked on the counter.
“Thanks man. This is for you.” He set a five next to a stack of napkins.
“Thank you,” Elise said as Max handed her the drink.
She looked at the way his fingers curled around his glass. They were long and callused and he wore a couple of large silver rings.
“So why don’t you play anymore?”
The corners of his lips turned up, as if he wasn’t prepared for the question. “It got old.”
“What did?” The Long Islands had claimed her shame.
“The touring, mostly. I made a lot of mistakes. It was just time to quit.”
She wanted to know exactly what the mistakes involved, but even she had her limits with prying. “Do you miss it?”
“Do you miss grad school?”
She thought for a moment. “Sometimes. But I’m happy to be here, moving forward.”
“Me, too. Sometimes I think about riding in the bus with the guys, sharing stories from the night before. It makes me laugh. I love the memories, but I am where I am now, and it’s better this way. I’m thirty-two now.”
She’d thought he was a little older than she was, and was actually happy to hear that he had a few years ahead of her. She thought of Toby who was twenty-seven. She remembered how immature he was.
They discussed Elise’s latest book until she felt a presence next to her and noticed Max’s eyes wander to her left. “Hi! I’m Brooke.”
Max offered his hand. “Max. It’s nice to meet you.”
She watched as they shook hands, Max’s rough hands pulling in her tanned manicured hands. “Great to meet you, too,” Brooke said, giving him a huge smile and a flash of cleavage. “Are you a friend of Elise’s?”
“Yeah. I’m friends with Elise’s roommate, Jimmy.” Funny, Jimmy wasn’t her roommate.
“Cool. Are you in the band?”
“No.”
Max nodded to someone near the stage. “Well, hey, it was nice meeting you, Brooke. I hate to rush off, but I have to go help set up.”
“Great meeting you, too.” She beamed.
“I’ll see you, Elise.” He squeezed Elise’s shoulder as he walked past.
“Who was that?” Brooke asked as soon as he was out of earshot. “He is the hottest thing I have seen since I moved here. I’d love to let that guy see what color my sheets are tonight.”
“Yeah, he is cute,” she said. She was feeling slightly irritated until something wonderful occurred to her and washed away any irritating Brooke thoughts. He had asked if she missed grad school. She’d never told him that she’d gone to grad school. This could only mean one thing. He’d been asking about her. Who? Stan? Jimmy?
Carly arrived and bought everyone a round of shots in honor of Stan’s birthday.
“Max is here,” Elise whispered in her ear after they drank their first shot.
“Who?”
“Max. The guy I told you about, you know the hot one with the tattoos.”
“Ohhhhh. Where?”
Elise looked around the bar. “He’s over there, talking to Stan.”
“Are you kidding me? Your parents would shit a pineapple.” She looked a little longer. “He is hot as hell though.”
“And he’s nice.”
“And he knows your brother. Why don’t you ask Stan what his story is?”
“I thought about it. He’d probably just end up embarrassing me.”
“True. Looks like your little friend has her eyes on him, too.” They watched as Stan walked away and Brooke moved in, perching herself on a barstool next to Max. She was the only person in the bar who hadn’t been affected by the heat. There wasn’t a peck of sweat on her body, and Elise could tell by the way her eyes danced over his face that she was using all her charm on him.
“Well, if fake boobs are what he wants, then I’m definitely not the girl for him.”
“Good attitude, sweetie.”
They hit the dance floor, and Elise realized she was starting to feel pleasantly potted herself. She danced shamelessly with a bunch of Stan’s friends. When she left to fill up on another Long Island, she looked around for Max. He was near the stage, turning knobs on what looked like a gigantic speaker.
“Hey listen,” Carly said. “I’m really tired. I’m going to take a cab home.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just tired, and I have that convention tomorrow, so I want to get a good rest. But I’ll call you afterwards, okay?” She gave her a hug. “Have fun at the shower.”
“I wish you were going to be there to commiserate with me.”
After Carly left, Elise scanned the bar for the rest of the group. Her brother was nowhere to be found. She felt drunk and decided she should probably hop in a cab as well. She wanted to say good-bye to Max but didn’t want to disturb him while he was working, and he had left the stage anyway. She was turning for the door when she practically walked into his chest.
“Are you leaving?” he asked.
“Yeah. I was going to grab a cab,” she said, trying to sound as sober as possible.
“It was good seeing you.”
“It was nice seeing you, too.”
For a moment he stared at her as if waiting to say something. He swallowed before speaking. “Well listen, I want to get . . .”
“There you are!” Brooke interrupted. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you, Elise. And Max, I wanted to say bye to you. Lemme give you my number. I’d love to stop by your shop sometime.”
She watched as Brooke whipped out a pen and scrawled her name, number, and e-mail address on a napkin. If Elise wasn’t mistaken, she thought she saw Brooke draw a heart next to her name.
Politely, Max took the napkin. “Well, you girls have a good night,” he said, nodding. Elise looked over her shoulder as she walked away, and he was still watching them. She felt as if she’d just turned on a fantastic suspense movie, and five minutes before the ending the electricity had gone out. If she wasn’t mistaken, Max was about to ask her something before Brooke interrupted. The title of her new book? Her phone number? She’d never know.
7. The Baby Storm
The first thing Elise felt when she woke up was the dry, chalky texture of her mouth. Water. She needed it badly, but also felt as if she would barf if she swallowed anything. She was hung over in the worst way. If she had a higher tolerance she wouldn’t have gotten so drunk to begin with and probably could’ve avoided a hangover altogether. She glanced at the clock and thanked God that she still had several more hours of sleep before her sister’s baby shower. It took all her strength to crawl from bed and drag her feet to the kitchen. If she had to drink straight from the Sparklett’s water tap, she would.
She turned on the light and for a moment wondered if she were still dreaming. Standing at the refrigerator, naked as Michelangelo’s David, was Jimmy. His legs looked like two long, hairy pencils, the pink eraser standing out brightly as his privates. “Holy shit!” she spat when she realized this was no dream.
“Oh shit, man. Sorry. I thought you were asleep.” He cupped his hands over his genitals.
She threw a hand over her eyes before quickly shuffling back to her bedroom.
“Sorry!” he called.
She closed the door behind her. Not only did she drink straight from her bathroom sink but also slapped a wave of cold water over her face, trying to wash away the memory of Jimmy’s penis hanging between his skinny legs like a limp celery stalk. She swallowed two Aleve before pulling the covers over her head an
d praying she wasn’t plagued with bizarre dreams for the rest of the night.
She woke three hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed but also slightly afraid to set foot outside her bedroom door. How awkward would it be now? She had seen him. Nude. It was bad enough that she was privy to all the sexual noises they made, but now she felt as if a line had been crossed. However, knowing him, he wouldn’t even care. He’d probably think it was funny rather than embarrassing.
She rolled over and nearly screamed aloud when she looked at the time. Her alarm never went off. She had to pick up the cake and drive to Crystal’s house in Carlsbad, which would take an hour. The shower started in forty-five minutes. She spent about ten minutes getting ready and cursed herself for not being more like Carly when it came to wardrobe planning. Carly always knew what she was wearing to every event at least a week prior. Elise had no idea what to wear. Furthermore, having access to a washer and dryer still didn’t make her do her laundry on a regular basis. She had no clean clothes and ended up in a wool turtleneck sweater in the middle of summer and a denim miniskirt.
She entered the living room wearing sunglasses. This way she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. However, neither one of the Cheecherses were around, and she cruised out of the house, avoiding any embarrassing encounters.
Being late usually didn’t stress her out. For example, going to the movies. She rarely saw the previews but rather cruised into the theater just in the nick of time. No big deal. She kind of liked sitting in the front row. However, there were occasions when being late really alarmed Elise, like midterms or missing a flight. Melissa’s shower was one of these occasions, and she honestly felt as if it was worse than walking in late to a wedding. She might get in trouble or be reprimanded at this shower.
Just as she sped onto the freeway, her cell phone rang. For a split second she debated answering. She didn’t recognize the number, and whenever she didn’t recognize the number, she never bothered answering. Why run the risk of facing an undesirable ex-boyfriend? Or someone who wanted a favor. However, after the second ring, she realized it might be part of Melissa’s shower committee with last-minute instructions. She picked up.
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