by Wild, Nikki
From one perspective, that was scary.
From another… it was empowering.
Either way, I couldn’t just watch her sleep all day, no matter how much I really wanted to. Reluctantly, I nudged her awake.
“C’mon, sleepyhead. Time to get up.”
Clara looked up at me groggily, stifling a yawn. As she slowly came to, alertness gripped her.
“Wait – Dalton? Where am I?”
“My bed,” I replied with amusement.
“What? I fell asleep here? What time is it?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, growing slightly annoyed now. “My phone’s on the charger. Why, is something wrong?”
Clara rolled onto her back and fished her phone out of her pocket. Flicking it on, the time blared brightly into the room, temporarily distorting my vision.
“Hey, could you give me a little warning next time, love?” I asked with aggravation, shielding my eyes with a hand.
“Oh fuck, I was supposed to pick my work shifts last night!” She grumbled loudly. “Great. I completely fucking forgot about that, and now all the good ones are taken… I can’t believe this happened…”
“Clara, look, it’s not a big deal,” I muttered. “Just pick them later. You want to grab a bite to eat or something?”
She jumped up from my bed, grabbing her keys and wallet up off the floor. “I’ve gotta get going,” my guest unceremoniously muttered as an afterthought.
Before I could respond, she was darting out the door and down the hallway.
Well, that’s fucking great, I growled inwardly.
I wasn’t going to let her bullshit cloud up my day, so I climbed up and locked the front door, noticing that her car wasn’t out front. Wow, she left in a REAL hurry there, I bitterly thought to myself. Traipsing back towards my room, I swiftly made my bed before turning on the faucet and stepping into the piping-hot shower.
What the fuck was THAT all about?
I wasn’t a fan of taking long showers. By the time I’d rinsed the traces of oil and grease out of my hair, scrubbed my entire body down, and begun toweling off, I was still plenty furious with her. The wound was fresh, but it was also irritating that I’d let her damage my typically bulletproof ego.
There was no getting around it: Clara’s sudden departure had rattled my cage more than I’d anticipated. But when I threw on some jeans and a casual tee and lifted my phone up off the charger, I noticed a text from her.
> Sorry to leave so quickly. Work stuff. Had a good time with you.
“Work stuff,” I murmured to myself angrily. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. I still think that could have probably waited…”
I tossed the phone onto my couch and started picking up after Pete. While I was questioning why I let him stay with me for free, I scooped up the forgotten bag of potato crisps, the half-empty can of Rockstar, and the dishes he’d left on my coffee table.
At least his mess is always centralized, I thought to myself. If he’d been one of those people to make a disaster zone of the entire house, I’d have him out on his ass faster than you can say Semper Fi.
Focusing on his bullshit took my mind off of Clara, and when I finally wiped my hands clean and started wondering about her again, I realized that my subconscious had done that little trick with problem solving.
You know how, when you’ve got a problem, and you distract yourself with something else for a little while, when you come back to the problem it’s sort of worked itself out?
Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.
My gut reaction had been to just ignore her for a few days, intentionally this time. Put her on the defensive. She knew she’d fucked up, given the apologetic text she’d sent.
But I reminded myself: time isn’t on your side.
That’s why I sauntered back over to my phone, snatching it up off the couch as I flicked the living room set on. I queued up some mindless drivel from my personal list of saved shows for some background noise as I contemplated how to word my response:
> Not gonna lie, it kinda pissed me off.
It was a bit of a gamble, but I remembered how she felt about learning that my grandfather was on the way out. A few minutes later, her response came through:
> I know. I’m really sorry. I think I just freaked out over waking up with you. Is there any way that I can make it up to you?
I smiled to myself slyly, although the longer I thought about her message, the less confident I grew in my intended response.
Throwing caution to the wind, I typed:
> I want you to meet me again tonight. But you’re going to have to be okay with us. There’s no telling how soon our parents will take things to the next level, and I want one solid night with you. I want both of us to ignore them, ignore the future, and just share one awesome night together.
I hesitantly hit send, and let the phone clatter to the couch. That was one hell of a dice roll that I was taking on her, and I knew that, in all likelihood, I was just shoving away my only chance at something with her before she got the news…
When she didn’t respond, I dedicated my time to some history homework. Being in school was useful as a distraction, and a little more engaging than sitting in front of the screen and slowly losing muscle mass.
It was after I knocked out my assignment that I noticed that she’d responded. Although my phone had been off of vibrate, I must have missed the ring of the notification.
> Okay.
Relief flooded my veins.
Okay? I thought to myself, letting a triumphant grin crawl across my face. Oh, I can DEFINITELY work with ‘Okay.’
With victory growling out from my throat, I thrust a punch into the air. The hard part was over… and now I just had to set the mood for the evening.
You only get one shot at this, I told myself. Hell, Father or Sarah might ring her up and break the news beforehand, anyway…
I brushed the thought aside.
Well, if that happens… then it happens, I shrugged. There was no point in focusing on that right now, not with this opportunity bared out before me.
I didn’t want to come off too strongly, so I paused for a little while and collected my thoughts. I took stock of the house and realized bitterly: This place is a fucking pigsty.
Luckily, Clara hadn’t spent much time out of my bedroom while we’d been together, and she’d darted straight out when she’d left.
I’m going to have to have a word with that guest of mine, I thought to myself with vexation. After I’d made up my mind about my afternoon, I whipped my phone back out and fired off a reply.
> Cool. See you tonight. 7ish?
A few minutes later, she replied:
> Sure thing. I’ll text you later so that we can figure out the details. See you then.
With that groundwork laid, I focused my attention back on cleaning up the mess that had become my rental house. He’d only been around a collective several days out of the last month, but he’d been surprisingly present the last couple in a row.
I got to work, putting my military cleaning regiments to good use. Arming myself with bleach, disinfectant, rubber gloves, and some solid washrags, I gave my house the entire drill from top to bottom: sweeping, dusting, mopping, vacuuming, scrubbing, polishing, soaking, buffing…
It ate up a couple of hours, but the place had never been any cleaner. Although I was a little lax for someone who had once scrubbed floors with toothbrushes, I still expected – nay, demanded – clean surfaces and minimal dust. Still, it was funny to me that it took the combination of a grimy guest and a cute girl to properly kick my ass into gear on the home cleanliness front.
After a brief break in front of the television with a well-earned cup of tea, I noticed my phone ringing to the side.
It was Clara.
I wasn’t really feeling a phone call, so I let it ring to voicemail. Whatever it was, she could either leave a message, or just text me.
When it rang again, I filled with dread. Somet
hing’s wrong, I thought to myself as I hesitantly answered the phone.
“Clara?”
“Dalton, we, uh, need to talk…”
I didn’t like the fearful tone of her voice.
“Oh yeah? Is something the matter?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. By the time she responded, I already knew what she was going to say.
“So… apparently, our parents are engaged.”
No, I thunderously growled internally. No. I was SO FUCKING CLOSE. Don’t you DARE rip this away from me, right at the cusp of victory…
“Is that so,” I replied as impartially as I could.
“Yeah,” Clara answered. “Mom just called me a little while ago and excitedly told me the news. She said that she was going to wait until tomorrow to tell me, but she was too thrilled to sit on it.”
If only you’d kept your fucking mouth shut one more day, I bitterly thought about my future stepmother.
“Well… that’s not exactly great.”
“No, not really,” Carla commiserated. “You want to know the really fucked up thing, though?”
“What’s that?”
“Apparently, they’re on some sort of crazy deadline. Because of your grandfather, they want to do this thing fast.”
“…How fast are we talking?”
“Uh, Tuesday?”
If there was ever a time that I could physically feel my spirits fall, it was that moment. The weight of my soul came crashing down upon the jagged rocks of fate, writhing in startled pain until there was nothing but hallow emptiness left.
“Tuesday. This Tuesday? But it’s Saturday,” I grumbled furiously down the phone. “What the hell are they thinking? Why are they rushing this?”
“From what it sounds like, your grandparents being present is sort of really important to your Dad,” Clara elaborated sadly. “It’s a done deal. Plane tickets have already been bought. She says she picked that day because we’re both out of school, and apologized if that screws with any plans either of us had…”
Oh, it definitely screws with my plans. But it wasn’t TUESDAY that I was particularly worried about…
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Alright. So, we’re going to be in some slapped together little wedding on Tuesday, then,” I grumbled to myself. “This isn’t fucking fair. Why? Why couldn’t they have let us have this one fucking night together?”
Clara remained quiet on the line.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, relinquishing my pride. “It’s just… tonight was important to me… really important. Now it’s gone.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” she replied hesitantly. “You see, Mom got off the phone about fifteen minutes ago, and that’s all that’s been on my mind since… I kind of came to a decision that’s better for the two of us.”
Great, I morosely thought to myself.
“We should do it.”
Wait.
What?
“You… did I hear that correctly?” I asked, hanging on her every syllable now.
“Yeah. I thought it over, and I asked Nat for a second opinion. She’s with me on this. It’s fucked up that we can’t do anything about our attraction with our parents going way ahead of schedule… and you’re right. It’s not fucking fair at all.
“So I decided that I’m okay with it. I want to see you. Let’s make it a night to remember. We don’t have much time, so going slow isn’t really a factor anymore… I can’t and won’t promise you anything, but I still want to spend the night with you.”
Like a phoenix from the ashes, my inner Dalton furiously burst up from the unforgiving, jagged rocks. My spirits rose up high, swelling with rejuvenation, power, and unstoppable tenacity.
YES, I thought to myself.
JUST. FUCKING. YES.
I struggled to keep my voice even, as if the night hung tenuously in the balance. “If you’re okay with it, then I’m okay with it.”
“I’m okay with it,” Clara promised.
“Alright then,” I replied, attempting to shove every ounce of excitement back down into my core. “I’m really happy to hear that. Since we didn’t eat together this morning, do you want to maybe start with dinner?”
“Dinner actually sounds kind of nice,” Clara responded. “I’m still kind of full from a sandwich a little bit ago. When did you want to meet?”
I pulled my phone down and glanced at the time. It was mid-afternoon… plenty of time to make some arrangements.
“How about seven o’clock?”
She thought on it. “That could work.”
“Awesome. What do you want to eat?”
“Something delicious.”
“Heh. Well, there’s that new seafood place in town… the one over on Haverty Avenue. I hear that they actually do a surprisingly good fish and chips, although it’s kind of hard to fuck that up…”
“Seafood at seven. Sounds like a plan.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you then.”
As I hung up the phone, I felt completely invigorated. Not only was the night still on, but Clara was understanding of the possible consequences… and I no longer had to try and hide our parents’ engagement from her.
Although, I hadn’t expected them to already schedule the wedding… and my grandparents were going to be flying in shortly.
My grandparents, I thought with trepidation.
The thought of encountering them again put a terrible taste in my mouth. I didn’t fear them, either of them… but they held the keys to my destiny in their back pocket.
A night with Clara…
Our parents’ wedding in two days…
It was a lot of new information to process. Things were escalating quickly, and they were forcing my hand when it came to the girl that I wanted. With anyone else, I would have been fine with moving things along at this brisk pace… but I was afraid of pushing her too hard and shoving her away forever. The stakes were higher than I liked – a lot higher.
My fists clenched at my side.
I’d have to play this one close to the chest.
Chapter 10
The restaurant Dalton had mentioned was this new place called La Villa Peche. It was a smaller spot, fitting for a college city like ours, but I’d heard that it served exquisite food priced higher than the hipsters and students could reasonably afford.
Although we didn’t discuss it, I still classed myself up for the occasion. With Natalie’s help, I chose a slimming black ensemble, even doing my hair and makeup for over an hour.
“You look marrrrvelous,” she cooed in that silly regal accent again.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you glam up,” Jared mentioned when I stepped out into the open den. “You look, like, really good.”
The surprised look on his ordinarily dull face told me he was being sincere. As if I needed any secondary gratification, Natalie quickly tugged at the back of his hair.
“Now, now, remember that I’m literally right here,” she chuckled in faux jealousy. “But yeah, my girl cleans up well.” She looked up at me with a smirk. “She should do it way more often. You know you can make yourself freaking amazing without going to dinner with some older British army dude.”
“I never really have a reason to,” I shrugged. “It’s time consuming. The only time I ever really put makeup on is for work and, well, I know I’m just going to sweat half of that, so I barely bother.”
Natalie jokingly rolled her eyes. “Hopeless. Hopeless, girl.” She turned to her boyfriend, her hand on her hip. “Do you see what I’ve gotta put up with here?”
Jared was blatantly checking me out again, and she sighed dramatically. “Alright, buddy. No blowjobs tonight.”
“Wait, what?” His eyes finally snapped back off of me. “I was just admiring her! Platonically! You can’t do that! Can you?”
My best friend and I shared a knowing look.
“Keep that attitude up, and this,” she motioned up and down her curves, “i
s all going on lockdown. We are talking ‘joining a nunnery’ levels of sexual deprivation. I’ll see to it that my downstairs is drier than a cinderblock if you keep digging this hole of yours. A desert will be wetter than I am tonight…”