Just Watch the Fireworks

by Monica Alexander

  It wasn’t until my mom said, “Well, what should we order?” that I realized we were doing it again. We were flirting.

  I wasn’t sure how we’d started, and I wasn’t quite sure how to prevent it from happening. It was like we just gravitated toward it whenever we talked. I knew it was dangerous, but I couldn’t help it. It was fun.

  Halfway through lunch, with Beckett and my mother laughing and talking non-stop, I had a bite of chicken salad almost to my mouth when, of all people, Ryan’s mother walked up to our table. So in shock that she was standing in front of me, my fork dropped from my hand and clattered noisily against my plate, chicken salad splattering on the table. Lydia Carson was standing right next to me, wearing a summer weight Chanel suit and a slight scowl on her face, waiting for me to say something in response to her arrival.

  “Lydia,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “It’s lovely to see you. How are you?”

  I embraced her in an awkward hug which she returned stiffly. It was then that I realized my mother and Ryan’s mother had never met. Well, no time like the present.

  “I’m fine, dear,” she said, stiltedly. “You?”

  I watched her eyes shift to my t-shirt and wished I’d left my hair down to cover some of the picture. She would certainly be turned off by the male butt covered in jeans that was displayed prominently on the front of my chest. Her eyes came back to mine, then moved to Beckett and my mother who had stopped talking and were looking at us appraisingly.

  “Good, thank you,” I said. “Lydia, this is my mother, Janet, and my friend, Beckett.”

  My mother stood up to shake Lydia’s hand. Lydia looked at Beckett in confusion but barely acknowledged him. My mother made a great effort to talk to the woman, but I could tell Lydia disapproved of her jovial nature. After a few strained exchanges, Lydia made an excuse and was gone. At that moment, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

  “Well she’s a ball of fun,” Beckett said, digging back into his clam chowder.

  “She hates me,” I said, slumping miserably in my chair.

  My mom reached over and rubbed my back. “It’s okay, honey. She hated me too.”

  “Why do you talk all weird around her?” Beckett asked then, as he stuffed half a roll into his mouth.

  “What?” I asked, taking a drink of my iced tea. “What do you mean I talk weird?”

  “You’re all formal, and you say things like ‘lovely to see you’ and ‘I hope you enjoy your day in the city’. You sounded a little douchey,” he said.

  I kicked him harder under the table.

  “Ow!” he yelped.

  I gave him a pointed look. “Because she is Ryan’s mother, and she is super-proper and already thinks he’s slumming with me. The fact that I look like I just rolled out of bed couldn’t have helped my cause. I’ve tried so hard to get her to like me, but she just doesn’t.”

  I sat back in my chair and folded my arms in front of me, pouting slightly as Beckett sang the lyrics to a ‘Friends in Low Places’. He added a twang to his voice for effect.

  “Are you singing Garth Brooks?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yes,” he said, but I could see the smirk on his face. “It was all I could think of in the moment, but hey, you have to admit, it fits.”

  “Shit, that does fit,” I said, my head falling into my hands. “Great, I’m going to be white trash at my own wedding.” The thought was unsettling on so many levels.

  “Courtney, stop it,” my mom chastised. “We are not white trash. We’re from Cohasset. We just don’t have sticks up our asses.”

  Beckett did a spit-take with his iced tea, not able to hold it in. “That’s why I love you, Janet,” he said when he’d recovered, and wiped the tea off his lips. “You always keep it real.”

  “Thank you, Beckett,” she said.

  I sighed. “I bet she calls Ryan up as soon as she gets outside and tells him I was having lunch with another guy. This is just great.”

  My mom kept rubbing my back.

  “Oh,” Beckett said, suddenly realizing the severity of running into Lydia. “Well, look on the bright side. At least she doesn’t know you spent the night at my place last night.”

  My mom’s hand suddenly stopped moving. “Excuse me?” she said, but I could hear the delight hidden in her voice.

  “Nothing happened,” I groaned. “We’re just friends!”

  My mom’s skeptical look showed me that she only half-believed me.

  ***

  Later that night Ryan finally called, and I went over to his condo so we could talk.

  “Did you get to think things through,” I asked, as I sat down on his bed wondering if it was the last time I would do so. I scooted back against the headboard, leaning against it for support and surveying the room. He had suitcases and boxes packed all over his apartment. The finality of him leaving was evident. He sat down next to me.

  “Yes,” he said.

  I sighed. “And?” My heart was pounding. I was nervous. If he was ending things, I needed to know. The suspense was killing me.

  “And I need to know how you feel. Do you want to be with me?”

  “Yes, of course I do,” I said, wondering if that would still be an option. I held my breath waiting for him to respond.

  He was silent again. It was torture. He looked incredibly sad. It seemed a break-up was eminent.

  “What did you do today?” he asked, changing the subject. His tone was cold. He knew about the lunch.

  “Lunch with my mom and Beckett,” I said truthfully. “I know you already know. I saw your mom there, and no, nothing is going on, and before you ask, I was going to tell you. I didn’t plan on going to lunch with him, but he was there when I was leaving, and he sort of invited himself.”

  I hadn’t realized my error until his question fired back at me. “What was he doing there?” he asked, “and where exactly where you when you were leaving for lunch?”

  “Uh,” I said, not knowing what to say. If I said my place, that would look bad, but if I said his place, that would look worse. “Elle. He was at Elle buy a birthday gift for his sister. He loves my mom, so he just sort of tagged along.”

  I just lied. I just lied. I just lied. The sentence resonated in my head, scolding me.

  “I would have liked to go to lunch with you and your mom,” Ryan said quietly.

  “Well, you weren’t speaking to me, so I didn’t think of inviting you,” I snapped back.

  “I guess I deserve that,” he said, and he sighed, long and loud.

  “Just say it, Ryan,” I said, tired of this same fight we kept having.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow, and that sucks, because I don’t know what to do. I want to trust you, but I don’t trust that ex of yours. I’m not going to ask you to not see him, but I just need you to tell me now if something’s going to happen with him. You owe it to me. Doing long distance is not worth it if you’re not waiting for me here when I get back.”

  I felt tears start to prick my eyes. It was a minute before they started to spill over. I was crying because I felt guilty about lying to him and for the things I’d been feeling for Beckett, but mostly because as much as I was planning on nothing happening, I couldn’t guarantee it. Everything was so muddled, and I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Ryan took my tears as something much different, and he put his arm around me and pulled me to him.

  “Shh,” he said. “Please don’t cry.”

  “This is so hard, Ryan.”

  “I know it is,” he said. “Listen, the bottom line is that I love you. I want to be with you more than anything, and I’m willing to accept that Beckett is a part of your life regardless of how much I distrust him. So I’ll go to San Francisco, and you’ll stay here, and I’ll be back in three weeks for the Fourth of July weekend.”

  “You’re not breaking up with me?” I asked, wanting to be completely sure and at the same time realizing how incredibly insecure I sounded.

  “No,” Rya
n said, sweetly as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “I don’t want to break up.”

  “Okay,” I sniffled, hoping that I wouldn’t do anything that would cause him to change his mind.

  “Please tell me you weren’t wearing a butt on your shirt today when my mom saw you,” Ryan said then, and I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears.

  Sixteen

  “Did you see the comment on your last blog post?” Kate asked over lunch the following Wednesday.

  I shook my head and took a bite of my fried chicken salad. “No, what did it say?”

  She leaned back in her chair and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It was weird. It was that piece you wrote on Monday about brides and grooms introducing their parents for the first time.”

  I nodded. My impromptu introduction of my mom to Ryan’s mom had inspired me to write something on the subject so other future brides weren’t subject to the same humiliation that I’d experienced. I realized I should have planned a meet the parents much earlier to avoid something like that from happening.

  “So the person said something like, ‘It’s probably best not to invite your ex-boyfriend to your meet-the-parents lunch’.”

  “That is weird,” I said, reaching for my water bottle. I took a long sip to hide my expression.

  Kate eyed me suspiciously.

  “What? That’s good advice,” I said, all innocence in my tone.

  She raised her eyebrow at me. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Am I that easy to read?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “Now spill.”

  I sighed audibly before regaling her of my adventures in couch-crashing and lunch with my mother and Beckett, trying to make the situation as light as possible.

  Kate just shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do,” I said, lying to her and myself.

  It had been three days since Ryan had left and I’d talked to Beckett every night. We had plans hang out that night. I honestly wasn’t sure what I was doing, but for the time being, we were just friends, and I was committed to keeping it that way.

  “Who do you think posted the comment?” Kate asked then.

  I shrugged. “What was the person’s name?”

  She shook her head. “It was something made up. I can’t remember, but it wasn’t a name. I just think it’s strange that it was posted right after you go to lunch with your ex and have a meet-the-parents situation.”

  I took a bite of fried chicken dipped in ranch dressing. “Don’t over think it, Kate,” I said through my mouthful of food.

  I could tell she was worried about negative comments on my blog being tied back to her business, but I honestly didn’t think it was a big deal. It was just a coincidence. Some bride had probably brought her ex to a lunch and was giving out advice to others. At least I wasn’t alone in my idiocy.

  It took Kate a few minutes, but she finally shrugged off her concern. “Okay,” she said, her face brightening, “let’s talk about Fourth of July. Summer said you guys are having a party at your place. I’m excited.”

  Summer and I had decided the night before to host a Fourth of July party. Word was slowly starting to spread, and the list of invitees had grown considerably in the past twelve hours. I had plans to tell Ryan that night since he would be home that weekend. I hoped he’d be okay with coming to a party. He’d probably just want to lay low that weekend, so I was a little nervous about telling him we’d be partying it up with my friends.

  Since he’d left our conversations had been a little stilted. I tried to tell myself it was just because he was working so hard, but I couldn’t help think that he was still harboring negative feelings about our argument and my friendship with Beckett.

  “Yea!” I said, pumping my arm in the air and echoing Kate’s abnormal enthusiasm. “Party!”

  She shot me a look. “Stop it. I’m hunting men again, so please have plenty there for my perusing.”

  This was the first I was hearing this news. “No more Brett?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No more Brett. He got boring. His lawyer stories were all the same. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Aww, sweetie,” I said, taking her hand across the table. “I’m sorry. I was pulling for you guys.”

  She shrugged. “Better alone than bored.”

  I couldn’t agree with her more which was why I’d been gravitating toward Beckett so much. He was fun, and I felt like I needed that in my life.

  ***

  “I’m coming over to cook you dinner,” Beckett said when I answered the phone a six o’clock that night.

  I’d just spoken to him an hour earlier when I’d stopped by Elle on my way home. He’d called me to see what we were doing that night when I walked in to see if Summer wanted to head home with me. If the store was slow, she could leave Genevieve or one of the other girls alone to close up. When I walked in she was giving Kelsey, a pretty girl with curly brown hair that she’d just hired, reminders on what to do at closing. I smiled and waved at Kelsey. I’d met her the week before when she’d started. She was sweet girl who was a senior at BU. I liked her much more than Genevieve.

  I’d just started to look at some new cardigans that Summer had been telling me about when Beckett called.

  “Hey dude,” I said. “What’s shakin’?”

  He laughed. “You seem like you’re in a good mood.”

  “I am,” I said, as I picked up a turquoise sheer cardigan and wondered if the color would wash me out or not. “I got two phone calls today from vendors in the city who want to buy advertising space on my blog. It was pretty exciting. I also added in a bunch of new Boston area venues, florists, photographers and caterers, so I spent most of the afternoon on the phone with the web design company working with them on how we could fit in all the new things I wanted to add now that my site has expanded to include the whole state. It was a good day.”

  “Nice,” he said, and I could hear him turning on the water in his kitchen. “I read your last post. It was good.”

  I laughed. “I can’t believe you read my blog. You do know it’s information for future brides, right?”

  He shut the water off. “Hey now, I’m going to get married one day, and I find it fascinating that there are so many new options in invitations. I figure it’s never too early to do some research.”

  I was laughing out loud at that point. “You’re ridiculous.”

  He laughed with me. “No, seriously. You know I just read it because you write it, don’t you. I figure as your friend, I should be supportive.”

  I was impressed that Beckett read my blog each time I posted something new. I was pretty sure Ryan had never read it, but I reasoned he was so busy with work that he didn’t have time for extra-curricular reading. It didn’t really bother me, but I did wish sometimes he would at least take a glance at it. Maybe when I wrote my actual book he would read that.

  I’d done some brainstorming with Beckett after we had lunch with my mom on Sunday and had spent Monday night tossing around ideas. He’d been pushing me to start writing, so I’d enlisted him to help me think of what to write about. I’d started working on my outline the next night. I was excited for my progress. It was at least a start. Beckett said he would read my book along the way and give me feedback.

  “I appreciate your readership,” I said. “Hey, you didn’t happen to post a comment on the entry I added on Monday did you?”

  “No,” he said, and I heard him crunching on something. “Why?”

  “Never mind. Are you eating?”

  “Yes,” he said around a mouthful of whatever he was munching on. “Chips. Want some?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” I said, as Summer walked over to me. She was ready to leave.

  “Good, because I’d end up finishing the bag before you got here anyway,” Beckett said.

  I heard him stuff another chip in his mouth and wondered if acted this way around Julie. I was pretty sure he didn’
t. He was most likely on his best behavior as he was trying to impress her. Since I knew him so well, he had no problem crunching chips in my ear. Lucky me.

  “Beck, let me call you back,” I said. “Summer and I are heading home, and I’ll lose you once we get into the T station.

  “Okay, call me later, and we can figure out what we’re doing tonight. I’m thinking a movie, but I’m open to suggestions.”

  “As long as we can get food first,” I said, as Summer and I walked over to the Boylston Street T station. “I’m starving. Your chip crunching is making me hungrier.”

  “You know I can always eat,” he said.

  “I know. Bye.”

  “Bye,” he said.

  I smiled as I put my phone back in my pocket. Talking to him always made me smile. It was so effortless to be his friend.

  “Dinner and a movie with Beckett?” Summer asked, and I could hear the mocking tone in her voice.

  “It’s not like that, Sum, and you know it.”

  “I know. I just like giving you a hard time.”

  An hour later I was looking at the movies that were out trying to decide if I wanted to spend twelve dollars to see one, or if we should watch something one of us owned, when Beckett called and said he was coming over to cook.

  “You’re cooking me dinner?” I asked, just to be sure I heard him right.

  “You said you were starving. I’m taking pity on you. I went to the store and got stuff to make spaghetti. Are you interested?”

  I held the phone to my ear as I filled Gryffin’s water dish. He jumped up and down at my feet impatiently. We’d just gotten back from a walk, and you’d think he’d been out in the desert.

  “Is there enough for Summer and Patrick because at the mention of food they’ve thrown down the Thai menus they were looking at and are now looking at me with pitiful expressions on their faces. They look hungry.”

  Beckett laughed. “Yes, there’s enough to feed our mooching friends but only if Patrick helps me cook.”

  I set Gryffin’s water on the floor which he immediately started lapping up, splashing water all around. I’d have to wipe it up later. I picked up his food dish to fill it with his kibble.