Can't Match This: A Friends To Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Xavier Neal

  Jaye Cox, one of the only female friends I have, intervenes with a smile. “No, no, Rainne. Those are your veggies. They’re for you to eat.”

  Rainne scrunches her light cappuccino complexion in objection.

  Ah.

  Now I see.

  She doesn’t like them either and wanted someone else to suffer as well.

  Rude.

  Rude toddler.

  Jaye strolls over to the table, caressing her swollen stomach along the way. “Two more bites of your green beans, and then we can watch Boss Baby.”

  “Boss Baby!” Rainne repeats with glee.

  “What the hell is that?” Carly Chambers, one of Jaye’s friends who is starting to become one of mine through association, quickly questions.

  Our friend takes the utensil from her daughter’s clutches, stabs one of the green beans, and offers it to her child. “Are you serious? You’ve never heard of Boss Baby?”

  “Why would I have heard of that?” Carly counters. “I don’t have kids or nieces…though Dusty has two, so there’s a good chance someday I will technically have two, too…” Her voice begins to drift away in a longing fashion, but she swiftly shakes it away. “Anyway, what is it? Like a game show or something?”

  Bewilderment bulldozes its way onto Jaye’s coffee shaded face. “You really think they make game shows for kids?”

  “Uh…yeah!” I interject with enthusiasm. “Throw it back to the ‘90s for the best examples. Guts. Legends of the Hidden Temple. Double Dare. Family Double Dare. Wild-”

  “Point proven,” Jaye declares as she feeds Rainne one more bite of vegetables.

  “Effortlessly,” Carly compliments.

  My grin grows, and I tuck both my feet into the wooden chair to rest my head on top of my bent knees.

  “Boss Baby is a show based on the movie Boss Baby. Basically, small children getting into shenanigans.”

  “Rugrats rip off,” I loudly mumble.

  “Don’t start that again,” Jaye scolds at the same time she removes Rainne from her booster seat.

  “Wasn’t that also a show from the ‘90s?”

  My smirk returns. “It was.”

  “Are you like a ‘90s Trivia expert or something?”

  “Is that a job?” I cock a curious eyebrow. “Because I would take it without any care or concern to how much it paid.”

  Which is more or less the situation I’m already in. Working at Connect was not something I ever saw myself doing, but then again, there isn’t exactly much I really see myself doing. My parents think I lack direction. My siblings think I lack drive. My best friend is convinced I lack discipline. Truthfully? I just don’t understand the point of mundaneness. Why wake up every day and not experience more of life? Why sit in an office sixty hours a week being paid hundreds of thousands of dollars you’re never gonna get to spend? Why waste your life conforming to what society tells you to rather than living an adventure?

  And I believe my adventure is incredible despite what others have to say about it.

  They’re the ones moaning and groaning about never getting a break to just watch an episode of whatever reality music competition show they’re into now, while I’m the one out here seeing famous actors do impromptu karaoke at dive bars. Gideon and I still talk about witnessing Levi Stone sing his heart out anytime his face appears on the T.V.

  We’ve had a lot of great moments over the years…

  Ah, who am I kidding?

  All our moments together are great.

  That’s just how it is when you’re spending time with the person you love most in the world.

  Jaye takes just a moment to set up Rainne on the couch with her favorite show.

  They really are an adorable little family, and Rainne takes after both her parents. While she has Jaye’s toffee eyes, brown skin, and bouncy curls, she has Archer’s thinner nose, higher cheek bones, and constantly calloused hands from playing too rough. Personality-wise she pulls traits from both of them the same way most toddlers do.

  When Jaye finally waddles back into the kitchen, she’s clearly displaying more discomfort than before.

  “Sit,” I sweetly insist seconds prior to serenading her with the opening to the chorus of “Just Kickin’ It” by Xscape.

  “Didn’t that song also come out in the ‘90s?” Carly promptly inquires.

  My wink is exaggerated.

  Jaye giggles and strokes her stomach gently. “I don’t remember being this exhausted with Rainne.”

  “You weren’t, but then again, you didn’t have a toddler to chase around in between working and being a wife.” The reminder is proceeded with me adding, “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “Ditto,” Carly chimes in.

  “Do either of you have interest in some day learning the ancient secrets of the working mom?”

  Her hinting at our thoughts on a family force my attention elsewhere.

  Oh…the F word I’m least fond of.

  It’s not that I don’t like families. Considering most of the counseling I do and have done is in regard to relationships, particularly that of marriage and family, it would be fair to say I love families. The dynamics. The blending of backgrounds. The miniature societies they often become. It’s fascinating and fun! Hell, my own oversized family, is a ball of chaos I love being around. However, the F word immediately becomes a burden when your own has recently started riding you about when you’re going to contribute to its growth and that your eggs are not indeed little humans for you to possibly hatch when you’re ready, so much as goods with expiration dates waiting to be baked. My mother nagged me on and off about getting married and giving her grandbabies the later part of my twenties. Now that I’m in my thirties? That shit feels like a pre-recorded message I am played back each week when I make the mistake of answering her calls instead of my dad’s.

  Carly doesn’t verbally answer. There’s no real need to. By the brightness of her beaming, it’s easy to guess she’s already given her fictional children names.

  Sometimes I do the same. They’re mostly English-Spanish fusions I know would get butchered by just about everyone outside of me and my future baby daddy.

  My cellphone vibrates on the table in front of me, and I reach out to check the notification.

  Seeing a text from Gideon immediately instills a smile on my face.

  OG: Strip?

  Me: In mixed company?

  I snicker to myself at the comeback knowing the frown it’s receiving.

  OG: Wanna cook for yourself?

  Me: Crab Cake.

  OG: Making requests or calling me names?

  Another small giggle escapes.

  “Must be Gideon,” Jaye slyly comments. “The only person you laugh like that for.”

  I cut her a brief glance. “Not true.”

  “Very true.”

  My fingers hastily fly across the keys to reply.

  Me: Get Ribeyes. I’ll bring beer.

  OG: Runt’s.

  Me: I am full-sized sir!

  OG: * this is where you insert an eye roll from me Lenny *

  I chuckle, toss my phone back on the table, and gnaw on the nail of my index finger.

  “Lennox, when are you gonna stop pretending you’re not in love with your best friend and just go after him?” Jaye brashly asks. “It’s not like it isn’t super obvious to anyone with eyes and ears.”

  “Well, doesn’t pregnancy make you bold,” Carly playfully taunts, wagging her chocolate colored finger in our best friend’s direction.

  “Blunt,” Jaye heavily sighs. “Too blunt for my own good sometimes. Last week, I told Archer there were other seasonings in the cabinet, and it would be okay if he used them occasionally.”

  “Damn…” My stretched-out version of the word causes her shoulders to slump more.

  “I don’t mean to come off bitchy. I really don’t. I mean I really really don’t. That’s not the kind of person I am. You all know that’s not me. The real me. The me who tried eig
ht different pies last year at the police family cookout and pretended they were all amazing so I didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. But for some reason this baby…” She gently pats her tummy. “He’s…wreaking a different kind of havoc than Rainne did.”

  “I’ll say.” My chime in receives their attention. “With Rainne you were like sunshine and slurpies, but with him you’re balled fists and burgers.”

  Jaye hums to herself. “Great. Now I want a hamburger.”

  “Want me to text Archer so you don’t have to get your phone?” Carly volunteers.

  “Please…Hopefully he’ll read the text before the sun fucking sets.” Her attention jerks back to me expecting an answer. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, when are you going to finally breakdown and confess to him you’ve been in love with him for like…fifteen years?”

  I chew harder on the side of my nail.

  It hasn’t been the whole fifteen years. That would be…insane. It’s only been more like fourteen and some change. After all, it wasn’t love at first sight. Or it could’ve been… I don’t really know. I was drunk. And dancing. And then barfing. There wasn’t really time to have a deep, meaningful connection, though offering to help me wash the vomit out of my hair was a sweet gesture. Gotta admit. I don’t know any other guys who would’ve offered to give a chick a salon style scrub in their kitchen sink at three a.m.

  “You’re in love with your best friend? That’s so cute,” Carly coos.

  “It’s not cute,” I chomp. “And it’s not true.”

  Because in order for shit to be true you have to admit it to someone other than yourself between bowls of salsa and sports highlights on ESPN.

  Jaye rolls her eyes in objection. “Very true.”

  My huff is louder than before. “If it were true then I wouldn’t be setting him up on dates!”

  “What?!” The two of them question in tandem.

  “Gideon agreed to let me set him up on a few dates. I created him the perfect profile and have been handling all of his match choices personally, which is my job anyway, but I’m giving the women I think would be a good fit for him an extra thorough check.”

  You know, weighing how obnoxious I may find them in the long run versus how easy they may be to get along with in the short one. That and, of course, finding a female who is nothing like me because he already has me. He doesn’t need another. There can’t be two of us! Only one Highlander!

  “Everything you’re saying sounds horrible,” Jaye callously states.

  “How many dates?” Carly questions.

  “Seven. Seven chances to find him love…”

  Feels like the least I can do since it’ll never be me he sees that way.

  “Or more accurately, seven chances to find him a woman he wants to go on a second date with.”

  “And what happens if you don’t in that time frame?” Carly continues to engage in the conversation.

  “I…have to take a stupid job I don’t want.” My shoulder shrug is simple. “No biggie.”

  “Because why would changing careers be a big deal?” Carly sarcastically retorts.

  “It’s less of a big deal when it’s just her going back to what she used to do and still does now, though only in a volunteer capacity.”

  Parke’s Place is a Military Vet Shelter where I counsel in my non-match making hours. Back in college at Clover Rose, I accrued my clinical training hours in a similar setting. I enjoyed working with veterans, helping them, as well as their loved ones, through the difficult transition from active solider to civilian. Nowadays, I spend my time helping couples through hardships they weren’t expecting to endure or have trouble understanding. The men and women who seek my advice are dealing with various issues, such as PTSD and how it is affecting their family, whether it’s them starting one or perhaps rocking one that’s already established. My door is open to any individual who once served our country. It’s a non-charity organization that pays me for the few hours a week I provide my time, but the money is not enough to live off of. Otherwise I would…Without question. Helping others is probably my favorite part of life’s adventure right next to watching basketball with Gideon and eating tacos at midnight. I met Archer and Jaye a few years back through a couple’s counseling session I used to host. Once I became the primary in-house counselor for the shelter, I had to abandon the group sessions but kept in touch with them. Before I knew it, we were becoming friends. And now…basically best friends.

  “Okay, let’s rewind,” Carly casually requests, hand movements mocking her words. “Do you actually have feelings for this guy?”

  My silence is my admission.

  She nods slowly. “And…do you think there’s any chance…I mean any chance he might be a tiny bit remotely interested in you?”

  “Yes!” Jaye squeaks. “A thousand times yes!”

  “Too loud, Mommy,” Rainne whines from the other room.

  I point a finger at her. “I agree with the tot.”

  Jaye shoots daggers in my direction before selling me down the river. “Lennox is the only person incapable of seeing the truth.”

  My brown eyes roll of their own accord.

  “She has this whole bullshit theory-”

  “It’s a good theory!”

  “-that she uses to keep herself from becoming vulnerable, which as a licensed psychologist who went to school for almost a decade, she should be able to recognize as her own self constricting behavior.”

  I can.

  And I do.

  And I choose to ignore it.

  Much like my doctor’s suggestion that I eat less refried beans and more of the ones my little honorary niece tried to feed me earlier.

  Carly crosses her legs and folds her hands on top of her knee. “Tell me this theory.”

  “It’s simple.” Sitting completely up, I nonchalantly explain, “I’m the bro’, not the ho’.”

  An unimpressed expression crosses Carly’s face.

  “Basically, I’m not that chick. I’m the one you guzzle beer with while shouting at football games, not sip martinis with at the Mayor’s Ball. I’m the one you burp the alphabet against, not the one you rush to the bathroom just to fart for. I’m the one you call when you’ve got this weird bump on your balls and your Google search makes you feel like what you thought was an ingrown hair is now a new form of cancer.”

  “That’s…oddly specific,” Jaye mutters.

  “Mick flips out at basically any body abnormality and considering the fact his wife looks like she was edited in PicMonkey, he has a tendency to call me.”

  “And who is Mick?” Carly asks.

  “My other best guy friend. Him and Gideon were roommates all throughout college and a couple years after it too. They actually started a sport’s agency together. A+ Athletes. Currently ranked the best agency in the state and like fourth best in the entire country, though if you’re talking to either of them, they’ll swear they’re third.”

  Carly nods her understanding.

  Mick and Gideon are physically opposite, yet mentally compatible. Mick is blonde, blue-eyed, and shaped like he’s promoting a diet pill for men, while Gideon is brunette, brown-eyed, and built like the professional fullback he was at one point hellbent on becoming. What they differ for in form, they over compensate in brotherhood. They’re practically into the same types of women, same types of expensive food, and same types of sports. It’s one of those things that make them great business partners.

  “Anyway, you get the picture. I’m not that woman. I’m not the one you spend weeks ring shopping for or plan some ludicrous proposal that most likely involves sky writing. I’m not someone you call your fiancée and take home to meet tu madre, though I would have no problem taking whiskey or bourbon shots with tu padre.”

  More confusion appears in Carly’s eyes. “Wait, you speak Spanish?”

  “Mmm…Occasionally. I have a tendency to mix and match my languages when I’m really tired, flustered, o
r excited.”

  “Talking about and to Gideon has a tendency to make her all of those things.”

  I send a sneer Jaye’s direction.

  My little unborn nephew is turning her into Sabrina The Teenage Witch’s long lost, wicked aunt.

  “The point I’m trying to make is, I’m the best friend not the booty.”