The Run Around

by Bernadette Franklin

  “Traditionally, we call that an overshare.”

  “It’s relevant information for the wedding planner. You’ll find a lot of men in my family have similar thoughts, so you may have to address condom provisions, medical testing, and so on as part of your work.”

  “Okay. That’s fair. That’s also insane. I should have demanded Mat have Amy tested before agreeing to marry or sleep with her. That would’ve been smart.”

  “Traditional doesn’t mean sane. I’m going to have to pay you bonuses to deal with the insanity, honestly. You’ll be grateful we do unexpected marriages. It saves us from having to plan that many extra ceremonies.”

  I blinked, spent a minute thinking that through, and nodded at the wisdom of merging weddings. “That’s actually pretty brilliant. The odds of this happening?”

  “I’m hoping high.”

  Ah. It clicked. Rick wanted his marriage to be the unexpected marriage added to the list, and he wanted me to plan the perfect wedding for him, one which involved his mystery lady, who had no idea he was after forever.

  It was crazy, it was oddly romantic, and any woman with half a grain of sense in her head wanted to be her—or at least loved by someone willing to take a crazy gamble on forever.

  My brother had no idea how lucky he was to have someone like Rick as a friend. Despite myself, I laughed. “If she gives you the run around for this stunt, you only have yourself to blame.”

  “As long as she says yes, it’ll be worth it.”

  Four

  I have a milkshake in my hand, so I’m surviving.

  Rick bought me a milkshake as promised, took me out to replace my phone, drove me to my apartment, and returned to Japan where he belonged. The phone would bother me for a long time; he’d insisted on paying for the entire bill himself, and he had tricked me into showing him my dream phone, something I never would have bought for myself but had lusted after with every fiber of my being.

  The pictures it took rivaled dedicated cameras costing thousands of dollars, and I loved taking pictures. It would give me an excuse to do all the little things I’d missed out on because I’d never liked how the images turned out on my cheap phones. My first trip, as soon as I had a moment to breathe, would be to go back to the botanical gardens and explore at my whim rather than Amy’s.

  He’d even gotten me a phone with a lot of space so I could take as many pictures as I wanted.

  After my brother returned from his honeymoon, I needed to tell him he should’ve married Rick instead of Amy. Gay men rocked, and I’d always have room for more gay men in my life.

  Alas, Rick had been clear that a woman held his attention, and she was likely an old family friend. I didn’t understand why he wanted me to handle something so precious. I recognized I’d worked a miracle with my brother’s wedding, as he made it through the day hitched to a chronic thoroughbride.

  In some ways, I regretted my hard work. Would they stay married? I had no idea. No matter how much I worried for Mat, he was a big boy, and he could handle his relationship woes with Amy on his own.

  My replacement phone rang, and it annoyed me I had squandered the chance to change my number. I might. Later. Depending on who called me and why. I’d also make a date with my service provider to add Caller ID. “Hope speaking.”

  “Hey. How are you feeling?” my brother asked.

  “I’ve had better days, but I have a milkshake in my hand, so I’m surviving. Aren’t you supposed to be honeymooning rather than calling me?”

  “I am honeymooning. Amy’s taking a nap, as she’s not feeling well.”

  “I’ve heard there’s a good reason for that.” My brother might forgive me later for taking the wind out of his sails—or spoiling the surprise. I’d wait for a hundred or so years, though.

  “She told you about the broken condom?”

  Damn. What the hell had Amy been saying about me for my brother to take that tone with me? I went from headachy to bitchy in half a second flat. I also owed Caterina if I ever saw her again. I resisted the urge to clack my teeth and tear into my brother for being rude. “Call it bridesmaid intuition. Morning sickness?”

  “Probably. We’re fairly sure she’s pregnant at this point.”

  I wondered if Mat knew about the existence of pregnancy tests and how they were used. I’d ask that question later. Maybe. Or not. In fact, I’d let my brother solve his own damned problems for a change. He wouldn’t consider a baby a problem. He’d be throwing a party until the baby was born. “Congratulations, Mat.”

  “It’s not really how we intended to become parents, but I think it’ll work out.”

  In Mat language, he contained his excitement by a thread, and when that thread snapped, he would go on a joy-induced rampage. For his sake, and the sake of his baby, I hoped they made everything work. “I’m a bad sister.”

  “Why would you say that? You did an amazing job on the wedding. Everything went flawlessly, even when you couldn’t make it to the reception.”

  As I wasn’t about to confess I’d been thinking terrible thoughts about him, I went with the less hurtful of my general bad sister issues. “I seriously think you should’ve married Rick instead of Amy yesterday.”

  “Fredrick? That Rick?”

  “There was only one Fredrick on the guest list, so yes, that Rick.”

  “Like him, do you?”

  Under no circumstances would I give my brother ammunition against me. “Me? I don’t like anyone. I’m a bitchy accountant with a sarcasm problem and surrounded by gay friends.”

  Mat laughed. “Clarice isn’t gay.”

  “She’s married. Close enough.”

  “That’s not how marriage works, Hope.”

  “Gay and married both equal unavailable.”

  “While accurate, I know full well you’re not in the closet and have an unfortunately healthy interest in men.”

  Damn. My brother was on a roll. “Are you going to make me plan a baby shower next?”

  “No. Amy can plan her own shower.” Something about my brother’s tone of voice warned me not everything post wedding was sunshine and roses.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did you fight with Amy by any chance?”

  Ah. There it was. The moment I’d dreaded. I gave it five minutes before I fully ruined my relationship with my brother and ensured his wife would never speak to me ever again. One of those problems bothered me a lot more than the other. “I wouldn’t call it a fight. I would say I issued some ultimatums on what would happen if she attempted to leave my brother at the altar. She was not happy.”

  “She claims she’s upset you had a ball and chain prepared.”

  “Oh. That reminds me. Rick wants the ball and chain. I’m going to drop it off at your apartment later, assuming I can roll the damned thing up the steps.” After all the working out I’d done to fit into the damned dress, I could carry the damned ball and chain over my head if I really wanted.

  “It’s real?”

  “All eighty pounds of it. It’s painted white. I had it custom made to hide under her dress if she really tried a stunt. As you can tell, I didn’t need the ball and chain, so it was worth every penny I spent on it out of my own pocket.”

  Mat groaned. “Did you have to?”

  “Yes, I did. It got her to the altar.”

  “She’s not that bad.”

  Like hell she wasn’t. “I caught her trying to climb out the window right before the vows. Yes, I did block her from leaving, yes, I did threaten to use the ball and chain on her to make sure she got to the altar, and no, I refuse to be sorry I did that because you love her.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.” Mat hung up.

  No, we wouldn’t. I was done with being stepped on. The first thing I would do was take my headache-ridden ass to the cell store, get a new phone and number, and start doing what I should have done years ago: find a better job somewhere else. With my resumé, my certifications in several states, and
my experience despite my age, I could land interviews with good companies anywhere in the United States within a week. If my luck held, I could be on the move before my idiot brother and his pest of a wife returned from their honeymoon.

  He wanted a fresh start with Amy. I’d give it to him, and he’d just have to deal with me not being in the picture.

  And, because I could be the queen bitch over all other bitches, I’d leave him a meticulous record of everything he’d spent, how much his new wife had lost him, and how much I’d personally paid to make sure he could be happily married.

  He could deal with his wife, his financial investment woes, and the rest of his issues on his own.

  I’d leave the paperwork under the ball and chain in a corner along with a note to ship it to Rick at his leisure. The fallout would be spectacular, but I wouldn’t be around to witness it.

  I had a life to live, and damn it, I meant to enjoy it for a change rather than living to make everyone else happy.

  I needed to either curb my impulsive tendencies when angry or take the time to fully evaluate the consequences of changing jobs and moving without warning. A smart woman would’ve slept on it. A smart woman with a concussion would’ve waited for the concussion to heal.

  Instead, I got a cheap new phone as planned, gave the fancy one a new number, and began taking the first steps towards reclaiming my life.

  I returned to my apartment, spent a few hours finishing the accounting work on my brother’s wedding, made copies in triplicate, and prepared to move forward with my plan to find better waters. Mat’s dismissal, after so many grueling hours of dealing with his bridezilla, became the straw that pissed the camel off. My back wouldn’t break. No, thanks to Amy’s bitchiness and her insistence her bridesmaids wear the same size dress, I’d lost the inches but gained the muscles. Hell, by the time I finished with my day, my back would probably be the only thing in good shape.

  After I checked that my numbers made sense and added up as expected, I gathered a copy for Mat, dumped them in my piece of shit car, and headed over to the wedding venue to retrieve my ball and chain.

  The church’s minister, a kind man with a heart of gold, had promised I could use his office to store the ball and chain. He’d even agreed to the stunt, as he viewed Amy’s tendency to run as a symptom of PTSD rather than a serious case of asshole. I’d come to the conclusion my brother had married a serious case of asshole, but it wasn’t my problem.

  I wasn’t the one sleeping with her, doing her accounting, or cleaning up her messes, not anymore.

  It was not my fault my brother had fallen in love with a thoroughbride. It was my fault for going to extremes, especially in my reaction to him hanging up on me, but I refused to apologize for toeing the line of my breaking point. When he apologized for snapping at me and hanging up, I’d reconsider a few things.

  Except my brazen decision to find better waters. I was doing that for me.

  Our parents would forgive me eventually.

  I recognized part of my problem, which went a long way towards cooling my flared temper: headaches transformed me into an epic asshole on a good day, and it wasn’t a good day.

  I arrived at the church, cursed myself for forgetting Sunday meant services, and broke my four-year record of dodging religious ceremonies. Sitting in the back pew and pretending to listen counted. The singing portions of the sermon murdered my poor head, and I regretted my decision to wait inside the church rather than prowl in the parking lot waiting for Pastor Haulette to finish his god’s good work. I survived without making a scene, but it took over an hour for the worshippers to clear out so I could approach the pastor to retrieve my odd property.

  “I heard about the baseball, Hope,” he said in way of greeting. “I prayed for you last night.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, as my parents—both living and dead—would’ve turned me over their knees and spanked me if I didn’t remain polite to the nice holy man. “It’s doing better today, but I’ve still got quite the headache. I was wondering if I could retrieve the items I left in your office?”

  “Of course. I was very impressed with your work yesterday. I had a lot of inquiries about if you would be willing to plan future weddings.”

  Once again, Rick had come to my rescue. “I’ve already agreed to help someone plan his wedding, and I can’t do more than one at a time, unfortunately. But I’m really grateful people liked the wedding.”

  “It was classy, tasteful, and respectful. You obeyed every rule of the church, as did all of the guests. Your crews did a marvelous job of cleaning up, although some admitted they came at the last minute because of the incident with a baseball.”

  “Taking a baseball to the head was not one of the things I’d planned for going wrong,” I admitted. “But next time, I’m definitely going to plan accordingly.”

  He chuckled and led me to his office, a modest wood-paneled room with an elegant antique desk, two armchairs, and bookshelves filled with religious texts as the only furnishings. The ball and chain waited for me in the corner, and I cracked my knuckles, ready to prove to the world I meant business. The chain and its padded cuff made an excellent handhold.

  Pastor Haulette went to his desk and picked something up. At first, I thought he meant for me to drag the ball and chain on a piece of wood to protect the floors from the iron, but then I realized it had wheels.

  Wheels would make everything easier. I put my new muscles to good use, set the ball in place, and gave the chain a firm pull.

  The ball rolled in my direction.

  “Well, that makes this a lot easier. Thank you so much. I’ll return this later today.”

  “Keep it. We have a bunch extra for the kids, and that one’s old. I’m not sure it’ll survive the trip to your car, truth be told. And if it does, I’ll confess they’re rather fun to play with when no one is looking.”

  I could use some fun, and my apartment complex had a nice concrete hallway I could roll down if I abandoned my dignity. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Feel better. Do you need any help getting that into your car?”

  “I don’t, but I appreciate the offer. I worked out a lot getting ready for the wedding.”

  “Do take care of yourself. Concussions aren’t to be trifled with. If you do need any help, please ask one of the deacons. There’s usually one or two outside around this time.”

  I bet; right after the sermon, social hour had begun, except I worried it would take several hours before everyone left. And, according to the church’s big sign out front, they had another service later in the day.

  Before I could be guilted into attending another service, I exchanged pleasantries with the pastor and made my escape. Pride demanded I get the ball and chain into my car without help. Bemused church goers watched me, and I got it shunted into my back seat on the first try. To make certain I didn’t get an iron ball to the spine, I buckled the damned thing in and closed the manacle around the seat belt as an extra insurance policy.

  I would not be beaten by a damned metal ball.

  Armed with my papers and my weapon of choice, I invited myself over to my brother’s apartment, hauled it up the short flight of steps, and let myself in with the key he’d given me and had forgotten to take back during the festivities. I’d mail the key to him to demonstrate I could be a spiteful bitch when provoked.

  It took me less than five minutes to do my dirty work, and I kept my wheeled toy so he’d have to figure out how to move the ball on his own—and he’d have to, if he wanted to know the contents of the manila envelope I’d left beneath it.

  It served the jerk right for hanging up on me.

  With my mission completed, I locked the door behind me and began the next phase of my day: the resumé update.

  I would start with Wolfgang, as I’d been doing his taxes from the instant I’d been able to legally handle them for others. As my current company allowed me to do accounting work on my personal hours, I’d be able to build a robust resumé with some
work.

  “How are you feeling?” Wolfgang answered.

  “Like I need a new job. Can I list your business as part of my resumé?”

  “Of course. Use my business contact info for a reference. Finally got tired of your old boss making you fix your coworkers’ messes?”

  Huh. Wolfgang needed an extra special present for Christmas. “Yes,” I lied. “I most certainly am tired of fixing messes. Part of my job is to fix messes, but I would rather fix messes because math and taxes are hard rather than because my coworkers aren’t paying attention.”

  “Should you be making such an important decision with a concussion?”

  I laughed at that. “The concussion helped. Otherwise, I’d stay miserable at a shit job getting paid half of what I’m worth. I’d like to aim for three-quarters of what I’m worth if possible, but I’ll take anything over half of my current value, really.”

  “That’s sensible. Go ahead and use me as a reference. Which part of town will you be job hunting in?”

  New York City, several hours north, would be my first search spot. If New York didn’t pan out, I’d take a look at the west coast. It would be an adventure. A very stressful adventure filled with blitz trips.

  Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. I would begin with my boss, inform him I’d be leaving unless he got me a transfer and a raise, and go from there. For all I liked to pretend I had no money, I had enough to last me a while.

  And even if I didn’t, my parents would be game to play ball while I searched for better waters. They might even play along with my plan to dodge Mat for the rest of eternity.

  I grunted at my own damned silence. “I haven’t decided yet. It depends on what I find. I’ve only just made the decision to update my resumé and start trolling for new work. I’m going to give my boss a chance to give me a raise and relocate me to one of the other offices, too.”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Outside of your office having an unfortunate number of idiots on staff, the company is decent.”