One Big Mistake: a friends to lovers rom-com

by Whitney Barbetti

  Was that true? I eyed him, silently feeling proud of having been the first girl he’d had stay the night, but also mentally shaking myself because this was explicitly a one-time thing. Nothing to get excited about. “You have girls rotating in and out anyway, it’s not a surprise.”

  “I don’t go through girls like a revolving door.” He frowned again. “And you’re not just another girlfriend.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but it’s not the first time you’ve had me over for the night.” I glanced back at the bed. “It’s nothing, Keane, really.” I put my hand on the knob. “It’s not like I’m going to sidle up for breakfast and tell her what happened last night.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Besides,” I said, turning the knob, “even if I wanted to, I don’t remember most of it.”

  “You don’t?”

  I wavered for a moment. It was true, to some degree. I didn’t remember the steps we’d taken. I had bits and pieces, like flashes from a damaged film roll. I remembered wanting it to happen. I remembered how he’d looked at me, how it was definitely not a friend-only kind of look. My body was sore, but I didn’t have specific memories of what had made it so, which seemed pretty unfair since it was the first and last time it would ever happen. “No,” I told him, giving him a smile. “Which is probably better for the both of us anyway, right? See you on Sunday.”

  Once I was on the other side of the door, I blew out a breath. My hair was already slipping from the weak bun I’d made, so I righted it as I walked down the hallway toward the front door. In a perfect world, I’d walk right past Keane’s mom and she wouldn’t see me.

  But it wasn’t a perfect world. “Navy Jane,” she said in her singsong voice from around the corner.

  “Hey, Mrs. C,” I said, giving her a one-armed hug. “Sorry for the intrusion.”

  “Intrusion?” She yanked out a seat at the island and gestured wildly for me to sit. “If you ever call yourself that again, I’ll—well, I’m a pacifist so I will just have to hug you to death.”

  I laughed as I took a seat. “I feel like that’s still a little bit violent itself, Mrs. C.”

  She tapped her chin. “I suppose you’re right. But, anyway, you’re not an intrusion. Want some bacon?”

  “I’ll never say no to bacon,” I told her, glancing at the clock on the stove. “But I do have to take it and run. I’ve got work and I need to check on the twins.” Work wasn’t until later this morning, but I didn’t have a poker face and didn’t want even Mrs. C’s light, friendly interrogation to cause me to admit more than I was willing to.

  “How are your sisters doing?” she asked, her back to me as she lifted pieces of bacon from her pan and transferred them to a paper plate. “Getting into trouble?”

  Unfortunately for my sisters, their reputation was well known. “Well, not today. But it’s only eight in the morning, so it’s still early.”

  Mrs. Colburn laughed and put a generous heap of eggs onto a plate. I loved Keane’s mom. In my more selfish moments, I wished she’d been mine.

  “Oh,” she said, pausing with eggs mid-air. “This will be hard for you to eat on the run. Let me make you a quick burrito.”

  “You really don’t have to do that.”

  “Of course I don’t. But I want to. Humor me, okay?” She grabbed a tortilla from the fridge and popped it into the microwave for a few seconds. “Is that lazy son of mine still sleeping?”

  It was her first mention of Keane and I hesitated to answer. Though I’d been confident that Keane’s mom wouldn’t suspect anything had happened, my confidence wavered a moment. “No, he’s awake. But he’s moving slowly.”

  “Not surprising. Those night shifts were messing up his schedule and he’s having trouble getting back to a normal daily routine. I don’t think he knows what breakfast is anymore.”

  “When you wake up at one in the afternoon, ramen is still breakfast, technically. Especially if there’s an egg in it.”

  Keane’s brother entered the kitchen a second later, bypassing his mom entirely as he poured a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning,” Mrs. C said brightly, but Asa didn’t reply. He seemingly had a one-track mind, popping a piece of toast into the toaster while he sipped his coffee, staring at nothing.

  I’d had limited in-person time with Asa since he’d returned from his deployment, but Keane had mentioned that his brother wasn’t wholly himself. I always remembered Asa as stoic, but still charming in an I could bite your head off kind of way—meaning that, before I’d ever crushed on Keane, I’d crushed on Asa because he’d been a dick. And in elementary school, the boys who were mean were the ones I inexplicably crushed on. But now, it was as if he was mentally absent.

  “I’ve made bacon and eggs,” Mrs. C said as Asa went to the fridge and grabbed a container with some green mixture. He still didn’t respond. “Asa?”

  It was like watching someone wake up, his eyes opened more fully, and he jerked. “What?”

  “Eggs? Bacon?” Mrs. C folded and unfolded her hands in front of her. I sensed unease in her body language.

  “No.” He drank his coffee and said, “Thanks,” like it was an afterthought. Mrs. C’s face looked almost pained as she assembled my burrito and I felt bad for nearly turning her down.

  “That looks amazing,” I told her gratefully.

  “Hot sauce?”

  “Sure.”

  “Coffee? I’ve got a to-go cup.”

  I hated having her wait on me like this—it was so unnatural for me to have someone do that, but I could tell that she liked being needed in that way.

  “That would be great.”

  Asa walked around the kitchen and sat next to me at the counter, pausing to give me a double take. “Navy? I thought you were Megan.”

  Ooof. I felt myself shrink smaller.

  “Who’s Megan?” Mrs. C asked.

  “Keane’s girlfriend. Works over at the grocery store,” Asa mumbled between sips of coffee.

  It wasn’t my place to correct him, that she was his ex, even though Keane and I had slept together just the night before.

  “Oh, the blonde?”

  “Yeah,” Asa grunted and chomped on his toast.

  “Here you go,” Mrs. C said, handing me a foil-wrapped burrito and the to-go mug filled up. “Sugar and lots of cream, right?”

  Whatever hurt I’d felt at Asa’s comment was soothed by Mrs. C’s attention. “That’s right,” I said, feeling warmth for a woman who wasn’t my mother, but I wished she was. “Thanks, this looks incredible. You’ve saved me once again.” I set the food and coffee down to give her a real hug and didn’t let go for a minute. I knew, from conversations with Keane, that she’d always longed for more children but had been unable to conceive them. And since I’d always longed for a mother, perhaps she and I partially filled those holes for one another.

  “I’ve got to get going,” I told her, finally letting go. Keane’s mom patted my cheek gently, the way Aunt Isabel always did, and gave me a bright smile on my way out the door.

  Once I was in the car, I pulled up my phone and checked for any messages from Violet. I hated that she didn’t have a phone to contact me with, so I hoped she’d find a way to get in touch with me to let me know she made it. I texted Hollis again, letting her know we’d have to catch up this week, but not sure when we’d be able to. I wasn’t ready to tell her what had happened with Keane yet, because in all honesty, I wasn’t sure myself.

  9

  KEANE

  Asa was chomping down on his toast when I entered the kitchen, crumbs scattering the counter around his plate. Without taking his eyes off of the newspaper laid flat on the counter, he scooped the crumbs onto his plate and loudly sipped his coffee, just as my mom had set down the rag she was clearly going to use to wipe it up.

  “I made breakfast,” my mom said, shoving a plate at me before I could say no.

  I eyed the plate full of protein and fat and gave her a grin as I took the seat beside my brot
her. I couldn’t even make my own coffee before a cup was set in front of me, along with the creamer. “Thanks, Mom.” I glanced at Asa’s toast. “Is that avocado?”

  Asa glanced at me. “Yes.”

  “You chose that over this feast Mom made?”

  Without looking at me this time, he turned to the next page of his paper and said a flat, “Yes.”

  Man of many words, my brother.

  “This looks great,” I said to my mom, knowing she was brushing off the slight from Asa. Asa wasn’t trying to hurt her feelings, but he was much more health conscious than I was. And while he’d always been more independent, the brain injury only made that facet of his personality even stronger, which was a combination that made my mom feel helpless.

  “Any murders in there?” I asked him casually, sipping my coffee.

  “It’s Amber Lake,” he replied, still in that flat tone. Sure, Amber Lake wasn’t a bustling metropolis, but we had a murder once or twice a year.

  “Going out to the property today?” Our mom asked as she busied herself cleaning up the dishes. I wanted to tell her I’d help, but my mom was going through a lot of angst now that her boys were grown and moving on with their lives. She loved being needed—which is why she still made me breakfast when cereal would have sufficed. I didn’t tell her that, because I knew how sensitive she could be.

  “That’s the plan,” I said at the same time as Asa uttered, “Yes.” When Asa continued to pour through the newspaper, I turned my attention to Mom. “I think we’re going to check on the foundation they poured and then start replacing some of the siding on the cabin.”

  “Asa, you’re still okay with your brother taking the old cabin side of the land?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, man of many words. And, again, I knew he wasn’t intentionally insensitive toward our mom, but he definitely wasn’t what you might call an emotional person. No part of his body expressed his real feelings for anything; he was very much a closed book.

  “He didn’t really go hunting with Gramps anyway,” I said through a mouthful of egg. I was the one with memories of that cabin, of many weekends spent with Gramps fishing, hunting, or just learning the way of the woods. Asa favored books and fitness. Our individual pursuits were practical, but very rarely did they align. Asa found joy—or, what most resembled joy in his very serious expression—in building, be that his brain or body. And Gramps’s dilapidated cabin had a history he wasn’t familiar with. He wanted to build from the ground up, to create the blueprint from a clean space. I, on the other hand, saw the beauty in old things, saw their potential.

  “This stool’s pretty wobbly,” I said, feeling the imbalance as I adjusted my weight on it. “Maybe a screw is loose?”

  “Oh, I haven’t noticed,” Mom replied, drying her hands on a towel. “Could you take a look when you have time? The others probably need to be tightened too.”

  “Yeah,” I said, swallowing a piece of bacon. “I’ll be back tonight; I’ll look then.” Asa made no sound, no movement to check the stability of his own stool. It was as if he completely tuned out all surrounding distractions when he was focused. I wondered what that was like.

  “Looks like you need a haircut soon, big brother,” I said, ruffling Asa’s hair. Unlike me, he kept it clipped pretty close to his head; a nod to his former days as working as EOD—explosive ordinance disposal—when he was deployed. But lately, it was looking more and more unkempt. Maybe he was trying to match his beard. Go full mountain man.

  “No haircuts in summer. I’ll get a sunburn while we’re out at the lake.”

  “That makes sense,” Mom said. “More coffee?”

  Asa paused reading for a moment to glance at his cup. “Sure.” When I nudged him with my elbow—the way he’d done to me growing up—he added, “Thanks, Mom.”

  Judging by the look on her face, if words were currency Asa’s had just made my mom a millionaire. “Do you guys want me to pack you another lunch today?”

  Asa just grunted noncommittally so I said, “Hell yeah, Mom. Thanks.”

  “Speaking of haircuts,” she began, “you look like you need one soon, Keane.”

  I rubbed my hand over my head. “I keep hearing that. Navy said she’d cut it on Sunday.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of her.”

  “Thought she was Megan.”

  Asa’s remark had me turning my head. “What?”

  He hadn’t looked at me once this morning, but he turned then, looking at me like he was trying to remember what he’d said. “Oh. When I saw her, I thought it was Megan.”

  “They don’t even look alike.”

  “I didn’t look at her. I just heard her talking.” Asa turned back to his newspaper.

  “I’m not even dating Megan anymore,” I said, reminding Asa. But Asa shrugged like he didn’t remember having that conversation already—twice. I’d have to start writing down this kind of shit for him. A thought occurred to me. “Did you call Navy Megan?”

  “No, he didn’t.” My mom filled my coffee without me asking. “He just mentioned her name.”

  Fuck. I raked a hand down my face. I could only imagine what Asa had said, that made Navy feel even more awkward. “We broke up a few days ago.” I wanted to remind Asa of the conversation, but then I knew I risked him being defensive for not remembering it in the first place.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I tried to think of what to say to Navy. What did you say to your best friend after having sex with them? Especially when you were confused about your feelings following that sex?

  Hey, I typed. Real Pulitzer content there. Asa said he mentioned Megan. FYI—he and I had a conversation about her after she broke up with me a few days ago. He just didn’t remember.

  Her reply wasn’t immediate, but that didn’t surprise me since I knew she was driving.

  Navy: It’s fine!

  I wasn’t satisfied by that reply, nor the smiley face emoji that followed it. Even though we’d sort of talked in my bedroom, I felt like I’d left that conversation confused. How is it going? I asked. Real deep, emotional shit I was texting here.

  In some ways, it felt like I was handling something made of thin glass and one misstep would shatter it. This was why you didn’t have sex with your friends, a fact I’d educated my brother with the day before.

  Navy: Actually, it’s good! Jade and Rose are staying at their friends’ house again, so I’ve got the morning to myself before I have to go into work.

  Was it weird that I wanted to invite myself along on her morning alone? I nearly did too, like a fucking jackass. Instead, I texted, “See you tomorrow.” Like a jackass.

  Why did I feel so needy all of a sudden?

  Because you’re confused as fuck.

  Amen.

  “You made a mess on the trampoline,” Asa said, breaking my thoughts.

  “What?” Wait. Trampoline. Ice cream. Kiss.

  “I’m assuming it was you.” Asa turned his paper over. “When I went for my run early this morning, I saw a couple pints of ice cream on it. Cookie dough. You like that one.”

  Even though it wasn’t said like a question, I knew it was one. Sometimes Asa tested his memory by saying statements that he believed to be true. “I do, because it’s the tits.” Navy’s tits. I closed my eyes, as if that abolished the images of Navy’s perfect breasts from my memory.

  “And another kind of ice cream. Brown. It’s everywhere.”

  “I’ll hose off the tramp today, before we leave.”

  “Garbage out there too.”

  “Did you and Navy have an ice cream party last night?”

  “Yeah.” I scooped up the last of my eggs. “Didn’t want to share with you guys, so we ate it on the trampoline instead of attempting to smuggle it past you.”

  “Next time, get me the mint chip one,” Mom said, taking my empty plate from in front of me. When she moved to take Asa’s, he stood and put it in the dishwasher himself—oblivious to her attempt.

  “Mi
nt chip,” I said, distracting her from her disappointment as Asa left the room. “You got it.”

  “Let me put some things together for your cooler.” She washed her hands quickly and I wiped up my mess and came around the counter, giving her a hug from behind and followed it with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re such a good boy,” she said, turning around and patting my cheek.

  It was hard for her to accept that I wasn’t a boy, that I was an adult with his own life. That’s why I didn’t mind being seen as a mama’s boy. It made her feel good to mother us.

  “It was nice seeing Navy this morning,” she said, turning back to the bread she’d laid out. “I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

  “Yeah,” I hedged, reminding myself to choose my words carefully so I wasn’t a dumbass.

  “I still remember the day you met her. You came home from school and told me about her. Your first crush with the pretty name—your words.” My mom gave me a teasing smile. “That was back when you used to talk to me about girls.”

  “Ah, come on. I still talk to you about girls.”

  “No, you don’t.” She ruffled my hair. “What’d you guys do yesterday?”

  “We went to Bunny’s, had a bit to drink and came back late-ish. The living room light was on, so we hung outside for a little while.”

  “Oh, Bunny’s. Your father and I went there in our younger days. It was called something else then…” She paused, holding a slice of cheese in her hands as she thought. “Rattlesnake, maybe?”

  “Well, it’s Bunny’s now but I’m sure the clientele hasn’t changed much since you went. I think Navy and I were twenty years younger than ninety percent of the patrons.”

  “How’s she doing?” She carefully wrapped one sandwich and started on the second one. “I always worry about her, of course. She looks good, but a little tired.”

  Did she? How had I not noticed she looked tired this morning? “Her aunt left yesterday for three weeks, so I think she’s just got a bit on her plate.” But now that last night was coming back to me in bits and pieces, I remembered her looking troubled about something she didn’t choose to talk about.