Always the Last to Know (Always the Bridesmaid) (10 page)

      I snort, “Yeah, because you could get a date.”

      He takes another swipe at my face with his paint brush, this time hitting my right cheek.  I manage to dab his forehead with my paintbrush without falling off the stepladder. Again

       “Oh, come on Callahan, we don’t date.  We fail miserably at relationships.  Hell, it’s amazing if we actually form relationships.  I mean, you haven’t made it past a first date in months.”

       “That’s not my fault.  It’s Carla’s for setting me up with an über-feminist from the news station.  I just opened the door for her and – WHAM! – she smacked me with her wallet on a chain like it was a damned nunchuck or something.  I had to give a presentation the next day at work with a black eye because of that crazy bitch.”  He shakes his head, “I don’t open doors for girls anymore because of that so, now, all women think that I’m an inconsiderate asshole.”

       “Not all girls think that.  I mean, I don’t think you’re an inconsiderate asshole.  You’re not half bad, Callahan.”

      Riley raises an eyebrow at me, “Is. . . is that a compliment?  Reynolds, I think you’re getting soft on me.”

      I smile, “Don’t get me wrong, you can be a monumental ass sometimes.  But, mostly, you’re a pretty good guy.  Besides, with us constantly tearing down each other’s self esteem, I think that a compliment is necessary from time to time. . .”  I let the words fall, just to see if Riley will actually say something nice about me.  I honestly have no idea why I so badly want to hear some sort of praise from him right now.  Maybe it’s because that all the constant bickering, on my part anyway, is just me joking around and I think that I just need some confirmation that Riley doesn’t mean what he says when he’s fighting with me either.

      Or, maybe, the paint fumes really are getting to me now.

      Riley kind of shrugs, “You’re really pretty when you cry.”

      I stare at him in complete surprise.  So much surprise that I actually drop my paintbrush.  Thank God we laid down old sheets to protect the floo— did Riley just say that I’m pretty? 
When I cry?

      No person is ever pretty when they cry.  Especially me, my entire face turns red and my mouth moves around like that talking horse’s, Mr. Ed.

      Seeing my confused face, he explains, “Your eyes just look really, really blue when you cry.”

       “When have you ever seen me cry?”  I’m not a total tomboy or anything, but I don’t cry, at least not in front of people.  I was raised to believe that crying is a sign of weakness and, because of that, I now have serious issues with properly expressing my emotions.  You know, it really is a good thing my parents stopped having kids after me.

       “At my dad’s funeral.  And when you got back from your senior prom.”

      Ah, the two memories that I’ve repressed.

      I don’t remember much from Mr. Callahan’s funeral.  I really have blocked most of that from my memory.  I’ve always believed that there’s no point in focusing on sadness when there are so many happy moments to remember.  I guess that’s why Mr. Callahan’s funeral is just a blurry memory for me.  I mostly remember staying close to Riley during all of it.  I don’t know how or why but it seemed like we needed to be with each other then.  I was with him when he went into the funeral home and when he left the funeral home.  I spent the night before the actual funeral at his old college apartment.  We stayed up all night on the couch talking about anything but his dad.  We even talked about football.

      Riley never broke down into tears at the funeral but I found my breaking point at the cemetery.  I was watching Ms. Callahan, who was on the other side of Riley, just staring at that closed casket and crying silently.  To be strong for Riley, I hadn’t cried over Mr. Callahan’s death, but seeing Ms. Callahan so alone and afraid and heartbroken, made the tears fall.  It was that quiet kind of crying, not the loud sobs, but Riley saw my tears.  I remember him taking my hand in his and squeezing it tight and giving me a kiss on my forehead.  I remember I looked up at him and saw that his green eyes, those bright green eyes that have always made my stomach do cartwheels, were red and watery, which just made me want to cry harder.  I managed to swallow the rest of my tears and stood there next to him, holding onto his hand for the rest of the funeral.

      We haven’t talked about the funeral – any of it – since.

      And, as far as my senior prom goes, I try not to think about the events that unfolded that night, especially after I left the safe haven of the school gymnasium.

      I can’t think of anything to say to his statement so I pick up my paintbrush and start painting again.  Riley, after realizing that I’m not capable of speech, paints also.  It’s about the time we finish painting the last wall that my cell phone rings.  Jackson, who had retired under the kitchen table to watch us paint, howls – even the dog disapproves of my ringtone, “Candy” by Mandy Moore.  I check the caller ID to see that it’s my parents’ number.  Which means that it’s my mother.

      Lord, give me strength.

       “Hello?”  I say slowly, already preparing myself for the attack.  Mom rarely calls just to chat.

       “Jessica Louise Reynolds!”

      It’s the full name, the horrible, no good full name.  I am SO dead.

       “Hi, Mom.  How are you?”

       “Oh, I’m just peachy.  It’s not every day that a mother can tell the world that her only daughter is moving in with a man out of wedlock.”

      Before I can even say a single word
(which, by the way, my word of choice right now would be “fuck”)
, Riley’s phone rings.  It’s his mom, I can tell by the ring tone – “That’s All Right Mama” by Elvis.

      At least I’m not going to be the only one getting verbally attacked tonight.

       “It’s not like that, Mom.  You know that it’s not like that.  It’s Riley.  And it’s me.  It’s me and Riley.”

       “Yeah, that’s just what I’m worried about.”

       “Huh?”  My mother has lost her mind.

       “Nevermind that.  I just worry about you, Jess.  What will a boy say when you invite him over and he finds out that you already live with a boy?”

      I smile, “But Mom, I would never invite a boy over.  Inviting boys over only leads to dirty things.  And I would never do anything to disgrace my, or my family’s, reputation.  Besides, weren’t you always the one who told me to leave the boy at the doorstep with just a kiss on the cheek, leaving him always wanting more?  Really, Mom, inviting a boy inside?  What do you think I am?  A whore?”

      Seriously, I am SO dead.

       “Jessica, if I wanted to talk to a smartass, I would just hang up the phone and talk to your father.”

      Ouch.  I hate when she compares me to Dad.

      I don’t respond
(mostly because I can’t think of a clever reply to her zinger; damn these paint fumes!),
she goes on, “I don’t see why you just can’t move back home until you find a better living situation.”

      Yeah, why don’t I go ahead and stab myself in the eye?  I’m pretty sure that would be less painful than moving back home.

       “Mom, I’ll be fine here.  Riley’s house is close to my job and the neighborhood’s good and my bedroom here is twice the size of my room in the apartment.”

      She sighs again, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Jessica.”

       “Well, when I was a kid, you always threatened to take me back to the cabbage patch where you allegedly found me.  You could try that threat again.  It used to be really effective.”

       “Jessica. . .”

       “I’m kidding, Mom.  Look, Riley and I aren’t doing anything that would make me blush during Confession.  I really am staying in the spare bedroom and paying rent and splitting utilities with him.  And, if those little old women at the church bake sales comment on it, tell them that you know all about their trips to Chippendale’s.  That’s right, I’ve seen their bank statements.  Lust is a sin, you know.”

       “One that I hope you don’t fall victim too.”

      Seriously, what in the hell is up with all this cryptic language of hers?  I’m the one who has been inhaling paint fumes for the past two hours, not her; I should be the one spouting off nonsense.

       “I’ll be fine, Mom.  Really.”

      She continues to rattle off reasons why all of this is a horrible idea but I tune her out; it really is easier that way.  She finally gives up and ends the phone call.

      I snap my phone shut and stare at Riley who is still in deep conversation with his own mother.

       “Mom, I’ll be fine.”  …  “I told Jess not to tell you.” …  “Because I wanted free paint!”  …  “Yes, I’m immature.”  …  “Yes, I know what all this living situation means.”  …  “What dates?”  …  “You’ll have grandchildren.  Carla’s getting married next week, bother her for grandkids…”

      I laugh quietly as he continues his conversation.  To make it less noticeable that I’m eavesdropping, I start closing the paint cans and collecting the brushes and rollers to be cleaned.  I stop quickly when Riley drops the ultimatum.

       “I’m keeping secrets, huh?  What about your boyfriend?”  …  “We all know about him.” …  “Jess saw you two making out at the paint store!”

       “Thanks for taking me down with you there, Callahan.”  I growl at him.  He gives me that half-smile of his and I fight the urge to smack it off his face.

       “How long have you two been dating behind my back?”  …  “Four months?  Were you planning on telling me anytime soon?”  …  “Yes, I know you’re the mother and I’m the son and you’re a forty-eight year old woman who can do damn well whatever she pleases.” …  “If you’re happy then I’m happy.  But Carla and I didn’t even know about it.”  …  “Yes, I preferred hearing it from Jess than from you.”  He is still looking at me and gives me a wink.  “I just want you to be safe.”  …  “Not just about sex. . . you’re having sex with him?!”

      Riley moves his phone from his ear to stare at it in disbelief.  I take it out of his hand.

       “Hey Ms. Callahan, it’s Jess.”

       “Did I just give Riley a stroke?”  She asks, laughing lightly.

      I look at Riley carefully.  He’s not clutching at his chest or hyperventilating, just staring at the phone at my ear in absolute fear.

       “I think you might have just rendered him speechless.”

       “You’re welcome for that then.”  She sighs, “Just tell him that I’ll talk to him later, okay?”

      I finish the conversation with his mom and close his phone.  At least she’s not mad at anyone about this.  And, by ‘anyone’, I mean me.  Of course, the sex probably makes her not care so much about what other people think.

       “Riley, are you going to be okay?”  I ask, putting my hand to his forehead, checking for a fever.  Seriously, the fact that he isn’t speaking makes me concerned for his health.

       “They’re doing It.  My mother is forty-eight and having sex.” He finally manages to say after a few moments.

       “A lot of people who are forty-eight are having sex, Riley.”  I snort, “And your mom just happens to be one of them.”

      Riley narrows his eyes at me, “Too soon, Reynolds, too soon.”

       “Sorry.”  I say through my giggling.  I try to compose myself before he reminds me that my parents are probably doing It too.  “So, it looks like our mothers know that we’re living together.” 

       “How’d they find out?”  Riley asks, looking more than just a little relieved for a subject change.

       “Carla.  She, Evan, and Matt are the only ones who know that I’m moving over here.  Oh, and Annie knows too but she and my mom don’t run in the same social circles.”

       “Neighborhood Watch and swinger parties aren’t in the same social circle?”  Riley asks, amused at his own comment.  I can’t help but smile too.

       “Carla and Evan were having dinner over at your mom’s tonight.  I bet Carla let it slip then.  She’s still pissed at both of us and probably thought it would be good revenge. It seems that after she ratted us out, the phone tree of over overbearing mothers was activated.”

      I should be annoyed that Carla tattled on us, but I’m not.  She probably done it out of anger but, really, she did me a gigantic favor.  I mean, I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to tell my mother that I was moving in with Riley.  By letting Carla spill the beans to her mom, she might have saved my life tonight.  I should buy her a present.

       “Are you sure that you should let me move in?”

       “Are you going to let your mom talk you out of this?”

      I shake my head and shrug at the same time, “No, but she was talking about reputations and lust and I don’t know what all.  But, well, you know how good she is at sending me off on a guilt trip.  And your mom is the exact same way.”

       “And we’re twenty-five and twenty-two. We’re adults.  We should be able to do whatever we want and not feel any guilt.”

       “You’re right.  Besides, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong; we’re sharing a house; we’re not living together.”

      He does his little half-smile and elbows me, “Did you just say that I was right about something?”

       “Don’t get used to it, Callahan.”

Six

Saturday, June 27
^th

       “Extra, extra, read all about it.”  Annie hands me a stack of stapled paper with the words “Confines of the Heart: A Novel, by Ann Connelly” on the top page as I walk behind the teller window after my fifteen minute break.  “Here you go, dear.  Hot off the presses.”  She smiles, “And, I do mean
hot
off the presses.”

       “I thought you were still developing the characters.”  I thumb through the packet; there has to be at least a hundred pages here, front and back.