Always the Last to Know (Always the Bridesmaid) (6 page)

       “Oh.  Sorry, I just thought that since you two were in your room and. . .”  His face turns red with embarrassment.  He is just too adorable.  He sighs, “I am such an ass.”

      As he continues to fix breakfast, it turns out that he isn’t an ass at all, but he is definitely a talker.  He tells me that he is one of six children
(he is kid number four, to be exact),
just graduated from the University of Oklahoma with a B.A. in geography, has an unhealthy obsession with Hulk Hogan, and didn’t realize that pickles and cucumbers were the same thing until he was nineteen.

      To be blunt, I love this man.

      Which, okay, is probably totally superficial.  I’ve known him for about a day but, you know, Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock fell in love in just a few hours in
Speed
.  And they had way more important things to worry about.  Like keeping the speed of the bus over fifty miles per hour.  So, ha, I am totally justified.

       “What’s that smell?”  Evan mutters as he stumbles into the kitchen.  Carla isn’t far behind.

       “Is that breakfast?”  Carla asks sleepily.

      Breakfast that doesn’t come from a Pop-tart package or pizza box is a rare thing to witness in this apartment.  Not because none of us can cook
(okay, all I can cook is a tasty lasagna, a fact that Matt would probably appreciate, given his Italian heritage and all)
but because we are all far too lazy to get out of bed earlier then we have to just to fix food when there’s microwaveable breakfast sandwiches in the freezer that can be hot and delicious in thirty seconds.

      Plus, if you fix food for yourself, you have to fix food for everyone in the apartment.  And none of us are that nice.

       “Is Riley still in your bed?  I don’t want him to miss out.”  Matt doesn’t look up at me, which is all well and good since my face is contorting itself, deciding whether it wants to show annoyance or embarrassment.

       “Why would Riley be in your bed?”  Carla wants to know.

       “Because he slept there last night.”  I can feel my face turn hot and red.  Stupid pale skin bringing out my shame more than it should.  Not that I’m really ashamed of myself.  Well, except for the fact that I’m still thinking about Riley being shirtless.  Is it wrong that I’m looking forward to living with him just for the chance to see him walk around shirtless?

      Yes, it’s really wrong and very sick.  What the hell is wrong with me?

       “What?”  Carla looks at me like I have a horn sprouting out the middle of my forehead.

       “I’ll go get him.”  I keep my head down to avoid the stares as I walk back into my bedroom.

       “Riley, we would love it ever so much if you joined us for breakfast.”

       “You don’t mean that.”  He pulls the eyelash curler out of my makeup bag, “What’s this?”

       “Something I’ll threaten to shove up your ass one day, I’m sure.”  I sigh and try to ignore the overwhelming feeling I have to fix his hair.  “Come on, Callahan, he made French toast for everyone.  Which, okay, is a little unpatriotic considering his Italian heritage but still… you love French toast!”

       “Hate to miss it, but I need to get back to my house and change.  I don’t want to have to go through the Walk of Shame at work.”  Riley says nonchalantly while putting on his shoes.  He stands up and reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a ring of keys.  “Which reminds me, here’s a key to the house.”  He fidgets with the key ring before getting the key off and sitting it in my palm.

       “Thanks, Riley.  This means a lot.”

       “Yeah, well, you know.”  Riley scratches the back of his head, only somewhat calming down his hair.  He finally shrugs, “This would be easier than you picking the lock.”

      I smile.  There’s no reason to tell him that I’ve known where he’s been hiding a spare key for the past year
(underneath a gnome he named ‘Geronimo’ that sits on his front porch).
  And there’s definitely no reason to tell him that I’ve used it several times to borrow his blender and tequila.

       “What the hell is going on in here?”  Carla asks, opening the door dramatically.  It ricochets lightly off the wall.  “What did he just give you?”

      Riley and I shoot a panicked look to each other before he gives me a nod.

       “A key to his house.”  I say, just above a whisper.

       “Why?  Did he move his spare key from underneath Geronimo?”

      I mentally slap my palm to my forehead.  Nice way to get us busted, Carla.  Okay, nice way to get
me
busted.  I was the one who realized where the key was hidden and I was the one who always went on the missions to retrieve the blender and tequila for margaritas.

       “I’m definitely going to move the key
now
.”  Riley glares from Carla to me.  I shrug at him.

       “No, Carla.  It’s just that, well, because you and Evan are getting married and moving in together, we thou…” Riley elbows me in the side, “Fine,
Riley
thought that it would be best if I got out of your guys’ hair.  So, he asked me to move in with him.  And I said yes.”

       “It’s part of our wedding gift to you.”  Riley adds, probably hoping to change Carla’s expression.

      No such luck.

      Her right eye is squinting up while her left one grows wide.  How does she even do that?

       “You’re moving in together?”

       “Congratulations on your marriage, sis.”  Riley smiles.  Now it’s my turn to elbow him.

       “I’m renting out the spare bedroom.  There’s a difference between that and moving in together.”  I’m driving this fact home because my mother may very well have an aneurysm if she thinks that I’m shacking up with some guy.  Even if it is a guy like Riley, who she adores.

      Although, judging by the look on her face, Carla may be the one to have the aneurysm.

      She’s looking at Riley now, her eyes only a little more calm, “Does Mom know?”

       “No, not yet.”

       “What?”  She and I both ask.

      He looks at Carla, “Mom would freak.”  Then he gives me a look, “And my mom would tell your mom and I know how much she would love to know that you’re living with a man out of wedlock.”

       “But I’m just renting the. . .”

       “… the spare room, I know.  But your mom won’t believe that.  And my mother definitely won’t buy it.”

       “Yeah, I can’t imagine why Mom wouldn’t buy the fact that you and Jess were just sharing a house and not a bed.”  Carla says to Riley in an uppity tone.  I don’t miss the glare that he gives his baby sister.

      I seriously don’t get them sometimes.

      Carla turns her attention to me, “Jess, you don’t have to move out for mine and Evan’s sakes.  We love having you here.”

      Love having my kick-ass DVD collection here, is what she means to say.

       “No, I know, but you two need to be alone for awhile.  And I don’t want to be in the way of newlyweds.”

      Carla smiles and I think that she might even be tearing up a little bit.  “Thanks Jess.  And you too, Riley.” She wipes her eyes before pulling us both into a hug.  “This is really sweet of you.”

      While still in Carla’s bear hug, I see Evan walk by my door, only glancing inside.  A moment later, he walks backward and stares at us.

       “What’s going on?”

      Carla flits to Evan’s side and smiles, “Jess is moving in with Riley to give us more space.”

      Evan grunts, “You two are living together?”  I nod and he laughs, “That’s an episode of
Cops
in the making.”

      Carla smacks Evan in the chest. “I think it’s a great idea.  You two get along so well when you’re not arguing. . .”

       “They always argue.”  Evan mutters.  I think this is the most he’s ever spoken in my presence.  The Green Bay defense rant aside, of course.

      Carla sighs, but nods in agreement, “Still, with both of you living there, maybe one of you will remember to feed that damn dog.”

      Ever since Jackson confused Carla’s wedding binder as a threat last month
(trust me, Jackson is not the only one that views the wedding binder as a threat),
Carla has referred to him as ‘that damn dog’.

      And ‘that damn dog’ always has food.  Who is she kidding?  ‘That damn dog’ eats better than we do.

      Well, except when cute Italian boys make us breakfast from scratch.

       “What are you guys doing in here? The French toast is getting cold.”  Matt walks in my room, spatula in hand.

       “Do you know that if you two live together for, like, six years, the state will declare you legally married?”  Carla asks, heading to the door.

       “If we live together for six years, the state will declare me legally insane.”  I mutter.

       “Who are you living with?”  Matt asks, looking at me, then at Carla.  His eyes land on Riley’s raised hand.  “Oh.”

      Is that. . . does Matt look sad?  That I’m living with a guy?
      Oh my God, Matt loves me!

***

      Even though Ms. Callahan doesn’t know that I’m moving in to Riley’s, I can still get paint for the kitchen.  She also doesn’t know that I’m showing up to solicit cheap – or, hopefully, free – paint from her store, but, hey, she adores me.  After all, I’m her goddaughter, she has to be happy to see me.  It’s like a rule or something.

      As I make the turn into the parking lot, I see Ms. Callahan standing just outside the door with a man in a nice pair of slacks and a tucked-in blue shirt and oh my God she’s kissing him! Riley’s mom is kissing some dude!

      I park my car in the very last parking space that faces away from Ms. Callahan and the guy she’s macking on. I cut the engine and scoot down in the seat to stay hidden, but stare out my rearview mirror until they finish their very public make-out session and the guy gets in his own car and leaves.  Ms. Callahan watches his car - a nice ass BMW- as it pulls out of the parking lot until it is out of sight on the road before she goes back inside.

      It’s totally okay that Ms. Callahan is kissing a guy. I mean, she’s been a widow for about two years now.  To the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t been on a date since Mr. Callahan died. I’m surprised that she hasn’t dated more. Or at all. Which it would be hard to date again after losing your husband. I imagine that it would also be difficult to date when you have a son like Riley who is so overprotective and annoying.

      I wait a few minutes so as not to look conspicuous before I head inside the paint shop. The chimes on the door cause the bored girl sitting at the counter to stop picking at her split ends and look up. She offers a hint of a smile before going back to examining her hair.
      I spot Ms. Callahan in the back corner talking to one of her employees. He’s a tall guy with biceps the size of my head and the smock he’s wearing looks more like a bib on his buff frame. Man, if Carla knew this guy worked here, Evan might become a distant memory.
      The guy walks off with a saunter about him and Ms. Callahan spots me.  “Jess! It’s so good to see you.” She smiles happily and rushes over to hug me.  “Riley just called a little while ago and said that you might stop by to pick up some paint for his house.”  She says with a weary look.

      Ms. Callahan isn’t as stupid as Riley wishes she were; she can see right through that lie of his. I just nod at her. I hate that Riley lied to his mom, and I also hate that I’m lying to her too. I mean, I’m not even lying to my own mother about all of this; I’m just avoiding her phone calls until I can think of an excusable way to explain the situation. At least with Riley’s mom still clueless, she won’t be able to tell my mom. And, really, that’s the best thing for all of us.
       “Yeah, well, I’m just trying to help.  Use it as payback for later or something.”  I offer a smile.

      I can’t help but notice that Ms. Callahan’s mauve lipstick is smudged around her lips. She wasn’t kidding around with that guy outside.
      Oh my God. Riley’s mother is getting more action than me.
       “I can’t believe he didn’t come with you to make sure you didn’t pick out anything too girly.” She winks at me as she grabs some color swatches from a well-lit display on the wall. “Then again, you two never did do well shopping together.”
      Ah, the Home Depot Incident, as she and my mother like to call it.
      Yes, we got blacklisted.  Yes it’s amazing we weren’t sued.  Yes, it all started because of an argument over stepladders.  Why does everyone have to keep mentioning it?
       “It happened a long time ago.” I mumble.
       “All I’m saying is that I don’t want to have to kick my own son out of my store. The same goes for his. . . you.” She pauses before showing me a color swatch. “Riley mentioned yellow, right?”
      I nod. The color swatch has four squares of yellow paint on it, each almost indistinguishable from the one next to it. I chuckle at the name of the last square patch of yellow: Daffodil Dreams. I’m tempted to get that color, just to see Riley’s expression when I tell him that his kitchen walls are painted in Daffodil Dreams.  I think the only thing that would make him cringe more is telling him that his mom was making out with some random guy who drives a nice ass BMW.

      Okay, the BMW part wouldn’t bother him.  The rest though?  Yeah, it wouldn’t be a pretty sight to see.

       “I think these are too bright.  Maybe something softer.”  Riley is going to kill me.

      She hands me another color swatch of yellows.

       “So, why is my son giving you permission to choose the color to paint his walls?”

      I make a point not to look at her until I can form a clear answer in my mind because, really, I don’t know why he’s letting me either, and me trying to think of a possible answer makes my face scrunch up in odd ways.  I mean, yeah, we had made a deal, but he had caved in so easily to my request.  A request that I had made half-jokingly, thinking that he would never allow it to happen.

       “He was saying that his house was in dire need of a makeover.”  I say casually.  She raises an eyebrow.  “Okay, he didn’t say those exact words.  Evidently, he thinks that I have a good enough taste to make his house not look like it’s still stuck in the seventies.”