Diving In (Open Door Love Story) (2 page)

Chapter Two

The alarm on my phone goes off and I roll over in my twin bed to grab it off the nightstand. I forego checking out the two drunken texts from Andy and peruse Facebook instead. My newsfeed is full of acquaintances (Andy’s friends) consta-posting pictures from “totes crazy” parties or bitching about how lame Writing 121 is.

My phone vibrates in my hand and another text from Andy pops up. All right already. I don’t read the other two and go straight to the new one.

Sry abt drunk txting U agn. Luv U. Miss U. C U n 3 wks! Cnt wait to help U brk n ur new apt. ;)

Because there’s nothing hotter than unfulfilling sex in a twin bed.

Love you too. Hope you aren’t having too much fun without me!

Not that I really care what Andy, or anyone from our graduating class is doing. Because I’m not doing it. I’m not living in the dorms with a weird-smelling roommate. I’m not hooking up with FRA (Future Rapists of America) at keggers. I’m not smoking weed and cutting class three months into the fall term.

Nope. I’m sleeping alone in a twin bed in a stifling apartment situated above one of my family’s dry cleaning stores near downtown Boise. I’m “taking a year off.” I’m “finding myself.” I’m learning the ropes of the dry cleaning biz, even though I’ve been working here since I was tall enough to take in clothes over the counter. I’m … not knowing what the hell I’m doing on every level.

I toss the phone back onto the nightstand and throw my light covers off. The floor of my apartment is toasty warm as per usual, even though it’s another dank November morning. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, my mom’s family owns the building and I live here rent-free. I could’ve had to live at home during my epic journey of self-discovery. At least I have my own space. My own refrigerator. My own shower. My own window overlooking a crumbling asphalt parking lot.

I turn the shower on. Ironically, it takes a while to heat up. I go over to the kitchenette to get the coffee pot going. Taking a pack of Oreos down from the top of the fridge, I cram one into my mouth and call it breakfast.

Over at my closet, I pull out a white button-down blouse and black pants, the same thing I wear every day I work, and lay them on my never-made bed.

I yank Andy’s swim team captain t-shirt off over my head, throw it near the top of the bed, and quickly walk naked to the bathroom. I’ve lived here since August and have yet to put up curtains in my one window. In truth, I maybe get a little thrill that someone sees my daily two- second streak.

I realize this is idiotic and inviting some perv to get the wrong idea. But it’s my only excitement at the moment. Pathetic.

~

Junnuen greets me at the back door of the cleaners and I hand her our tall travel mugs of black coffee while I unlock the deadbolts. She gives me my drink back and I hold the door open for her. Junnuen has worked at this location for over a decade as a presser and is the best in the business. She taught both me and my older brother, Liam, how to press and iron like a boss. She’s also never bothered to learn English, which makes her an awesome co-worker for someone like me who doesn’t really like talking. I prefer to be alone and live in my head – it’s so much more pleasant there.

Junnuen goes to her area and switches the presser on. I go around the building turning on the lights and getting the POS running.

I get all the tickets that are due for the day and compare them with the bags we have listed underneath the Thursday tag on the rack. Everything corresponds, because I could do this with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. I unlock the front door, turn on the open sign, and pull up the blinds that cover the windowed storefront.

After a few hours of taking clothes in, sorting them, applying button covers, bagging, tagging, and sending clean clothes back out in to the world, it’s break time. Junnuen comes to get my coffee mug from the front. Since we don’t have a break room downstairs, we alternate turns taking our lunch in my apartment. Yeah, I live in a glorified break room.

I park it on a stool up front and enjoy a little break of my own. I check my phone – no new texts, and Facebook is just as boring as it was earlier in the day.

The front door squeaks a bit as it opens and I look up. Gabe Riley is trying to get his wheelchair around the door while holding it open, and there’s not enough room between where the door swings out and the concrete parking space thing for his chair to fit through. He pushes the door closed just as I get up to go help him, and wheels past it, opens it behind himself and backs into the store, knocking into the little plastic trashcan we keep by the door.

“Hey,” I say, going over to right the trashcan.

He flips his golden blond hair out of his green eyes and grimaces at me. “Sorry. If your door opened in, it’d be easi—”

The tablecloth that he’s holding in his lap starts slipping and before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning over his chair, grabbing at the fabric and inadvertently getting a handful of his junk.

All time stops in the way it does when I do something embarrassing, and I can feel him looking at me.

Gabe clears his throat. “You know, even though I can’t really feel it, I can see what you’re doing.” A little puff of air escapes from between his lips as he laughs, and it warms my cheek.

I back away from him, scurrying behind the counter and dragging the tablecloth with me.
Oh my God
. I inhale deeply and look him in the eye.

“So, yeah, we’re just going to pretend like that didn’t happen, right?” I say.

His eyes hold mine, still amused. “Well, you can forget about it if you want, but I’d rather not. That’s the most action I’ve seen in years.”

Since his “accident.” I’ve long ago pretended that didn’t happen too, at least my part in it.

I sift through the scrunched up tablecloth and start marking the stained areas with blue masking tape so I’ll know where to pretreat it later.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, checking, because I never knew what happened after … he never came back to school, I only saw him out with his parents maybe a couple times a year. I’m surprised he’s here running an errand solo and being so normal.

Gabe shrugs. “Sure, you were on swim team with me for a year, weren’t you? Briana?”

“Close. Brynn. Yeah, I was a freshman when you were a junior.”

“And you remember me,” he says, his voice tight, “because of the chair?”

“Ha!” I snort. “I remember you because I spent an inordinate amount of time checking out your ass in a Speedo.”

I blush and don’t look up at him. I’m direct, but I sometimes have a hard time immediately dealing with the consequences of what I say.

“Ah-ha, so that explains the manhandling.”

“It was an accident. Besides, I was referring to a rational reaction to your hotness – enjoying your person with my eyes – I don’t make a practice of getting my hands involved. I’m not a molester.”

“Too bad.”

“Oh my God,” I say, thinking that I’ve talked more to Gabe Riley than I’ve talked to another human being in months. “I have a boyfriend, you know.”

“Too bad,” he says again, but then chuckles to take the edge off of it.

I finish looking the tablecloth over and bring up his mom’s info in the computer. “Earliest I can have this back to you is Monday.”

He nods. “That’s fine. My mom just needs it for Thanksgiving.”

“Good for her for getting it cleaned early. The week before Thanksgiving is nutso.” I make a note on their account. “I’ll give you a twenty percent discount, okay?”

“Sweet. Thanks.”

I print off the ticket and reach over the counter to hand it to him. He lifts up his right hand and I can see it’s slightly twisted, his fingers curled in. Gabe grabs the receipt between the knuckles of his index and middle fingers and sticks it into the front pocket of his flannel.

My eyes meet his and I smile. He’s just as attractive and nice as he ever was, even if he thought my name was Briana.

“It’s been fun flirting with you, Brynn,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting into a cocky grin. “I’ve been out of practice.”

“That’s a shame, you know. You should do it more often and with all kinds of girls. You’re still Gabe Fucking Riley, after all.”

He blushes. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” He flips his hair out of his eyes again.

“Uh-huh,” I drawl.

He spins around and wheels over to the door, opening it out with his left hand while he rolls forward with his right. His exit is a lot more graceful than his entrance was.

My phone chimes on the counter and I pick it up. A photo from Andy that I don’t bother looking at. He sends at least one a day and at this point it has to be a pic of his, like, nostrils or something because he’s already sent one of every other body part, his primary focus on either down the pants dick pictures or, strangely, his flexed calves.

I hear Junnuen come back downstairs.

She sets my refilled mug on the counter and makes a disgusted face in the direction of my phone.

“I know, I know,” I sigh.

She elbows me and points to Gabe, driving some souped up rapist van toward the exit of the parking lot. She smiles.

Chapter Three

“Hey, do you think we could get Landon to fix the door at the front of the store?”

Mom ignores me temporarily and takes the napkin off the table and discreetly slides it to my lap. I open it up and prod her again. “The door?”

“What’s wrong with it? It seemed to work just fine when I came to pick you up for lunch.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “It works fine if you’re not in a wheelchair. Gabe Riley came in yesterday and he had a hard time getting around the door and the curb. If the door opened into the store, or if it swung both ways, then he wouldn’t have had a problem.”

She glances up from her menu, her eyes flicking to my hair. Several are out of place, I’m sure. “I appreciate that you want to help the less fortunate, Brynn, but do we really need to spare the expense for one person? The Rileys hardly give us enough business.” She dismisses me by focusing on a spot on her water glass and then mutters, “Oh, and I saw that you randomly decided to give them a twenty percent discount. Once is fine, so Gabe doesn’t cause a stink about the door, but don’t let it happen again.”

I reach over and pull her menu down just enough so that she can’t hide behind it. I mean, I’m afraid of her, who wouldn’t be, but not as much as my brother Liam is. Not by a long shot. “I’ll pay for it – the door, the discount, whatever. I thought you gave me that store to manage. Well, this is me managing something that one of our customers could use.”

Mom rolls her eyes and exhales hard through her nose. Her go-to expression of extreme disapproval. “I’ll ask Landon to stop by sometime next week. Okay?”

I cringe internally. “He needs to fix it before Monday, if possible.”

“Brynn Deandra Garrett, don’t test me.”

“I’m not trying to test you.” I explain, meeting her eyes. “I would be happy to call Landon and ask.” Even though he’s a total creeper.

Mom snorts. “Please, that man is a borderline pedophile. How do you think I got him to work for so cheap?”

The waitress arrives and I immediately order a plain cheeseburger and a piece of double chocolate cake before my mom can order me a salad with vinaigrette on the side. That I won’t eat. Have never eaten. My food groups are sandwiches and dessert. The end. I drink coffee, milk, and beer at parties. The end.

I don’t know why everyone has to complicate things by needing variety in their lives. Liam needed so much variety that he decided to wear his clothes and Dani’s. I just want … boring? Normal? I want my life to be low key. Nice. A minimum of stress. I want to work in the dry cleaners that I’ve always worked at, where I am comfortable with my job and know how to do everything. I want to be with Andy because I can be away from him and not miss him. Not worry over him like some simpering girl.

Not everyone falls in love. Again, my brother got to fall in real love and I just don’t see lightning striking twice in the Garrett family. I’m okay with this. I’m okay with even the kind things I do for other people being something as mundane as changing the way a door opens, because not everyone specializes in the grand gesture.

~

I step off the city bus and make a run for the aquatic center. The class I teach, Swimming for Seniors, starts at 6:15 and I barely have time to close up shop, catch the bus, and get my suit on.

Yes, this is how I spend my Friday nights. I dig it. I still love to swim, although I’m not great at it anymore, but neither are my students. We do a lot of floating on our backs and staring at the ceiling. It’s calming. Plus, several of them bring me cookies, so that’s a definite bonus. Old people rock. I’m going to make the most amazeballs old person, I just know it.

I strip with a quickness and yank my navy blue racer back tank suit on, jam my hair under my swim cap and head for the pool.

“Brynnie,” Mrs. Clemson says, waving to me from the water, her arm skin flapping. “You’re getting here later and later every week. You’re not thinking of deserting us, are you?”

I sit down on the edge of the pool and ease myself into the lukewarm water next to her. “Never! I just need a car is the problem. The bus has to haul ass through the Friday traffic.”

Mr. Anders chuckles from behind me. “Such a mouth on you, young lady. I enjoy it immensely.”

“Damn straight, Mr. A.” I move out into the center of the shallow end and face my class. “So, on the schedule, I think we’re slated to work on treading water.”

“Lamesauce,” Mrs. Benedetto chimes in. She has, like, seventeen grandkids and the most enormous boobs. I know not how the foam cups of her swimsuit contain them.

“Lamesauce, indeed. Should we just say screw it and float?”

“I’m one step ahead of you,” Mrs. Caswell says from over by the wall. She dims the lights above our section of the pool.

I make sure everyone in class has safely made it onto their backs and then I take their hands, one by one, and move them away from the wall before I assume the position.

The ceiling of the aquatic center isn’t exciting. It’s white metal girders with big banks of fluorescent lights. It’s the perfect canvas to paint your thoughts on.

My mind flows to the conversation I had with Mom at lunch and just how infuriating she can be. A million times Liam and I have speculated on why she is the way she is, but we’ve never known for sure. Grandpa, her dad, isn’t like her – so concerned with appearances and what people, whoever the hell
they
are, will think. So spiteful and vindictive.

Maybe I should’ve left. I could’ve gone to Eugene and lived with Liam and Dani. I’d applied and gotten into U of O. But something made me want to stay in Boise. Some pull other than family. I just see my life here. I’ve always seen my life here.

My thoughts drift over to Andy. He’s a person who knows what he wants. Even when we were fifteen, he knew he wanted to be with me. Like he’d picked me out and decided, even though I’d really done that to him. I went along, because he made so much sense to me. The quintessential leader and jock. Funny, cute, goofy, cocky … unable to take criticism or cede control.

The last time we were together, together, he’d got it in his head that we needed to have a romantic send off. He wanted to do all this weird stuff, like, stuff that most girls would go for, but I’m suspicious of.

There were rose petals and a picnic involved. He did bring four kinds of cookies, so that part was actually romantic for me, but then when it came to the sex, he did all his same moves that he’d been doing for three years. It seemed to me, if he’d wanted to make the experience memorable, he’d have slipped something new into his repertoire.

Maybe I just don’t like sex? Maybe I’m the issue? It doesn’t matter now anyway, Andy isn’t going to be back for another three weeks. Worrying gets a person nowhere.

~

On Monday morning, Junnuen and I go through our morning routine and then I sit down and Google instructions on how to switch the way a commercial door swings. I knew Mom was never going to call Landon, but I guess I’d hoped. So dumb. But I’m determined, and not an idiot. I will do it myself.

I make a list of supplies and when Junnuen comes back from her break, I run across the street to the Ace Hardware.

Two hours later, my hands and the printed out instructions are grease-stained and I’m no closer to fixing the door.

“What’s goin’ on, Brynn?”

I look up from the sidewalk and see Gabe eyeing the mess I’ve made.

“Failure,” I say, laughing.

He chuckles and nods toward the instructions. “Hand those over and let’s see if I can figure out … what exactly were you trying to do here?”

I shove the directions his way and he takes them between his knuckles like before and places the paper on his lap. “You said that you’d be able to get into the store easier if the door opened in, so I was trying to make it swing either way.”

Gabe grins. “Sweet. I didn’t even have to fill out a comment card or anything.” He looks over the instructions and then appears to have a light bulb moment. “Ah-ha. Okay, what you need to do is hire a handyman because obviously neither one of us is smart enough to figure this shit out.”

I giggle and start tossing the tools and supplies into the Ace bag. “Well, do you know a guy? Apparently, the one my mom has been using for the past twelve years isn’t to be trusted alone with me. Or maybe you?” I shake my head. “That wasn’t totally clear.”

Gabe looks around. “Are there instructions here that will also explain what you just said?”

“Pedophile handyman.” I take hold of the armrest on his chair and pull myself up to standing. He moves his hand forward like he wants to help me, but then tucks it into his lap.

“For real?”

We go into the store, the door making a high-pitched squeal as it slowly closes. Our eyes go wide and then we bust out laughing.

Finally, I shrug. “I don’t know if he is for real or not, but he does give me a creeper vibe.”

“Then definitely don’t call him,” Gabe says, fishing his dry cleaning ticket out of the front pocket of his flannel.

I wave it away and go to the rack to get his mom’s tablecloth.

“My dad could probably fix it,” Gabe calls after me.

“Oh, yeah?” I call back.

“Sure, he’s gotten really good at modifying things for me. He built ramps all over our house and widened doorways, lowered the sink in bathroom. I bet the door would be a snap.”

I locate the tablecloth and walk back out front. “That would be awesome. I’d totally pay him, of course.”

“I doubt he’d take any money, he’s kind of weird about stuff.”

“Well, stuff is weird,” I reply. “Can I take this to your van for you?”

Gabe smiles. “I haven’t paid yet.”

“Free dry cleaning for the door repair,” I say, making a managerial/eff-you-Mom decision on the spot.

“You do this for all your customers or just the poor crippled boys?” He wheels backward, spins around and opens the door out, slides through, pivots and holds it for me.

“Crips and old people, mostly.” I walk past him and then wait in the parking lot until he’s next to me to start toward his van.

Gabe sets his key fob on his thigh and digs his knuckle into the unlock button. “Just put the tablecloth on the passenger seat, will you?”

“You don’t want me to hang it up in the back? Surely this awesome beige rapist van has a place to hang up a table covering festooned with cornucopia.”

He cocks his head to the side, studying me, a sly smile playing on his mouth. “You just used rapist van, festooned, and cornucopia all in the same sentence.”

I slide the side door open. “Who wouldn’t if given the chance? Words, Gabe, are available to all of us to put in whatever combinations we choose.” I feel around along the ceiling for a hook or an oh shit handle, but can’t find one. I settle for draping the dry cleaning bag over the single bucket seat in the back. “And just to let you know, even though we’ve talked about molestation, pedophiles, or rapists in every conversation we’ve had, I am firmly against them.”

“Are you sure that last sentence is the combination you want to choose?” Gabe asks with a smirk as he goes around the rear of the van.

The opposite side door opens and a chair lift that’s where the other seat would normally be rises a couple inches, and then lowers outside of the van. Gabe drives his chair onto the lift. Once he’s in the van, he rolls forward into the driver’s position and the lift returns to the lowered position.

“Whoa! Pretty cool.”

Gabe turns to me and wiggles his eyebrows. “Wanna take a ride, little girl? I’ve got candy and puppies!”

I make another quick decision. There aren’t any more tickets for the day and I’d be closing the store in a couple of hours anyhow. “Sure. I like candy and puppies and going for rides with strange men.”

Gabe seems surprised. “Really? Okay. Cool.”

“Just let me run inside and let Junnuen know I’m taking off.”

I rush back to the store, lock the register, turn off the open sign, and draw the blinds. The front door is totally fucked and I can’t get it to close completely. I could try to rig something, but wonder if that will make it more obvious that it isn’t locked? No use in giving hints that something is amiss.

I go to Junnuen’s station, she’s almost done with her last basket of clothes. “I’m going for a drive,” I say, mimicking driving, my hands on an invisible steering wheel.

She nods and smiles at me broadly.

“I’ll be back before closing time.” I point to my wrist, where a watch would be if I ever wore one.

She nods again and waves me away.

I run upstairs to my apartment and grab my coat, just in case … well, nothing is going to happen, but maybe we’ll … what am I even hoping for? I need to get a hold of myself. Fluttery feelings in my stomach over a guy are not something that happen to me. Never have, never will. And he’s in a wheelchair and I have a boyfriend and I haven’t told him about three years ago and what could be more complicated than
all
of that?