Easily Amused (16 page)

“I’m sorry you were inflicted with Myra.” I lowered my voice in case it could be heard from the living room. “She’s really an odd duck.”

Piper raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh no, she was a big help. First off, she knows where everything is in this house. And then we got started talking, and she’s really interesting. I was telling her about Brandon, and she told me about her little girl who died. So sad. And how horrible is it that just a few years later her husband and parents died within months of each other? That’s so tragic. I can’t even imagine how someone would cope with something like that. How could you keep going?”

Maybe by tending a garden for hours and muttering to ceramic garden gnomes? I felt a pang of guilt. I’d been so quick to label, but I’d never stopped to think
why
Myra might be the way she was.

“I have to get going,” Piper said, looping her purse over her elbow. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how he is.”

“I will.”

“Tell him if it makes him feel any better, I’m willing to go to the gallery tomorrow and take a flamethrower to Kelly’s sculptures.”

“It might not make him feel better, but I’d love to see it.” I could picture her stupid paper sculptures consumed by fire. There would be a certain justice.

Piper grinned. “You can come with me. We’ll make it a girls’ night out.” She gave me a hug. “Seriously, now I really have to go.”

M
yra, still carrying my coffee mug, left just after Piper drove away. I let the mug go without voicing an objection. I had liked that coffee mug a lot, actually, but I remembered the saying about letting the things you love be free. If it really belonged to me, it would be back. If not, it was never really mine to begin with. Or something like that. In any case, I had more important things to think about.

I traded Hubert’s bucket for a different, better bucket. Better because it was empty. I took care of the icky one—emptied and rinsed it—and then put it away. I got a bottle of water from the fridge, went into the living room, and sat cross-legged on the floor next to the couch. Hubert’s arm dangled over the side; his fingertips rested on the floor. I lifted his arm with the intent of reuniting it with the rest of his body, and I jumped when it moved of its own accord and patted me on the shoulder.

“Oh, you’re awake,” I said.

“I’ve been awake the whole time.” His words didn’t come out as clearly as usual, but I could understand him easily enough. “I’m not in a coma. I’m sick.”

“Sick being the new word for drunk?”

He grimaced. “I’m drunk too, but mostly sick. Food poisoning. I had a bad seafood sub from Sub America at lunchtime.”

“Food poisoning?”

“Yep.” His eyes were closed now, and I could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“And you’ve narrowed it down to a seafood sub? Are you sure that was it?”

“I wasn’t sure it was the seafood going down, but coming back up—I definitely knew.” He talked as if he had marbles in his mouth, like Marlon Brando in
The Godfather
. “I tried telling Piper it was the sandwich, but she wouldn’t listen.”

So he was drunk, had food poisoning,
and
was heartbroken? Talk about a bad day. I unscrewed the cap from the Aquafina. “Do you want some water?”

He propped himself up on one elbow, grabbed hold of the bottle, and took a few careful sips before lying back down.

“Do you think you’re done throwing up?” I asked.

“For now.”

I capped the bottle and set it on the floor next to the bucket. Outside I heard a car drive past and the barking of dogs in the distance. All was right in the neighborhood.

“I’m really sorry about Kelly,” I said after a few minutes of quiet.

“Yeah, me too.”

“But you know, Hubert, you’ll get through this. I never thought of you and Kelly as an ideal match anyway.” This was completely true seeing as Kelly, to my mind, was more of a bride-of-Satan type. “You’ll find someone new, someone more worthy of you. There are lots of women who would give their eyeteeth to date a great guy like you.” Dozens probably, within easy driving distance.

“I don’t want a date.” He sounded aggravated. “I’m tired of dating. I’m through with all that. I want someone for life. To get married, have children. The whole thing.”

“You’ll have all that. Really. We both will.” My words hung comfortably in the air. Just saying it made it all seem attainable. Maybe there
was
something to positive affirmations after all. I felt myself getting pumped with possibility. If someone like Ryan would ask me out, it seemed obvious I was date-worthy. Even if Ryan and I didn’t wind up together, there had to be someone out there for me.

And if Ryan and I did wind up together, well, I hated to even think about it for fear of jinxing it, but wouldn’t that be a great ending to my story? It sure would make going to high school reunions more fun.

I thought about my life, and it was like looking past fog that had lifted. Suddenly my future seemed clear. I had the house, the job, friends, my health. Why wouldn’t a husband and kids follow? Why not?

And hadn’t someone recently said I was smart, pretty, and kind with a great sense of humor? Not to mention what a good friend I was. Surely someone like me wouldn’t die alone. I’d been selling myself short.

And Hubert deserved the same. He wanted to get married more than any other thirty-year-old guy I knew. Probably because his parents were such a perfect match. The curse of having happily married parents: they’re a hard act to follow.

I stroked his head, brushing his hair back off his forehead. “You mark my words, Hubert. Sometime in the very near future, we
will
be married.”

I saw him swallow—his Adam’s apple ducked, and his forehead relaxed under my fingertips. “Are you proposing to me, Lola?”

“What?” My hand froze in midair.

“Because if you’re asking, yes, I will marry you.”

I heard myself laugh, but it was one of those nervous, forced laughs.
Heh heh heh.
“I was talking in general. I didn’t mean we should get married to
each other
.”

He raised himself up on one elbow and looked at me through half-lidded eyes. “Why not, Lola?”

I laughed again, this time sounding like Nelson on
The Simpsons
. “
Ha
ha!” I waited for him to join in, but he just gave me a questioning look. “Really, Hubert, you can’t be serious.”

He struggled to a sitting position. “Hypothetically speaking, it could work, don’t you think?”

He was obviously still influenced by the alcohol and the shock of seeing Kelly with another man. “Hubert,” I said, trying to think of the best way to put this. Hubert and me together? How weird would that be? “I can’t marry you. You’re one of my best friends. I’ve known you since seventh grade. We used to ride our bikes together.” I’m not sure why I added the part about the bikes, but it seemed to give my point some added weight.

“Would that be the worst thing in the world—to be married to one of your best friends?”

Why did that sound familiar?

“Really, Lola, think about it. We’re completely compatible. And just think, if we got married, neither one of us would have to be alone.”

Neither of us would have to be alone? How pathetic was that? The poor man was speaking out of desperation. Of course we were compatible, and yes, I loved him to pieces. Who wouldn’t? But didn’t he realize there had to be some kind of physical attraction? And clearly there wasn’t, but I couldn’t say that. How do you tell someone that you can spend hours with them and never wonder what they look like naked? Or watch them talk and not even try to envision what it would be like to kiss their lips? He was the only man on the planet I could belch in front of without blushing, but that didn’t mean we should get married.

I gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ll tell you what, Hubert. If you still feel this way tomorrow, we’ll talk. But once the alcohol wears off and your stomach settles down, I’m betting you’ll feel as mortified by this idea as I am right now.”

H
ubert spent the rest of the night on the couch, with me at his side for most of it. Thankfully, he didn’t need the bucket again, although he did make a few urgent trips to the bathroom. I didn’t ask for details.

The next morning I waited for him to bring up our conversation from the night before, but he never did, which gave credence to my theory that drink and desperation initiate ideas that fall apart in the light of day.

Most of Saturday was taken up with recovery. I wasn’t hungover or suffering from food poisoning, but I was tired and had dirty laundry up the yin-yang. I shuffled through the house with baskets of clothing and paid a few bills online. Hubert and I took turns napping on and off, reminding me of the day after final exams in college.

Late afternoon, when Hubert finally made it into the shower, I took the cordless phone into my bedroom, shut the door, and settled back on my bed.

When Mike answered, we went through out usual exchange. Like Mr. Rogers, all was wonderful in his neighborhood. I told him I was glad and could I please speak to his wife? If it wasn’t too much trouble?

For the first time in ages, Piper came to the phone with something resembling enthusiasm. “Hey, Lola,” she said. “I was just thinking about you! Honest to God, I was on the verge of picking up the phone when it rang and was you.”

Flattering, but it left me wondering why Mike answered it if she was on the verge of picking it up. How did that work? Did he race over and grab it away from her outstretched hand? I couldn’t picture it, but whatever. It was the thought that counted.

She continued. “So, how’s Hubert doing today? He must have one hell of a headache.”

“He’s much better, actually. Turns out he only had a few drinks—he was mostly sick from something he ate at lunch.” I explained further, but I could tell she was dubious about the food poisoning angle. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. If I went to a bar to pick up a friend who reeked of whiskey and could barely walk, I’d have opinions on the subject myself.

“Well, I’m glad to hear he’s much improved. Mike and I were really worried about him. So,” she said brightly, “tell me about your date. Hubert said you went out with Ryan?”

She always did get right down to business. “Overall it went
very
well,” I said, “until Mindy showed up.”

Piper listened, fascinated, while I recounted the events of the evening. She stopped me frequently to ask questions and to insert the appropriate outraged comment at Mindy’s behavior. “She’s such a piece of work,” she said when I paused to take a breath.

“Always has been,” I said. “But at least she’s consistent. With Mindy you always know what to expect—it’s just the same crap, different pile. But the good news is,” and here I paused for dramatic effect, “and you’ll like this, that I decided to go ahead and announce my engagement to Ryan at Mindy’s wedding. He’s totally on board with it, so I thought, what the hell.” I grinned and clutched the phone to my ear.

She squealed. “Oh my God, I’m so happy for you. I wish I was going to be there to see it. But you can show me the video footage, right?” From her tone you’d think I was actually getting engaged. “Now we just have to go shopping for rings. I was just reading in
Cosmo
about these simulated diamonds that are so close to the real thing only a jeweler can tell the difference. You can buy one at a fraction of the cost of a regular engagement ring. What kind of cut do you like?”

“It really doesn’t matter.” I wasn’t a superficial person. Any large, sparkly rock would do.

“Hey, can I be your maid of honor?”

“But of course.” I was hers, so it was only fair.

“And Hubert can stand up too, don’t you think? He did at mine.”

Her mention of Hubert reminded me of the real reason for my call. “Speaking of Hubert, I had the weirdest conversation with him last night. Wait till you hear.” I filled her in on the exchange, ending with, “And then Hubert said we should get married.
To each other.
At first I thought he was yanking my chain, but he sounded serious. Can you believe it?” I waited for her reaction, expecting a wow, or a gasp, or more questions. Instead, I got a silence that could be dissected by a Ginsu knife. It occurred to me that maybe we’d been disconnected and I’d been rambling to myself. “Piper, are you still there?”

“I’m still here.”

“Isn’t that unbelievable? Here we’ve been friends since seventh grade, and out of the blue he says we should get married?”

“Hmmm.” I got the sense she’d pulled Brandon onto her lap. I could hear his babbling close to the phone.

I tried again. “I’m thinking that the combination of bad seafood and whiskey shots has this effect on men. And if that’s true, I could make a fortune selling the information to other women. Hey! Maybe the one who holds the bucket becomes the love interest. Like those geese that migrate following an ultra-light because they think it’s their mother.” I chuckled, but Piper didn’t join in. Distracted by the baby, no doubt. “And the most ironic thing is that until recently nobody was interested in me, and suddenly I have two men who want to marry me.” OK, technically Ryan’s offer wasn’t genuine, but still, we were dating and that was no small thing. Who knew where it might lead? “By next week I’ll have men following me in droves.” I laughed again, but there was still no response on the other end.

When she finally spoke, her words were measured. “What did you say when Hubert talked about getting married?”

“Of course I said no way. The whole thing was ridiculous.”

“And his reaction?”

“He looked a little disappointed, frankly. He was obviously still drunk and upset, because marriage proposals don’t come out of nowhere.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it nowhere,” she muttered, almost as if to herself.

“What does that mean?”

Now Brandon was making a vibrating noise—
brum, brum, brum, brum
—like she was bouncing him on her lap. “I always thought Hubert had a thing for you in high school.”

“He did not.”

“He did too. Remember junior year when he asked you to prom?”

“He did that to be nice. He knew I really wanted to go with Luke Sorenson, but Luke never asked me.” Luke had, in fact, asked a girl in my grade named Allison, who coincidentally was the older sister of Mindy’s friend Jessica. After that I didn’t like Luke anymore. His taste in girls sucked.

“No, there was more to it than being nice. I picked up definite crush vibes. He had a thing for you.”

“If that’s so, why is this the first time you’ve mentioned it?”

“I
did
try to tell you back then. Remember me saying I thought Hubert wanted to be more than friends?”

That phrase resonated. Funny how memory works. As soon as she said it, I could recall hearing it the first time and even remembered where we were: in Piper’s bedroom listening to her stereo and flipping through a stack of
People
magazines. She’d looked at me sideways and said, “I have a feeling Hubert wants to be more than friends with you.” She told me she could tell by the way he looked at me. I thought she was joking, or worse yet, throwing me, the undesirable one, a bone.

She continued. “I tried to tell you, but you just kept brushing it off, saying he was just being nice and you didn’t want a pity date to the prom.”

So instead of going to the prom, Hubert and I had gone to see a movie and gotten something to eat, and then we drove around afterwards singing along to the car radio. I thought back to that evening and tried to examine it through a different lens. He had liked me? Like that? No way. I would have known. Wouldn’t I?

“You were so insecure,” Piper said. “And you always liked the guys who weren’t interested in you. I always wondered if you did that on purpose subconsciously. You know what I mean—picked an impossibility so you wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of a relationship.”

She’d been psychoanalyzing me? WTF? Please. “Stop already, that was a long time ago.” I hated talking about high school. I hated even thinking about high school. “Even if Hubert had a little crush on me, and I’m only saying
if
, I’m sure he hasn’t carried it all this time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” she said. “But I’m pretty certain he isn’t randomly asking women to marry him. There’s got to be something there. And just for the record, I always thought you two would make a good couple.”

“What?” A good couple, Hubert and me? A better fit than Hubert and Kelly maybe, but that wasn’t saying much. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” I pictured her shrugging on the other end of the line. She exhaled loudly. “OK, I do know. You get along well. You like the same music and movies. Your parents like him, his parents like you. You both laugh at the same stupid stuff.”

That last part was true. Like a movie montage playing in my head, I pictured the hundreds of times Hubert and I had cracked up while Piper looked on straight-faced and perplexed. One time, when we were just out of college, the three of us had eaten at an outdoor café. When a young couple was seated next to us, we watched as they discovered their table was uneven. Without skipping a beat, Hubert leaned forward and whispered, “Watch. In one second they’ll both look underneath it.”

Just as he predicted, both the guy and girl, without discussing it, stuck their heads under the table, searching for the cause of the wobble. It was a perfectly logical sequence of events, but something about Hubert calling it before it happened made it funny to both of us. We both burst out laughing. Piper had looked at us as if we were insane, and then she got up and offered the couple some sugar packets to prop up the short leg. Even now the memory made me smile. “We do have things in common, and he really makes me laugh,” I agreed, “but marriage requires a lot more than that.”

Piper sounded unconvinced, but she didn’t argue with me. “Yes, marriage requires more than that,” she said, “but it’s a really good start.”