Let's Be Frank (35 page)

“You accuse me of not letting go of the past, but you’re determined to make it always feel weird that you married someone I used to…
be
with.”

“Yeah, well… I think it’s important we never forget who won in the end. You screwed up, big time.” According to his gloating tone, we might as well be talking about a bowling trophy.

“You’re sick.” My proclamation contains no venom, though. What’s the point? I know he’s kidding, trying to make it less awkward in his completely boneheaded, male chauvinistic way. If we never speak seriously about it, then it’s not a big deal, according to his logic. I get it. But I’m not built that way. “It would be awesome if you would never talk to me about your sex life ever again.”

“Jealous?”

“Nope.”

“Right. Says the guy who has to pretend to be a completely different person to get laid. Then again, I guess that didn’t work out so well, either, did it?”

“Are you trying to make me feel better, or worse?”

He playfully punches my shoulder. “Aw, Bro… I’m sorry. But I’m kind of confused. You’re not sorry to have broken up with Frankie; you don’t have to pretend to be that nerdy author anymore… So why the long face? How can I help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong?”

I shrug, my slight buzz making me sullen. I’m not about to spill my guts. Not to him, not to anyone. Not even to myself. Is it too much to ask to be allowed to just sit here with him so I can claim I don’t always drink alone when Mom and Dad inevitably confront me about it?

We don’t say anything for a while. Then Nick stands up, stretches, and asks, “More beer?”

I stare off into his dark backyard. “I should probably get going,” I reply dutifully but without much conviction and without moving a muscle.

He pats my shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Gotta drain my lizard first.”

I hate to be such a pathetic imposition, but the thought of leaving fills me with nauseous dread. It’s not just about being alone, either. More than anything, I’m delaying the moment when I get home and know with absolute certainty that Heidi and Nick are… pleasing each other. I won’t be able to shut out the mental images, either. Sometimes it’s a curse to have such a vivid imagination.

Like right now (while Nick’s inside, probably commiserating with Heidi about how “he won’t leave”), I’m not at all curious about what Frankie’s up to, but I can’t help but wonder what Betty’s doing. Her lips hurtle toward me, behind my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. I push down the guilt and picture her doing something—anything—besides kissing me.

A few months ago, I’d think she was probably on a date, making some poor guy sweat with her witty one-liners. Now, I know it’s more likely she’s spending the evening alone, toiling away on Frankie’s marketing efforts. Or in a hot bath with a good book and a large glass of red wine… Maybe thinking about me?

No! Not going there. Won’t. Can’t. Shouldn’t.

Nick returns with an armful of beers.

I smile gratefully at him, take the bottle he’s offering me, and use the underside of the lounger to pry off the cap. “Bottoms up,” I demand grimly.

He complies, and we both gulp half our bottles before setting them down on the tiny table between us and belching in stereo. Neither of us asks to be excused.

“So, have you decided to tell me why you’re so mopey? Mopier than usual, even? I mean, I haven’t seen you act like this since…” He stops, seeming to think about it and reach back into his memory. “Since… Well, the only other time that comes close is your senior year in high school, when…”

“Please!”

Through his laughter, he talks over me. “…you wanted to ask Britta Kaepertowski to the prom, but your buddy, Ted, had the hots for her, and you had this insane idea that you weren’t allowed to ask her, out of respect for Ted.”

“It’s the Bro Code! Are you honestly unaware of the concept?”

“No. I just think it’s ridiculous. And pointless. And let me remind you—in case you’ve forgotten and haven’t learned a damn thing in the past fifteen years—that in the case of Britta ‘Big Boobs’ Kaepertowski, you and Ted gallantly agreed that neither of you would ask her out, but the minute Michaela Whatshergut—”

“Pecklehoffer.”

“Yeah, her! As soon as Michaela Peckerhopper…”

“Pecklehoffer, asshole.”

“Whatever. As soon as she accepted your invitation, Teddy marched himself up to Britta in the cafeteria, and what happened?”

“He asked Britta to the prom.”

“And what did she say?”

“She turned him down.”

“But not just that. She said…”

I sigh. “You know the story, so why are you making me say it? You’re such a douche sometimes…”

He snatches his beer bottle from the table and holds it to his lips but doesn’t drink… yet. “Maybe you forgot. I could see why you’d want to block it out.” Now, he sips, lowers the bottle and says in a high-pitched voice like no high school girl I’ve ever known, “‘I’m waiting for Nate to ask me out.’”

“What’s your damn point?”

“My point is, you went to prom with a girl who had to shave her face more often than you did at that age, because you were too nice. And if Ted had been able to go with Britta, it may have been worth it—you gotta admire the guy’s balls—but he wound up not going at all. And to top it all, Britta went ‘as friends’ with Rex Reidy.”

I finish my beer and move immediately to the next. Tossing the cap onto the table with a clink, I say, “See? It all worked out.”

“How do you figure? He bragged for the rest of the school year about getting lucky with her at one of those after-prom parties at his best friend’s house. Where he, incidentally, knocked her up, the moron.”

I flinch at his harsh tone and bristle on behalf of all people who find themselves in that position, one person in particular for whom I feel protective and defensive. “It happens. And it was obviously meant to be, in their case. She and Rex have, like, five kids now. I recently saw their second-youngest, Theo, a couple of weeks ago at the clinic.” I drop my voice confidentially. “Earwax build-up like you wouldn’t believe. I thought we’d never get it all out. Never did, in fact. Had to send them home with some wax-softening drops and instructions on how to use a bulb syringe to flush out his ears.”

“Are you finished destroying that patient’s right to privacy?”

“I’m just saying… Britta and Rex have been together ever since. So it’s not like it was a waste.”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“It wasn’t meant to be with Britta. Or Heidi. Or Frankie. Or…”

Nick waits, then reaches for another beer. “Or…? You’re already planning the next Never-Gonna-Be-Mrs.-Nathan-Bingham?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

Instead of continuing to lie to both of us, I mutter, “Stop being such a dick. Let’s talk about something more interesting… like pre-season football.”

He chuckles. “Suit yourself, Bro.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Much later, I was pathetically broody. I may have even choked up at one point while lamenting that I’d never find The One and have the family I’ve always wanted. I think my exact words were, “I’ll probably wind up being that creepy guy who calls all his patients ‘my kids.’”

That’s when my brother claimed he was all out of beer and started pumping me full of espresso. It didn’t take long before I was fit to walk the two blocks home. And just in time, too. Heidi had joined us by then, and she was scrolling through her phone, tossing out the names of some of her more desperate, single sorority sisters, trying to convince me to go out on a blind date or two.

The resultant nightmare from my last blind date is still too fresh for me to fall for that one.

This morning, I’m thirsty and feeling puffy, but I’m surprisingly not hungover, so I chug a glass of water while watching The Weather Channel, which promises a cool-down by the end of the week. Until then, we’re stuck with record highs for this time of year. I lace up my running shoes, planning to sweat the toxins from my system on an easy run. Reba presses her cold, wet nose against my shin.

“Since when?” I say with a laugh, giving her a consolation scratch behind her ears. “I’d wind up carrying your big, furry butt all the way home. Not fun.”

Her reply grunt probably has more to do with the ear-scratching, but I like to think she’s also agreeing with me. That’s another thing I love about her: she hardly ever argues with me.

“I’ll be back soon,” I promise on my way out the front door. “Make sure the couch doesn’t go anywhere. I plan to use it a lot later.”

Forty-five minutes later, while I’m deep in thought, recalling some of the things Nick said to me last night, my endorphin high wanes. I head for home, hoping I have enough gas left in the tank to get me there. It’s apparent I don’t when I’m still more than two miles from the house. I can smell the alcohol mingling with the sweat oozing from my pores, and it’s nauseating me, so I stagger to an empty bench at a bus stop and collapse onto it. Stretching my legs in front of me, I bend over, bringing my nose as close as I can to my knees, hoping I don’t cramp… or barf, and cursing myself for letting my musings about last night’s conversation with Nick put me in this predicament.

When I’ve caught my breath and straighten to an upright position, I notice a scruffy guy, who looks like he might smell even worse than I do, eyeing me and inching ever closer, so I rise to my feet and shuffle down the sidewalk. Even if I have to walk the rest of the way, it’s better than sitting somewhere, miserable, wishing I were home.

What I see in my driveway as I limp the last block stops me as if I’ve stumbled into a patch of fast-drying concrete.

Exhaustion prevents me from turning and running the other way. It doesn’t stop me from looking around to see if any of my neighbors have some shrubs I can lie behind while I wait for my visitor to give up on me and leave.

Then I realize how irrational and immature my thinking is. Anyway, if I’m being honest, the sight of Betty’s dark green Fiat thrills me as much as it terrifies me.

One foot in front of the other, slowly at first, then picking up momentum until I’m jogging at a clip I didn’t think possible for the rest of this day (or week), I close the gap between my house and me, hoping I don’t stink as much as I suspect I do.

She waits for me on the wooden bench on the covered stoop, holding two plastic, insulated coffee mugs. As I traverse the inclined driveway that normally feels like nothing but today might as well be Everest, she holds up one of the mugs in greeting.

“Hey. Salted caramel, right?”

I grin, even though the thought of drinking hot coffee right now is less than appealing.

“You remembered.”

“It’s the only thing you order that makes me reconsider my theory you’re a robot.”

“Uh… thanks?”

She laughs as I reach for and take the mug. “You know what I mean. You never eat junk food.”

Keeping at least an arm’s length between us, I’m also careful not to let our fingers touch during the hand-off. “I have you fooled.”

I key in the combination on the front door, then stand aside to let her walk in ahead of me. It makes me look like quite the gentleman, although I mostly do it so she’s not downwind of me as we enter the house. Her summery, clean scent wafts toward me. I close my eyes and steady myself against the door frame.

She glances over her shoulder and notices me stagger. “Are you okay?” she asks, relieving me of the hot coffee.

I smile wanly. “Yeah. I overdid it on my run. Not in very good shape anymore. I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot today, either.” Little white lies are okay, right?

“Maybe I should come back some other time…”

“No! I mean… that’s okay. I’ll be fine. Just need to drink some water and get a shower.”

She looks relieved. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean to barge in.” Laughing, she amends, “Well, I guess I did mean to. I didn’t call ahead, because I didn’t want to give you a chance to say ‘no’ to a visit from me.”

“I’d never do that,” I promise, my heart pounding again, as if I’m still in full stride in the middle of my run.

Looking down at her feet, she says quietly, “Maybe you should wait until you hear why I’m here before you make such a bold statement.”

Before I can ask her to elaborate, Reba waddles from the direction of my bedroom. She extends her front paws, lowering her head even closer than usual to the ground and arching her back in a huge stretch while yawning.

Betty laughs. “Oh, my gosh. Who’s this?”

“My new roomie, Reba.”

“She’s adorable!”

I grin proudly. “Yeah, I know. And she knows it, too.”

After setting her coffee on an end table, Betty hunkers down on all fours and crawls toward the dog, murmuring sweet nothings to her. Reba immediately flops onto her back and assumes the “love me” position. Betty’s only too happy to oblige.

I could watch them all day, but now that I’m indoors, my pong is even more pronounced. “I’m going to leave you two to get acquainted while I hose myself down, if that’s alright.”