The Boy Next Door (13 page)

“And that’s all that’s important, huh?” Jason leans forward, closer to me, and I’m suddenly suspicious that the shot on the table is not his first of the night. His face is dangerously close to mine and I can smell the whiskey, strong enough that it seems like it might be enough to get me a little drunk too.

“It’s important,” I say quietly.

“Tasha,” he says. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you marry this guy? You deserve better.”

“And that’s you?” I retort.

Jason jerks his head back as if I slapped him. “Okay, point taken,” he says.

I instantly feel guilty. This isn’t some jerk hitting on me in a bar. This is Jason, who I adore. I may not be in love with him, but I don’t want to hurt him. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You know I love you like family. But I just don’t feel that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he says. He gives me his half smile, but this one is kind of sad. “I had to try, though. I mean, if you have any shot in hell with the girl you’ve been in love with for twenty years, you have to take it, right?”

I don’t want to tell Jason that he really didn’t ever actually have a shot in hell.

“But fine,” he says. “Forget about me for a minute. Please don’t marry Larry, Tasha. He’s awful. He’s totally wrong for you.”

“Larry has a lot of good qualities,” I say. “He’s kind, he’s intelligent, he has a good career, and he’s . . . fairly attractive. And he cares a lot about me.”

“But he’s not fun,” Jason says. “Tasha, I’ve known you for 25 years, and one of the reasons I love you is that you’re probably the most fun girl I’ve ever met. I don’t know what will happen to you if you marry someone like Larry. I’m worried he’ll suck the life out of you.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Okay, let me ask you this,” he says. “Have you ever actually had fun with Larry?”

I want to say yes, of course. But I start thinking back to my six months with Larry and I really have to wonder: have I? Have I really actually ever had fun with him? Have I ever been doing something where I felt the need to throw my head back and laugh because I was having such a great time?

There must have been a time like that. I just can’t happen to think of it right now.

“Yes, I have,” I answer indignantly.

Jason looks skeptical.

“Look, I’m sorry about you and Melissa,” I say, and Jason winces as I say her name. “But Larry and I are genuinely very happy together. I just wish you could be happy for us. You’re my best friend and I think . . . I think you owe me that.”

Jason frowns at me. He fingers the empty shot glass of whiskey in front of him. “Tasha, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you. I just . . .”

“Then that’s all there is to it,” I say. I’ve noticed my voice has become angry, abrupt. “There’s no reason for you to attack my choices like this.”

“Tasha,” he says quietly. “I understand on some level why you’re doing this, but I think I’d be a pretty shitty best friend if I stood aside and let you make the biggest mistake of your life.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t be best friends anymore,” I say. I grab my purse off the back of my chair and Jason looks at me with alarm. “Friends are supposed to support each other. This . . . what you’re doing right now . . . it isn’t supportive. I know what I’m doing, Jason.”

I expect him to back down and apologize, but instead he says, “You’re wrong, Tasha.”

“I’m not wrong,” I shoot back. “And . . . I’m leaving.”

I practically knock over the drink of the person at the next table in my haste to get out of there. When I get outside the bar, I see my hands are shaking. I’ve never fought with Jason before. But then again, today was a lot of firsts for our relationship, I guess.

***

“Engaged? How are you engaged?!”

It’s bad enough that I had to take shit from Jason, but now my grandmother seems determined to do the same. I was sort of hoping she’d be happy for me or something, but somehow this reaction doesn’t particularly surprise me.

“People get engaged,” I say. “I’m 32-years-old, after all.”

“You’re doing this because of Lydia,” Nana says. “You’re ruining your whole life just because your sister is getting married before you. Really, Natasha, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I’m not ruining my life,” I insist. “I met a great guy.”

“And how come I never heard of this great guy till this minute?”

“Because I don’t tell you everything.”

Nana huffs. “What’s his name again?”

“Larry Gold,” I say.

“Sounds like a used car salesman.”

“He’s an investment banker,” I say. “Just like Jason, who you apparently like so much.”

“Jason’s a good kid,” Nana says. “If you were marrying him, I wouldn’t have any problem.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t feel that way about Jason.”

“So you say.”

“Nana, I don’t!” I take a deep breath. “I’m in love with Larry. I want to spend my life with him.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nana!”

“Tasha, I’ve know you since you were in diapers,” she reminds me. “You think I don’t know when you’re kidding yourself?”

“Okay,” I finally concede. “Larry isn’t the greatest guy in the world. But he’s a good person and I do like him. I mean, what am I waiting for at this point?”

“I miss the old Tasha,” Nana grumbled. “The one who liked to have a good time and wasn’t settling for some loser because he has a good job. It’s one thing for Lydia to settle. She’s ugly. But you shouldn’t.”

I’m blushing. “Nana, don’t say that about Lydia.”

“What? It’s true. She’s ugly, her fiancé is ugly, and you can bet their kids will be ugly.”

I groan inwardly. I would say that Nana had lost her censor as she got old, but it’s not entirely clear to me that she ever had a censor. In any case, I’m convinced that she’s wrong. And Jason’s wrong. I know what’s best for me. After all, who knows me better than me?

Now that I know Jason’s been in love with me our whole lives, I feel like I’ve been re-analyzing every interaction we’ve ever had. It seems like everything he’s ever said to me takes on a new meaning.

For instance, I remember one summer when we were thirteen, our parents decided to take our families on a group trip to a large amusement park. Now, you have to understand something, and I say this with all modesty: when I was thirteen, I was hot. I wasn’t awkward or frizzy haired or whatever like a lot of other thirteen-year-olds. I was freaking hot. My mother rejected three outfits I tried on before she finally approved a skin-tight pair of jeans and a tank top that clearly outlined my perky little nipples. (God, I’m a little jealous of my thirteen-year-old self.) I was wearing my usual globs of black eye makeup, which I had only recently discovered and was smearing on without much restraint. I don’t think it looked bad, but in retrospect, I’m sure I looked like a huge whore.

Jason’s older brother Randy was sixteen, and he had begged out of the trip, saying there was “no fucking way” he was going to a lame amusement park with his parents. He was sitting in the living room watching football when I walked in with my parents and I could see his jaw drop open. He sat up straight on the couch and practically did a wolf howl at me. “Wow, Tasha,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Well,” I replied, trying my best to act cool around Randy. “You’re seeing me now.”

“I sure am,” he said. He looked me up and down. “You going to that amusement park?”

“Yes,” I said.

He grinned at me. “Well, maybe I am too, then.”

Now as you recall, Jason was (and is) a good-looking guy, and there was a strong family resemblance between him and his brother. Except Randy Fox wasn’t in a wheelchair, so there was nothing to get in the way of his hotness. He actually had a reputation at the local high school for being kind of a ladies’ man, a reputation that I knew about and excited me. I never thought that I had a chance of dating Randy, but now it seemed like it might actually happen.

Of course, Jason was in the room, and he looked really upset by our interaction. He took his brother aside, and naïve me, I thought he was putting in a good word for me or something. After all, Jason knew I dated and I didn’t think he’d deprive me of going out with one of the hottest guys at the high school. But when I listened in to their conversation, I was surprised and angered to find that this wasn’t at all Jason’s intention.

“What are you doing?” I could hear Jason hiss.

“What do you think?” Randy retorted. “How come you never told me how hot Tasha was?”

A hot flush came into my cheeks. Randy Fox thought I was hot! Even though I was just a dorky middle-school kid.

“Look,” Jason said. “Tasha doesn’t want to get hit on by some creepy high-school guy.”

“Yes, I do!” I almost yelled, just as Randy said, “It doesn’t look like she minds so much.”

Jason was quiet then and I could hear Randy laugh. “Come on, Jason,” he said. “You don’t think that you have a chance with her, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Jason said. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but in retrospect, I remember the frustration and pain in his voice.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“Randy,” Jason said. “I’m begging you. Please, please don’t hit on Tasha. Please.”

I was holding my breath too. I wanted Randy to tell his brother to fuck off and say that I was too spectacular and he had to have me. But instead, Randy laughed again. “Shit, I never saw you get like this about a girl, bro. Okay, I won’t.”

Randy backed out of the trip, declaring once again that it was “stupid,” but I knew the truth and I was really pissed off at Jason. I was fully prepared not to speak to him the entire day. And I probably would have stuck to that if we hadn’t arrived at the entrance to the park to see huge lines to get admission.

Jason’s father clapped his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s go to the front. I’m sure they’ll let us all right in when they see you.”

It was obvious what Mr. Fox was getting at. Jason was in a wheelchair, so they’d never make him wait in line with everyone else. He and his family would get instant admission. Probably free admission.

“No, Dad,” Jason said quietly. “Let’s just wait in line like everyone else.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jason,” Mr. Fox said. “The line is huge. Don’t be difficult about this. What’s the big deal?”

I could see Jason’s cheeks turn red and my anger at him melted away. I guessed his dad made him do this all the time and he hated it. Jason finally mumbled an okay, and I watched as he and his father made their way to the front entrance and spoke to a manager about Jason’s disability, possibly throwing in some story about how he was dying and this trip was his last request. A minute later, we were all waved inside, free of charge.

When we got inside, I could see Jason eying the roller coaster and the accompanying worried look on his mother’s face. “We talked about this,” she said to him. “I told you that if we were going to go, no fast rides. There’s plenty for you . . . the carousel, the Ferris wheel . . .”

Jason made a face. “The carousel? Come on, Mom, that’s for kids. I’ll be fine.”

“Jason . . .” his mother said in a warning voice.

Except, unlike me, Jason always did what his parents told him. So he was stuck riding the carousel. And he didn’t even get to ride the horses. He had to sit in a stationary carriage, after his parents instructed the ride operators on helping him inside. They stood on the sidelines, watching us and holding Jason’s wheelchair. “This is ridiculous,” Jason mumbled to me, since I had agreed to sit next to him. “Paraplegics ride horses. I mean,
 
real
 
horses. Not just fake ones that only go up and down.”

“If it were me,” I told him, “I’d give them the finger and ride whatever the hell I want.”

Jason grinned at me. “I know you would. But I’m not like that.”

“You should be!” I said.

“No, I’m a wuss,” he said. “I was just hoping they’d change their minds.”

“Parents never change their minds,” I told him. “That’s never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do.”

Jason eyed my outfit. “Yeah, I can see that.”

At that moment, a wonderful inspiration struck me. After we got off the carousel, I told Jason’s parents that we were going to go get corndogs, and of course, they believed us, having an undying trust in their youngest son (who actually also believed that we were going to get corndogs). Except instead of corndogs, I led Jason to the biggest roller coaster in the whole park.

“Tasha,” he murmured, looking nervous. “I’m not supposed to.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I said. “I’ll never respect you if you do everything your parents say all the time.”

Jason smiled weakly. “Yeah, but it’s really . . . big.”

I shrugged. “So what? What’s the worst that could happen? You’re already paralyzed.”

Jason laughed and agreed that I was absolutely right. We got on line with everyone else in preparation to ride the freaking-huge roller coaster. Jason was practically giddy and I was pretty damn proud of myself until we got to the front of the line, the conductor looked Jason over, and shook his head.