Just A Small Town Girl: A New Adult Romantic Comedy Page 8

  "So? Let him."

  "You must have a hairdryer somewhere."

  He toweled his hair off. "Um...no? This is as dry as it gets."

  "Are we driving?"

  "Yep."

  "Fine," I said. "I'll just hang my head out of the window like a border collie."

  He laughed at that. "Keep your mouth closed if you do. Unless you like eating bugs."

  He exchanged a couple of text messages and said we'd meet Bryan 'at the track'. I didn't understand what he meant until we got there; I'd spent most of my high school and college career avoiding sports. We parked next to an oval. The markings on the field were as mysterious as the Nazca lines to me - I guessed they were markers for javelin throws or something. It figured that his war hero brother would be a jock.

  There were two people running around the track - a dark-haired girl and Bryan. It had to be Bryan - even from a distance I could see he was Clayton's mirror image. His hair was cut to military length but it was the same color as Clayton's, and while Bryan's shoulders were more muscled the angles of them were immediately familiar. Then as we passed the side of the bleachers I saw how they were different.

  It caught me off guard, so that a dumb little "Oh," escaped before I could stop myself. When I saw him full length I saw that Bryan was running not on his own two legs, but on a pair of springy prostheses.

  "You asshole," he said, as he approached us, a towel draped around his neck. "You didn't tell her, did you?"

  I wanted to cry, to run. So much for Clayton's theory about twin-sense. It seemed Bryan had spotted exactly where his brother had fallen short before we'd even been introduced. I was mortally ashamed that my shock must have shown on my face.

  "I did, right?" said Clayton, looking at me.

  I shook my head.

  "Don't sweat it," said Bryan, holding out a hand. "You have to excuse him. It's like he was raised by wolves."

  "I'm sorry," said Clayton. "Jesus - what was I supposed to say? 'Come and meet my brother. Oh, by the way, he has no feet.'"

  "That would be a start," said Bryan. He smiled at me but I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. I hated myself for the dumb, visceral reaction that had come over me when I saw he was an amputee.

  "This is Lacie," said Clayton. "Lacie, this is my brother, Bryan. Who would like you to know he has no feet."

  "I'm so sorry," I said.

  He held up a hand. "It's cool. I know it freaks some people out."

  I wanted to say I wasn't freaked out at all, but that would have been a lie so transparent and pathetic that they'd never forgive me. Luckily I was spared further embarrassment when the girl came jogging up. She was tan and athletic in a way I'd never be and when she smiled her teeth were blindingly white - West Coast white, as Courtney would say.

  "Heather," said Clayton, in a kind of 'oh shit' tone that made the bottom fall out of my gut.

  "You've met?" said Bryan.

  "Oh, we've met," said Heather, with a vindictive gleam in her eye.

  I turned to Clayton, but he stood braced as if waiting for a blow to fall. "I...um...didn't you knew Bryan," he said.

  "I didn't," she said. "I was sitting at a stoplight one day and there he was. I thought he was you."

  Bryan bit his lip. "Look, it was a misunderstanding..."

  "Yeah. I'll say," she said. "I started yelling at him because he never called me back. Or my Mom."

  Bryan exhaled slowly. "Oh boy."

  "Your Mom?" I said.

  Heather flashed me a tight-lipped smile. "Has he met your Mom yet?" she said, gesturing to Clayton. "Because FYI, you shouldn't leave them alone together, if you know what I'm saying."

  I didn't, not exactly, but I knew enough. He opened his mouth to speak but I shook my head. "Just take me home," I said.

  Chapter Six

  Clayton

  I called her four times. The first time I called and said we needed to talk. She didn't call back.

  The second time I called and said we really needed to talk. She didn't call back.

  The third time I called and said I was sorry, even though deep down I felt like it was none of her goddamn business who I was seeing before I even met her. What did she want? Some guy who'd come fresh out of a monastery or something? That was the time I said she might do well to remember her manners and return my calls.

  Since she didn't call back I worried that I'd come off as an asshole, so the fourth time I called her back I called to mitigate the earlier asshole call. Unfortunately I kind of worked myself into a temper and on the fourth call I definitely came across as an asshole. The words 'Princess Fuckpants' were used.

  Probably goes without saying that she didn't call back.

  Instead I called Bryan, who was no help at all.

  "This is all your fault," I told him.

  "How?" he said.

  "I don't know. If you hadn't hooked up with Heather..."

  "Uh uh," he said. "Let me stop you right there. I did not 'hook up' with Heather. I'm a gentleman. I don't do that on first dates."

  "Whatever. If you'd just stayed the fuck away from her..."

  "So I'm supposed to avoid every single woman you've ever boned?"

  "No..."

  "...because I'm just saying, that wouldn't work. Not without me leaving the country, and even then..."

  "But Heather?" I said. "Fucking really?"

  "Fucking really, bro. When a woman I've never seen before rolls down her window at a stoplight and yells 'You are literally a motherfucker,' at me then what am I gonna do? On its own that's one hell of a slur on my Mom's honor. I didn't realize she meant her Mom. She thought I was you, asshole. How is this my fault? It's my fault because you look like me?"

  "I don't look like you. You look like me."

  "Bullshit. I'm older. I'm the original. You're just the copy."

  "Nuh uh. So you were first out the vagina..."

  "...okay, no," said Bryan. "This conversation has already had enough vaginas and Moms in the same thought..."

  "...my cells might have started dividing first. Have you ever thought about that? Just because you snagged the seat closest to the exit. I might have been the more advanced one in the uterus. My cells might have moved onto higher brain functions while yours were still working on forming your spleen."

  "Well, they didn't skimp on your nads," said Bryan. "That's for sure. Or maybe they got mixed up and grew you an extra pair where you should have a fucking brain."

  I sat back and sighed. "You're supposed to be on my side here."

  "I am on your side, moron. I'm just saying - how would you feel if you and whatsername..."

  "...Lacie. Her name's Lacie."

  "Lacie. Okay. How would you feel if you ran into some dude and it turned out she'd done them both family style?"

  "She's a modern woman," I said. "It's not the nineteenth century."

  "Bullshit. You're telling me you wouldn't even slightly freak?"

  I thought about it. "Okay," I admitted. "I probably would. A little."

  "A little?"

  "Maybe more."

  "Damn right you would," said Bryan. "It's fucking weird. And slightly gross. How did you even do that anyway? Didn't you know it was her Mom?"

  "Nope," I said. "I didn't know. Because I am a massive skank. I don't even get their names most of the time."

  "But this one you did."

  "Yeah. And now she's not returning my calls."

  "So give her time," said Bryan. "It was like three hours ago."

  "Okay, but..."

  He groaned. "Oh my God. How many times did you call her in the last three hours?"

  "No more than normal," I said. "I just wanted to talk to..."

  "...Clay. How many?"

  "Four."

  "Ow."

  "Is that bad?"

  "Terrible. Now you look like a skank and a psycho."

  "Yeah," I said, reaching for the bong. "About that...I may have said some things that implied she was being oversensitive."r />
  Bryan made a kind of strangled gurgling sound on the end of the line. "Go on," he said, after a short, painful pause.

  "Well, she can be kind of a Princess..."

  I heard him exhale.

  "Do you think there's any way she could take me calling her 'Princess Fuckpants' as a joke?" I said.

  "No, bro. No way."

  "Yeah. That's what I thought." Me and the bong had a hot date for tonight. Me, the bong and his friendly cousin Jack Daniels. Why not make it a full on carcinogenic, liver-rotting three-way? "You think she'll be mad?"

  "I think you'll be single."

  "Shit. Because I don't want to be. Single, that is. I kind of like her. She knows stuff."

  "You need the name of a good florist?" he asked.

  "I think maybe I do."

  I looked online but the prices of some of the bouquets were insane. Eventually, after four Jack Daniels' and a bongload of Psycho Bob's finest, I went looking at a bunch of websites about the meanings of flowers. Some were obvious, like roses for love and lilies for mourning, but apparently lime blossom was a symbol of fornication. Who knew limes were such perverts?

  Obviously I was not in the greatest shape the next morning. Worse, there was no sign of Lacie. Her dragon of an aunt was minding the front of the store. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said.

  I tried to hide behind my sunglasses.

  "Migraine?" she said. She drew closer and sniffed. "Oh. No. Hangover. My bad."

  "I'm really...um...sorry." It was an effort to make my lips work. I felt like my brain was filled with tiny pixies, all of them working pneumatic drills at once.

  "Whatever," she said. "No skin off my nose. Just make sure you drink some water. And eat something."

  "Thanks." Wow. What had got into her this morning? She was almost nice.

  "If your blood sugar bottoms out and you end up with a workplace injury the paperwork is gonna be a fucking bitch," she said. Ah, there was the Cassandra I knew and loved. "So try not to turn your dick on the lathe, okay sweetie?"

  The morning went by slowly. Still no sign of Lacie. I wondered if she was up in her room, sulking or making voodoo dollies of me. As time went on I began to feel like I didn't care where she was or if she ever came down again. Fuck her. Why should I have to account for every woman I ever stuck my dick in?

  Steve swung by at lunchtime. He took one look at my face and said "Oh boy. Cherchez la femme."

  "It's nothing," I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. "It's not nothing. I stopped by yours this morning and Bog pointed out the level on the Jack Daniels bottle that told me exactly how much nothing it was. Where is she?"

  "I don't know. And I don't give a shit. She's over-reacting."

  "Lunch," he said. "I want some. You're going to buy me some. In return I will solve all your romantic problems and wave as you ride off into the sunset with the woman of your dreams."

  "Can I get that in writing?"

  "Nope." He dragged me towards the door.

  "Wait." I stuck my head around the door to the storefront. I hadn't expected to see her there, so the shock of it was as hard and sharp as electricity. Lacie was bent over the counter, reading something on her laptop.

  "Um...I'm going for lunch," I managed to say.

  "Whatever," she said.

  "Nice," said Steve, probably before I was even out of earshot. "Very nice. What did you do to piss her off?"

  "Nothing."

  Steve shook his head and moved in the general direction of Jerry's diner. "No," I said.

  "What? You can't spring for lunch at a diner?"

  "The guy who owns it is like her fucking uncle or something."

  Steve was unmoved. "So?" he said. "I thought you didn't do anything?"

  It was hardly fair - I was hungover, in no shape to cope with the usual twists and turns of Steve-logic. Before I knew it he was through the door, into a booth and eyeing up the apple pie.

  "Okay, when I said nothing..." I began.

  Steve looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. "So there was something?"

  I sighed. "Okay. Keep your voice down, yeah? You remember Heather?"

  "With the teeth. You fucked her Mom."

  "Steve..."

  "Yeah. Sorry. I do. Yes."

  "She's seeing my brother."

  "Heather's Mom is seeing your brother? Wow. She is some kinda deluxe cougar. I may have to get in on that action."

  "No," I said. "Heather is seeing my brother."

  "Hot," said Steve. "Do you know there's like a whole strand of Amazon.com devoted to that?"

  I didn't say anything. I didn't see the point. He wasn't going to listen to me. All he wanted was a free lunch and someone to catch the spray as he spilled the sticky contents of his weird little mind.

  "Girls who like to fuck brothers," he said. "Especially twins. Often at the same time."

  "So that was you screwing up my Amazon recommendations, was it?"

  Steve held up both hands. "It was. I consider myself, as a social commentator, duty bound to figure out exactly what is floating the average housewife's personal porno-boat these days. Apparently it's only incest if their balls touch."

  Jerry chose that moment to come over. He caught the end of what Steve was saying and caught the brunt of my nervous rictus smile.

  "Hey you," he said. "No Lacie today?"

  Thankfully he didn't sound like a man hell bent on kicking my ass for breaking his niece's heart. "No," I said, conscious of every tooth in my head as I smiled. "She's busy. She was on her laptop a moment ago. Said she didn't have time for lunch."

  "Huh," said Jerry. "Working on that novel of hers, I guess. What can I get you?"

  I settled for coffee and pie. Steve ordered up a burger, fries, a side of onion rings and a slice of chocolate pie. "Whatever love advice you've got going on, it had better be amazing," I said. "That's all I'm fucking saying."

  "Cyrano's got nothing on me," said Steve, through a mouthful of burger. "You wait. Your little singular anomaly won't know what hit her."

  "My what?"

  He put down the burger. "You are clearly not a student of the classics," he said, taking a gulp of coffee. "Okay, so about this nothing you did..."

  "Heather," I said. "She's seeing my brother."

  "But not in an Amazon.com kind of way?"

  "No."

  "Just so we're clear, we're talking about Bryan?"

  "Yes."

  "And she's okay with the no-feet thing?"

  "She's fine with the no-feet thing."

  "That's great," said Steve. "I like that. Good for Heather. That really speaks to her character, don't you think?"

  "Yeah. She's a saint. Whatever." I said, determined to come to the point. "I took Lacie to meet Bryan, right? That was when I found out he was seeing Heather. Heather was there."

  Steve screwed up his face. "And she remembered you?"

  "She did. And she also remembered that I..."

  "...fucked her Mom," Steve finished. "Oh wow. I think I see your problem. So now Emily Dickinson over there thinks you're a dirty gross manskank who double-dips moms and daughters alike?"

  "Thanks. Yeah. I wouldn't quite put it that way, but yeah," I said. "The point is, I was a dirty gross manskank before she even met me, so where does she get off making judgments on stuff I did before I even knew her name?"

  Steve bit his lip. "Okay. I have a vague idea of what's happened here. You're not telling me everything, are you?"

  I explained about the four phone calls. By the increasingly pained look on his face I knew I'd fucked up. "Right," he said, biting into an onion ring. "The Fuckpants thing. Princess Fuckpants, was it?"

  "Yeah. It was."

  "Mind giving me some context on that? As in, how did you say it? Was it like, playful?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Okay. Can you use those words in a sentence? What did you say, exactly?"

  "Um...I said 'Hey, Princess Fuckpants – since when was your pussy so stai
nless and pure?’”

  Steve sighed. "Yeah. I think I'm beginning to see why she might be annoyed."

  "In my defense, she’s acting like the messiah fell out of her sniz and like I’m the manwhore of Babylon. I should get her flowers, right?"

  "Does she like flowers?"

  "I don't fucking know. But I was reading this thing last night and there's a whole, like language of flowers. You can communicate really specific things with different flowers."

  Steve rubbed his temples. "Clay, unless there is a rare breed of Himalayan orchid that specifically communicates the message 'I'm sorry I called you Princess Fuckpants', I think the best thing you can do is go over there and say you're sorry."

  "Just like that?"

  "Just, as I say, like that."

  I took a deep breath. "Okay." I finished my coffee and dumped a twenty on the table. "If this doesn't work then you owe me lunch."

  "Done."

  I crossed the street and looked in at the store. Cassandra had gone and it was just Lacie. My heart leapt into my mouth as soon as I saw her. "So...um..." I began. "I...uh..."

  She lifted an eyebrow and peered at me in a bored sort of way. I could feel my temper boiling - she wasn't exactly giving me anything to work with here - but I swallowed it down. No. "So," I said, again. "You were probably wondering what the deal was with me and Heather."

  "Not really," she said. "It's none of my business, after all."

  "Oh. Well. Yeah. That's true, I guess."

  She stared at me for a long moment, as if she couldn't quite make herself believe that someone quite as stupid as me had figured out how to blink and breathe oxygen at the same time. "I'm sorry," she said. "Do you not understand sarcasm?"

  "Lowest form of wit, right?"

  "No," she said. "I wasn't trying to be witty. It happens to be my business, okay? You make it my business when you go around saying things like 'I'm clean' before having unprotected sex with me. How many other mother and daughter teams have you banged lately?"

  Okay. So that was her problem. "I never had unprotected sex with you."

  "Really? So what was that in your car that night in Burlington? A fucking line dance?"

  "Oh, that."

  She frowned at me, her mouth hanging open. "'Oh, that'? Yeah, you're not helping yourself here, Clayton. This is kind of serious. How many other 'oh, that's were there? And when did you last get checked out?"