Can't Always Get What You Want (34 page)

“You’ve got it.”

“I will receive benefits, paid education days, and travel opportunit
ies.”

“Whatever you want,” he repeats.

Is this really happening? Is he handing me my dream job on a silver platter?

Okay, time to up the ante.

“And, I get to tell you when you’re acting like an asshole.”

He smirks. “And I get to tell you when you’re acting like a whiny little princess.”

He extends a hand to me, and raises his bushy brown eyebrows.

“Do we have a deal?”

Can I really do this? This is St. Puke we’re talking about here.

Although it does sound really good. Double my wage! And, I’ll finally get to travel, and be paid to do it. And buy new work clothes, and not have to worry about people hitting me or puking on me, and…

And I’d have to work with him every day.

And he’ll be my boss.

“This is absurd!” I shout, surprising him. “I can’t work for you.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re the most difficult person I know! I feel like pulling my hair out anytime we’re in the same room. If I take this job, I’ll be bald and have stress ulcers within six months.”

I look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take your offer.”

Looking unfazed, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sweeps sandwich crumbs off of the table. He gets up to leave, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

“Think it over. I expect you’ll make the right decision.”

Chapter 30

Under My Thumb

I’m still puzzled over my latest encounter with St. Puke. He has to be the most confusing man in the world. Thankfully, I have a couple of days off to think it through.

I flop onto my couch, surveying my kitchen and living room.

What a mess.

Chocolate is smudged on the arms of the couch (no doubt from my evenings of crying over pints of chocolate ice cream), and dishes are piled dangerously high on the counter.

A housecleaning marathon should distract me for a good couple of hours.

Maybe you should stop distracting yourself for one flipping second, and deal with something for a change.

Oh shut up, inner logical voice.

Honestly, she is such a bitch sometimes.

Since I have nothing better to do today and am disgusted with myself, I find my iPod and select “Housecleaning Music.”

It’s all songs that pump me up. Mostly classic rock. I throw on my favorite Rolling Stones concert tee and ratty sweatpants and tie my hair into a messy bun. Holding a broom in one hand and a bucket in the other, I look a bit like a homeless maid service.

Hmm…What should my company be called?

Hobo Maids? No, no. Sounds too close to “Homo Maids.” I imagine I’d get a few strange phone calls.

After a good three hours of scrubbing and tidying, I slump onto my bed.

Lying there for a few minutes, I feel an urge to look at old pictures again. Flipping through, I come across one of the few pictures I have of Aaron and me. I take it out of the album, and hold it inches away from my face.

He’s so different from…

I get up and head toward the kitchen, searching for the most recent pictures I’ve developed. I find them under a stack of mail, and take them back with me to the couch, all the while holding Aaron’s picture.

I prop his picture up on the coffee table against one of the remotes and start sorting through the pile of photographs on my lap. Some of them are from the wedding—of Sam and Narayan, of the decorations.

But most are of Brett.

I flip faster through the photos and find a head shot of Brett and me. We had just been dancing at Samira and Narayan’s wedding, dressed in our Indian finery, cheeks flushed.

I’m looking up at his face, and I seem outrageously happy.

Mind you, I also look sweaty and have flat hair. But he looks absolutely perfect. Sparkling blue eyes, lightly tanned skin. And that smile!

I miss his voice, his laugh, his sense of humor. I miss his mouth, and his delicious smell, and the way he kissed my hair.

I wish he would have slept over here more. Then at least I’d have a pillow to hug at night that smells like him.

I take the picture of Brett and me and prop it up beside the photo of Aaron.

They both stare out at me.

I mash one of the couch pillows over my face. “Ugh! How did I get here?”

Just then, the first strains of “Love Bites” by Def Leppard issue from my speakers. Hmm. Forgot to turn off my cleaning music.

I lean against the couch, lolling my head back and forth to the beat. I pick up a stray comb sitting on a stack of books beside the couch.

I yell into the comb. I throw my head back, belting out all of my frustration.

Yes.

I am a rock god. Err, goddess.

Now if only I had a microphone cord to whip around, or a guitar to break.

Aaron and Brett continue to stare out at me from their two-dimensional world. I pick up Aaron’s photo, and lean against the wall.

Can you love two people at the same time?

While Def Leppard shouts out the evils of unrequited love, a passing reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall catches my eye.

A familiar black crew cab truck has just pulled onto my street.

OH. MY. DEAR. LORD.

I glance around the room, trying to decide what to do, and then notice myself in the mirror. What am I wearing? You can’t have a beautiful, romantic reunion when you’re wearing dirty fat pants and your hair is greasy.

I peek out of my living room window.

Be still my beating heart, he’s pulling up in front of the house.

This is not a drill, folks; I repeat, this is not a drill!

Okay. Focus. What do I need to do first?

I toss the picture back onto the coffee table and do a once-over in the mirror, only to be met with pointy nipples, sticking prominently through my T-shirt.

Holy nipple-icious, Batman!

Maybe I should put a bra on? Nah—if he misses me, being braless can only be an advantage.

I stand behind the front door, vibrating with anticipation.

What am I going to say? What is he going to say?

A knock sounds at the door.

This is it!

My heart is fluttering higher and higher. I feel like I’m soaring through the clouds, as if nothing could ever bring me back down to earth.

I fling the door back and there stands a man.

Who is not Brett.

My heart plummets like a free-falling elevator, and crashes explosively at the bottom.

“Oh, hey, Narayan,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. I forgot that he and Brett have identical company trucks.

He shuffles awkwardly, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

“Hey!” He half grins. Crisp late October air rushes through the door, chilling me. His eyes flit down to my chest, but he quickly averts them.

I peek down at my chest, and sure enough, rock-hard nipples are straining through my T-shirt.

Believe me, Nar. These weren’t meant for you.

I hastily cross my arms. “What’s up?”

As he opens his mouth to speak, a creaky noise echoes in from the street. I shift my body to see around Narayan.

I stop breathing.

Brett is standing behind the lowered tailgate of his truck, and is tugging on something heavy. He’s wearing a light blue, long-sleeved T-shirt that strains against his chest and arms.

A hard lump forms in my throat. I haven’t seen him in nearly three weeks. Resisting the urge to run out to him, I take a shuddering breath.

“What…um, what are you guys doing here?” I ask, doing my best to sound cheerful.

“You’ll see,” Narayan says, backing away excitedly.

He jogs over to Brett and helps pull the mystery “thing” out of the truck box. It is covered in light gray material, to protect it, I’m guessing. They settle it onto a dolly and Brett steers it toward the house.

I can’t stop staring at him. Brett raises his eyes up to mine once, and gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the sort of look you give strangers, or people you’re very, very pissed off with.

Maybe, to him, I’m both.

“Hey,” I say quietly once they reach the door.

“Hey,” he mutters under his breath.

They wheel a large, rectangular object into my living room.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Narayan jumps in. “You’re going to love it.”

Brett narrows his eyes at him, but I sense he is somewhat amused as well. What is this thing? Brett removes the gray fabric covering, and takes a step back.

My hands flutter to my face.

“Oh my…”

It’s the most beautiful bookcase I’ve ever seen. Made of solid wood, and stained to match my hardwood floors. The shelves are deep, and backlights are built into each level. Fancy crown molding finishes off the look.

I take a step forward, running my hands over the shelves.

“It’s exquisite,” I murmur.

“I figured you could use it,” he says, gesturing to my particleboard bookcase bowing pitifully in the corner.

“Happy birthday, Sophie,” he adds, wearing a small, sad smile.

He still cares!

I look him in the eye, my voice quavering. “Thank you.”

My fingers continue inspecting the trim. I recognize it.

“That day at the hardware store…” I trail off.

He nods, his eyes softening. “I started building this for you months ago.” He breaks eye contact and looks around the room, scratching the back of his neck. All at once, he stands a bit straighter and crosses his arms, his features hardening.

“I figured I shouldn’t waste it,” he adds, his tone noticeably cooler.

What set him off?

I shift side to side, casting my eyes downward. This isn’t the lovey-dovey romance scene I had envisioned.

“Well, thanks again,” I say. “I love it.”

I trail my fingers over the shelves. “You do such beautiful work.”

Heavy silence fills the air. Brett and I keep looking at each other and then looking away.

Narayan coughs. “So, any plans this winter? Going anywhere warm?” he asks.

“I wish,” I say, smiling. “You could always pack me off to Greece with you and Sam.”

“We aren’t going until Easter now,” he says.

“Oh? I thought you were going just before Christmas?”

“Nah. We haven’t saved enough money yet. Besides, Greece is supposed to be really nice in the spring. A lot of Easter festivals.” He shrugs. “Might be cool.”

“So, what are you doing with the week you’ve already booked in December?”

“Just staying home. But one day during that week, if there’s enough ice, we want to have a party at the old outdoor skating rink. The one by Nita’s house. We’ll have cocoa, a bonfire, the works.”

He gives me an encouraging smile. “You should come.”

“I’d love—”

“She doesn’t skate,” Brett says abruptly. The tension, thick and suffocating, descends once more.

Narayan clears his throat. “I’m going to go wait in the truck.”

I nod, and he gives me a hug. “Good to see you, Soph. Hope you have a happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Nar.”

Brett and I are standing alone, the seconds ticking by.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

When did that clock get so loud?

He looks at the front door. “Look, I uh…I’ve gotta go.”

He takes a step away, and my heart silently screams to him, begging him to stay.

His hand reaches the doorknob.

“I really miss you,” I cry out.

Brett freezes. I notice his back and shoulder muscles tense up beneath his light blue shirt.

“And I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He tilts his head toward me. Oh good! He’s listening!

“And, I just…”

He twists his torso toward me, but his hand is still on the door.

“You just, what?” he asks.

Stepping closer to him, I extend a hand and touch his forearm.

“I just wish we were back where we were.”

“And where was that, exactly?” he snaps.

His sudden anger stuns me. “Where we were before all of this mess,” I say.

I squeeze his forearm, and he looks at me, his mouth set in a hard line. But his eyes are soft, almost pained.

“Before, when we would spend hours watching dorky comedies. When we’d debate the merits of Tim Hortons versus Starbucks.”

He offers a grim smile.

“Before, when you would massage my shoulders after a hard day at work, and I’d make you apple pie.”

My breaths are fast and raspy.

“Before, when you’d kiss my lips and I’d feel like my whole body was on fire.”

His lips part, his own breathing matching my own.

“Before, when you’d hold me in your arms, and I’d feel like I was in the safest place in the world.”

I step even closer to him, my body just inches away from his. I can feel heat rolling off him. My arms itch to wrap around him.

“Before. When it was just us,” I whisper.

His body language changes immediately. His forearm tenses, and he pushes away from me. He points toward my living room.

“It was never just us.”

My eyes follow his pointed finger, and land on the two pictures I have on my coffee table. One of Brett and me—and one of Aaron and me.