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“All right, darling,” Mom says. “I’ll stay the fuck out of your ‘shit,’ assuming everything you said is true. I’m not entirely convinced of that, but I’ll play along for now, if you promise me something.”
I sigh. “What?”
“Stop leading that poor girl on.”
“Excuse me?”
Mom’s dark eyes blaze. “Colin Michael, you were staring at Amy’s chest throughout our entire conversation. Laughing at every mildly amusing thing she said. You were absolutely entranced by that woman, and everyone in the room could plainly see it, including Amy. So, if you’re sincerely only interested in that poor girl as a little sister, then pull your shit together and tell your dick to take a back seat and stop giving her mixed signals. Because the way you were looking at her tonight would make any ‘little sister’ think her benevolent ‘big brother’ was thinking awfully hard about incest!” As my jaw drops, Mom leans forward and points her finger at me. “Don’t you dare lead that girl on, Colin Michael, or I swear, I’ll not only stay the fuck in your ‘shit,’ I’ll also beat all your fucking ‘shit’ clean out of you!”
Six
Colin
I turn off the shower and dry off, throw on a pair of pajama bottoms, and drag my exhausted, semi-drunk ass into my childhood bed. I think maybe my mother is secretly an assassin. Jesus.
I close my eyes, but as wiped out as I am, sleep won’t come.
I look at the time on my phone. 12:07. That’s not too late to call Caleb, is it? When my band opened for his years ago, C-Bomb was always a night owl, the same as me. In fact, we were always the last two guys to go to bed, no matter how long and exciting the day had been.
I grab my phone, scroll my contacts, and push the button to place the unthinkable call. Before my conversation with Amy tonight, I never would have reached out like this. But now, I’m bursting with excitement as I wait for Caleb, or his voicemail, to pick up.
After three rings, Caleb’s distinctive, deep voice answers my call, in person—not in an outgoing voicemail message.
“Well, if it isn’t Colin Beretta.”
“Hey, Caleb. You got a few minutes for me?”
“For you, Colin, I’ve got all the time in the world. How are you?”
“I’m good. What are you up to?”
“Sitting on my balcony, smoking a blunt, looking out at the moonlit ocean while questioning all my life’s choices.”
I chuckle. “Sounds fun, if not a little depressing.”
“You’re welcome to join me. One man staring at the ocean, smoking a blunt, is a possible sign of depression. But two men doing it, together? Now, that’s a party.”
We both laugh. I forgot how weird Caleb Baumgarten can be. How charming, in his own, unique way.
“I’d come right over, if I weren’t in Seattle this weekend. I’m currently lying in my childhood bed. I’m not smoking a blunt, unfortunately. But I’m definitely questioning at least half my life’s choices.”
A deep rumble of a chuckle escapes him. “You get any pussy in that childhood bed?”
I can’t help matching his laughter. Before placing this call, if I’d been asked to predict what Caleb Baumgarten would say when finding out I was lying in my childhood bed, that’s exactly what I would have said: You ever get any pussy in that childhood bed?
“I did, as a matter of fact,” I admit. “Some of it contraband pussy, while my mom was fast asleep downstairs.”
“Ooh, contraband pussy. Atta boy, Colinoscopy Get it.”
And that’s it. With his use of that silly nickname, the one everyone called me during our tour together, Caleb has let me know he’s got no hard feelings toward me, despite his years-long rift with my band’s frontman.
“But you didn’t call to talk about the contraband pussy you got in your teenage bed,” he says. “You called to ask if I fucked Amy O’Brien during my tour. The answer to that question, my brother, is no.”
I’m shocked into silence for a moment, for a few reasons, not the least of which is Caleb’s use of the world brother. But finally, I manage to ask, “How’d you know I was calling you about Amy?”
“The magic of Instagram.”
“Ah. Yeah, I’m in Seattle for Amy’s big brother’s wedding tomorrow. He was my next-door neighbor growing up. We were glued at the hip for the first eighteen years of our lives.”
“Which means Amy is like a little sister to you?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what she told me—that you’ve always been like a big brother to her. That’s why I didn’t fuck her, by the way, among other reasons. You’re welcome.”
“What were the other reasons?”
He sighs. “Amy O’Brien.” He snickers. “At first, I think I steered clear of her because she was such a shit show. The worst PA I’d ever had. I literally thought Reed Rivers had ordered a proverbial ‘hit’ on me by assigning her to me—or maybe he was doing a favor for someone who hated me?” He chuckles. “Either way, I figured I’d better get some more information before I fired her ass or fucked her.” I hear the sound of Caleb exhaling in a way that makes me visualize a plume of smoke swirling into the night air on his end of the line. “But then, Amy told me what I needed to know. She told me about you. That you’d gotten her the job. That she grew up next-door to you. And, Colin, the way she talked about you . . . I know she said you were always like a ‘big brother’ to her, but the way she talked about you strongly suggested there was something more there. Were you her first love? Did she give her V-card to you? I didn’t know. But, either way, unlike someone we both know, I actually respect the unwritten rules among brothers. So, I decided she was off-limits to me, right then and there. I’m no hypocrite.”
