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Then the redhead pumps my arm in a vigorous handshake. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Garrett! Callie’s been telling me all about you.” She does a double-take. “Wow, you really are handsome, aren’t you? Hello, Mr. Adonis.”
I like Cheryl already.
Bruce the Deuce, on the other hand—the tall, blond guy in the navy sport coat and beige ascot, who walks up beside Cheryl . . . not so much. I admit it—I’m not as mature about Callie’s dating history as she seems to be about mine. I’m a guy—it’s my god damn prerogative to want to rip the dick off of any other man that’s come within striking distance of my girl.
Callie and Bruce hug—a calmer, gentler hug than the smack-downs Cheryl’s giving out. According to Callie, Bruce is an actor—and yeah, it bugs the shit out of me, in a totally unreasonable way, that they share a common love of the theater. Callie said they dated briefly, but didn’t have sex—so I guess I’ll let him live. I’ll even be nice to him, for Cal’s sake—but I won’t ever fucking like him.
Cheryl brings Callie’s attention back to her. “So, before we get the bags, I have news!”
She claps her hands, vibrating in her black boots.
“What’s up?” Callie asks.
Cheryl holds out her left hand—the one with a big, sparkly diamond on the ring finger.
“We’re engaged!”
And it’s like Callie’s brain short-circuits. Confusion mars her pretty features as her eyes dance between her two smiling friends.
“Engaged to who?”
Bruce laughs and loops his arm around Cheryl’s broad shoulders.
“Each other.”
“Wait . . . whaaat?” Callie points her finger at them. “You and Bruce? Cheryl and you?”
The happy couple nods in unison.
“Do you guys even like each other?”
Bruce grins. “Turns out my penis loves her vagina and the feeling is mutual. Once those crazy kids got together, our hearts went along for the ride.”
“Wow. I am . . .” She runs her hands through her hair, pushing it back. “. . . so confused. When did this happen?”
“It happened while we were boxing up your stuff to ship here,” Cheryl says. “One minute we were arguing about whether to use Bubble Wrap or newspaper to pack your shoes . . . and the next minute we were tearing each other’s clothes off. And it was glorious—just like a romance novel!”
Bruce picks up the story. “It was so good, we kept meeting up to do it, every day. For weeks.”
Callie’s eyes widen. “In my apartment?”
“Yeah.” Cheryl’s head toddles apologetically. “You may want to get a new couch when you come home.”
I laugh—Cheryl’s kind of awesome.
“Why didn’t either of you say something to me?”
The last few months have been a tornado for Callie time-wise, but I know she’s been touching base with her friends a couple times a week.
“It was so new in the beginning, we barely talked about it to each other. And there was something exciting about keeping it on the down-low. Clandestine.” Bruce wiggles his eyebrows. “Like we were doing something wrong that felt oh-so right.”
“And then, last week, Bruce put his balls on the table and let it all hang out.”
Callie grimaces. “Which table?”
Cheryl waves her hand. “I mean, figuratively.” She turns to Bruce, her voice going mushy and mesmerized. “He told me he loved me and asked me to marry him.”
“And she said yes.” Bruce stares at Cheryl, brushing a hair back from her face, the very picture of total and complete pussywhippedism. Infatuation and devotion practically ooze from his eyeballs.
And I get that—respect it—it speaks to me. It’s how I picture myself in my head, every time I look at Callie Carpenter.
Okay . . . maybe I’ll end up liking Bruce. A little.
They both turn their heads to Callie.
“And here we are,” Bruce says.
“We want the wedding to be in the spring, so . . . since you’re going to still be here, you’re gonna have to up your data plan because I’m going to need help with flowers and a dress . . . and everything.” Then, slightly hesitantly, because Callie’s opinion obviously matters to her, Cheryl asks, “What do you think, Callie?”
Callie’s eyes drift back and forth between them. And then she flings her arms around them, hugging them both at the same time. “I think it’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!”
After the hugs and congratulations settle down, we grab Bruce and Cheryl’s bags and head back to Callie’s parents’ house. Dean’s band is playing at Chubby’s that night—an unusual mid-school-year performance for him—so the four of us go there for drinks.
The next day, I eat Thanksgiving dinner at the Carpenters’—Callie’s dad hobbles around but still manages to slice up a mean turkey. Bruce and Cheryl are comfortable with Callie’s parents and her sister and brother-in-law, so after dinner, she leaves them at the house and stops by my parents’ place with me for dessert. We split the holiday between our families . . . the way couples do.
