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Twenty minutes later, the last of my beer, the delivery of our dinner, and five too many questions of‘so what do you think about your little sister having a baby?’I push my chair out and escape to the bathroom before I use her as the verbal punching bag I’ve been looking for.
She’s asking for it.
I slam open the bathroom door so hard it bounces off the tiled wall. Stopping at the sink and clutching at the porcelain lip, I breathe through my nose and out my mouth. Deep, through my nose so hard I hear my brain rattling around, and out through my mouth until my lungs collapse flat.
Pull it together, fuckface. One more hour, buy the girl dessert, get the fuck outta here and go back to Izzy’s driveway to keep watch.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I’ll restart my ‘staying out of Izzy’s life’ campaign.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror; bags under my dull brown eyes, instead of the ‘laughing’ brown Kit’s always pointing out. Long hair that brushes my shirt collar. A date to get rid of.
I should’ve stayed home and kept talking sex with Jack. That would be more enjoyable than this shit.
Turning the tap on and rinsing my face, I press my palms into my eye sockets and groan. I need a new life. An alternate ending; give me the girl, give me the baby, give me the championship belt that I stupidly lost.
But instead, the universe gave me Belle, and her foot in my crotch.
Stepping out of the bathroom far slower than when I went in, I walk toward the table, but slow at the sight of Belle staring at her phone. Another half a dozen steps, I realize its not her phone at all, but mine.
I increase my speed, because if any of the girls in my life talk to each other right now, I’ll probably be the idiot in the middle who dies. If Kit calls and Belle answers, the shit’s hitting the fan. If Iz calls – not that she would – and Belle answers, I might kill Belle.
Iz already knows where I am tonight. She already knows what I’m doing. She doesn’t need to speak to my date first-hand.
“Belle?” I stop at the table and watch her jump with guilt. “What are you doing?” Pulling my chair out, I sit and watch her fumble my phone and send it hurtling back to the table.
“Oh, sorry.” She sits back as though I didn’t just catch her snooping. Brushing her hair back casually, she smirks and pushes her boobs up. “I thought I heard it vibrate. Sorry.”
Cocking my head to the side, I can’t help but think,so what?If hers vibrated, I wouldn’t go to her coat hanging on the chair, search the pockets, and snoop. I’d mind my own damn business.
But that’s just me…
Picking up the black screened cell, I place it on the table beside my empty beer and pick up my knife and fork. The sooner I eat, the sooner I can get out of here.
Taking my lead, Belle picks up her fork and starts on her salad. Stupid salad. Iz would’ve picked a big greasy burger. She’d have smashed it down like a cartoon of thirty clowns fitting into a tiny bubble car. Tomorrow, she’d complain at training about the jumping jacks and heartburn as the burger came back to haunt her, then as a tidy little bonus, she’d burp and remind me she’s a pig; a loveable pig.
“How’s your Dad?” Super lame question, but I’ve got nothing else to go on here. I’m fantasizing about a burping pig instead of the stunning woman in fire-engine-red in front of me. I have a problem. I need an intervention.
“He’s fine.” Her wary eyes flip between mine and my still dark phone. I know it’s screen lock protected, so her snooping would’ve gotten her only as far as the screensaver picture;notof Iz.
Scooping up a tiny morsel of grilled chicken, she delicately places it into her lipsticked mouth. My eyes beg me to let them loose, to let them roll. I want to just flat out – like a two-year-old would – groan and sit back with boredom.
Just eat the fucking food!
Maybe I should just quit this. Quit all of it. Go join a priesthood or something; at least then my virginity won’t be scoffed at. Or maybe I should call Izzy. Demand she marry me. She’d probably even do it, best friend loyalty and blood promises we made fifteen years ago would ensure that.
I sigh. I don’t want a friend’s loyalty. I want that of a lover. I want herinlove with me, not just a familial love.
Just thinking about her has me reaching forward and pressing the home button on my screen. Steak catches in my throat and sends me choking.
Seven missed calls.
Like an emergency beacon, Izzy’s name screams at me. The proud girl who’d never call. The stubborn girl who needs no one’s help. Seven missed calls. Snatching up my phone, I hit redial and slam it against my ear with shaking hands.
The call rings, and rings, and rings. My heart gallops with panic. Belle watches nervously and bites her lip.
She can get fucked.
