It’s been four days since the dinner at my parents’, and I still can’t stop thinking about it. My brother finally pulling his head out of his ass and getting married before Freya changes her mind came unexpectedly.
As a family who likes to make bets because life in a small town is boring, we made a bet about when Alex would finally man up, and my vote was on him asking her before Halloween. He seriously let me down by waiting longer, so Kenneth won. Bummer for me since Kenneth never wins any bets, and here he came out victorious with that smug look of a big brother who’s always right.
I don’t know if her being pregnant had something to do with the decision, but it didn’t come as a surprise. Well, to most of us. Kenneth and I talked about it; he noticed little signs way before Freya did. It’s part of his job that’s engraved so deep into his bones he can probably deduct anything in his sleep.
I still got a surprise at the dinner, though—officially meeting Archie. Stephan, my ass. Now I want to know what his real name is. Is it Stephan? Is it Archie?
Those are two completely different men. Completely. I like Stephan more, and I got a glimpse of him in the corridor. No mask on—a real person with real feelings, not that artificial shit he puts on for show. No. He showed a bit of the real him I connected with on the bridge.
But he also has another side—a scary one. Intense. Fearless. Crazy. He evokes fear deep inside my belly. The type of fear that excites and grades on your nerves in a good way, making you tingle in all the right places, like the anticipation of unfolding his layers and seeing what else he’s got. It excited me on some primitive level I didn’t even know existed.
Don’t get me wrong, I love good sex; I just never had it that good that I forgot about everything, including my family in the dining room. And when he pressed me into that wall…that moment woke something in me, and I suddenly remembered that I’ve dreamt about having a night with a man like that. Something new has awakened. I wanted to push him back and aggravate him just so I could see how far he’d go.
I’m one hundred percent positive sex with him would be unforgettable. That bad-boy slash tortured-man vibe he has going is my kryptonite. I didn’t expect him to rip my clothes off and press me into the wall in the corridor of my parents’ house, of course, but the anticipation was so delicious, I couldn’t help myself from poking the bear.
Okay, fine. Maybe I was hoping for the ripping of clothes part a little. Just a tiny bit.
So, that was an interesting find for me, and now I crave the feeling he caused. Did I do the right thing by leaving? Did I look immature in his eyes? He probably got used to other types of women: self-confident and sophisticated, who followed the plan they started—everything I am not.
But that night was just full of different sorts of surprises, and what didn’t come as a good one was him being the Archie, the very same friend my brother adores. Well, as much as Alex can adore, you know. They served together for many years in the Navy.
To be honest, I don’t even know how long since Alex never talks about his time there. He enlisted after high school when I had just entered the teen stage, and I assume the same happened with Archie. They both got caught in that explosion that damaged about thirty percent of my brother’s body. And while my brother’s self-hatred is somewhat understandable to regular folks with his burns all over his face, Archie doesn’t wear visible scars. Maybe he has some too—I don’t know—but his whole presence is dark, screaming of a different sort of damage. His scars are on the inside; I feel that.
Also, Alex has a lot of survivor’s guilt. I don’t see Archie being any different. Especially considering he’s the only one who got away alive and unscarred, at least on the outside.
Enigma indeed.
I sigh loudly and look toward the entrance door of my house. Since that dinner, I get more and more uncomfortable with every passing hour. The messages keep coming, and they’ve turned threatening. I rake my mind, trying to figure out who it might be, but I’m drawing a blank. The texts have made me paranoid, though—I check all doors and windows ten times before I go to bed. When I come home, I check all the rooms, ensuring there are no hidden guests in any of them.
I glance at the door again before opening the fridge to grab a bottle of apple juice and instantly bang my forehead—very lightly, because I still have two brain cells left to rub together, which may come as a big surprise—on the stainless steel.
What have I become? A paranoid, timid creature, constantly checking the entrance door as if a SWAT team is about to burst through it. What’s next? Getting a security system in our small town? I mentally roll my eyes, imagining the looks from my neighbors when men in black come to install cameras on my property (well, my rented property).
Mrs. Ludwig, the lady living to the left of me, will have to stop throwing her dog’s shit into my backyard, and Mr. Crocks to my right will have to stop stealing the newspaper I’m paying a subscription for. He drops it back off a day later with coffee stains all over it.
I have charming neighbors.
Today we’re having a bachelorette party for Freya at Marina’s diner. They’re closing an hour earlier so we can eat some nice, greasy food and talk crap about everyone. Well, everyone else will talk, and I’ll be listening as usual.
I shower and get dressed four hours before the agreed-upon meeting time since I promised Kayla that I’d pick her up to drive to Springfield to get the penis-shaped cupcakes. We decided against ordering local because we didn’t want to give our eighty-year-old town baker a stroke with our unusual order.
By the time I park in front of Justin’s garage and honk, I’m a nervous wreck. Kayla has been working for Archie in his parlor for a couple of years now, and I think they’ve known each other even longer. And her being in my car with all that knowledge seems to unsettle me.
It’s not like I plan to interrogate her, but people tend to spill secrets in my presence. A very useful power for a reporter, but not so much for my personal life—I’m like a vault of town secrets. If even a tenth of it ever gets out, the whole town will go down.
With a wide smile on her face, Kayla parks her butt in the passenger seat and smacks the door shut so hard the whole car shakes. She looks at me, her face made up in full glam, her hair is artfully braided in some style I’ll never be able to manage.
I eye her back carefully, mentally apologizing to my dear, loyal car for her. “Jeez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
“It’s Cherry,” she says, clicking her tongue and throwing her braid to the front of her chest.
“Who’s Cherry?” I pull off the curb.
“She’s Archie’s friend,” she answers and digs into her bottomless bag. I’m grateful she doesn’t notice how the car nearly swerves at her words.
My hand squeezes the steering wheel harder.
“His girlfriend?” I try to ask as calmly as possible.
“No,” she snorts, and I relax. “She’s his manager. Cherry oversees the chain of his parlors. Don’t know how they work it out, but she’s a dog with a bone when it comes to business.”
“He has a chain of parlors?” I ask, surprised, glancing at her in wonder.
“Yeah.” She gives me a dubious look. “You didn’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Yeah, like, he has a ton of locations in the States and franchises in a few countries.”
I quirk a brow at her, and she laughs.
“What? The dude is rich. You didn’t know?”
I shake my head again, and she continues, looking impressed with me falling out of the rumor mill, “Did you know that he paid for my classes in full?”
I send her a curious look.
“Yep.” She leans her head back on the leather seat. “We agreed to a contract that I would be working exclusively for him for five years after I graduate. That was the only term. But we actually never signed anything, and he just paid in full for the whole thing anyway.” She waves her hand in the air. “I was shocked.”
I’m not. I knew he was like that.
“Not anymore, though; I’m not surprised,” she continues, oblivious to me side-eyeing her. “I mean, for the time I’ve known him, he’s donated to so many charities. I’m surprised he has anything left at this point. And he buys gifts for everyone all the time. And pays for everything. Like, everything.” Her eyes widen to accentuate how amazed she is as she looks at me. “Hank’s son, the guy in the Boston salon,” she clarifies since I have no idea who Hank is, “needed a hip surgery because he got hurt during his football game at school. Boom.” She snaps her fingers. “Archie paid for it. So yeah, he does a lot of things like that.”
Makes total sense to me—besides being a genuinely good guy and wanting to help people, he’s trying to pay off some sort of moral debt he’s tied himself to.
Suddenly Kayla frowns. “How did I get to telling you this story?”
“You started talking about Cherry,” I answer with a chuckle.
“Right.” Another snap of fingers. “So, we kind of became friends.” Kayla’s voice wavers a bit, and I send her a curious look. “What?” she asks, a little too defensively. “Well, she might have a tiny crush on me.” Her cheeks turn red, and I can tell Kayla is enjoying it. Good for her, I hope Justin sweats a little—he sure deserves it; the whole town would agree on that. “But anyway, she called me this morning and asked to keep an eye on Archie.”
“Why?” My head whips toward her, and she cries out, pointing ahead,
“Watch the damn road, would ya?”
I instantly turn back to the road, mentally rolling my eyes at the drama queen next to me.
“Why did she ask you to keep an eye on him?” I repeat the question.
“I have no idea.” She shrugs. “It’s Archie, you know. He has everything figured out, so I don’t see how I can help.”
I glance at her, trying to figure out if she speaks this way so I don’t suspect anything. Nope, she really thinks he’s put together. Oh, Archie, you need an Oscar for your performance in fooling everyone.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Justin was bummed he wasn’t the best man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looks out the window. “He wanted to do this huge bachelor party with strippers and all that.”
I cackle, imagining his crestfallen face when Alex told him. “Maybe that’s the reason he wasn’t chosen?”
“I told him the same.” Her laugh is contagious, and I find myself joining her. “I still think he’ll do the party.”
“Freya will kill him.”
“Told him the same.” She waves her hand in the air. “The man doesn’t listen.” She sits silently for a few seconds before speaking again. “Though I understand why Alex chose Archie.”
I don’t interrupt, letting her find her own words, feeling like she needs to talk it through.
“They lived through something out there that irrevocably changed them both. I think they both need closure, and that brotherhood, or whatever it is, will help them.”
I agree, nodding. But what happens when they find this closure? Alex will move on with his life, and what about Archie? I’m a little scared to venture down that road.
We don’t chat about anything of substance the rest of the way. Well, again, Kayla chats, and I nod and shake my head at all the right places, preferring to let her carry on the conversation. Especially when she just wants to vent about certain things. People do that around me.
When we arrive at the diner, we place little cartoon dicks everywhere. A full-sized shirtless cardboard cutout of Freya’s favorite actor with steely abdominal muscles, a wide toothy smile, and a blond ponytail greets everyone at the door. I eye him suspiciously—he is the furthest thing from Alex as they come. To be honest, he reminds me of Justin. A little too much, and I shudder.
Cupcakes of all different penis shapes, sizes, and colors are artfully displayed in the shape of—you guessed it—a penis on the bar table. Drinks are ready to be served: a pitcher of virgin Margarita for Freya and a few alcoholic ones for everyone else. Marina cooked a few appetizers for everyone when she closed the diner. We are all set for a quiet, family-like celebration.
Soon ladies begin coming in. Donna, the owner of the local coffee shop—well, a Dunkin’ that may or may not deal some of the best home-roasted beans you’ll ever find under the table—walks in first. My mom—weird but okay. Alicia, Justin’s sister, comes in, looking super sad, with their mom.
Emma from the Dancing Pony, wearing an elegant elvish outfit and ears, of course. She’s a few years older than me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without those ears, even in school. It all became a part of her personality. I can’t imagine her without any of it, and I respect her for standing her ground even when school bullies deemed her weird.
There are a few other locals that Freya became friends with, plus a few people she probably doesn’t know, but others invited them. But that was expected, so we got extra food and drinks.
Everyone brought gifts even though we told them that it’s not a wedding but a bachelorette party, and we’ll just be drinking. No one listened, of course. So, here we are, loading gifts in the trunk of Freya’s new SUV. Since the weird situation with Freya’s first car when she showed up in Little Hope, Alex can’t stop changing her vehicles. He buys her a new model every single year. I can’t imagine what will happen when the little one is born—he’ll turn into a grizzly papa bear, buying out every single minivan in the state.
Everyone takes pictures with the shirtless actor, and by the time the Margarita pitchers dry out, the pictures become risqué. So far, me and Freya are the only people who don’t drink. When my mom throws her leg over the actor’s waist, I regret not having a glass. Or five.
I longingly glance at the leftovers of Margarita and then at Freya, who looks like she wants to bury herself under a pile of blankets in her house and be done with this party. Leaving her the only sober person to watch after everyone else would be cruel, so I let out a loud sigh and go back to watching my mom and another respectful lady of our fine town humping the cardboard dude.
Two timid, elegant women my ass. I cross my arms over my chest and laugh to myself. We should have events like this more often so people can let go and have some fun—a thing we lack in this small town. So far, gossip, coffee, and good pancakes are our main weaknesses.
Everyone left, and only a few people stayed to help clean up. It’s actually better this way; otherwise, we would be bumping into each other.
We’re all cleaning as Kayla smacks her forehead with an open palm, scaring the ever-loving crap out of me—I’m so on edge these days. “Oh shoot, I forgot!” she exclaims.
“What?” I ask.
“We were supposed to pay the rest of the money for the order.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I forgot.” Her cheeks turn pink. She’s a very responsible person. Usually. But not today. Today, her brain checked out, and she’s already tipsy.
“Can you pay online?” I ask, hopeful.
“Have you seen the place?” She quirks a brow.
True. The place was very clean and nice, and the penises were delicious, but the owner sure hasn’t gotten with the times, as her place doesn’t even accept cards. Cash only. Gotta love it.
“Fine,” I sigh, knowing where it’s going. She’s tipsy, everyone else is nearly drunk, and Freya is pregnant. I was the only one who didn’t drink, so I have no choice. “I’ll drive.”
“Thank you, thank you!” She claps her hands. “I’ll get you the money.”
She disappears into the back room, and I keep wiping the tables.
“Thank you,” comes a quiet voice.
“For what?” I turn to Freya.
“For doing all of this.” She smiles and keeps collecting glasses from the tables.
“It’s not me. It’s everyone.”
She sighs and straightens her posture, rubbing her lower back. “You know what I mean.”
I glance at her tired face and decide not to beat around the bush. “No problem,” I say with a smile. “You’re stuck with us now, a part of our weird family. That’s what we do.” Then I point at the chair behind her. “You should sit. We’ll finish this—it’s your party, after all.”
“You’re probably right.” With that, she wobbles to the chair like she’s twenty months pregnant and leans on the back, rubbing her belly this time. “I’m very happy to be a part of your family.” Then she looks down at her still flat stomach with a slightly widened waist. “This little guy will be very lucky to have so many uncles and a kick-ass aunt.”
“A guy?” I ask excitedly. We’ve never had a baby in the family, and the prospect of spoiling a little munchkin makes everyone happy. “You know it’s a boy?”
“No,” she laughs and hugs her stomach. “But I think it is. What do you think?” She narrows her eyes. “You’re never wrong about anything.”
Oh, Freya. I’m plenty wrong.
“I don’t know.” I shrug with an easy smile. “But we’re going to love this baby like it’s no one’s business. Just like we love you.”
Her lips spread into a wide smile, and she whispers, “Thank you.”
I want to say that we’re the ones who are very thankful to her for helping Alex and giving him back to us as a whole person, but I’ll get all misty-eyed, and I don’t like that. So, I just smile and keep cleaning.
