Technically, I’ve done nothing wrong.
I make it through the first part of the morning without succumbing to temptation. Except for a quick check to see if Brady had written—he hadn’t—I’ve stayed out of my Yahoo account. Work keeps me pretty busy. Work, and thinking about my SOD. Even though it’s not an Actual Date, I’m still pretty excited. I’m wearing a pair of black pants and a brand-new pink sleeveless top with a pretty pale pink scarf. I hope Brady doesn’t think I dressed up for this occasion. Even though I did.
By the time twelve-forty-five rolls around, I’m starting to get antsy. I need to leave the office at one to meet Brady. But there’s no way I can concentrate between now and then. I’m like a kid counting down the last fifteen minutes until Christmas vacation. I could go chat with Trey or Craig. Or I could take a peek at Sean’s e-mails. I decide to go for it. I call up the Yahoo homepage and type in my e-mail addy and password. Then, with a nauseous feeling settling in my stomach, I open the first of Sean’s messages.
From: “Sean Myers”
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, June 6, 2:01 a.m.
Subject: Read ’em and weep
dani—
here it is, all the proof u need. call me when u get this.—your bro
Attached is an e-mail message from Gretchen Monaghan to my father. It’s dated two days ago.
Paul,
How is it that you can go through thirty-five years of your life before meeting your soul mate? Fifty-seven years in your case. The days stretch on forever while I wait till six o’clock comes and we can be together. I keep myself sane with fantasies. Fantasies of things we’ve done, of things we’ve yet to do. As soon as your divorce is final, we’ll make our love official. Speaking of the D, have you gone to see a lawyer yet?
Kisses,
Gretch
Gretch? Who the hell goes by a stupid nickname like Gretch? She might as well go ahead and drop the G and be honest.
This letter makes no sense.
Gretchen came to Your Big Break Inc.—not once but twice—in an attempt to dump my father. Now she’s back together with him, anticipating the day he’ll divorce my mom? Not gonna happen, sweetie. Married men always say they’ll leave their wives; they never do. Something else is bothering me. She mentions waiting until six o’clock at night to be together. My dad has always been a major workaholic. How is it that he’s suddenly getting off work at six o’clock like a normal person?
I pick up the phone and dial Sean’s cell.
“Have you read them?” he asks.
“One of them. This is bad.”
“I know. I’m starting to think we’re fighting a losing battle.”
I pop a piece of gum into my mouth and chomp down on it angrily. “I just want our family to be normal again.”
“That prick Jude dropped by last night.”
My heartbeat quickens. Jude dropped by? “You mean you’ve met him?”
“I spied on them from the landing. Look, Dani, I’ve gotta run. I’m in the middle of my shift.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“I’ll call you later,” he promises. “Read the rest of the e-mails.”
“I will.”
We say good-bye and get off the phone. I glance at two more e-mails from Gretchen and, while they aren’t easy to take, I manage to keep my composure. So far, so good.
Then I open the last one.
Paul,
I can’t wait until we can be a real family. Me, you, your daughter and son. We can spend Christmas together. Wrap presents. Hang stockings. Set out milk and cookies for Santa. Or are your kids too old for that stuff? We’ll have to wait until we have children of our own!
The last sentence of the e-mail hits me like a punch in the gut.
Children of their own? Gretchen wants to have children with my father? What if they’ve already started trying to get pregnant? I read the letter again, and my insides turn over. I slowly rise from my desk, put one foot in front of the other, and stumble down the hall. I make it to the bathroom without a second to spare. I fall into the stall, lean forward, and once again toss the contents of my stomach into the toilet.
I should have gotten Brady’s cell number.
I’m twenty minutes late meeting him. I had to stop by CVS and pick up a few emergency items: Crest, a toothbrush, breath mints, and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. I’m beginning to think I should carry a bottle in my purse at all times. I ran back to the office and cleaned myself up. Physically, I feel brand-new. My stomach has settled, and my mouth is minty-fresh. I even fixed my makeup and applied some lip gloss.
But all of this has put me behind schedule.
I dash into Au Bon Pain at ten till two. I spy Brady sitting down at the window counter with a cup of coffee. “Hi Dani,” he calls, standing to greet me. “What can I get you to eat?”
“I’m not very hungry. A warm herbal tea would be nice, though.”
He looks surprised. “Is everything all right?”
“My stomach’s been a bit off today. Tea might settle it.”
Brady eyes me curiously. “You look kind of pale. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Definitely. I’m feeling much better now.” It’s the truth. Just seeing him has perked me up. For the next little while, I will avoid thinking about my bastard jackass father and his biological clock- obsessed mistress. I will focus on enjoying a soothing drink with a new friend. I get up and move to a table so we can face each other.
Brady returns with my drink and two small turkey sandwiches. “In case you change your mind about eating.” He also sets down a few sugar packets on the table. He sits across from me.
I empty a few packets of sugar into my drink.
“You’re not from Boston, are you?” he asks.
I stir the sugar in my drink. “How’d you guess?”
“Your accent. You don’t sound like a native Bostonian.”
“My family moved here from New Orleans about ten years ago. It was kind of a rough time, actually. We moved right at the start of my senior year of high school.”
“That must have been hard.” Brady takes a sip of his coffee and a quick bite of his sandwich. “The culture shock of coming to Boston’s pretty alarming, isn’t it?”
“I think the strangest thing was getting used to the weather,” I admit. “The only time you see snow in New Orleans is on TV. I’m used to warm winters, and summers that boil with heat. The second you step outside, you’re drenched with sweat. My dad and I used to joke about it all the time, how wimpy everyone up here is. How they start running their ceiling fans the second it hits seventy degrees.”
Brady laughs. “Bostonians don’t know how good they have it. They should try dealing with some real heat.”
“I’m guessing you’re not from around here either,” I venture.
“Nope, I grew up in Arizona. Came out to Boston six years ago for law school. My plan was to move back west once I graduated, but I wound up with a great job offer here. And then I met Erin, which changed everything.”
“You guys were together for two years?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Two years last March.” Brady gets quiet for a minute, then says, “But enough about Erin. I didn’t come here to rehash my old relationship.” Brady runs his fingers through his short, dark hair. He really is cute in a sweet, college professor kind of way. He looks as though he should be hanging around Boston University, teaching an introductory lit class. We sit there in silence for a few. “So,” I begin, and Brady nods encouragingly. “What does the K in your name stand for?”
“No way.” He laughs. “Too embarrassing.”
I take a drink of tea and pick at my sandwich. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Guess.”
“Kevin? Keith?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Kyle? Kurt?”
“Not even close.”
“Is it a girl’s name, like Karen or Kati
e?”
“Nope, it’s not a girl’s name.” He takes a small bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “It’s nothing traditional, nothing you’ve heard of.”
“Kilimanjaro?” I joke.
Brady laughs. “I’m guessing you’ve heard of Mount Kilimanjaro.”
“That I have.” I take a quick sip of tea.
“Kryptonite?”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” He grins.
“Not a chance.”
He thinks about it for a minute. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything,” he says, scooting his chair closer. “But this stays between you and me. Got that?”
“Got it.”
He lowers his voice. “My middle name’s Koogan.”
“What?” I struggle not to laugh. “Brady Koogan Simms?”
“It’s my mother’s maiden name.” He’s smiling now—a really sweet, flirty grin. “So, since I told you my secret, now you’ve got to tell me one.”
“What do you wanna know?” I ask coyly.
“Since we’re on the topic of names, how about you tell me the most embarrassing nickname you’ve ever been given?”
I think about it. “Pumpkin Legs.”
“Pumpkin Legs?” Brady raises an eyebrow. “There’s bound to be a good story behind that one.”
“When I was growing up in New Orleans, the hot thing was to be really tanned. Since I’m only capable of burning”—I run a finger along my pale skin for emphasis—“I tried to use one of those fake-bake tanners the day before the junior class prom. I put on too much, and my skin turned orange. For the rest of the school year, everybody called me Pumpkin Legs.”
“That was almost worth giving up Koogan for. Almost,” he teases.
We sit in silence for a few moments. But it’s a comfortable, friendly silence, like we’re old friends. “So, I was wondering,” Brady says. “would you like to go to a movie with me sometime?”
An Actual Date. He’s asking me for an Actual Date! This is definitely against rule #5. Oh, who cares? My life’s been stressful lately. I deserve a little fun. “Love to,” I say, trying to remain calm. Like Sean, I’m not exactly a smooth operator. I guess it runs in the family.
“I was thinking we could catch a matinee one weekend,” Brady continues.
Looks like I jumped the gun when I declared it an Actual Date. An afternoon matinee definitely classifies as an SOD. And he didn’t suggest a specific time.
We finish our drinks and sandwiches, exchange phone numbers, and go our separate ways with a plan to get together again soon. I’m not really sure what the lunch meant, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. It was nice to take my mind off things for a while.
“Bye, Brady Koogan Simms,” I say as he heads out the door.
“Bye, Pumpkin Legs,” he calls, winking at me.
23
I Think We Should Date Other People
I haven’t talked to my mother since that fateful night of The Conversation. It’s been nearly three weeks. She hasn’t called me, and I see no point in calling her. I haven’t spoken to my father, either. We were supposed to have a family meal last week, but Thursday passed and no one mentioned it. I guess we’re all mutually avoiding one another. I get my news through Sean, who keeps me updated on a regular basis. Jude took Mom to the movies tonight. Jude brought Mom flowers. And I hear stuff about Father, too. Dad was on the phone with Gretchen for an hour last night. Dad didn’t come home until 2 a.m. I think he was with Gretchen.
Krista’s been spending virtually every free moment with Jason Dutwiler; I barely see her anymore. Brady Simms has also been MIA. He hasn’t called or e-mailed since our semi-date. It’s weird, but talking to my brother has now become the highlight of my day. In the past, we were never very close. We always got along, but you couldn’t really call us “friends.” Now I view him as a trusted confidant.
“I’ve got a plan,” Sean says when he phones me at work Tuesday afternoon.
I’m in the middle of writing a breakup letter for Evan Hirschbaum’s latest castoff. “I’m all ears.”
“Brace yourself: It involves porn.”
“What?” I exclaim, dropping my pen.
“Gay porn, to be specific.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Okay, this is gonna sound nuts, but hear me out before you make your decision.”
“I’m skeptical, but I’m listening.”
“Mom’s the one who wanted to see other people, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Dad was merely following Mom’s orders. He wanted to stay faithful to her, wanted to keep his marriage intact. But he felt he had no choice but to do what she asked. So he turned to Gretchen Monaghan out of desperation, because he couldn’t be with the woman he really wanted. This exact same thing happened on Days of Our Lives when Bo hooked up with Billie because he thought his true love, Hope, had drowned in a vat of acid.”
“I thought you watched General Hospital, not Days of Our Lives.”
“I kind of watch them both,” he says sheepishly. “Back to what I was saying. Dad’s only with Gretchen because he can’t have Mom. If Mom dumps Jude and offers to take Dad back, he’ll go in a heartbeat!”
I’m not so sure. “He called Gretchen his soul mate.”
“He can’t have meant it,” Sean argues. “Judging by their e-mails, Gretchen said it first. It’s kind of like when someone says ‘I love you.’ You just have to say it back.”
“Mom doesn’t want Dad. She wants Jude,” I point out.
“She only thinks she wants Jude. All we’ve got to do is convince her otherwise.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“We have to convince Mom that Jude is gay. She’ll toss him out on his ass.”
I burst out laughing. “Sean, you’ve lost it. There’s no way we can do that.”
“We can,” he insists. “Mom said her relationship with Jude doesn’t have any passion.”
I frown. “It sounds too far-fetched, too risky.”
“All good plans are risky,” Sean counters. “It’ll work.”
I’m still reluctant. Part of me thinks we should just butt out, leave well enough alone.
“Look,” Sean says, “every time Jude’s come over here, he’s brought his yoga bag. All we have to do is hide some gay porn in it and then make sure Mom finds it. That’ll plant enough seeds of doubt to have her running back to Dad’s arms.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “Dani, I’m going to do this with or without your help. Though, if you’ll remember, we formed a coalition, we agreed to work together to keep our family from falling apart.”
I let out a sigh. “All right, I’ll help. Tell me what I need to do.”
A few days pass, and Brady still doesn’t call to ask me to a movie. But Sophie Kennison does.
“I was wondering if you want to rent some DVDs and hang out at my place tonight?” she offers on Friday afternoon. I don’t have any plans, so I say yes.
I arrive to find her waiting for me outside her apartment. “I was thinking we could go to your brother’s Blockbuster on Comm. Ave.,” she suggests. “They have a really good selection.”
“Sure,” I say. We arrive at the store, and Sophie heads straight for new arrivals.
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute,” I say, scouting the store for Sean. I spy him stocking videos by the register and hurry over.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I’m having a movie night with Sophie. We dropped by to get a few flicks.”
“Sophie’s here?” His eyes begin scanning the store.
“Yeah, she’s picking out some movies. Anyway, update me on what’s going on at home?” I ask.
“It’s depressing. After that one great talk, now we barely speak to each other. Mom left me a note on the kitchen table this morning.” He reaches into the pocket of his khaki pants and pulls out a wadded-up napkin. “Here, read it for yourself.”
S—
Ho
w about dinner at the house this Tuesday? Me, you, Dani, & Jude. Could be a good bonding opportunity. I’ll cook. Ask your sister if she’s free.
Mom
“I can’t believe she left you a note on a napkin,” I say, as soon as my eyes have finished scanning the message.
“I told you, we don’t talk. What do you want to do about this?”
“We should probably go for it. This might be our big chance.”
“I know,” Sean says. “I’ll tell her we can be there.” He snorts. “Maybe I’ll write an acceptance note on a square of toilet paper.”
I feel badly for him, living in that house of tension. “So, we’ll implement Operation Gay Porn this Tuesday, and see where it leads?”
“For my sanity’s sake, I hope it works. At the very least, I’d like us to all start talking again. It’s too quiet at home.” Sean picks up a few videos and heads to the end counter, away from the line of customers. “I’m so spaced-out, Dani,” he says, setting them down. “These haven’t even been checked back in yet, and I was about to restock them.” He shakes his head. “I’m losing my mind.”
I pat him on the back. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”
“So, about the porn,” Sean says, lowering his voice. “I was thinking it would be best to go with magazines. Porno movies might be too obvious. Besides, it’d be easier to connect them back to me, since I work in a video store.”
“I doubt she’d even think about it. It’s not like Blockbuster specializes in porn.”
“Mom doesn’t necessarily know that.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Sophie asks, strolling over to us. She leans up against the counter.
“You really wanna know?” I say.
She grins. “I asked, didn’t I?”
Fair enough. “Gay porn.”