Always the Last to Know Read online

  I honestly cannot believe I’m even thinking this, but I wish that Carla had given me a more challenging task than writing out place settings. Writing out names on place settings that will be completely ignored at the reception doesn’t take too much thought, which means that I have plenty of time to sit here and contemplate about Riley and the fact that I’m in love with him.

  And, you know, I should be totally repulsed by that fact. But I’m not. You have no idea how much I hate myself for not becoming nauseated at the thought of loving Riley. Well, I do feel a little sick but it’s not repulsion, just pure unadulterated fear. Because, now, I love Riley. It’s out there in the universe and there’s no way of reeling it back in.

  What’s even worse is that I keep thinking about what it’s going to be like to be around Riley and be in love with him. There’s no way that Riley feels this way, and Satan will be ice skating in Hell before I tell him anything. My mind keeps going over scenarios of Riley and I together: hanging out on the sofa watching TV with Jackson between us, attempting to grocery shop together and the arguments over low-fat milk versus Riley’s much loved 2% milk and whole wheat versus white bread, what it would be like to kiss him. . .

  Oh crap. I cannot think about kissing Riley, no matter how great it might be, because if I think about kissing Riley and running my hands through his hair then my next thought will be about sleeping with Riley and I cannot allow that thought to enter my mind. . .

  Nevermind, now I’m thinking about having sex with Riley. That’s it, I’m a dead woman. I will never ever recover from this.

  “Are you all right?”

  I look up at Carla who is staring at me concerned.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I lie.

  “Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

  I nod, “Yeah. It’s just. . . hot in here.” At least that isn’t a total lie. Though we rarely use the stove, the apartment kitchen tends to stay a few degrees warmer than the rest of the apartment. We have yet to figure out why.

  Carla looks at me skeptically for a second before picking her phone back up. She sits it back down and takes a seat at the table.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting weird since you came in from work. Did Annie talk about her and her husband’s latest romp in their pool?”

  I laugh, “I wish.”

  “Well, then what happened?” When I don’t say anything, Carla scoots her chair closer to me and tries again. “Jess, I know we haven’t really talked about anything but the wedding since I got engaged, and I miss talking to you about normal girl things.”

  “Getting married is a normal girl thing.” Not for girls like me who fall in love with their best friend who they spent half their life hating. But, for girls like Carla, who go to college and meet someone they’ve never loathed, getting married is a completely normal girl thing.

  Not that I’m in any rush to get married. My family, however, is THISCLOSE to holding a bake sale as a way to collect a dowry for me in hopes that it will lure in a husband.

  Have I mentioned that my family is slightly psychotic? Yes? Okay then.

  “You know what I mean. We haven’t just talked about other things going on in our lives.” Carla lets out a sad chuckle and looks out the window as she talks, “Do you realize that, when you move to Riley’s, it will be the furthest away we will have ever lived from one another?”

  I hadn’t thought of this. Carla and I had grown up next door to each other and have lived together since our freshman year of college. Riley’s house is only a seven minute drive away from the apartment but it’s never taken me more than seven seconds to be at Carla’s house or room before.

  “I can’t believe that my brother was right about our friendship getting strained.” Carla sighs.

  “Riley doesn’t know everything.” At least, I hope he doesn’t know everything. “Yes, you’re getting married and having a baby. And, yeah, I’m living a little further away from you but we’ve been friends our entire lives. I really don’t think a baby or a new address will change that. We’ll just have to take more time for each other. I can give up playing Free Cell on the computer when I’m bored and come visit you instead.”

  “And I can stop creating more to-do lists than I really need at work and call you.” Carla says and quickly wipes away a few tears that are sitting on her eyelids.

  “See? We’ll totally make this work.”

  “Well, you know that I’m a fan of proving my brother wrong whenever I can.” She chuckles and stands up, reaching for the phone as she does so.

  “Yeah, your brother. . . have you noticed anything different about him lately?” Maybe it’s not me. Maybe Riley has had some weird change of character recently and that’s why I feel like I do. Hey, if I can’t blame Annie for making me feel this way, then I’ll just have to find someone else to blame. Riley seems like a good person to blame since he’s the one that I’m fantasizing having crazy animalistic sex with.

  Dammit! Why do I think these kinds of things?

  “He’s acting like the same jerk as usual.” Carla smiles. “Why? Do you think there’s something wrong with him?”

  You know, any other time, I would seize this opportunity to make fun of Riley and make a comment about how many things are wrong with him. But I can’t since being in love turns me into a total pussy and incapable of making wisecracks.

  Dear God, does being in love mean that I have to lose my sense of humor? If so, I don’t know if this is worth it.

  “Nothing’s wrong with him.” I answer Carla and pray that she doesn’t ask if there’s something wrong with me. That’s a can of radioactive worms that I am not prepared to unleash upon an unsuspecting world any time soon.

  “I never imagined that you would have thought that.” Carla says with a look of amusement on her face.

  Yeah, well, there are a lot of things about her brother that Carla probably thought I would have a completely different opinion on. Like his wit, generosity, and ass.

  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!!?

  Carla doesn’t appear to notice the inappropriate thoughts currently bouncing around my head about her brother and begins to dial a new phone number.

  “When you’re done writing out place settings, can you write out some thank you cards for—Hi Becky, this is Carla Callahan. . .”

  ***

  I thought when Carla asked me to write out some thank you cards, I just assumed that I would fill out a few notes for the gifts she’s already received from well-wishers who aren’t able to come to the wedding.

  I should never assume anything. Because I will definitely be proven wrong.

  I have spent the past two hours writing out “Dear ________, Thank you so much for our wedding gift. Evan and I appreciate it so much! With love, Carla and Evan.”

  Not only am I writing out Carla’s thank you cards, I’m forging her and Evan’s signatures. She has me breaking the law.

  Fortunately for me, Evan and Matt came in the apartment about thirty minutes ago and Matt, seeing the crazed look in my eye, feigned an excuse to get me out of there as quickly as possible. I didn’t miss that smirk that went across Carla’s face when Matt asked if I could give him a ride to the mall. She really thinks that he likes me. Oh Carla, how naïve you are.

  Although, it’s a shame that Matt doesn’t like me since he knows the quickest, most shallow way to my heart: you go to the mall, take a left and head straight to the food court and pick up a slice of pizza from Sbarro’s, move on to Macy’s to peruse through the racks of shoes on clearance, and that’s where you will find my heart, snuggled in between a pair of Steve Maddens marked 75% off.

  With a Diet Pepsi in one hand and a bag full of shoes in the other, I’m starting to regain my sanity and handle on this entire situation. And it’s only taken the action of emptying out my checking account on shoes to make me figure out the feelings I have for Riley. Do you want to know what I’ve figured out?

  I’m an idiot.

  Seriously
. Why should I be so bummed out about loving Riley? Why should I feel like I’ve lost my mind because of this? Riley is a great guy. He’s nice and smart and funny and talented and I honestly don’t know why I didn’t realize that I was in love with him years ago.

  But I’m sure as hell not going to tell him that.

  Hey, I may be stupid, but I’m not crazy.

  “Have you heard this album?” Matt sticks The Killers’ latest album in my face, knocking me out of my thoughts. I shake my head and he puts the CD back on the shelf. “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing. I. . . I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  Matt evidently sees this as an appropriate answer and continues to sift through the CDs.

  Can I tell Matt about Riley? He’s really the only one who won’t judge me or offer up kinky, possibly illegal sex tips.

  At least, I hope not.

  “Matt, have you ever thought one way about a person and then, suddenly, you didn’t feel that way about them anymore?”

  “What do you mean?” He asks, paying more attention to the tracklisting on the CD in his hands than me.

  “Like, there’s this person. And you think that you hate him but then, out of nowhere, you realize that you don’t hate him and that you actually… love him.”

  Matt continues to look at the CD but smirks as he says, “You mean Riley?”

  At my silence, Matt turns to look at me and the smirk he had turns into a full-on grin, accompanied with laughter.

  “How did you know?” I yell out in a squeaky voice.

  “How did you not know?” He replies back in a surprised, but non-squeaky tone. “My God, didn’t you know that the whole bickering thing you do with him is just your way of coping with what you truly want but seem unable to attain it?”

  I blink at him.

  He shrugs, “Freshman psych.”

  I took freshman psychology and didn’t learn that. Of course, I didn’t really learn anything in that class since I spent the bulk of my time trying to figure out why the professor, or any human being, would wear socks with sandals.

  “What am I going to do Matt? I can’t tell Callahan this stuff. He doesn’t love me and you know good and well that I’m already on my way to being a crazy cat lady. Riley rejecting me will send me over the edge.”

  “Aren’t you the rational being.” He mumbles to himself. He’s flipping through the ‘J’ CDs now, but stops to look up at me with a quizzical face. “Jess, are you always this open with people you’ve known for a week?”

  “This coming from the man who told me he’s gay after knowing me for all of a week?”

  Matt throws back his head and laughs. “Okay, so we’re both too trusting.”

  I nod in agreement. I think that Matt and I just get each other, you know? I read a journal editorial (fine, it was an article by Monique in People or Entertainment Weekly or somewhere… but I have read some actual scholarly journals in my day) about how gay guys and straight girls who jeans’ tags have two digits on them are more accepting of each other. I think it’s something about not feeling like you’re in competition with each other. Although, Matt did say that he wants to go to the wedding with Riley.

  Oh my God. I’m going to Carla’s wedding with Riley. I had completely forgotten about that!

  “Do you think I should tell Riley?”

  Matt takes an intake of breath, “That’s a tough call, kid. You are going to be living with him. . .”

  “And I am going to Carla’s wedding with him.”

  “Way to steal my date.” Matt narrows his eyes at me jokingly. He adds, his face serious again (well, as serious as Matt’s face can get anyway), “You should tell him. You’ll regret it otherwise. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”

  “All right there, Bogart.”

  Matt slings an arm over my shoulder, “Jess, I think that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  I elbow him lightly in the stomach, “Get some new material.”

  ***

  I pull into Riley’s driveway and, instead of going inside, I just stay put in my car. I roll the windows down and kill the engine, but leave the radio on. The temperature has cooled off tremendously and there’s even a faint breeze whistling through the trees. Why would I want to go inside when I can sit right here and enjoy this rare July-in-Kentucky weather?

  Oh, right, because I’m in love with the man inside and am too afraid to go in and tell him so. That’s why I’m staying put in my car. I could have just gone back to the apartment, but I dread the thought of Carla springing hundreds of wedding programs to write out on me. Matt sensed a similar fate for himself since, you know, any friend of Evan’s is going to be guilted into slavery by Carla, and asked that I just take him back to Evan’s apartment.

  When you would rather spend your time at a beer shrine posing as an apartment with three football players who, together, would not be able to solve a fifty-piece jigsaw puzzle and think that calling their girlfriends ‘bitch’ and ‘that damn woman’ is perfectly acceptable, then you are clearly terrified of Carla. And Matt won’t even deny his fear, which I can respect him for. I mean, at least he admits that he’s afraid of a 115-pound pregnant woman who only comes up to his elbow.

  I, on the other hand, would rather mask my fear of Carla to others and say that I have important moving-in things to do at Riley’s. Of course, I’m afraid to talk to Riley right now too, but I have nowhere else to go. Well, that’s not true, I could go to my parents’ house.

  I’d rather be covered in raw meat and facing a pack of hungry wolves.

  I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes, just trying to relax. Maybe I can sleep in my car tonight. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just stay in my car tonight and drive to work in the morning and no one will know that I’m afraid of everything.

  Clearly, rationality is not my one of my strong suits.

  Oh, honestly Reynolds. Just march inside and tell him the truth. It’s just three little words: I love you. And who is afraid of three small words? I’m afraid of snakes and people in cartoon costumes, not words. And I’m definitely not afraid of Riley.

  “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  I scream and go to yank the pepper spray out of my purse before Riley, who has stuck his head through the passenger side window, puts his hand on top of mine, “Reynolds, it’s just me.”

  I take a few deep breaths as Riley slides in the passenger seat of my car. He shuts the door and chuckles at me.

  “You’re sneaky.” I say quietly, still trying to calm down. Sneakiness is not a good quality in someone you love. Unless he’s being sneaky in order to surprise you, like with a surprise date to a concert… or a Mini-Cooper.

  “Sorry. I waved at you from the living room window, but you didn’t notice me. I was worried about you.”

  Well, damn. Him being worried about me is a good quality.

  “So, what are you doing out here anyway?”

  I shrug, “Just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  I almost laugh at his question but manage to contain myself. I turn to give him a look, but his attention is on the record store bag that he just picked up from the floorboard. He takes the two CDs out of the bag and, with one in each hand, looks back and forth at them. He finally snorts in disapproval and puts the CDs back in the bag. After dropping the bag in the floorboard with a thud, he looks at me as if nothing has happened.

  “You are not right.”

  Riley smiles, “It only adds to my charm.”

  Dammit, it really does.

  “Did you go CD shopping by yourself?”

  I shake my head, puzzled, “No. Matt and I went to the mall and decided to check out the new releases.”

  Riley clicks his tongue, “Isn’t CD shopping something that you and I should do together?”

  “We can’t shop for CDs together. Everything I like, you hate and everything you like, I hate.”

&n
bsp; Riley shakes his head, “That’s not true.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s not entirely true. We both like Jimmy Eat World and Louie Armstrong and Johnny Cash and Queen.”

  “Wow, it’s like we’re meant to be together.” I smart off, then immediately regret it. Why am I unable to keep my mouth shut? Geebus.

  Riley doesn’t seem to pick up on my inner panic attack, thankfully, and asks, “So, does Matt’s taste in music sucks as much as yours?”

  “What is your problem with Matt? He’s been nothing but nice to you and you’ve been a complete asshole toward him since Day One.”

  Instead of looking at me, Riley picks at a hole on the knee of his jeans, “I don’t have a problem with Matt. I have a problem with. . .” He looks at me now, almost sad, “Nevermind. I guess I just don’t want to jump on him like you do.”

  Oh, he wouldn’t mind if you did though, Callahan.

  “I don’t want to jump on him. He and I are just friends, trust me. I mean, he turned off “Only the Good Die Young” for crying out loud.”

  Riley snaps his fingers and points a finger at me excitedly, “Billy Joel! We both like Billy Joel!”

  I drop my head into my palm. Seriously, why do I find this at all attractive? A week ago, this conversation would have had me wanting to hit Riley’s head against the wall. And, now, I want to throw Riley against that wall and make out with him until our lips fall off.

  I wonder if all this is just a nasty side effect to that new multivitamin I started taking.

  We fall into a comfortable silence and just watch the night sky. The radio is crooning out some old jazz song and I am certain that I could really sleep in my car tonight. It’s just so peaceful.

  Or maybe that’s because Riley is here with me.