Always the Last to Know Read online

  It’s strange that Riley and I hate those guys since Riley is known to be a loud, cocky asshole from time to time and I like Riley, all of Riley, even the loud, cocky asshole side of him.

  I kind of loathe myself for that.

  “You’re not doing anything crazy for my bachelorette party tomorrow, are you?” When I shake my head, she sighs, obviously relieved, “Good. I don’t think I can take too many more surprises before the wedding.” She chuckles and rubs her stomach.

  I smile at her. The last thing I want to do is piss off the pregnant lady before her wedding.

  “I don’t know if I told you or not, but I am really going to miss you living here. You always keep the kitchen drawers so neat and organized, and you have that bitchin’ DVD collection.” Carla sniffles, “And you’re my oldest friend and I’m just really going to miss you!”

  Before I can brace myself, Carla hugs me, and she’s crying.

  “I’m going to miss you too, Carla. But, you know that I can come over and organize the kitchen drawers anytime you want.”

  Carla pulls away from me and smiles, “Even though you’re leaving, I’m glad you’re moving to Riley’s.” She snickers, “His kitchen drawers are okay but have you seen those cabinets?”

  Yes, I have seen those cabinets. Those cabinets are why I have a huge bruise on my forehead in all my college graduation pictures. It was the night before graduation and I was at Riley’s looking for a blender so that Carla and I could make “diploma daiquiris”. By our senior year, Carla and I needed very little reason to drink but required alliteration in our drink titles; we had diploma daiquiris, just-because jello shots, test-tomorrow ‘tinis, and fat-day fuzzy navels. So, in search of the blender for said diploma daiquiris, I opened one of the top cabinet doors and this huge glass bowl came sliding out and conked me on the head.

  Riley now keeps all large bowls and such in complete disarray in the lower cabinets. While this prevents against possible concussions, I recommend wearing steel-toed boots before opening those cabinets.

  I smile, “It’s going to be an interesting living experience, that’s for sure.”

  “You two are going to have a blast, and you know it.” She gives me a pointed look. “At least you’ll stop bickering once you’re living together.”

  “How would that stop the bickering? If anything, Riley and I living together will cause mass chaos.” Especially when I spill my heart out to him.

  Carla laughs, “I’m just saying. With you two sharing a living space, maybe you’ll both realize that it’s what you always wanted and you two will finally shut the hell up about what you did to each other when you were eight. Because, I’ll tell you something, you two arguing all the time is a complete pain in the ass for all of us around you. We all just wish you would get over all this immature bullshit you’ve been pulling forever and get serious. The love-hate thing is only cute for so long. And it ain’t cute anymore.”

  I scoot away from Carla until I’m at the opposite end of the couch. She’s been expressing a wide range of emotions the past few days. I don’t know if it’s because of the wedding or because of the pregnancy hormones. I just know that I don’t feel safe being in the same room as her right now.

  “Okay.” I don’t know what else to say or do so I stay where I am and try not to make any sudden movements.

  Carla shakes her head, “I’m sorry, Jess. There’s just so much going on and. . . . I’m stressed and scared and pregnant and don’t know what else to do.”

  Besides yell at me, you mean.

  “It’s okay, Carla.”

  She nods, “I’m just sorry. You’ve been so great about all of this wedding stuff. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me.”

  I give her a smile, “Hey, what are Maid of Honors for anyway?”

  Twelve

  Friday, July 3rd

  “Hey there, Callahan!” I smile, my high-heels clanking loudly, as I walk into the kitchen of his house.

  “God, you’re shrill.” Riley mutters from the kitchen table. He looks at me through half-shut eyes, “Why are you in a dress?”

  “For the bachelorette party. I wasn’t sure how long it was going to take to beat an apology out of you so I decided to be decent looking if I’m late to Carla’s party.” You know, he really could have said that I look nice. Or at least take a gander at my chest – I didn’t buy a halter dress for nothing, you know.

  I stomp across the kitchen to the medicine cabinet. I purposely shake pill bottles and noisily move around items. Once I find the Tylenol, I shut the cabinet door. Hard. Plopping the Tylenol bottle down on the table, I grab a coffee mug and fill it with water, then sit it next to the Tylenol.

  “Thanks.” He whispers, reaching for the bottle. I sit next to him, making a point to slide the chair across the floor so that it makes a terrible screeching sound, and tap my fingers sharply against the table until he swallows the Tylenol.

  While the pills are traveling down his throat, I start talking, loudly. “So, I was awoken at six this morning by Carla. She was crying hysterically, at six in the morning mind you, and saying that the wedding was off. Evidently something happened last night at the bachelor party. My first thought was that Evan got too frisky with one of the ladies at the strip joint. But it wasn’t that. Evidently Carla’s brother, that’s you, punched Evan, that’s your baby sister’s fiancé, in the eye. And,” I nod my head toward his face, “judging by that swollen cut lip, Evan hit you back.”

  Riley gives me this look that I can’t even begin to describe. Oh my God, is that shame in his eyes?

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “Not nearly as mad as Carla is. I personally find it kind of humorous.” I get up to make a cold compress for his lip. “What happened anyway?” I ask, searching for a dish towel to put some ice cubes in.

  “We were at the strip joint and we were both kind of drunk. Evan made a comment about one of the strippers and one of his stupid football friends followed up with something about Carla, I don’t even remember what, but it pissed me off, then Evan laughed and, like I said, I was drunk. So I punched him.”

  I sit back at the table, scooting my chair closer to Riley. I put the washcloth filled with ice cubes against his lip. He winces in pain.

  “Riley, no offense, but you do know that Evan could easily kick your ass, right? You’re taller but Evan’s stout. He’s like Rudy.” I smirk, “But, if I were you, I would be more afraid of Carla right now. She’s a tiny woman but she’s feisty, and super pissed at you.”

  “I made a mistake and I’ll apologize to both of them.” He manages to say audibly with a rag full of ice pressed against his mouth.

  “Yeah, you may not want to face Carla until we see if Evan’s eye is okay. You know that if her husband has a black eye, caused by her brother no less, in all their wedding photos, Carla will kill you. She will kill you dead.”

  Riley laughs, even though I wasn’t joking at all, and looks me in the eyes. And, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s like he’s looking right through my eyes, and I’m unable to avert my gaze from his. We’re silent as we continue to stare at each other like that, like we’re competing in some freaky staring contest, while I hold a rag full of ice to his lips.

  Something is happening here and I don’t know what it is. All I know is that all the fears and scenarios that have been plaguing me just kind of disappear from my mind. Before my brain can even comprehend what my body is doing, I drop the compress and suddenly my lips are on Riley’s. His hands go in my hair and trace along my back and his lips are still cold from the compress…

  I’m kissing Riley. And he’s kissing me back.

  Why is he kissing me back? Oh my God, is he kissing me back out of pity? He totally is, isn’t he? He feels sorry for me because my best friend is getting married and he thinks that ‘I’m the bridesmaid and never the bride’ and he’s all, ‘Well, I have a hangover but she’s clearly unstable. I’ll just have to suck it up and kiss her to make her feel like she’s s
till wanted by the opposite sex.’

  No, he can’t be thinking that. But why is he kissing me then?

  I pull away from him and make it a point to not meet his gaze. I take up the task of getting the ice cubes back on the dish towel.

  “Jess,” he starts to say. Oh great, here it comes, the ‘You’re a great girl but I think we should just be friends’ speech. He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb over the top of it, “I’ve been wanting to do that since your senior prom.”

  I have to look at him now, “What?”

  “Remember the night of your prom when you snuck in my window?” I nod slowly, not even angry that he’s brought up that night again, and he continues his story. “It was around three in the morning. I wasn’t able to sleep that night anyway and then I heard you open my bedroom window and climb in in that ungraceful fashion of yours. Your hair was everywhere and you still had on your prom dress. Without even asking, you opened my sock drawer, pulled out a t-shirt and boxers and changed right there in front of me. Then you got in bed with me. After you cried yourself to sleep, I put my arm around you and just watched you sleep. That was the moment. With your tear-stained face and bobby pins poking out all over your head; that was it. And all I’ve ever wanted since is for you to crawl into my bedroom window and lie down next to me.”

  Oh my God. This may be the sweetest thing that I’ve ever heard. And it’s coming out of Riley Callahan’s mouth. And it’s about me!

  I can’t believe that he was awake that night. I thought I was super stealth sneaking into his room. That was the night that Cliff and I had sex. He dropped me off at my house at three in the morning; he didn’t even walk me to my door. I knew that there was no way I could just walk in my house in my condition, my hair everywhere and my dress torn. I remember looking next door and seeing Riley’s window barely ajar. It looked like my sanctuary.

  I had no idea he was awake. Or that he felt this way. Or that he really is my sanctuary.

  “Riley, I don’t know what to say. I can’t even. . .” Oh, screw talking. All we ever do is talk. I kiss him again, a more serious kiss. One of those kisses that can only mean that more is to come.

  It’s not long before we’re stumbling to Riley’s bedroom, shedding clothes as we walk lip-locked down the hall.

  When we fall on Riley’s bed, I’m down to only my bra and panties that say. . .

  Oh my God. The panties say “Tuesday” and it is definitely Friday. They’re clean, I just didn’t think that anyone, especially Riley (never Riley) would see them. He smiles at them and runs his thumb over the word Tuesday.

  Riley’s down to one sock and a pair of University of Kentucky boxers and, as he leans down to kiss me more deeply than before, I can feel, you know, Knudsen pressing against me.

  In a place I never thought Knudsen would go!

  Wait a second.

  “Riley, do you have, you know, um. . .” I can’t say the word ‘condom’ to Riley, I just can’t, “you know, protection?”

  Riley looks at me and smiles, “Yeah, I think. Check the nightstand.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips before rolling off of me to look in the nightstand on the left side of the bed while I check the one on the right side.

  The bottom drawer just has a VCR instruction guide and a small alarm clock. The top drawer is more clustered. I rummage through old receipts, but find no condoms. Instead I find a small stack of pictures in the back corner of the drawer. I pull them out of their hiding spot and flip through them. They’re all pictures of me and Riley. The oldest one is of us sitting on the balcony of the tree house, just like we did at Carla and Evan’s engagement party. Only we can’t be any older than nine and seven in this picture. The most recent picture is from a night out. Riley and I both look a little bit past tipsy and, judging from the empty beer bottles on the table, we probably were well on our way to becoming drunk. We’re just sitting next to each other at a table and making goofy faces at the camera.

  Thank God this picture never made it onto Facebook.

  “Did you find any over there?” Riley asks, rolling over, his head finding a spot on my shoulder. He peers over me to see what I’m looking at. When he realizes what I’m holding, he laughs, “Shit, I forgot those were in there.”

  “You’ve got quite a collection.” I comment and sit the pictures back in the drawer and close it shut.

  “I just like to look at you.” Before he can totally melt my heart, he adds, “And, in pictures, you can’t talk back to me.”

  I elbow him in the stomach, “Jerk.”

  “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He laughs before planting a kiss on my bare shoulder.

  I turn toward him and kiss him gently and am amazed at how well our bodies mold together. Since he is lacking protection, we’re going to have to wait to see how perfectly we really mold together.

  Dammit.

  I put a hand on his chest and gently push him away.

  “I want this to happen, Riley, but not without the proper precautions.” Seriously, why can’t I just say the word “condom”? I’m lying here, half-naked, and the thing that embarrasses me is a stupid word. Maybe I can learn how to say it in Spanish. I’ll be working at a hospital; I’ll probably have to learn words like condom and all kinds of other medial terminology, like defibrillator because, really, what kind of Spanish professor teaches a class how to say defibrillator?

  Riley nods and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, “This was kind of rushed, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ve known you for twenty-two years. This wasn’t rushed. It was extremely overdue.”

  ***

  “Well, what did my sorry ass brother have to say for himself?”

  Okay, Carla is definitely too angry to notice that I almost had sex with her brother. She’s also too angry to offer up a nice greeting like “Hey Jess, thanks for picking up the vegetable tray and eating all the celery so that I won’t get sick from its nonexistent smell” or “Hi Jess, your hair looks a little mussed. Were you making out with someone?” or even “So, is it true that you’re actually going to get a sex life?”

  Instead of any of these things, I’m greeted by Carla who has her arms crossed and is glaring me down like I was a puppy who just chewed up and peed on a pair of her knock-off Christian Louboutins. I don’t know why she’s leering at me; I’m not the one who hit her fiancé. I am, however, the one who almost had sex with the guy who hit her fiance’.

  God, I’m the worst Maid of Honor ever.

  I’m also greeted by Evan, who is sitting at the kitchen table with an icepack against his face, and Carla’s mom, who seems to have taken great interest in what I assume is another wedding binder of Carla’s. The poor woman is probably just trying to stay out of this huge mess. Ms. Callahan didn’t even know what was going on when she came over. Carla called her, shrieking inaudible noises into the phone, similar to the ones that she woke me up with, and Ms. Callahan, thinking that her only daughter had cut off a hand the day before her wedding or something, rushed over to find Carla in good health (minus the morning sickness) and cursing worse than Jay in Dogma.

  “You have a hole in your dress.” Evan says, pointing at the side zipper on my dress. I look at the spot he’s pointing to and, sure enough, there’s a decent size hole right below the zipper.

  I blush, “I must have snagged it on something.” Or, you know, Riley could have been taking on that zipper at warp speed and ripped my dress, whatever.

  Carla watches me, her eyes mere slits, as I sit the groceries down on the counter and begin unloading the bags. She’s really pissed. And, if she knew that instead of scolding Riley like I was supposed to, I made out with him, I have every belief that she would claw my eyes out.

  “Well, what did he say?”

  I sigh, “He said he was sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Carla cackles, “He said he was sorry? That’s great. The bastard said he was sorry. Well, that’s just fucking peachy. Did he have anything else to say?”

&nbs
p; Now is definitely not the time to tell Carla what all Riley said.

  “Er, yeah. He offered to take Evan out to lunch after they moved my bed over to Riley’s.” Judging by the way things are going, however, I may not need to move my bed over at Riley’s. I can just sleep in Riley’s bed. With Riley. And we can do things other than sleep.

  Carla snorts as she stalks back and forth across the kitchen, “He punches my soon-to-be husband in the face and he thinks that lunch at some steakhouse is going to make up for it?”

  “Actually, steak sounds pretty. . .”

  At Carla’s glare, Evan stops talking and, with his uncovered eye, focuses intently on the small centerpiece sitting in front of him.

  The room is quiet for a few minutes as Evan shifts around uncomfortably in his seat while Ms. Callahan continues to read through the binder and Carla mutters to herself in a way that is not unlike Joe Pesci in Home Alone. I busy myself with emptying out the contents of the grocery bag and placing the vegetable tray and dip in the fridge.

  After two hours of silence (well, okay, more like two minutes, but it feels like years), Carla groans and turns to her mother, “Can you believe Riley did that?”

  Ms. Callahan doesn’t even look up, “Yes.”

  “Well, are you going to do anything about it?”

  Ms. Callahan makes eye contact with Carla now, “He said he was sorry, Carla. If you want anything else, you’ll probably have to beat it out of him.”

  “And don’t think that I won’t.” Carla states gravely before stomping off to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Evan, with his right eye still covered with an ice pack, looks at Ms. Callahan, then at me. I just shrug. If he thinks I’m going in there to comfort Carla, he must have got hit harder than I gave Riley credit for.