The Girl He Wants Page 6

  “Can you bring me some water?” Cordie calls.

  “I’ll bring it up in a minute. Get back in bed,” Stacy answers before returning his attention to me.

  “I’m sorry about the wine,” I tell him, avoiding his gaze.

  “Jayne, I—”

  “No, don’t say anything. Let’s just leave it.” I grab my purse and shove in my phone.

  “But we should—”

  I turn to him and put my hand up. “Please, Stacy.” I back out of the room. Would I be leaving if he were the new single (childless) stranger across the street? Probably not.

  “I owe you money.”

  “I’ll bring a bill over. Don’t worry about it. Have a good night.”

  I’m out of the flat before I can convince myself to stay.

  Chapter 7

  It’s the last girls’ night out before Josie gets married. We hadn’t planned on getting together, having carried off a smashing good bachelorette party this past weekend for her. The week is heavy with extensive to-do lists and last-minute errands, but this is the quiet we’ll need before the chaos.

  Josie’s nursing a whisky sour; she spent the afternoon collecting her family from the airport and getting them settled at Amelia Island. “The two-hour buffer isn’t enough,” she says.

  Having met her mother, I would agree.

  Paisley slides into a seat across from us. Her face is red and blotchy and at first I wonder if she’s had too much sun and am about to remark on it when she bursts into tears.

  Covering her face with her hands, she says between her fingers, “I’m sorry. I should go. I’m not going to be much fun.”

  “What’s happened?” Both Josie and I change seats, moving into the ones next to her.

  She shakes her head and cries harder.

  “Is it Hank?” Josie rubs her back.

  Paisley nods and we simply wait, rubbing her back and cooing encouraging words, until she’s gained some control.

  “We had a terrible fight. Awful. And everything I knew would happen, did. I told him friends with benefits didn’t exist. It was a stupid idea. Stupid!” She grabs Josie’s drink and downs it. She fills us in on the specifics and I try not to meet Josie’s eye over Paisley’s head.

  “So you’re no longer sleeping together and you’re no longer friends?” Josie signals the waitress for a refill.

  “Yup. That sums it up.” Paisley wipes her face with a bundle of napkins, little hiccups the remaining clue to her sobs.

  “And how do you feel about all that?” I lock eyes again with Josie, who’s likely thinking all would not be lost if Paisley would simply admit that she’s in love with Hank. But Josie has little problem speaking her mind, unlike the rest of us.

  Desperately, madly in love. Probably has been since the day she met him, which was when she was in nappies. Her excuse that he’s her best friend’s brother is a poor one for sure, but I get where she’s coming from. It’s far more complicated than making a declaration. If her love isn’t returned, the side effects from the rejection are twenty-fold. Never mind depression and a self-esteem blow. There’s weight gain, moodiness, and more than one outing in ill-fitting clothes and unwashed hair.

  Paisley shakes her head. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never seen him so angry. So disappointed.” Fresh tears course down her face. “What will I tell Gigi? She just accepted that we’ve been fooling around and now I have to tell her he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” She ends her words on a wail.

  We wait in silence.

  “I’m sorry, Jo. You’re getting married in a few days and I’m nothing but a downer.” She’s caught her second wind and is back to searching for composure.

  “Do you think I care about that? I care about you. I care that you are happy.” Josie hands her a new wad of napkins.

  “I don’t even know what happiness looks like anymore.” She looks at me. “Let’s change the subject. If I keep on about this, I’m going to go to a dark place.”

  “Because you love him.” Josie smacks her hand on the table. “You see that right?”

  “Jo,” I warn.

  Paisley shakes her head and hones in on me. “Any chance something is going on between you and Stacy yet? I saw you on the phone last week and you were blushing. It was him, right? He mentioned you two might ride up together—”

  “Stop.” I hold my hand up and look between my friends. Funny thing is I’m talking to both of them. Josie’s primed, itching to make Paisley see that she’s gutted over Hank because she’s downright head over heels for him, but Paisley’s in no space to hear it. Paisley is too scared to look at what’s before her so she’s deflecting to the rest of us. Courage, she’ll find it when she’s ready.

  “I was not on the phone with Stacy that day. I was on the phone with Josie and we were talking about you.” Paisley gasps. “We were saying that we hoped you’d bring Hank to the wedding and I was embarrassed that I was caught. I’m sorry. As for riding with Stacy, he did suggest it but I’m going straight from a meeting with a loan officer in Miami to the rehearsal. There is no Stacy and me. And there won’t be.” If her crisis is any sort of presage, I’ll keep to that resolve.

  “I’m sorry I keep trying to force him on you. It’s just that he’s very nice.” She winds a napkin between her fingers.

  I nod. “I’m sorry about Hank. In a roundabout way I was doing the same thing.” From behind Paisley’s back, I shove Josie in the shoulder to get her to settle down.

  Paisley, still facing me, rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jo. I know you thought he was for me, Hank that is, but...I just...I dunno.”

  From behind, Josie wraps her arms around Paisley and rests her chin on her shoulder. “All that is irrelevant. I only want you to be happy. If I can help, I hope you’ll let me.” Paisley turns and hugs her back. Not one to be left out, I fling my arms over the both of them. We’re still like that, laughing, when Heather and Kenley come in moments later.

  “Did we miss everything already?” Kenley asks and sits across from us.

  “Nah,” Paisley says. “Just a small breakdown. I’m good now.”

  “So what’s new, everyone?” Heather asks and takes a lone chip from the basket. I may have eaten the bulk waiting for them to come.

  “Besides me getting married?” Josie smiles. “And my mother already threatening to disinherit me if I bail on this one like I did the other two?”

  We all laugh because the thought is ridiculous. Josie’s other two engagements were farces. Brinn is the real deal.

  “I hope there are single men at your wedding, Josie. I’m looking to meet someone.” Heather scoops up the crumbs from the bottom of the paper-lined basket.

  We all look to Kenley for a hint of how we should react.

  “Um, I’m not judging, but are you sure you’re ready for dating? I mean, you and Justin are still working out the particulars of the divorce....” She clasps her hands before her, touching them briefly to her lips before continuing. “Ah, you know...this is all so new. Maybe you should take some time?”

  Heather cuts her eyes to Kenley. “Time for what? I know what I want, or more specifically, what I don’t want. I’m not very good at this single thing. I don’t like being alone. Dating is the natural solution.” She turns to Josie. “So, single guys?”

  Josie’s gaze cycles around the table. “Yeah, well I think there will be a few. Like Vann and Erik, and Stacy.”

  “That Stacy is something to look at,” Heather says.

  I duck my head in case it’s turning the telltale shade of busted. One look and they’ll know, likely Josie before anyone, that I’ve given Stacy an overly friendly welcome. They’ll want to know how much of my body was pressed against his while I explored molars.

  I look for a distraction. Damn that empty chip basket. I lean across the table to take it back to the kitchen and get more when Paisley asks, “How’s the new shop coming along, Jayne?”

 
Bless her.

  “Well, I should know more after Wednesday as that’s when I meet with the banker. I’m very excited. Little worried and stressed, of course. But I’m going to try to focus on the excited.”

  “I’m excited for you,” Paisley says.

  “Holy shit. Is that who I think it is?” Josie rises from her seat.

  I follow the direction of her gaze and groan loudly and for good measure.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. But there’s nothing to stop my smile. “I will this vision to go away. This is not happening. Simply not happening.”

  “Hallo, my lovelies. Surprise!” Pippa says. Her voice is soft and lulling and gives the impression that she’s a flighty, dimwitted hippie. If I didn’t know her as well as I did, it would be an easy assumption to make.

  My cousin, with her thin, wispy blond hair that she’s streaked—apparently haphazardly—with orange, clasps her hands before her and bows slightly.

  From between my fingers I ask, “Pip, what are you doing here?” It’s not like it’s a quick drive from where she was staying. I’m guessing multiple flight connections were involved. “Weren’t you living at some yoga commune in India?”

  “Namaste, Jaynie-girl. I wouldn’t miss Josie’s wedding for anything in the world.”

  “Yay!” Josie moves from around the table and hugs Pippa. She can be over the top and there have been times I’d rather tackle Mt. Everest without oxygen than suffer through spending extended time with her. She’s always trying to get me to eat healthy and exercise. It’s too much, really, how thoroughly she loves me. Particularly when I’ve been a shite cousin half the time.

  Though I do love her so. Most of the time. And not three minutes here and we’ve slipped into our familiar roles: me the annoyed pseudo-older sister, and Pip the one who pushes all my buttons.

  With full glare affect, I say to Josie, “Did you not think I was serious when I made that monetary offer for you to lose her invite?”

  “Oh, Jayne. You missed me.” Pippa wipes what I presume is a tear from her eye.

  “Just a wee bit, Pips,” I say to my cousin, who throughout most of our childhood was but mere steps away from me, as her mother put the nut in nutter.

  She comes around the table and hugs me from behind.

  “I assume you’ll be staying with me?” Part of me is glad my always quiet home will have some noise.

  “Already dropped my bags off. I saw Uncle Thomas and Auntie Millie and I’m on the schedule to help.”

  Josie pulls a chair up for Pippa, who surprisingly plops into it. This is uncharacteristic for my cousin, who normally strikes a yoga pose everywhere, and I make a mental note to approach her about it in private.

  “What were you all talking about?” Pippa asks after going through a series of warm hellos and welcome backs from the girls. She is well liked, my freaky cousin.

  Paisley joins us and passes water to Pippa. She rarely drinks alcohol.

  “Jayne is going to expand her business,” Paisley says.

  “For realz?” Pippa faces me. “Finally! This has been her plan since she was accepted into her design program at University.” She reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it.

  “We were also talking about this hot guy that’s in Josie’s wedding. His name is Stacy.” Heather wags her brows.

  I stifle a groan.

  “Oh, tell me more about him.” This from Pippa.

  “He works with Brinn. He’s the numbers guy that they brought in on that start up Brinn did two years ago. Now they’re venturing out into building an airline. He’s a genius with numbers,” Josie says.

  “He’s really tall. At least six-five,” Heather says. “I’m willing to bet he’s a swimmer or something.”

  She’d win on that bet. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “Tall, smart, hot. He sounds like all the things,” Pippa says, looking at me. “What do you think?”

  Pippa believes in love, the magic that surrounds it, and that a heart will shrivel to resemble a raisin without it. “He has sole custody of his nine-year-old daughter,” I say. Putting an immediate stop to any crazy notion she may get. She faces the crowd.

  “That answers that question. Who else wants him? Heather, you divorced and ready to date yet? Maybe I can have him?”

  Josie laughs and Paisley groans.

  “I don’t understand this thing about a child,” Kenley says. It’s not a new discussion.

  “She says she’s not maternal,” Paisley adds and follows it with an eye roll so exaggerated it’s a wonder she doesn’t get a cramp in those little eye muscles.

  “Oh, she isn’t. I can attest to that.” Pippa raises her hand as if she’s about to take an oath and solemnly swear to tell embarrassing, yet true stories about me. I lean back in my chair, wine in hand, and wait for the stories to unfold.

  “Once when she was supposed to be watching me, she let me play with scissors. I cut all my hair off. I had these beautiful ringlets. Hacked them like errant shrubbery limbs. As you can well see, nothing but limp, straight hair since.” She caresses her silky, honey-colored strands.

  “Poor you.” I sigh.

  “That’s not so bad,” Kenley says, making eye contact with me.

  “Cut it to the scalp.” Filling in the missing information makes Paisley and Heather’s mouth form little O’s.

  “Also, the time you let me drink six bottles of fizzy drink and eat that spicy sausage. I was sick all night long,” Pippa continues. She’s got a treasure trove of them. Let us not forget the time I forgot her at school, or when I tried to pierce her ears without numbing them first, or when I fed her uncooked hot dogs for three days straight.

  In my defense, I offered her cereal. She said no and requested the hot dogs.

  “Do you remember that, Jayne?” Pippa asks.

  “I remember. Mum made me hold your hair while you vomited. Disgusting.”

  Apparently, the wail of a baby does nothing to my uterus or my lactation system, as I can easily tune it out much like I do a fire alarm or an alarm clock. Which is why I have so many gone wrong stories.

  “Okay, so whatever. Jayne’s not maternal. But passing up on a great guy like Stacy—I don’t get it.” Paisley crosses her arms over her chest. I want to tell her to take a good look in the mirror. That she’s held Hank off for far less serious reasons.

  I shrug. “What’s going to come from having a fling with him? Tell me that.”

  “He could be The One,” says Kenley.

  I want to laugh but she believes her husband, Doug, is the only man for her on this earth. I think she could find a dozen more. “I’ve never subscribed to the romantic notion of ‘the one’ or soul mates.” I shrug. “I just haven’t. I’m not a romantic. I’ve said this before. I don’t believe everyone gets a magical and passionate love and rides away on a unicorn. Two of you at this table can attest that love can go horribly wrong.” I look to Heather and Paisley.

  “It comes down to risk for Jayne,” Josie supplies.

  “But we’re talking about just having some fun with him,” Paisley says.

  I fix my stare on her. “Are you? And how do you define fun? I imagine for you it’s not just one night.” I give her a meaningful look; isn’t that how she started her fling with Hank? Wasn’t she bawling her eyes out earlier over losing him? “What if I do ‘just’ have your version of fun with him and it wanes like most initial attractions do? What then? Do we all continue to hang out and act as if nothing ever happened?”

  Josie shakes her head. “I call bullshit because if you split amicably then I don’t see a problem with us all hanging out. So it’s awkward for a bit. Who cares?”

  “What if we ‘fall in love’?” I use the quotes to emphasis how ridiculous I think this sentiment is for someone like me. “What happens if we go through all that and then it falls apart? He has a child, right? We have to consider her.”

  I look at each of them before continuing.
“It’s like that Adele song. The one where she says love either works or it hurts instead. If you need proof of how tragic the effects of an unsuccessful love can be then by all means please read about Pyramus and Thisbe, Romeo and Juliet, or better yet—”

  “Bonnie and Clyde,” Josie says waspishly.

  “—I was going to say Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere. The annals of history are loaded with stories of love gone wrong, and I’m sorry but I’m keen to avoid drama such as that. It’s not for me.”

  I face Pippa and dare her to use my reference to draw attention to my own mother’s tragic love story. My real father, biologically that is, is not the man I call Dad and love with all my heart. No, my bio-dad is a black-hearted wanker who discarded Mum eight years after I was born. It seems he had a second family and couldn’t decide between the two for a while so he kept us both. Then, after what Mum describes as a terrible but common row, he came clean about his other family and left us for them. That experience helped form what I want from love and a life partner. Or specifically, don’t want.

  “You never have to marry, Jaynie-girl. There’s comfort in making your own security,” she would tell me. Late at night, I’d hear her sob in her bed.

  Marriage? Thanks, but no. Never mind my own experiences have been shite. How about that one guy I dated in college? Come to find out he was using me to get closer to my roommate. Or the Aussie in design school whose ulterior motive was for me to do his work? I was so eager for their attention and touch only to be humiliated when their true intentions were revealed. How many of my friends at this table have had a man look up at them like a hunter to a wild animal and say, “I’m game”? That’s happened to me more than once and it doesn’t do a whole lot toward romantic notions for the opposite sex. For me, it’s about lining up the pieces that fit, wanting common goals. Making the most of what each other has and brings to the partnership. It’s about a solid companionship.

  “No,” I repeat. “It’s not for me.”