A/N: Started working on the Charade again, is why this last chapter took a while.
On with the show...
Chapter X
"All right, chica. Bottoms up!"
Tiki held up the pen to mark my eighteenth drink, her and Caro sharing a laugh when I sputtered at their latest choice: Bloody Mary.
"What?" Tiki asked, innocent faced. "Twenty-one-year-olds still need their vitamins."
But right then, I was less concerned about my vitamin intake than I was about my general output. Of the oral variety, since my stomach was churning.
This is why in the last couple years, I spent my birthdays laying low, going out for dinners and movies with friends and family. But Caro 'Twenty-One's a Huge Milestone' Forbes and Tiki 'You're Coming Out Tonight or We're Forcing You on a Plane to Vegas' Grant hadn't been co-captains of our cheerleading squad for nothing. They were loud, peppy, and pushy-in tandem-my own nightmare version of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and I, unfortunately, after years of being away from them, just didn't have the energy to turn them down. Even though, technically, I wasn't officially twenty-one until eight in the morning...six hours away.
Multicolored lights went hazy all around me while I downed my latest poison. Three more, and then this ridiculous tally would be over. And I was so going to cheat with my next drink-and smiled, when Matt reappeared holding it. A glass of water.
He eyed me doubtfully, then offered a conspiratorial smile as he placed the glass on the table. Tiki started protesting, but he silenced her with a kiss, which did the trick and she settled back into her seat against him, throwing me mollified look. But Caro?
Oh, no. Not her.
"That's cheating, B.B."
"You really wanna see what's in my guts flying everywhere?"
"Stop lying. You've been eating like a trucker and spacing out those drinks over the past seven hours. You're not about to hurl."
My stomach just then churned out a protest, and I debated letting loose projectile vomit onto her beautiful, cleavage baring silk blouse.
"Mmm." Tiki's gaze at me turned doubtful, as she glanced at her partner in crime. "Well, that doesn't sound good."
Caro just shrugged. "Dance it off, B.B."
She pointed an imperial finger behind me. I glanced back and found a few tall, dark, and blurries in my line of vision. When I squinted, trying to place Caro's finger on a specific guy, I found the one nearest, standing at the edge of the counter looking over me with interest.
"Him. He's been looking at you for the last hour like you're dessert." Blonde curls tossed dismissively, along with her hand sporting sharp red nails. "Pretend you're not my grandmother displaced in a hot, birthday girl body."
Meanwhile, Tiki smiled encouragingly, which surprised me because I was expecting a snarky comment. Matt had really done wonders for that mean-girl streak in her. Emboldened, I got up from my seat, focusing on the man while I tried to hide my wobbly legs as I made my way over, plastering an equally shaky smile as I approached him at the bar.
Leaning casually in what I hoped was also a provocative way against the counter, I smiled at him. See here? My smile was trying to say. Mature, sexy woman of legal drinking age looking for a dance buddy. He returned it, pleasantly, evenly, and my smirk spiked up...only to falter, when he promptly looked away, back over the rest of the club, teeming with bodies swinging in time to the music-which right now I could dimly register was salsa. I liked salsa, and tried to broadcast that, shaking my shoulders and hips a little.
The man inched away, throwing me a nervous look.
Okay. Not interested. Maybe taken, maybe gay, maybe just not a dancer, or liked redheads. It was fine. I eased myself to still, and no, this was not in any way uncomfortable or confidence-destroying, because I'd had probably the equivalent of a liter of liquid courage at this point.
But I didn't want to go back to the table, where I could see my friends were eyeing me, shooing me closer to my target.
Who was now tracking the approach of a petite woman with caramel hair and a booty the size of Alaska. She strutted confidently, didn't even look my way, as she slid up to her man, then pulled him to the dance floor, shaking said booty with energy.
My friends were appalled, but their faces quickly brightened when another man approached, signaling his intent by quickly buying me a drink and getting familiar with my personal space. I could smell midori sour from his breath, which coincidentally he'd also ordered for me without asking. To be polite, I took small sips, my stomach rapidly churning out another protest that was drowned out by music, thankfully.
"What's your name, gorgeous?"
"I'm-" I stopped, blinking at the rush of nausea. Such bad timing. "Sorry."
His eyes turned amused. "No way. You're the opposite of sorry."
Ha. Clever. He was a little short for my taste, but I could work with it. I gulped down that horrible bile needing release at the back throat, trying again. "My name-"
The room swirled, my stomach flipped, flopped, and rushed back to my throat. I held up a hand, tightening my jaw. No. No no no no no. I refused-absolutely-to spew my guts on the floor.
I was twenty-one, and my initial plans for the night involved a movie-and-dinner combo at the movie grill, dammit. And maybe two-or three-bottles of wine as a nightcap later, with my friends.
My damn friends.
Stiff smile in place, I very carefully moved away from the guy, and walked back to the table. Luckily, I didn't need to say anything for Tiki and Matt both to stand and announce it was time to close shop, keeping me between them as we made it out of the bar. All the way out, I could feel Caro's disappointment radiating around us. I wasn't sure what her goals were for me, or for herself, but I managed an apology.
"I can get home on my own, guys," I slurred. "Go back, have fun."
And waved them off to indicate things were fine, but she only sighed-even more disapproval poured into that sound.
"It's fine, B.B. One of these nights, you're gonna let that stick up your butt come out and you'll really let loose."
Which sounded possibly like a situation that needed a trip to the hospital and adult sized diapers, neither idea striking me as all that appealing. And I said so, stumbling over my words while I waited with my friends for a cab. I wasn't trying to piss them off, but I could see Caro starting to get irritated.
The cab rolled up just as my stomach caved. I bent over the sidewalk, splashing my nineteen drinks on concrete and the glittery, pointed tips of Caro's Jimmy Choo heels.
I was still mouthing apologies through the window at her when I got dropped off, Matt and Tiki walking me up to my room. Caro covered her eyes with her hand, doing a fairly good imitation of pretending she didn't know me.
Passing out on my bed was my last memory.
The next day, I woke up to a shrill sound beside my ear, at the time of day most people were taking lunch. Slapping my hand around, I found my phone.
"Whu?"
Silence. I waited, slowly rolling over, working out the crick in my neck and wiping off drool from the side of my mouth. Ick.
"Hullooo?" I drawled out, then pulled the phone away, momentarily confused. "Oh. Am I dreaming?"
"B.B?" came the deep voice on the other end. "Is that you?"
Well, that answered it. I was definitely dreaming. No way was that voice real.
"Mal?"I asked, stupidly. I'd know his voice anywhere, through ten levels of drunken fog.
"Yeah. Hi."
Hi?
"W-why?"I stammered.
"What?"
"Why are you calling me?" Then, because I realized it came off as rude, I added. "And hi. How're you?"
"Great. Sorry." I could hear him swallow, pictured his Adam's apple that always struck me as more prominent than most men's, going up and down. He sounded off. "I'm fine, thanks. Actually, I meant to call Rudy."
"Oh. Why?"
"I was just going over some paperwork for your grandmother."
My heart seized, and I shot up in bed, grimacing through a bout of dizziness. "What's wrong with Grams?" I demanded through clenched teeth, squeezing my eyes shut from the spinning room.
"Nothing. No, B.B." His voice grew deeper, warmer. "She's fine. Don't worry. It's normal boring legal stuff, normal for most of my clients in her age group."
"Mal-" I wanted to reach out and choke him. "God, you suck."
"I'm-sorry?"
"You. Suck. I have a hangover, and you almost gave me a heart attack to go with it."
His chuckle came through clearly, like he was in the room with me. I could see the smile, bright and cocky and with rows of perfect teeth I wanted to knock out. I flopped backwards on the bed again, blowing out a breath, blinking up at the ceiling that slowly stopped wavering.
"Since when is Grams one of your clients?"
But it came back to me, even as I asked. The last time I'd been in Portland, when I'd had that unfortunate eavesdropping session, Mal had stopped at my grandmother's to drop off presents and POA papers. It all came rushing back, along with his mocking words. As tight as my head was feeling, the memory of it made it worse.
"Unfortunately, I'm not at liberty to say. Client confidentiality." But his tone was teasing. "You're a big girl now. I don't need to explain. Or maybe I do. But not now, in your state of post-inebriation."
Oh, God. Using multisyllabic words in that superior way he had. I hated him so much right then. Overbearing, arrogant, ass. Because I'd just spent a week on a paper about this subject matter, Attila the Hun crossed my mind. Mal was my own Attila.
I was the sad little Byzantine, who could somehow never escape paying tribute to the asshole.
"Happy birthday, B.B."
Attila was short, though, and of Asian culture, so aside from the ruthless pushiness, there was probably very little in common especially in how they each looked...
Wait...
Did he just wish me a happy birthday?
I glanced at the clock, which was several hours past the time of my birth. Yep.
And he had. Wow. Color me surprised. I tried to suffocate the tiny bloom of pleasure in my chest. Freaking Attila.
"Thanks," I said, smiling despite myself. "You're the first one to say so today."
"I'm guessing because you spent most of the day unconscious in bed. What, no boyfriend to give you greasy breakfast on a tray with a rose and one of those corny greeting cards? You know, a pile of bacon and eggs, a couple muffins, cup of coffee, and your hangover will be a thing of the past."
"Yeah, I'll get right on that." Then, because I couldn't help myself, and last night's debacle at the club sprang to mind to remind me of how boyfriend-less I was, I added, "Or get my boyfriend to."
"...That's good. Hope he can cook."
And now, Mal was baiting me. I could sense it. I always could. Attila Attila ATTILA!
"Not really," I shot back. "But know what else is great for hangovers? Exercise. Know what's good exercise? Sex. And know who's good at that? My boyfriend."
At my wonderful outburst signifying that I had definitely reached maturity age, we both fell into prolonged, uncomfortable silence. In the middle of it, I pulled the phone away, grabbed a pillow, smashed it over my face, and let out a tiny frustrated scream.
"What was that?" I heard distantly.
Grabbing the phone, I tucked it back against my ear as I rose from bed, feeling brave enough to weather navigating my apartment. "My neighbor," I mumbled. "Total metal head. Into deathcore. Um, so, I can let you go. I know you wanted to reach my dad."
"Right. Yeah. Go take care of that hangover. In the end, water will be your best friend."
"Helpful little Attila, aren't you?" I muttered, staring at the open fridge, then freezing when I realized that, yes, I'd actually given voice to that thought. As in, out loud.
The line went quiet again, before I registered faint sounds of a muffled chuckle. "Did you just call me Attila?"
Oh, my God.
Mortified, I stared at my phone in horror, before it flashed through my mind, the last twelve hours of awesome in my life. Of course I'd call him the nickname I'd coined spur of the moment. I bit my lip, put the phone down, placed it on speaker, and leaned over my counter to give in to laughter, which went on until my eyes teared up and my belly and sides ached.
"Mal," I gasped. "I'm sorry. Turning twenty-one's been like a bad SNL sketch for me. I'm taking it out on you."
"No, it's fine. It's not every day I get compared to the Scourge of God. My family might agree with you. Some co-workers. Maybe a few judges."
"Basically, most of Portland?"
"And parts of the east coast."
"Sounds like an empire waiting to happen."
"Exactly. I always knew you were a smart cookie. Maybe I have an opening for a lieutenant."
"Sure. I can pencil that in, I think, since I'll be out of school and probably not yet gainfully employed by the time summer rolls around."
By this point, I had a water bottle, a sandwich, a banana, and two Tylenols sitting at the counter. I threw them all on a tray and walked back to bed, flopping back down and getting comfortable.
"Remind me," I said, during a natural lull in our suddenly relaxed conversation. "Never ever to go out again with friends the night before my birthday."
"Maybe you need new friends."
"Nope. They did their duty by me. Took me home even after I gave them an eyeful of my intestinal contents." I sighed, taking in a mouthful of sandwich. The problem wasn't my friends. "I'm a disgrace. Can't hold my liquor."
"How many put you under?"
"Eighteen."
He cursed, a short string of expletives that had me rolling my eyes. And here it would come. "Are you kidding? Only Popeye can hold that amount."
"Popeye? Not Attila?"
"B.B. Quit joking. Your friends-"
"Mal, chill. I started at three in the afternoon, ate probably five full meals in between. Plus, a third of those drinks were more soda or juice than anything." But I bit my lip, once again giddy when I heard the relieved sigh from his end. "Who knew you cared so much? But personally I'm more worried about my arteries."
My sandwich done, I moved on to my banana, and I'm so focused on that, I barely noticed until I was halfway through the fruit that Mal freaking Parker was on the other side of the line, speaking in that deep, lilting voice of his-so damned sexy no matter how irritating he could get-while I chomped down on something that was commonly seen as a phallic symbol.
No sooner did I have that thought than the piece of banana went down wrong in my throat.
Coughing, waving my hands frantically to help me breathe or cool my burning cheeks as a result of my thoughts, I glared at the phone.
"Are you choking?" came the question, heavy with tones of boredom. "Do I need to call 911 for you? Maybe try not hoovering your meal like a vacuum. So much for manners."
"So much for caring," I gagged.
He laughed.
When I regained the ability to breathe and talk normally, he asked about my night. I spent a few seconds debating sharing, thinking about all the ways he could mock me or use the information for blackmail, but then thought, it couldn't possibly get any worse. I dove right into my moments of dignity from several of the bars and clubs Caro and Tiki had forced us to hit, back to back, highlighting my time at the last.
"This might be my hangover talking, but I was ready to ask her to salsa. You just don't see that kind of ass anywhere. No wonder the guy treated me like a leper."
It was all in good fun, but entirely inappropriate considering who was on the other end of the line. I half expected him to interrupt and start lecturing in that serious lawyer voice he liked to pull. This was Mal-why was I talking to him like he was one of my girlfriends? But surprisingly, it came easy to me. Maybe because thinking he was Tiki or Caro or even Lu on the other end helped make it less intimidating.
Shit.
This was Mal.
What the hell was coming out of my mouth? I floundered silently, seeking a way to fill the abrupt, elongated pause-the odd, unwanted elliptical that I never meant to add to my last statement.
But instead of plunging into a lecture, he said, lightly, "Well, that explains the mysterious absence of your boyfriend in your retelling. You decided to bat for the other team."
"No," I said, then brought us right back into another weird, silent break while I closed my eyes, mumbling out my confession. "I just lied earlier. No boyfriend. Last one got lost in the shuffle, somewhere between midterms and the holidays."
But I did have in my possession my trusty vibrator. Thank God that thought stayed only inside my head.
"Oh. Well, you know, a string of meaningless encounters is what all the cool kids are doing anyway, right? Beats a personal massager."
This time, the silence stretched on for well past the bounds of normalcy. I couldn't even imagine what the hell he was doing on the other line. Blinking, I slowly sat up straighter, my eyes stuck on the phone resting beside me. He was still on speaker, and I could've sworn I saw his words floating around the room, sticking to the walls around me.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. I could sense him struggling, felt supremely embarrassed for his sake, not even mine. It felt, mostly, like this rare marble statue had toppled off its lofty pedestal.
"Wow," I whispered in shock.
"B.B." His throat cleared again, and when he spoke his voice was deeper than I had ever, ever heard before, from any damn guy, and it confused me because my hangover was fading but the room was spinning anew for me. "I apologize. I don't even know what the hel-"
"No, no. Don't you dare pull that snooty grown-up voice. Let me set you straight, Malachai Parker. I'm not one of the 'cool kids' as you call them, FYI. Okay? I might live in the city, but it's not all glammed up sexy times. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's work and the occasional ramen noodles and a lot of smelly armpits in my face on the train. And also? Dick comment." But I laughed, genuinely happy that for once he was the one off-kilter. "How the mighty have fallen. I'll never take you seriously ever again."
He stayed quiet after that. I couldn't help feeling smug. Who was the superior one now?
"Anyway, quid pro quo. You've stuck your nose enough in my business. Where is your girlfriend?"
His laugh was short but leisurely, signaling his amusement instead of mockery. "What are those?"
"Sad. Really sad, Mal. Go get one. Quick. So she can teach you how to talk to people."
"I don't know," he replied huskily. "You're kinda schooling me pretty good right now, aren't you?"
What was he saying? Why did he sound like that? My mind whirled, and with it parts of my heart, spiraling up and out, almost right through my chest. At the same time, my mouth went dry, saw dust collecting there while a second of heat on the phone morphed, stretched, turned into something dangerous.
"Mal," I said, my own voice low and sounding more than a little breathy no matter how normal I was trying to come across. "I-"
He cleared his throat, for the umpteenth time. "Hey, do you have Skype?"
"What?"
"Skype. It's this thing on your phone, lets you see people during conversations where two parties at different places get to have a video conf-"
"Yes, thanks, I know what it is. Why-" I broke off, starting to sweat. Again, I could barely get my voice to work. "What would we need-"
I stopped, then, and glanced at the phone, reading the counter that indicated how long we'd been on the call. Forty-three minutes. What was happening here?
"I thought-" he paused. "I figured, we-well, I just had the idea that we could see each other, since it's been a while. I can let everyone here know you're alive and well."
My creepy, ten-year-old stalker...
The words popped up, randomly, then didn't go away, instead repeating on a loop.
Still a munchkin, hmm?...
I'd unveiled it all for him, just shared my not-so-amazing birthday celebration, my singlehood, and general state of mediocre living. Here I was, on a call with the one person I most wanted to stick it to, and show in blazing, neon signs, 'I am woman, hear me roar, asshole. And I'd just basically given him a free ticket to watch my stellar show, The B.B. Diaries: How to be a Complete Mess.
"Oh," I said, then let out a quick inhale, as if I just remembered something. "That reminds me. I think my Grams tried to call earlier. I should call her back."
"Hold on, B-"
"But, hey, it was really nice catching up with you, Mal. Surprisingly, you're not that painful to talk to on the phone. Who knew? Anyway, I'll let you go. Good luck getting a hold of my dad. Oh, and don't mention the night I had, 'kay? Thanks. Give my love to everyone. Take care. Bye."
If I'd been dressed to kill, or even dressed period-at least showered and not still in my rumpled clothes from last night, wearing old make-up, and my hair wasn't frazzled beyond the telling-maybe I'd have given in. Or not. As much as hearing from him had set me back in my journey to be free of him, I knew having even just a quick glimpse of him would turn my entire world topsy-turvy.
Who needed that?
But why the hell would he want to Skype? Did he really need to gloat over me that badly?
-x-O-x-
It doesn't take long to get to Ro's since her apartment's in the city. Halfway through, I manage to change into my new sweater, completely mussing my hair but I'm not in the mood to care about anything except sporting the bright-red-nosed reindeer on my chest. Livvie keeps looking over at me and grinning, and I won't lie, it's gratifying to have such friendly company around, so I grin right back and start to get a couple things off my chest, mostly recounting all the times I was wrong about her being a bitch.
"Hey, remember that time you crashed your dad's car and you told everyone that it was me...?"
By the time we get to Ro's, her glower is back, while I cannot for the life of me figure out why I can't shut my mouth. There's a disconnect, some kind of gap between my brain and my tongue which means good-bye filter, goodbye common sense, and I'm not orchestrating my own impending demise possibly at the hands of a grumpy blonde female cop, but I'm also witnessing it like I'm trapped inside my brain.
Oh, and? Not even that concerned.
Livvie's mood isn't helped any by the perky notes of modern Christmas songs drifting inside Ro's apartment walls. Ha. For sure she's met her quota now, but at least there are others that she can use as target practice.
Ro's shindig is smaller, cozier, mostly members of family on her husband's side, all of them friendly faces, I think to put a brave spin for Katie, who hadn't seen her dad in months as he was off on his third tour and stationed overseas.
Katie herself is by the tree, surrounded by an army of cousins clamoring for their turn to hang up ornaments. Livvie makes a beeline for the drinks station. Coincidentally, that's where I also see Aunt Minerva nearby, her scowl in place. I can't help reflecting on a few things, like how much of a family resemblance exists between the two.
"Wanna help, B.B?" calls Katie.
That's a no-brainer; the tree is way on the opposite side of Livvie and Aunt Minerva. Soon, I'm knee deep in ornaments, ribbons, and candy canes, totally going with the flow while Katie and her minions order me to arrange the taller sections of the tree, which is juuuuust fine by me since it's rare to be the one being asked to reach higher parts.
A few of the grown-ups pitch in, cheery and armed with coquitos. They pass me one just as I take a break, standing on the edge watching as the ornament bins clear and the tree gets busier.
The coquito goes down smoothly; at the same time I remember the stash of gingerbread cookies in my pocket, and take one out to go with my drink. Ro has appetizers set up, but there's nothing quite like Mrs. Parker's homemade goodies. I'm busy munching away, enjoying myself, settling into the mellowest state of mind that I can remember in months-maybe even years.
Then the remaining Parker siblings troop in, with more of their families in tow.
In the shuffle of more greetings and hugs and surprise fruitcakes popping up, and even through my ever dimming presence of mind, I take note of the tall figure that arrives last.
Except he's not alone.
He's busy, talking to the woman at his side...Emma. Whom Livvie, Joss, and I had just run into less than an hour ago at the pub. Joss and Livvie had spent extra time talking with her then, and even now Joss is hovering near, eyeing the British lawyer and Mal while nudging Mrs. Parker, standing nearby. Joss probably invited her impromptu, I work out. Which shouldn't surprise me, how Joss and her mom are in cahoots, trying to find the guy who seems intent on marrying his work, a woman to distract him from his quest. Gotta admit, stroke of genius pulling from someone in the same field. Maybe Emma could just show him her career highlights in a briefcase and Mal would get stars in his eyes.
While I chew on my cookie and tip back the rest of my coquito, I then digress shortly after into the meaning of that phrase-when it was first coined, what sparked it. I don't think it's happened to me, the whole 'stars in my eyes,' since I'm prone to seeing everyone's faults, even those I love dearly.
Cynic, I realize. Whoever first used the term was someone who must've known well how naive people could be, when it came to accepting the reality of infatuation or love. The disappointment inevitable in all relationships because of expectations that could never be met. Even the best pairings, for example, always ended poorly. Why? Because death would part them. Case in point, Mr. and Mrs. Parker.
Wow. Deep thoughts for me, at a tree trimming.
The melancholy turn of my thoughts has me reaching for another ornament, one of the few left. Now Katie and her cousins have left, and there are only a handful of people standing around. Old Aunt Minerva's one of them, having joined the crowd of tree trimmers at one point. I see she's got a glass of wine in hand, sipping from it with pursed lips like she's disgusted at herself for caving.
I offer her my ornament, in the spirit of the season seeking solidarity with this lonely spinster. Maybe hanging it will get her into the groove.
She eyes the shiny ball in my hand, spews the tiny amount of liquor she's just taken in back inside her goblet, curls her lip at me in distaste, and hobbles off, muttering under breath that I catch in bits and pieces. "...obnoxious sweater...what these girls nowadays are thinking?"
Oooh. Dissed by a vision of my own potential future. I cast a speculative look down at Rudolph on my torso, almost shrugging at him as if he can communicate back and save me from this tiny moment of shame.
Nobody's noticed, except Livvie. She's across the room, eyeing me closely-no, actually, she's staring at my cookie, that's on the verge of finding my mouth.
Unbidden, Mrs. Parker's kitchen floats to mind: the strange way she'd set up the trays. How the one I'd picked from was off to the side, well away from the others.
The herbal scent that had carried in the air.
Livvie's smug little smile as she helped shove cookies into a bag for me...
All from that one tray.
"Oh." My stare goes to the white frosted half smile on the innocuous gingerbread man, then to Livvie's. Is it me, or is she suddenly looking shifty-eyed and guilty? So much for being cherubic. Satan's minion, more like.
"Judging by that phone call earlier," comes a deep voice, hovering to the side of me, and far too close for comfort. "Should I be worried you're on drink eighteen?"
My hand stays frozen in place, the cookie still hovering in front of my mouth. If only the drinks is all I had to worry about, I almost say, but catch myself in time. No need to ring the alarm.
This close, I see that Mal hasn't had time to shave lately. His scruff is noticeably thicker since even last night, and it's running along his jaw and down his neck. He's staring up at the tree, hands in his dark slacks. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. In other words, he's every inch a man fresh from the office, ready to unwind, and get into trouble.
I'm trying, and failing spectacularly, to tear my eyes away from him before he can catch it. But my reflexes are slow, my brain a tiny bit sluggish, so it doesn't work. When he looks at me, I'm still gaping. Trying to avert my eyes becomes impossible when that gray gaze lingers, hot and heavy and roaming as if he's trying to either commit my features to memory or just simply burn a hole through my head.
"Damn cookies," I mutter under my breath.
He quirks a brow, but before he can reply, his eyes land on my sweater. Gray turns black, and stays that way for long seconds while he's effectively ogling Rudolph's nose that just so happens to be right between my breasts.
"You wear that well," he says, with a swallow.
"Thanks."
He finally lifts his gaze and then we segue into a silent staring contest where oxygen seems to slowly drain from the space between us. No idea how long we're at it, before I realize Lu has joined us. My buddy Lu, whose hand rests on my hips as he leans in and gives me a peck on my lips.
"Hi, gorgeous, nice sweater," he says, then tosses casually over my head, to his brother- "Hey, dick."
Mal glances casually around to his left, does the same to his right. Looks behind us to the closed set of French doors.
Then he grabs Lu by his ear, yanking him nearly off his feet as he wrenches one of the doors open and hauls his brother inside.
"Be back in a jiffy," Mal says to me, adding a wink before the door slams shut behind them.
Should I be worried? The gingerbread man's smile beckons me, indecipherable and intriguing, the Mona Lisa equivalent but better, actually, because it's nutmeg and cloves and ginger and cinnamon and with that extra kick that Mrs. Parker the hippy bohemian occasionally tries with some of her baked goodies. Which I really should've known better than to consume without first checking.
Instead of following the two Parkers inside that room to play witness to the bloodshed, I decide the best course of action is to share. In the spirit of the holidays and all.
I find Livvie with Mrs. Parker, whose animated hand gestures punctuate their conversation while her daughter seems ready to escape.
"Oh, B.B. Just in time." Mrs. Parker pulls me straight into the talk, which after a few seconds I'm able to follow, nodding appropriately with the right look of empathy as she describes her sciatica pain, and her last flare-up which she treated herself-who needs a doctor, after all, when you've got homeopathic remedies available on the internet?
Livvie's eyeing me desperately, maybe to engage her mom enough that she can slip away, but why would I do that?
Instead, I pucker my brows in thought, as I say to Mrs. Parker, "Ya know, I saw one of those saddle pillows. My principal uses them on her work seat. The ones that look like a donut? She swears by it."
Mrs. Parker's face turns bright as she launches on the benefits of ergonomic seating-in the office, in the car, in the shower...
Livvie's eyes glaze over, while Aunt Min wanders up with her walker scraping softly against the wooden floor. Her ears must have perked up, catching bits and pieces of a conversation that was right up her alley.
"That UA block," Aunt Min says to Mrs. Parker. "Think it'll work on my gout?"
Livvie's throat makes this strangled noise.
I smile at her, waving my contraband gingerbread men wrapped in a Ziploc before her eyes. "Hey, wanna help me finish this off?" I whisper to her. "You sneaky bitch."
"Uh, no. Get lost."
"Fine. I'll leave you to it, then."
But before I can walk away, she lunges for the bag, grimacing and glaring, throwing out all the stops to let me know how displeased she is with my attempt to abandon her. She shoves a cookie in her mouth, while I quickly grab a coquito off the refreshments table, my smile growing wide as I offer it to her.
"Pairs well together."
"I hate you."
"Ditto."
-x-O-x-
Ro's home office is tiny and there's not a book or paper out of place.
Well, a minute ago, there wasn't.
Now there's a mess, in the corner at her desk, where Lu is currently picking himself up from after I knocked his ass there. Pens and pencils, a stapler, and magazines lay in a heap at his feet that he steps on, trying to rush me.
I tackle him with a shoulder, sending him back into the corner.
I'm bigger but Lu's quick and tricky, so it's fun to grapple, and we both have a streak of violence-mine maybe a few miles wider. My cheek feels numb from the punch that he landed earlier, but I busted his lip again and the sight of it gives me joy-before I hear someone trying the knob.
"What's going on in there?" calls Ro, worriedly.
"Big spider!" Lu calls. "Mal and I are on it! We're almost done."
Then he bumrushes me again. I dodge at the last minute, heaving him sideways right into the wall. The framed pictures threaten to topple-one of them is my brother-in-law in uniform, grim-faced and disapproving, riiight before he falls off the nail hanging him to the wall.
I leap up to catch it in my hands, breathing out in relief when the frame lands neatly in my fingers.
Lu's crouched on the floor, I'm on my stomach, holding the frame up and away. I gesture to it, backing away from him slowly, placing it carefully in one of the desk drawers before I turn back to my brother to finish the beating I've been imagining since the moment he started getting touchy-feely with B.B.
"Wait," he says, holding up a finger. "Hold up."
"Crying uncle already?"
"Answer one thing, asshole. Why's it bug you so much? Me and her?"
It's a waste of time, pretending I don't know what he's talking about. I've made it all too clear since last week that the sight of them together drives me nuts. But it's the first anyone's directly addressed it, and really, maybe also the first that I'm forced to acknowledge it openly, out loud. Naturally, I'm stumped how to say so.
Scratching my jaw, I pull up short, letting the question dawdle.
"C'mon, Mal. After years and years of my best friend worshiping the ground you walk on, now that she's moved on, it burns, doesn't it?"
I shake my head, my laughter coming out in a scoff. If that's all it is, life would be simpler.
"What about you, hmm? I have half a mind to turn you into the local LGBT community center. You've set them back a couple years, hiding yourself like this."
"Please. That's not what this is about."
"Oh?" That doesn't sound at all like a denial. "Do tell."
Lu shrugs. "Look, not that it's any of your beeswax, I'm about to get laid off at work. But I hated my career path anyway. Now I just need mom and dad to let me in on the business more. And if B.B. had been a boy, I'd have done the same thing. It's not about her gender. It's about her."
It's about as much as I expected, and has me seeing more red than I would've thought. "Way to use your best friend, Lu."
"She's stable, okay? Mom and dad love that. They love her. I need her in my corner." He hauls himself up, dropping on to the seat at the other end of the room. It's close enough I contemplate kicking him in the shin, for being so casual about exploiting B.B.
"Why the hell would she even agree to this? You were better off going to dad and just being honest."
"Why wouldn't she? I was gonna tell them the truth, down the line. No harm, no foul, all's good. Anyway," the spite on his face flashes quickly, but it's enough to tell me I won't like what he says next. "It's not like I'm really hurting B.B.'s chances with anyone else here, right? Now New York...well, that's a different story."
He's digging and also planting seeds of doubt, and doing it with uncharacteristic cruelty, which makes me almost proud, a little. Lu's always been more of a pacifist but right now, his level of obnoxious is through the roof, puts him almost on equal footing with Garrett.
But there's other, more important things that need my attention right now, and this moron that I can't in good conscience murder even though I'd really like to isn't among them.
"Lu," I say, turning around and heading for the door. I'm still trying for calm and reasonable but hearing notes of murder in my voice. "I'm pulling B.B. out of your bullshit. Tonight. Go tell dad you're about to lose your job. You might be surprised how that conversation goes."
"Bad surprise or good?" he asks.
Pausing, I let out a deep exhale. Thing is, it's not my story to tell, but I can at least give this idiot a heads up. "He's sick, you little shit. Figure it out."
"I've got my hand on the knob, ready to open the door and find B.B. when Lu's voice stops me again.
"Should've mentioned it sooner," he says accusingly, standing. Now his face has lost that easy California boy charm. "About dad."
"His idea to keep quiet."
"How bad is it?"
"Not promising."
Then he looks lost for a moment, reminding me of how he used to be in school, when he couldn't figure out how to lace his shoes so tried to duct tape them to his soles instead. This time around, there's no easy way out of this one.
I clap him on the back, harder than necessary, but I'm still somewhat pissed.
"You never answered me," he said, shoving my hand off, but less disgruntled and more from habit. "Why does it matter so much to you, her pretending to be with me?"
"Aesthetically it's offensive-you're too short for her."
"Who knew you were such a coward, Mal? Why don't you tell the truth?" He shoulders past me roughly, opening the door himself and looking out towards the party waiting outside. His gaze lands on dad in the corner, eating from a plate of celery with dip and hummus-healthy snacks that mom must have gotten for him, which he looks about as thrilled with as he is with episodes of Family Guy.
"I saw you that day, out on the quad," Lu murmurs, not bothering to glance at me. "Nobody told you me you'd flown out with everyone else to celebrate my graduation."
I freeze, eyeing him closely, watching the hint of a frown grow on his face.
"But you failed to show at the dinner, and the whole family looked at me like I grew two heads when I mentioned seeing you. Then the next thing I knew, I got your email that you were swamped with work, no time to even call." Now he shoots me that earnest look, the one that I know well, that means he's trying to be the golden boy Good Samaritan here. "I put two and two together. You flew out to New York, then with your tail tucked between your legs went right back home. And I was there, like, 'the fuck was that about?'"
My return smile is frozen in place, turning my cheeks a little numb while I try to think of a good cover.
"Then it hit me. You weren't there for me, were you, big brother?"
Lu's eyes are bright blue and sharp, like he's been gifted with laser vision and can see right through the air of nonchalance I've erected. "While I like to think there's not a lot of people blessed with my looks, you do live in a city of oh, eight and a half million souls." I shrug. "You saw someone that looked like me."
He scoffs disdainfully.
"Good luck chasing down the girl with your head still stuck up your ass, Mal."
This time it's him clapping me on the shoulder, making sure I hit the frame-hard.
Also, thanks to everyone who's followed, faved, and reviewed this. Thought I'd give a few shoutouts and answers :)
MmeBlatte re: Mal and B.B. working a case together-you've planted a plot bunny for this pair but it probably won't be for this fic. Babaksmiles re: Let It Snow Bonkai edition...lol, that was great, and I'm a huge fan now all-human bonkai stories-surprisingly, since I'm a total magic ho usually! LadyluckAJ and candicane26, hotter mess and sexual tension coming right up in the next chappie. steph01924, ally - well they do meet up a little here, hope this tides you over until bigger stuff happens next chapter. florence930 - teensy dash of sociopath with an ounce of puppy is apt for mal when it comes to anything bonnie for sure, handy description you hit right there lol. malachai-bennett - hopefully the first part of the tree trimming offered enough excitement for ya. lulu - the brothers got to air out some of their aggression a little more while also clearing some of that hostility in this chapter, but does it mean full steam ahead for bonnie and mal? hmm...