Knot a Liar (Knotted Up Book 1) (2 page)

[2]

Two Idiotic Reasons

Grace drops in the seat, which in turn squeals in protest and utters an awful guttural sound. “Are you sure about this, Sandra? I never thought you of all people would slap together such a plan.”

“Grace, at this point, I’d rather go with Alex and pretend to be a lesbian rather than turn up without that elusive plus one. You and Alex pushed me to attend that five year meet up without a dang plus one so I could-” My fingers form air quotes, “-‘make amends and move on’. That’s definitely not happening again. Not this time around. Not with Patricia’s crap kicking it up to ‘super-cali-fragi-lis-tic-expi-I’m-a-bitch-do-cious’.”

Crossing her arms, a pinched expression takes over Grace’s face as she leans back on the chair. She says nothing but continues staring. Not even a smile to complement my hard work on jazzing up that word. Tough crowd.

“Patricia got married. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out who it is. I spent most of last night combing through Facebook. And guess what I found? Nothing.”

Eyes narrowed on my face, Grace continues at her normal tone. “Not this again.”

I shift on the chair to sit up instead of leaning back, so as to relieve some pressure off my bum. “What do you mean ‘not this again’?”

“What I mean is I can’t sit and listen to you plan another showdown between you and Patricia.” Grace stops to signal the waitress over. “It’s working the last good nerve I have. So be careful, the medication only does so much.”

Not knowing what to say, I only tilt my head hoping Grace will explain what she means.

“When it comes to Patricia, you are always like this: a chicken without a head. Or a brain. It’s exhausting and annoying.”

“I know.” My hands catch my head as I release a burdened sigh. “I just can’t stand being judged and put down. Patricia works my last nerve when she does it. She just pushes and pushes all my buttons at once and there is nothing to do but go crazy.”

Lifting my head, I peek through laced fingers to see Grace watching me.

“Okey-doke. And then what, Sandra? Is there an end in sight with you two circling and sniffing each other every given chance?”

“Grace, I–” I rub my brows to release tension. “There’s not–”

“In the next ten years, if you’re not married and in the same place as you are right now, will I experience déjà vu with this ridiculous idea? Is the ultimate aim marriage and children just to fit in with everyone else? Shouldn’t just being happy be the goal, the priority?”

My face scrunches. “What? Grace, that’s not it. I don’t want to be a woman who only exists to bring out the best in a man, catering to his every need, every whim. That’s why I left home. Being only important, or even real, because of what I can do for a husband. I never got why everyone thought that was so great.”

“Uh-huh.” Grace’s face doesn’t move, doesn’t change with that single utterance.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not saying that women who choose this path are less than full-fledged human beings. No. My mother chose that life. Granted, she also volunteered at animal shelters and at the orphanage during school hours, but that’s not for me. I want to be my own person. Just as I am right now. Can that be accomplished or will I be forced to sacrifice something?”

With elbows resting on the table, Grace reaches around the ketchup and mustard bottles for my hands. “But you can’t keep basing your life on what Patricia and everyone in your hometown do and think. Or don’t do. Or what they say. Or didn’t say.” Grace releases my hands. “But feel free to disregard anything I say. It's only my opinion after all.”

“I know, but–”

The waitress walks over to take our orders for a mocha and a caffè latte halting my response.

“Last year when Patricia’s company worked on the promotions and advertising for your company, what happened at the launch, Sandra?”

My eyes narrow, shifting between orange and green lights hanging in clusters and the line gathering at the cashier to the left of Grace. When are they going to change those out? They were hideous when installed and even more so now that they are old.

“Sandra?”

“Hmm?” My fingers start drumming a beat on the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grace, but I should be getting back to work. Thank you and good day.” A splinter in the back of the chair grazes my arm as I pretend to gather my bag and scooting out the seat. Every dang time. We really need to change our seats.

“Don’t you dare leave! So the wine you doused Patricia with and leaving me to pretend it was my ‘mistake’”, Grace stops to put in air quotes, “as I stood alone in embarrassment shouting ‘I thought it was that type of party. You’re all a bunch of stiff jackets!’ has slipped your memory already? Because it will
never
slip mine. That’s the night I became a drunk.”

“I don’t like rehashing the past, Grace.” I begin counting the number of green checkered threads that have been dulled by bleach in a section of the table cloth instead of looking at Grace. “The past is the past for a reason. Let it go. There are only so many times I can apologize for that.”

Grace shakes her head as the waitress walks over with the beverages. “Hmm, know what, you are right. But how about you taking your own advice and let go of this ridiculous feud you two have?”

One finger circles the rim of the coffee mug, while the other props on the table to hold up my head. “Well… I can’t… because that’s different. This is almost a tradition with us. You wouldn’t want me letting go of tradition now, right?”

“I’m developing an ulcer.” Grace utters a low groan. “Do you know why I first liked you as a friend in college? You are smart. But this level of stupidity and immaturity do not belong in a smart person.” Grace sighs and mutters under her breath. “This is getting exasperating now.”

So my friends aren’t the supportive types I once thought they were. There’s nothing wrong with renting a boyfriend … or hiring one. What is the right phrase?

“What’s wrong with me hiring someone, Grace? I only have eight days. I can’t meet someone suitable enough in that time. Besides, you said you’d help.”

“I’ll help, but hiring a boyfriend? Sandra, that’s…” Grace releases a deep gust of air, realizing I’m serious, before continuing. “Okay, I’ve a few friends in the theatre that may help. No names though, just a number. You don’t want anyone knowing it’s really you. I’ll put up a note on the notice boards.”

Nodding, I say, “Sounds good.”

“So, just tell me what you’re looking for. What is Sandra seeking in a pretend boyfriend today, hmm?” Eyes wide with elbows on the table, Grace laces her fingers before dropping her chin on them.

“Hot, of course. And, umm… uh… I don’t know… what do you suggest?”

Grace scoffs, rolls her eyes and stares at me. The only message they deliver is ‘Are you kidding me?’ before shaking her head. “Wow, Sandra, you really narrowed it down for me. It shows how much thought you put into this plan.”

“Ha, ha. No need to needle me with sarcasm. I’m being serious, though. Help me with this. Suggestions?”

Again Grace forces air out her nose. “Okey-doke …uh, gay, I definitely suggest gay. You don’t want certain boundaries being crossed or words to get mistaken.”

“Okay good. What else?”

“Hold on, let me think.”

I start scribbling on my notepad while sipping my coffee before it cools. “Well, we need to hurry. I didn’t come all the way downtown to pay for a mocha just to let it sit and cool while I’m starving. I’m not rich and I still need to eat.”

“You would be if you’d just write that second book. Are you planning a sequel or a whole new story?”

“Not sure, to be honest. ‘
Permanent Interruptions’
was cool to write about, but I’m certain the story is complete.” I stop and look up. “Stop hounding me or the book won’t be done. Besides, that’s not what we’re here for. This is a boyfriend hunt. I need a boyfriend, remember?”

“No, you need sanity.”

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to.”

By the end of lunch on a still empty stomach, we have a decent list that Grace promises she’ll post in the theatre she works in the evenings. That should generate a good pool from which I’ll choose my ‘boyfriend’ for Saturday. If needs be, I’ll expand my search.

But, walking from the elevators to head home after work, I feel good. Theatre actors, by and large, look for side jobs. Some even have regular day jobs. This can be classified as an acting job. Acting is what they’ll be doing for entire day after all.

I get home to six voice mails on my cell, which I left in the mad rush to work this morning. I go through them to find four sexy voices I decide to call back.

I head to the kitchen, whipping up my ever popular red velvet cake. One of Mom’s few recipes that I’m proud to carry on. Despite the persistent peer pressure over the years from Alex and Grace to expose my secret, I never do. It’s simple really. I use regular store bought cake mix, add cocoa powder and melted chocolate. Substitute buttermilk for regular milk, add red food colouring and a bit of spices which includes nutmeg and cinnamon and voila, the cake is a masterpiece. The spices add more depth to the chocolate flavour I notice.

As usual I hide the cake mix package at the bottom of the trash. I have no intentions of revealing my secret. I don’t care if it’s selfish.

Narrowing the pool works out much easier than I was expecting. Two are too gay for me. There is no way I can fashion them into someone passable as straight in a few days. They seem like nice enough guys and at the end of the phone calls I think I’ve made new friends. Now it’s up to me to either be willing to accept and suffer through more people in my life or reject them. I’m still vacillating.

Brian, ex-candidate one, invites himself for dress shopping on Friday. That’s despite me repeatedly telling him I already have a dress. However, even over the phone, he can tell that my fashion sense or ‘lack thereof’ is something on which one should frown.

I should be insulted. I want to be, but that requires more energy than I have and am willing to exert. With Brian I have to conserve my energy. I had to, to continue through the phone call. After the incessant appeals, I gave into him. Life became much simpler after that.

I’m already dreading Friday. No amount of mochas, I fear, will get me through that afternoon.

Ex-candidate two demands that I attend his recital the week after the reunion. The last recital I attended I fell asleep with more than half the program to go. Grace was not happy with me. I’m still thinking of ways to appease him, as I doubt I could get away as easy as I did with Grace.

I don’t want to go. Number two sounds like a straight up guy, well not ‘straight’ but, I simply want to get out of the obligation with which I’m somehow entangling myself. That may take skill I’m yet to master.

I hang up after speaking with all four guys, setting up lunch and dinner dates with the other two. While I want to give both an equal opportunity, one sounds more ideal than the other. Something about how he speaks interests me. This has me deliberating whether I should go to the other date I’d set or not. While my intuition is usually right, the determining ballots will be cast after tomorrow.

Grandma always said ‘never put all your eggs in one basket’. Then again, she was slightly mental (or fully crazy– not sure which it was), so I shouldn’t put too much stock in what came out of her mouth.

I go to take a shower, getting ready for my weekly dinner with the girls tonight. Tonight is my turn as host.

Being in the shower, relaxes me enough to think about what I want. This is the gist of what I understand. There are certain prerequisites that’ll decide who makes it to be my ‘boyfriend’ for Saturday. While being absolutely hot was the primary target, the secondary traits ranked close. I still need someone who can hold a decent conversation with me, or anyone else who approaches. Anything less and that will almost at once raise suspicion. I’m not known for going with brawns over brains. Fake or not, that’s not a quality I intend to do away with anytime soon.

Stepping out of the shower I hear the phone ringing. I don’t race to get it. The last time I did that, I slipped, winding up flat on my ass, injuring my tailbone. I have since deemed all subsequent phone calls to have far less importance than my health. I get to the phone realizing I have two missed calls and a text message. All from Alex.