Love to Love Her YAC (13 page)

Cleaning out my closet. Does anyone have any
need for a scary monkey windup toy?

Comment by Ruthie Patel: Where do you get
this shit?

Comment by Spencer Williams: Dibs. I’m on my
way.

I smile as I continue to scroll, skimming
over birthdays, vacation pictures, YouTube videos and political
posts. Finally I type in “Jordan Peters” in the search field and
hit Enter. Her profile pops up, and slowly I sift through her
status messages and recent photos. Most of the time it seems like I
learn more about what’s going on in Jordan’s life by checking her
Facebook page than actually talking to her.

I’m on the verge of shutting the laptop and
getting packed up to leave when a particular photo catches my eye.
I click on it to get a closer look. The photo was posted this past
Monday by Samantha Mendez, one of Jordan’s friends from work. I
recognize the backdrop: it was taken at one of our favorite bar and
grills in Sacramento. In it, Samantha and Jordan are sitting at a
table and leaning together to pose for the photographer. Someone
else is leaning into the frame from Jordan’s other side, a guy
whose face I know all too well. Sure enough, Max Gardner is tagged
in the picture. He’s leaning so far into Jordan their shoulders are
touching.

Anger rips through me as I stare at the guy
who’s partially responsible for putting our relationship on such
rocky ground in the first place.
Funny, she didn’t mention
hanging out with him when we talked earlier
, I think to
myself.

There was a time not long ago when I would
have clicked through the rest of the photos like some sort of
masochist, feeling the ire flood my veins until I was barely able
to move or speak. I consider it a good sign that today all I want
to do is snap the computer shut and think about something else…or
some
one
else, as the case may be.

I stalk off in the direction of the student
work space on the third floor, shedding my suspicions and
insecurities with each purposeful step.

Rhiannon – Friday, 3:45 PM

R
uthie and I have
our last class together on Friday afternoons, so typically we catch
the number 37 bus together afterward. We’ve just the rounded the
corner onto State Street heading in the direction of the nearest
bus stop when Corinne comes running at us like a bat out of
hell.

“Thank God!” she cries as she approaches.
“Change of plans for this evening, gals. We have some dress
shopping to do.”

Ruthie and I look at each other in confusion.
Corinne doesn’t wait for us to catch up before forging ahead.
“Remember how I told you Vince got that great opportunity to leave
the Spanish place and go to work as a kitchen manager at the new
place opening on the bluff? Well the grand opening isn’t until next
weekend, but they’re having a ‘preview dinner’ tomorrow at eight
for selected guests, and we’re on the list!” She gushes the last
few words so fast I’m not sure I understood her.

Ruthie blinks. “What’s a preview dinner?” she
asks.

Corinne rolls her eyes as if she’s being
forced to deal with dull, primitive life forms instead of her two
best friends. “Basically it’s free food and free open bar for a
limited number of people so the kitchen can get the kinks worked
out before they open to the public. Plus, Vince says the view from
the patio seating is
to die for
.”

I clear my throat. “Uh…I kind of already had
plans for tomorrow night.”

Both girls turn to look at me.

“Don’t worry,” says Corinne. “Blake can be
your plus one.” She winks at me as she pulls her phone out of her
jacket pocket. “So can I tell Vince you’ll both be there?” She
peers at us expectantly.

“Wait, do I get a plus one?” asks Ruthie.

“Yes, silly. I just need to know how many
people to tell Vince, so if you’re inviting someone you have to let
me know pronto.”

Ruthie doesn’t need to be told twice. She
whips out her phone and begins furiously typing a text message.
Meanwhile, I write one to Blake.

How set were you on trying that Mexican place
tomorrow night?

Why, are you backing out on me?

No, but I may have a different idea. It involves
free food and alcohol…

You had me at free. Just let me know where to be
when.

My place at 7:30. You may need to dress up a little
bit.

Are we talking tux or shirt and tie or what?

“How fancy is this place?” I ask Corinne.
“What’s the dress code for guys?”

“As much as I’m sure we would all love to see
your gorgeous paramour in a three piece suit, a nice shirt and tie
should do the trick,” she replies. I grimace at her casual use of
the term “paramour” but don’t bother to correct her.

Shirt and tie is fine.

I can do that.

OK, see you tomorrow.

Can’t wait.

“Blake is coming,” I announce.

Ruthie looks up from her phone. “I’m bringing
someone, too. It will either be Patrick from work or Evan from
Ethics. They’re currently having a bidding war.”

Corinne laughs. “Well, let us know when you
get that sorted out. I’ll let Vince know the final tally. Now come
on, let’s ditch these backpacks and get to the mall.”

Friday, 5:15 PM

T
he nearest decent
mall is in Reno, so that’s where we go in Ruthie’s little blue
Camry. Shopping with Ruthie and Corinne is an interesting
experience to say the least. Ruthie is not really one to shop
around; most of the time when we all go out she has her purchase in
hand within twenty minutes of hitting the door. Corinne, on the
other hand, is a power shopper. It isn’t unheard of for her to try
on a store’s entire inventory, cataloging each possibility along
the way via the camera on her phone, only to leave and go to the
next store to repeat the process all over again. I like to think
I’m somewhere between the two extremes.

We’re an hour and a half into our quest when
we decide to take a dinner break at the food court. True to form,
Ruthie has already selected and paid for her dress and now slouches
next to us in line with the plastic garment bag tucked over her
arm, looking bored out of her mind. Meanwhile, Corinne scrolls
through the pictures on her phone while chewing contemplatively on
her lip.

As for myself, it’s taking me longer to
settle on a dress than it ordinarily would. I have a feeling my
“date” for tomorrow night has more to do with this than I’d like to
admit. Blake hasn’t really seen me dressed up before, and I feel
compelled to look my absolute best.

We eat our Chik-fil-a and head to Macy’s, our
last stop. I recruit Ruthie to help me track down all the dresses
in my size. I narrow down the selection to the six most promising
and traipse off to the fitting room with Ruthie in tow, leaving
Corinne to finish combing through all the racks.

Ruthie flops down in one of the chairs inside
the entrance to the fitting rooms and waits obediently for me to
solicit her opinion. “So what’s the verdict?” I ask as I lock
myself in one of the stalls. “Patrick or Evan?”

“Patrick,” says Ruthie. “He’s a cutie, you’ll
like him.”

“Does he already have a girlfriend?” I ask,
stepping out of my jeans.

Ruthie chuckles. “Nope, that’s just the guys
you’re
interested in. Patrick is newly single, as a matter
of fact.”

“Is he rebounding?”

“Could be. I’ll cross that bridge when I get
to it.” Sometimes I envy Ruthie’s devil-may-care attitude.

I step out of my stall in a deep red
off-the-shoulder number and rise up on the balls of my feet to give
the impression of being in heels. Ruthie tilts her head on its side
and considers. “Nice, but it looks too old for you. You need
something more youthful.”

“Agreed.” I re-latch the door behind me and
prepare to slip on the next in the lineup.

“So speaking of guys you’re interested in…”
Ruthie says. I suppose I could deny that I actually have feelings
for Blake, but what would be the point? Instead of contradicting
her I wait for her to complete her thought.

“You’re pretty much head over heels, aren’t
you?”

I sigh. “I don’t know, Ruthie. I mean, there
isn’t much use thinking through exactly how I feel, because I know
it isn’t going anywhere.”

“Shit, girl, are you blind?” she volleys back
as I step back out of my fitting room, this time in a yellow
spaghetti-strapped gown that flows just past my knees.

“What do you mean?” I ask, planting a hand on
my hip.

“That was a
collective
‘you’re,’” she
replies. “Meaning, he is totally into you, too. You knew this,
right?”

“He might have a crush,” I allow. “But he’s
in
love
with his girlfriend, or else he wouldn’t have stuck
with her this long. Love trumps lust, or at least I hope it
does.”

“What if they’re just stuck in a rut, though?
Judging from the way he was acting last week at the beach, I’d say
he’s starting to wise up. The man can barely keep his eyes off you,
Rhiannon—or his hands, for that matter. Tell me you noticed that,
at least – I know you’re not
completely
oblivious.”

“I have no idea what Blake feels for me. I’ll
tell you what I do know, though – I would never forgive myself if I
was in any way responsible for their breakup.”

Ruthie eyes me dubiously. “Well…Blake is a
grownup. He makes his own decisions. Just promise me you’ll keep
that in mind…You know, just in case.”

I glance down at Ruthie, and I’m overcome
with my affection towards her. It’s as if in that one equivocal
statement she has completely exonerated me from all past and future
transgressions, at least in her eyes. I just wish I could see the
world through Ruthie’s non-judgmental eyes.

I offer her a thankful smile, then gesture
down at the dress. “What do you think?” I ask.

“Next,” says Ruthie in a bored voice.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

“Too long. Face it, those legs are some of
your best features. I’m not letting you buy a dress that doesn’t
show them off.” She winks at me, then goes back to playing with her
phone.

I laugh, shaking my head as I go for take
three. A moment later I’m standing before the tri-fold mirror at
the center of the fitting room in a tight silver cocktail dress
whose hem hovers six inches above my knees and a slit up the left
leg that’s cut even deeper. The dress is strapless and has a
sweetheart neckline that just barely covers my strapless bra. There
have been few times in my life when I felt as exposed in public as
I do right now.

Ruthie comes up behind me and claps
gleefully. “Hell. Yes. You’re getting this one. I refuse to even
look at any of the others.”

“Are you kidding me?” I leer at her
reflection in the mirror. “Why don’t I just go naked?!”

“Rhiannon,” Ruthie says, an exasperated edge
to her voice, “
look
at yourself. Blake is going to have a
coronary when he sees you.” Her expression is almost prideful, and
I can’t help but smile back at her.

“This one it is, then.”

Blake – 6:30 PM

“Y
ou decide not to
get dressed today, dude?” Adam asks as he lets himself in the front
door with a paper sack of groceries. I’m standing over the ironing
board in my boxers, pressing the charcoal shirt I intend to wear
this evening.

“I’m running a little late,” I tell him by
way of an answer. “I have to pick Rhiannon up in an hour, and I
haven’t even showered yet.”

“Big date tonight?” he asks as he shoulders
past me.

“Just some free dinner thing she got us
tickets to.”

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say it seems
like things are getting pretty serious between you two,” Adam yells
back from the kitchen.

“We’re friends, Adam.”

He wanders back into the living room and
looks at me from across the ironing board. “Listen, man, maybe this
isn’t any of my business,” he begins. “But you came storming in
here two nights ago madder than hell because you’d seen pictures of
Jordan hanging out with Max, and she didn’t tell you about it.”

I set the iron down, because I can see where
he’s going with this, and I need to be prepared to either collapse
or come out swinging. Adam seems to have appointed himself guardian
angel over Jordan’s and my relationship, and I’ve been leery of the
fact he may have his own hidden agenda with Rhiannon ever since I
watched him flirt with her at the beach. “Your point?” I ask,
crossing my arms over my bare chest.

“My point is, Jordan doesn’t know about
Rhiannon either. Does she?”

“There’s a difference,” I say coldly. “I
haven’t fucked Rhiannon.”

Adam spreads his hands out in front of him
defensively. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he says slowly, as if
he’s picking each word with care. “I just think you owe it to
yourself and to everyone else involved in your fucked up little
love triangle to be up front about whatever may be going on or
not
going on. Full disclosure, you know? It’s the only way
your relationship with Jordan will have a fighting chance against
whatever this thing is with Rhiannon.”

I immediately resent him for pitting them
against each other like that, and for referring to my relationship
with Rhiannon as “this thing,” like it’s completely
inconsequential.

“Maybe I don’t want it to have a fighting
chance,” I say before stomping off to the shower.

7:30 PM

A
n hour later I’m
straightening my Windsor knot as I knock on Rhiannon’s door. I
texted her earlier to find out what color she’s wearing, and I’ve
selected a green tie with silver stripes, knowing how girls like to
match.