Spinster? (3 page)

"Digits? Will he hit up my pager?" Tess teased. Rebel flipped her off and they laughed some more.

Tess didn't switch to water, but she did switch to beer, which was close enough.

Several rounds later...

"Oh my god, what does this song remind you of?" Rebel asked, her words a little slurred. Tess laughed, recognized the song. A heavy set guy in cargo shorts giving his sweaty rendition of Sweet Emotions by Aerosmith. "Woohoo!" she hollered through her cupped hands. The guy grabbed the mic with one hand and fist pumped with the other. He was really going for it. That made them crack up even harder.

"Oh, lord, you made me watch that movie a million effing times."

"Classic, and still holds up." Rebel had been going through an obsessive McConaughey phase during their second semester of college. They went through his entire movie collection, but their favorite was
Dazed and Confused
. (This was well before his abs in
Magic Mike
, which had now taken the top spot in Rebel's rankings.) One reason they loved it, besides the awesome soundtrack, was the hilarious pot heads. Another was that Rebel's older brother Anthony had been an extra. You could totally see his arm in the moon tower scene. They cheered every time—"There's his elbow!"

"I just don't understand why
we
had to smoke out every time we watched it. I almost flunked out that semester," Tess said, with a laugh, remembering what they came to refer to as "their ganja period."
 

"Like I held you down and taped the joint to your mouth," Rebel pointed out with a smirk, as she pulled her dark curtain of hair into a knot on top of her head.

"I was weak and impressionable, and also you
were
a little intimidating." Rebel had been unlike anyone Tess had ever met—so fiery and in your face, saying whatever came to her mind. It was refreshing. Most of the girls she'd known had been stiff and often times duplicitous. Tess never really knew any of them, never getting the whole story or real insight to who they were. It made for a lonely adolescence. She craved someone real, and she got more than she ever dreamed in Rebel.

Rebel was loyal, would give her friends the shirt of her back, or dole out the bitch slaps if anyone messed with them. Being around Rebel made Tess feel more authentic herself, just being in her presence. For once, it felt as if different was at last attainable, that there was more to life than her crusty white bread up bringing, there was bawdy color in the world and she could be a part of it. She always felt like she didn't fit in, and she didn't. But it wasn't until college, and Rebel, she was for once grateful to be an odd ball. She started to realize she wasn't the odd one after all.

"I ate a lot of Pringles that semester," Tess remembered.

"Oh my god, I forgot about your chip obsession. I always wanted bean burritos from Taco Bueno...what a couple of stoned fatties," Rebel teased, even though she was a size four now and a size four back then. Tess, on the other hand,
had
been on the chubby side. She was well-aquainted with the so called "freshman fifteen," which didn't help her self image issues. Eighteen was a rough age for any girl, without the added pounds. Tess would stand in front of the mirror before parties, cursing her shape and claiming that nothing looked good enough. Rebel would get mad, saying things like, "Damn it, Tess, you're curvy, not fat. I only wish I had your tits. I'm sporting an A minus over here. I might as well end the charade and throw away my bra...use band aids instead." A plastic surgeon later helped her ditch her A minuses. It was her graduation present to herself.

"How clueless were the sisters on our floor? They had to have smelled it."

"Hell, half of them where doing illegal shit, too. Tanya and her crew, with their never ending flow of daddy's money, were complete coke heads. Who where they to narc? Plus, you invented the fabric dryer sheet method, remember?" Rebel asked.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot. That was pretty genius."
 

They'd been paranoid about getting busted since they were living in the sorority house. The smell of pot is one of the most distinctive odors on the planet—anyone who's been to a concert knows the smell, even if they'd never touched the stuff. So one night, marginally high, Tess came up with a plan. Instead of blowing their smoke out of the window, where the wind was sure to whisk it back into the room, Tess had the idea of rubber banding a fabric dryer sheet onto the end of an empty toilet paper roll. They'd take a hit and blow the smoke into the roll. The smoke would filter through the dryer sheet, emerging from the other end Downy fresh. That invention, coupled with the copious amounts of air freshener, kept them in the clear.

They reminisced a bit longer, then decided to called it a night. Cameron came to pick up his toasty soon-to-be fiancé. He kissed Rebel on the mouth, then rested his forehead on hers. "Ready to go, baby?"

Rebel's goofy grin was her only response. "Can I give you a ride, Tess?"

"Nah, I'm good. It's a short drive."

"Have you had as much to drink as this little one?"

More, truth be told, if you counted the bubbly she'd had during the reception. She was no light weight, but when she didn't answer right away, he said, "You're riding with us, no exceptions. I'll come pick you up tomorrow and we can pick up your car, okay?"

He put one arm over each of their shoulders and walked them out. Yep, he was one of the good ones.

Rebel was a very lucky lady.

CHAPTER FIVE

 
Tess hadn't given a second thought to Cam's widowed friend. She should have known that when her phone chimed with a text at eight a.m. the next morning, that Ms. Regina Rinaldi never forgot a thing, especially when it came to things like setting her up. She wished she could say this was the first time Rebel had played matchmaker, with varying results. They weren't all horrible, but one was bad enough to make her gun-shy for a lifetime. Rebel's cousin Anthony with the unibrow, who talked about his car like it was his life partner. Rebel said he'd always been hairy, and it wasn't his fault, but that he had a heart of gold. Tess delicately informed her that hairy was not on her
 
"traits I'm looking for in a man" list for future reference, no matter how golden his heart was. She wasn't down with French braiding back hair.

Reb
: I gave Donovan your digits :)
 

It took Tess a second to process who this Donovan might be, then she remembered their conversation the night before. She typed her response with jabby fingers and a pout.

I don't wanna!

Reb
: Stop being a baby. You'll love him.

Doubtful.
 

Reb
: Be a little more enthusiastic when he calls please!
 

Fine, whatever.

Reb
: Biatch.

You.

Reb
: No, you.

YOU!

Reb
: Don't use caps at me, missy.

You have to have kids, cuz you be bossy as hell.

 
Reb
: You love me.

Not at the moment. :(

Tess smiled despite her frustration with her pushy friend. She could call it a set up, but a set up was a blind date pure and simple. And she hated blind dates. The very name should evoke trepidation. Who wants to go blind into anything, let alone dating? It was rough enough out there without all your senses on the ready. So, Facebook stalking seemed like the logical way for the blind to see. She scrolled through Cameron's friends and found the name Donovan Green. Fit, blond, green eyed, tanned skin, Donovan Green.

"Aye, Chihuahua!"
 

Okay you're forgiven. He's hot!!!

Reb
: I take payment in shoes and/or booze.

Tess sent the wine glass and high heel emoji and tossed her phone to the side. Okay, hotness did not a good date make, but it sure as hell helped. Cue residual shudders from her date with Cousin It.

Now, to continue her recognizance. She didn't see any pictures of kids, which one might think is a good thing. But Tess had learned over the years that if a man already had kids, he wouldn't be as apt to bark up her uterus.

"Oh, shit." Her hand hovered above the screen. What she did see were pictures of his wife, many pictures of his gorgeous wife. Every other post in fact. Just how long ago did his wife pass? She scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled. Finally, in a post made two years prior, she saw a post with an obituary link. Sick fascination gripped her and she clicked. A tightness gripped her chest. Rebecca Green: Beloved wife, beloved daughter, beloved sister, cherished friend.

"Poor girl." She'd been twenty-eight. Her heart broke for all of them. She'd never lost anyone she was close to, but could imagine the pain and the loss. She closed the screen, no longer wanting to spy. Looking into his past hadn't had the affect she was hoping for—she felt more unsure than ever.

Donovan did call later, as promised. He seemed kind, his deep voice smooth and gentle. She wanted to cry and tell him how sorry she was for his loss, but she thought that might set the wrong tone. She agreed to go to dinner with him the following week. They had casual conversation for around ten minutes, she hung up the phone with a smile on her face, but it fell as quickly as it appeared. This guy had every right to move on, but Tess wasn't sure she was the person to help him.

Hours later she was still in her pajamas back in the social media vortex. She saw she had a message on her LinkedIn icon. It was a message from Lindsay Adams. It didn't ring a bell at first, but when she saw the woman's picture it triggered her memory. They'd attended the same private school, but Tess didn't know her that well—they hadn't been in the same graduating class. Curious what Lindsay would want with her, she clicked on the message. As she read, her brow tightened. Lindsay had left her number and asked Tess to call her. She had something she would like to discuss with her. She hadn't the foggiest idea what Lindsay might need to discuss. She hesitated before she punched in the number, but curiosity won in the end. She sighed with relief when she got Lindsay's voicemail. It was nearing two in the afternoon. She decided she would feel more equipped to handle a conversation with the former class president if she was showered and wasn't wearing Avengers pajama pants— a gift from her nephews.
 

She was smearing lotion on her legs when the phone rang. She de-greased on the towel her hair wrapped in and picked up.

"Hello?" She wasn't sure why she was nervous—the old Tess taking control.
 

"Tess, hello. This is Lindsay Edwards, neé Adams. How are you?"

Who the hell says neé? "Good, thank you. And you?"

"Just fabulous. Blessed beyond belief." Lindsay's overtly bright tone made her eyes roll. "You're probably curious as to why I reached out to you...our 20
th
reunion is coming up in a few months, and I know you weren't in our class, but I need your help, if you're available."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Our reunion committee would like to do some interviews with a few of our alumni. We thought with you being local and a journalist, that you would be the perfect person to conduct these interviews."
 

Sure, she had all the time in the world to interview random alumni, none of which were in her class. So, why did she find herself saying, "Oh, sure, I'd love to help"?

"Oh, great. We'd so appreciate it. We actually have four people selected, and each will be featured in a monthly newsletter we're sending the few months leading up to the reunion. We want to generate interest so we have a good turn out. I heard twenty people showed up last year. I refuse to let my class suffer the same abysmal turn out. I'll be in touch!"
 

"Bye," Tess said, to a dial tone.

Tess was kind of flattered to be asked, and that they considered her a journalist. Most people called her a writer or a columnist. Both labels were fine. She was proud of her career no matter what some people, ahem, assholes, thought about her subject matter. It wasn't all poodle couture. She'd done articles about the food kitchen on 5
th
and the impact it had on the homeless. There was the one she did about the attacks on women running on the Katy Trail. She believed feel good pieces were as important as hard hitting ones.
 

She wondered who she'd be interviewing. The thought intrigued her, but Tess couldn't have cared less about reunions, Lindsay's or otherwise. Although, the thought of going to hers in a few years was tempting, if only for the opportunity to shove her hot bod, well balanced sense of self, and overall bad-assery into her high school classmates and boyfriend's face. The mere thought of him made her face flush with anger.
 

Damon O'Donnell. Pitcher on the varsity baseball team, taker of most of her self-esteem and all of her virginity. She could just picture it like a nightmare—shoved into her too-small cheerleading uniform, curls quasi-contained in a rubber band, leaning against his locker hanging onto his every word. He was popular and good looking. Every girl wanted him. Why he chose to date her boggled her mind back then, and everyone else's.
 

Smart, funny, and fluffy weren't exactly top three to most high school boys—least of all a boy like Damon.
 

"Awe, come on, Chubbles. If I wanted to date the hot girls in this school I would...but I want you." He'd said she was loyal and kind. It made her feel like a Golden Retriever more than a girlfriend. Her confidence both blossomed and crumbled under his attention and backhanded compliments. They weren't intentional—he wasn't smart enough for premeditated psychological warfare.
 

She'd been able to regain a shred of dignity when she dumped him after graduation...but there was so little left after finding out he'd slept with half the cheerleading squad, not only at their school, but at several others. If that wasn't enough, she also found out Damon told anyone who asked that he was only dating her because she did all of his homework. All was a bit of an exaggeration. She'd helped him study for his midterms and revised two papers. In a sad way, it had made sense to her then. She'd always doubted she was good enough for him. Tess's grown up self wanted to go back in time and shake the shit out of her teenage self. Chubbles indeed. She hadn't been half as chubby as she felt she was. Body image tends to dance the line between reality and perception.