The Boy Next Door (9 page)

“Well, it’s not like you have huge expenses,” I point out.

“Not right now,” he says. “But in the future . . .  I mean, weddings are expensive.”

My stomach sinks. I’ve never heard him mention the idea of a wedding before. “Are you and Melissa . . . ?”

“Not right now,” he says quickly. “But maybe in the future. . . . I mean, she’s got this idea about having a hundred-thousand-dollar wedding and inviting everyone on the planet.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you’d want.”

He shrugs. “Well, no. But I don’t want her to be deprived of something she’s always dreamed about.”

“In that case,” I say, “it looks like you’re stuck.”

Jason stares down at his drink, looking miserable. Jason always loved school so much, it’s kind of crazy that he should be so unhappy in a job and have his talents wasted making more money for rich people. I think something he worries about but doesn’t want to say is that he worries at some point his body will give out on him, and he won’t be able to hold a job, so he wants to make money while he still can.

***

I’m almost as interested in Jason and Melissa’s relationship as I am in my own. Jason flies out to Melissa’s house for Thanksgiving this year, and then the two of them go down to Florida to see his parents for Christmas. In my book, that’s a major commitment evolving. By my count, they’ve been dating well over a year, and I know Melissa is in her mid-thirties, so I doubt she wants to mess around.

In other words, I think Melissa might be The One. I think Jason’s going to marry her.

When I think about Jason and Melissa getting married, a cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. Jason and I still hang out a lot, but I don’t think that will continue when they get married. If his wife doesn’t even like me, I can’t see us spending a lot of time together. I mean, what woman would let her husband spend tons of time with a cute single girl? He’s going to get married, and I’m going to get left behind.

The only thing I can hope is that if things work out between me and Larry, maybe we’ll get married too. Then we’ll just be two married couples and we could hang out, and our kids could play together or something cutesy like that.

Yet, no matter what context I put it in, the thought of Jason getting married just makes me feel incredibly sad.

Several months after Larry and I started dating, I’m shopping at Macy’s and I happen to see Melissa standing in front of the jewelry counter. She’s wearing her skirt suit from work without so much as a stray hair out of place in her perfectly shiny chignon. It occurs to me that there have been very few times that I’ve seen Melissa when she wasn’t wearing a suit. Well, she does look pretty good in it.

I get a little closer to Melissa and I realize, to my horror, that she’s looking at rings. Engagement rings. She’s completely absorbed in the display case, her brown eyes appraising each ring with that cool, calculated look that I’ve come to associate with Melissa. At one point, she holds out her left hand and examines it critically.

That could only mean one thing. She’s expecting that Jason will pop the question in the near future. And if that’s the case, I’ve got to make nice to Melissa in order to keep my best friend. I’ve got to swallow my pride and do whatever it takes.

“Hi, Melissa!” I say brightly, alerting her to my presence.

Melissa jumps slightly and jerks away from the jewelry display, looking slightly guilty. “Oh, uh, hi, Tasha.”

“It’s so great to see you,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “We hardly ever see each other, just the two of us.”

Melissa’s smile is just as forced as mine. “Yes.” She glances at the rings again. “I was just, you know, browsing.”

“Of course,” I say. As if I didn’t realize exactly what she was doing. I’m a woman, after all.

Melissa pats her shiny brown hair. “Well, Tasha, I should probably get going . . .”

“Why don’t we go up to the food court and get some coffee?” I suggest cheerfully, despite the fact that I’d rather slit my wrists than hang out with Melissa. I’m doing this for Jason. “Or maybe some smoothies?”

Melissa’s nose crinkles up, as if she just smelled something distasteful. “I, uh, I don’t think I can.”

Okay, so she isn’t even going to make an effort.

“Listen, Melissa,” I say, taking a different approach. “I know we both care about Jason a lot, and I think it’s in his best interest for us to . . .  to try to be friends.”

Melissa looks at me, her eyes flashing. “You really want to act in Jason’s best interests, Tasha?”

Oh God, what the hell did I unleash here? I wish I had just left Melissa to her fake ring shopping. “Um, yeah. I do.”

“If you want to do what’s best for Jason,” she says, “you can get the hell out of his life. Permanently.”

I stare at her, gobsmacked. “What? How is that in his best interest?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “Why do you think he’s 32 and not married yet? You’ve single-handedly wrecked every relationship he’s ever been in.”

My stomach sinks. “That is so not true.”

“It’s one-hundred-percent true,” Melissa says. “What woman wants to get involved with a guy who’s clearly deeply in love with another woman?”

“That’s not . . .” I clear my throat. “Jason isn’t in love with me. He’s like my brother.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t think of you like a sister, believe me,” Melissa says. “I mean, if you want to date him, fine. But don’t string him along, torturing him, for twenty years. That’s just selfish.”

“I would never do anything to hurt Jason,” I insist.

Melissa shakes her head. “I can’t tell if you’re lying or just oblivious. Honestly, Tasha. You realize how much time he spends talking about you, texting you, and calling you? You think I want to be with a guy who would ditch me at a moment’s notice if you asked him to come over?”

“He wouldn’t . . .” Except I know he would. He has.

“I’ll be civil to you for his sake,” Melissa says. “But don’t ever act like the two of us can be friends.” She tugs her coat closed. “Goodbye, Tasha.”

With those words, Melissa spins on her heels and leaves me standing awkwardly at the jewelry counter.

Between you and me, I know Melissa’s out of her mind. She’s jealous and that’s making her see things that aren’t there. I absolutely know Jason isn’t in love with me. That’s totally crazy. We’re just really good friends.

But something about her words resonate with me. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining Jason’s relationship. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to back off a bit.

Larry and I have a standing date on Saturday nights, but that still leaves Sunday night free for Jason and me to hang out. When I meet him at the usual place (the diner) on Sunday, I can’t help but wonder if Melissa wanted to spend the evening with him. Maybe I’m monopolizing too much of his time.

I beat Jason to the restaurant and I find us a table. While I’m waiting, I notice a few tables away, there’s a boy--maybe eleven- or twelve-years-old--in a power wheelchair with his family. He’s got splints on his hands, and he looks like he’s eating his meal with a lot of difficulty. As I watch, another little kid of about five with his mom starts gawking at the older boy in the wheelchair. He loudly asks his mother, “What’s wrong with him?”

The mother apologetically hustles her little son out of the restaurant, but I can see how embarrassed the older boy is. His cheeks turn pink and he looks like he’s going to burst into tears. “Mom,” I hear him say, “can’t we just go?”

Somehow, I’m reminded of Jason when he was younger. He was pretty well adjusted, but there were times when we were out in public and I could see him getting flustered over things, especially when people stared at him. Kids just want to blend in, I guess.

At that moment, Jason wheels in. Even though it’s Sunday, he’s dressed up formally enough that I could tell he was at work until now, although his shirt is un-ironed and he’s not wearing a tie or anything. As he waves to me, the boy in the power wheelchair stares at him. Jason, who’s usually pretty good at ignoring stares, notices the boy looking at him. He makes eye contact, and to my surprise, wheels over to the other table. “Hey,” he says to the boy. “I like your wheelchair. It’s really cool.”

The boy blushes. “Thanks. I like yours too.”

I listen in fascination as Jason and the boy (who is named Andrew, I discover) have an animated conversation about wheelchairs that lasts a good five minutes. To hear Jason talk about it, it really sounds like being in a wheelchair is the coolest thing in the world. At one point, I see him doing a wheelie. When Jason finally comes over to my table, the boy is beaming. “Sorry about that,” he says.

“It’s totally okay,” I say. “That was actually really sweet.”

“That kid ought to be in a manual chair,” he says. “He seemed to have good upper-arm strength for it. And he can actually get some exercise.”

“I didn’t know you were such a wheelchair advice guru,” I say.

He grins. “Well, I’ve been in one long enough.”

“You ever use a power wheelchair?” I ask. I can’t remember ever seeing him in one, but he seemed to know a lot about them when he was talking to the boy.

“For a little bit in college,” he says. “I tore up my shoulder kind of bad, so I used a rental powerchair for a short time to give it a chance to heal. I really hated it, though. I felt like it was harder to maneuver, harder to get through doorways, and impossible to hop curbs. Plus it ran out of batteries on me once.”

“Oh God,” I say. “What were you doing when it ran out of batteries?”

“That’s the best part,” he says. “I was on a date. A first date.”

I can’t help myself. I start giggling. “Oh no, that’s awful.”

He makes a face. “I’m glad you’re amused.”

“What did you do?”

“I had to switch the chair to manual,” he says, “and ask my date to push me back home so I could get recharged. My shoulder was still kind of bothering me, but the next day, I started using my regular chair again.”

“Well,” I say, “for what it’s worth, I really like your chair.”

“You do, eh?” Jason says.

“Definitely,” I say. “It’s sort of sexy.”

“Yeah, it’s a total chick magnet,” he says, flashing me a half grin. “I have to beat ‘em off with a stick.”

Suddenly, I feel a bit guilty. Telling Jason that he’s sexy, even as a joke, is not the kind of thing that totally platonic friends should be doing. Maybe Melissa really does have a point.

“Jason,” I say, “do you think we spend too much time together?”

He seems shocked. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just that,” I begin, “you and Melissa are obviously getting more serious about each other, and I’m worried that maybe I’m . . .  monopolizing you.”

“What?” He shakes his head, looking upset. “Who told you that? Melissa?”

“No, no,” I say quickly. I know I’m not going to make things better by ratting out Melissa. “It’s just this sense I get.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Jason assures me. “I don’t think we’re doing anything wrong. And Melissa’s fine with it. And if she isn’t, then to hell with her.”

I’m kind of shocked by his last statement. I have to admit, though, it makes me kind of happy to hear him say something like that. Maybe he’s thinking about breaking up with Melissa. That would be great. Well, not great. It would suck for Jason for a little while, but I really just don’t think she’s the right woman for him. “Is everything okay with you and Melissa?”

“I don’t know. . . .” He rubs his forehead. “Ever since she turned 35, she’s been really leaning on me to . . . move in together or propose or . . . something.”

I grin, “Why, Mr. Fox, I didn’t realize you were such a commitment phobe.”

“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I mean, I want to get married. I fucking hate dating, seriously. It’s just . . . can you really see Melissa as my wife?”

God, no. “Um, maybe?”

“Well,” he says, “it looks like I’m going to have to make a decision pretty soon. And I don’t want to lose her, so . . .” He lifts his green eyes to meet mine. “I’m probably going to ask her to marry me.”

No. No, this can’t be happening.

I want to throw up. I really do. I didn’t think I’d feel quite this awful, but somehow I do. I do NOT want him to marry Melissa. She’s entirely wrong for him. She’s a total bitch, and if she marries him, I’ll never get to see him again. She pretty much said that much to me. But how could I say that to him? I don’t want to be selfish. And it’s not like he has tons of options.

“Um, when?” I ask.

Jason grins sheepishly. “I’ve been looking at engagement rings a little bit. Actually, I was sort of hoping you’d help me. Give me your opinion.”

I feel like I’m about to burst into tears. Jason can’t be getting married. He can’t! But apparently, he’s decided to ask her. And since Melissa’s obviously going to say yes, that will be it for our friendship. And then I’ll just be a lonely old maid. Oh God, this sucks.

“That would be wonderful,” I say.

I should have guessed that looking at rings meant looking at photos of rings online, which I guess is better than going to a store and the salesman assuming that I’m the one getting the beautiful ring, which I know I’m not. We go back to Jason’s apartment after our dinner and we browse through dozens of pictures of rings. When I see the price range he’s considering, I feel a little ill. I can’t believe he’s going to spend that much money on a ring for Melissa.