Chapter 19
NINETEEN
WAYLON
Ash: Sup nerds, how many strippers are we getting for Wes’s bachelor party?
Why is Ash texting me and JD about this at eleven in the morning? Then again, I have no idea what time zone he’s in. But also, I wouldn’t put it past him to be thinking about strippers at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday.
Me: Wes said no strippers
I go back to looking at the records for a cat I’ll be seeing in the next forty minutes. He just needs a tooth removed, and since he’s otherwise healthy, it shouldn’t be a major procedure. Plus, it’s a slow day, so I won’t have much going on after that.
JD: It’ll be at the bar, end of discussion. Absolutely no strippers. And no exotic dancers or any performer who takes their clothes off.
Ash: Y’all are fucking boring
My phone lights up again and I sigh — this time it’s Mom. I don’t have to read the message to know it’s more bullshit about the shelter board or whatever other thing she wants me to be a part of.
The more she pushes, the more her disappointment starts to creep through. And the more disappointment comes through, the more I feel the need to cave. I wish I didn’t. I should be able to tell her to stop and leave it at that. I’m not in high school anymore — I don’t have to fill my schedule with a thousand different activities. But old habits die hard, and the rush of approval and (her version of) success still calls out to me just a little.
I’m about to put my phone on ‘do not disturb’ when a text from Bianca pops up. My heart does an idiotic flutter and I check it. It’s a picture of Sadie, eyes closed close to a fan, her fur blowing back.
Bianca: From last night. She was having a supermodel moment
I grin. As much as I miss having Sadie around the house, I’m glad she and Bianca are bonding.
Me: Cute. Are y’all staying cool at the house?
Bianca: Mostly. The AC is definitely being taxed during the day.
I jiggle my leg. The HVAC system is probably ancient and will probably cost a lot to fix. It’s definitely outside of my bubble of expertise. But it’s been unseasonably hot lately.
Me: Come by later so you can stay cool. I should be out of here by 5:30
I pause, wishing I could unsend it. I don’t want them to be hot, but I don’t want to seem too pushy.
Bianca: I think we will, thanks
I blow a breath out through my nose and finally put my phone on do not disturb. That’s future Waylon’s problem.
I focus again, familiarizing myself with my afternoon patients before moving onto the cat’s tooth removal. Everything is relatively routine, so I call her humans and tell them it all went fine.
The rest of the day is more of the same, borderline boring. Same when I get home — I take Duke on his walk and let him play with Murphy until they’re both tuckered out. Bianca texts me, asking if she can come over to cool off, and I give her the okay.
She arrives a few minutes later, a tote bag on her shoulder and Sadie in one arm. She looks like she’s going to a yoga class in her leggings and fitted top, both the same shade of deep red. I don’t know how many of these matching sets she has, but I hope she has them in every color. They look like they were made for her.
“I figured I’d bring wine or something?” She shrugs and pulls a bottle out. “As a thank you for letting us hang here until it cools down. But I don’t even know if you drink wine, so if you don’t, I can just take it back.”
“I like wine. I don’t know much about it but it’s good with steaks or Italian food,” I say, taking the bottle. “Thanks.”
“Good. I don’t know anything about wine either.” She puts Sadie down, and the dog strolls deeper into the house toward the living room. “I should have brought food, though. I guess I can run back and grab something.”
“It’s fine. I was going to cook some pasta, actually.” Since today was pretty slow, I feel like cooking for once. “Do you like pasta?”
“I do. Haven’t had it all that often recently, so it’d be a nice change of pace,” she says. “I can only eat so many grain bowls before I go insane and takeout’s mostly a rip off.”
I laugh, walking toward the kitchen. Sadie is sitting at the back sliding door between the kitchen and the back porch, nose to the glass with her tail wagging. I let Duke and Murphy inside and they all greet each other.
Murphy trots into the middle of the kitchen, right where we need to walk, and stretches out with a heavy sigh.
“Tired, buddy?” I ask. “Scoot over there, Murph.”
Murphy lifts his head an inch, then flops back down. Sadie joins him, but Duke sits where I’ve trained him to sit while I’m cooking — out of the way.
“I guess he is.” Bianca smiles. “Maybe he’s just choosing a strategic position to get the most dropped food.”
“That would mean that he’s capable of masterminding anything.” I give him a scratch above his tail. “I like dogs that are just happy to be here even though they have absolutely no idea what’s going on.”
“Kind of like Sadie?” She follows me deeper into the kitchen, which is open and attached to the living room.
“Yeah. They just like being with their people no matter what. Even if you’re in a shitty mood, they’re there to cheer you up.” I gently slide Murphy across the floor with my foot and move Sadie over near where Duke is sitting.
“It’s nice. If I’d known dogs were like that, I might have gotten one a long time ago,” she says, looking over at Sadie with a soft smile in her eyes. “I had a lot of days where I needed that.”
I wash my hands and open my fridge to double check I have what I need. My grocery shopping strategy is just grabbing whatever looks good and figuring it out later.
“The pasta sauce is just a Bolognese. I can easily make it without dairy,” I say, pulling out some Italian sausage and beef. I grab an onion and garlic bulb next. “It’ll go well with the wine.”
“That sounds amazing.” She rests her hands on the counter. “I can only cook about four things, and even then I rely on pre-chopped veggies.”
“Do you want to learn how to cook this?” I ask, pulling out the cutting board and pots. “It’s really easy.”
“Sure, yeah. And I’d feel bad for not helping.” She comes around to the side of the island where I am. “How can I help?”
“You fine with touching raw meat? You could mix the seasoning in the ground beef and sausage while I start making the sauce.” I grab a bowl from the cabinet and put it down, then dig through my spice rack to find the right seasonings.
“Yeah, I can handle the meat. You’re making the sauce from scratch?” she asks.
“Yeah. It’s not that hard.” I shrug and chop up an onion.
“Says you. I’m impressed.”
A stupid flush of masculine pride appears in my chest. I busy myself, trying to get a hold of my knee-jerk reaction. But what guy wouldn’t be psyched that he impressed a beautiful woman?
A guy who had some sense to keep women, especially women I explicitly set out to not date, in the back of his head.
I ask her about her day as she starts mixing in the seasoning into the meat and she fills me in on how everything is going at work and with her prep for running the business. It sounds like she’s hit a good stride. Even if she’s not staying here for long after she sells the house, I’m glad she’s adjusting to Jepsen more.
Dinner comes together as quickly after the pasta cooks, and I fill two bowls with pasta, topping it with a little chopped parsley to make it look fancy. I grab some parmesan for myself, and the wine.
“This looks super good.” she says.
I watch her take the first bites as I put cheese on my pasta. She takes a small bite, then nods.
“Like it?” I ask.
“So good.” She digs in again. “I should add learning to cook more stuff to my list. I can make whatever looks trendy. I still don’t get the point of a smoothie bowl, though. Just drink the damn thing.”
I laugh. “I can teach you a few things. Or we could go to Nana’s and she’d be happy to help. Though she might just sit in a chair and roast you while she barks orders.”
“That would be fun.” She smiles and my heart flutters despite myself. She smiles so much more when we’re alone and it makes her even prettier. “I’m assuming you’re speaking from experience?”
“Yeah.” I take a swig of the wine. “Nana’s my mom’s mom, but they couldn’t be more different. Nana doesn’t give a single shit of what people think about her and she’s always willing to give you her opinion, even if it’s hard to hear. She’s taught all of my brothers how to cook, at least a little. Wes is the best at it.”
“Yeah, Rose brings leftovers to lunch and they always smell so good.” She takes a dainty sip of wine, whatever gloss she has on her lips leaving an imprint on her glass. “This is going to sound terrible, but the closest I’ve gotten to a home cooked meal that tasted good is something our family’s private chef made.”
“A home good meal that tasted good,” I point out. “So there have been ones that tasted bad?”
“Yeah, sometimes my parents’ friends have double dates with them to cooking classes at wineries. They’ll come home thinking they’re hot shit with what they learned. Then my dad will overcook stuff, and my mom will overseason everything.” She swirls her wine in the glass, warmth in her eyes. “Mom always claims that she grew up knowing how to cook, but I really doubt it. No one can regress that hard.”
“Sounds like you miss them.”
“I do.” She pushes some noodles around on her plate. “Being around them is really relaxing and always has been. I guess it’s because they’re into the actual music rather than all the shit that comes with being famous, so things feel more normal. Dad notoriously hates doing press and once the hype from her biggest hit songs died down, Mom mostly focused on working behind the scenes or doing normal mom stuff.”
“That would go a long way in making things feel more normal,” I say.
“Yeah. They’re kind of like me — they like stuff like trying a new restaurant or staying in like this with dinner and a movie.” She shrugs. “Some people say it’s boring, but sometimes the little spots of boring are just what we need in between rushing around.”
“Yeah. I’m starting to appreciate it more.”
Especially here with her. Sure, we could go out every other night just to go out, or make elaborate plans. But just being able to fully relax with someone and get the same pleasure out of it as spending time alone isn’t an everyday occurrence for me.
It’s almost terrifyingly easy to slide Bianca into place in all the regular things I do, like she’s supposed to be here.
But friendship can feel the same way, can’t it? It has to. The friendship side and the sex side of our relationship need to stay as far apart as possible, even if she looks really fucking pretty sitting across the table from me.