23. The Dishonorable Fairy Godmother #2
“It’s my boss’ penis!” I shout after her in the most commanding voice I can muster. It’s a bold declaration, akin to a roar, and it captures the attention of everyone in the cafe.
Michelle halts with one foot out the door and glances warily over her shoulder. The college girls’ group in the corner booth utters a collective gasp.
The old lady, who judged me so hard over my Girl Scout cookie scandal, clasps a hand over her mouth and judges me even harder. “Hm,” she shakes her head, reminding me eerily of Angie.
I have a moment of misgiving. Perhaps I shouldn’t have screamed that at the top of my lungs, but short of a police lineup to prove the dick didn’t belong to Rhys, I needed to clear the air.
In retrospect, it was probably not a good idea to send Rhys a picture of Sam’s dick.
I don’t know what I expected to come out of it.
Rhys was just riding me hard (bad pun) and I wanted to get a rise out of him (worse pun).
This cock-up (can’t stop!) is still entirely Sam’s fault, but I take a tiny portion of the blame.
“She’s sleeping with her boss…” someone says. “Figures.”
I whirl around. Who said that? “No, I’m—”
“She’s not sleeping with her boss, you idiot,” Rhys snaps. “He’s been sexually harassing her for months, so don’t fucking assume.”
His fury shocks me. I’ve never seen him this viscerally angry before.
Now he’s gazing around the cafe like a dog primed to attack anyone who dares attack me.
In all the time I’ve known and worked with him, Rhys has never had my back before.
He’s an emotionally stunted individual, more likely to crack a dry joke at my expense than to treat anything in life with sincerity.
I should know. I’m the same emotionally stunted person.
But he has my back now.
And I don’t know how to feel about that.
I just always assumed that I would have to fend for myself where our transactional partnership was concerned.
A jagged lump nestles in my throat. I swallow it down and hold my hand out behind my back.
I don’t know what I hope to achieve with this, but sure enough, I feel the pressure of his hand in mine, a quick squeeze of my fingers for reassurance, before releasing me altogether as if it never happened in the first place.
“What are you doing with a picture of your boss’ dick?” the cashier blurts out, dissolving the camaraderie of our ghost handshake.
“He sent it to me. Unasked for.” My cheeks flame at having to explain myself to a cafe full of strangers. “Definitely unwanted.”
One of the girls from the corner booth clears her throat. “What a creep.”
“So...” Michelle lets the glass door slam behind her and ventures back into the cafe. “So you two weren’t—”
“No!” I jump away from Rhys on reflex.
He shakes his head furiously. “Never.”
“Not in a million years.”
“Not for all the money in the world,” he says.
I glare at him pointedly. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
Rhys snorts. There’s a visible tic in his jaw. “If we were stranded on a deserted island, I wouldn’t dream of approaching you.”
“If you were the last man on Earth,” I square my shoulders, “the human race would perish before I even think about touching you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Rhys says.
Slapping my hands together, I turn to Michelle. “So you see, we’re just friends.”
“Barely,” he mutters.
“Okay, coworkers, then,” I snap. “And enemies in between.”
“Coworkers,” he agrees. “I don’t like you, Carina.”
“Well,” I fluster, determined to get the last words, “I don’t care for you either.”
Michelle’s gaze shifts from Rhys to myself, her armor of suspicion slowly dropping. “Why does Rhys have your boss’ dick on his phone?”
“Because I sent it to him,” I say. “I also sent it to my roommate. Call it a — Call it a—” My brain stops working. “Ah, shit. What do you call it?”
The man on his laptop slips off his headphones. “A round-robin dick mail.”
He’s phrased it perfectly. “Thank you.” I turn to Michelle. “And since Rhys is my colleague,” I say in one breath, “I invited him to the bathroom to advise me on what to do with my... career issues.”
Rhys coughs. “I’m here to consult.”
When delivered in a calm, corporate monotone, the batshit crazy situation sounded completely normal. Boring, even. You can’t deny that this is a career issue, or that Rhys is my coworker.
Michelle inclines her head, anger gone, skepticism still visible in the pucker between her brows. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Carina, but there’s one more thing that doesn’t add up.” She peers at Rhys. “If she sent the photo to you... why did you send it to me?”
“He didn’t send it to you,” I jump in before Rhys could fumble the answer. “He was having trouble picking out the perfect puppy GIF to send you and asked for my help. I took charge of his phone and copied what I thought was a puppy photo...” I shrugged. “And, well, you know what happened.”
With each word, Michelle’s frown softens until it completely disappears. “What photo were you going to send me?”
“Well, I...” Rhys begins.
“Show her,” I mutter.
He hesitates.
“Go on,” I say.
“This one,” Rhys pulls up the Bichon zooming through a flower field GIF and shows it to Michelle.
“That’s for me?” Michelle takes a step closer.
He nods, stupefied that something as simple as a banal puppy GIF could make her melt. “It reminds me of... of...” he glances at me uncertainly.
“You’ve got this,” I mouth.
Clearing his throat, he steps forward, meeting her in the center of the cafe. “It reminds me of you.”
“Oh?” Her voice comes out tiny and unsure, almost like a coo. She glances down hesitantly at her phone, where Rhys has resent the GIF. As she studies the happy Bichon romping through the dandelions, her heart melts. “Oh Rhys...”
He advances, one timid step at a time. “Do you like it?” he asks.
Michelle looks up, her big doe eyes misty with unshed tears.
I chew on my inner cheek, wondering how some girls are able to wear their entire hearts on their sleeves.
She bridges the gap between them and clutches his hand. “It’s the sweetest, cutest thing anyone has ever sent me.”
“Really?” Rhys squeaks.
I fight the urge to nudge him in the ribs and mutter, “Be cool.” Michelle is already putty in his hands.
If he screws this up by saying something stupid, I give up.
Fortunately, Michelle is so overwhelmed by the adorable puppy GIF (everyone has their weaknesses) that she doesn’t even care if Rhys is still a giant dork. Or maybe… She prefers it that way.
Without saying another word, she cups his face in her hands and plants a giant kiss on his lips. Rhys accepts this kiss with his eyes wide open (of course he does) until his courage builds, the audience disappears, and he slowly shuts his eyes, his arms circling her waist.
This is like a scene straight out of a ‘90s romantic comedy: a beautiful couple makes up after a big, stupid misunderstanding to cheers and confetti fanfare.
The girls in the booth clap. The cashier clasps a hand over her heart. Even the man with the headphones utters a slightly sarcastic “Yay” for how could you not?
And as for me, the fairy godmother, I take a moment to admire my handiwork and rejoice in the fact that I somehow accomplished the impossible task of landing Rhys into Michelle’s arms.
I take a step back, then another. I don’t want to be a third wheel. There’s really not much for me to do except watch these lovebirds make out, which was cute for a few minutes but now it’s like, “Get a room.”
I sidestep the oblivious couple, order an iced Americano to go, and am halfway out the door before I’m struck with the impulse to check over my shoulder.
They’ve stopped kissing and have progressed to hugging with a little light snuggling.
Michelle has her arms around his waist while Rhys’ face is buried in her hair.
Sensing my gaze on him, Rhys glances up and catches my eye. An unexpected melancholy passes between us. He has his girl. I know my way around the ASSET. There is no reason for us to meet up and annoy each other anymore. Our transaction is complete.
“Thank you,” he mouths.
“Goodbye.” I give him a second nod, and, like any fairy godmother with her work done and dusted, vanish into the parking lot, disappearing in a gale of gardenia-scented Santa Ana wind.
I’m happy for him. I truly am. But that happiness is tinged with the regret of losing something that never belonged to me in the first place. When you love something, the best thing you can do is let it go.