Chapter 14
Rilla
“It’s not a date.”
Betty looks up from the towels she’s folding into perfect, hotel-worthy, squares. They’re stacked neatly on her floral bedspread in identical towers.
“I never implied that it was.” Her green eyes almost giggle at me as she finishes one towel and reaches for another. She didn’t seem phased at all to find me waiting outside her door when she arrived home from work.
The layouts of our apartments are very similar, but where mine often looks like a bomb went off in it, Betty’s is tidy enough to pass a drill sergeant’s inspection.
While her anxiety is well-controlled, she does have to work at it daily. One of her coping mechanisms is keeping a clean house. Not only would I voluntarily eat off her floor, the woman makes organization look like an artform. Everything has a place.
“You were thinking it,” I say as I dig through the closet she shares with my brother. It’s such an odd mix of clothes. Betty’s business analyst attire for her office job combined with Josh’s athletic wear. Sometimes I think my brother decided to be a gym teacher so he never had to wear a tie.
“What am I thinking right now?” she asks, picking up a stack of towels.
I place my fingers on my temples, close my eyes, and hum. “That I’m being hypersensitive about it not being a date because, in reality, I think it might be?”
“Wow. You are good.” She backs out of the room and disappears down the hall to her linen closet while I continue my search.
I find what I’m looking for buried behind a stack of t-shirts and slip it on over my fitted long-sleeved shirt and leggings. Josh’s Bruins jersey is so big on me that it’s funny. It’s been almost two years since I’ve been to a hockey game, so I thought I should dress the part.
Also, this saves me the hassle of deciding on what to wear on this date/non-date with Logan.
“It’s not a date,” I insist stubbornly. “He had an extra ticket to a hockey game and invited me to join him. He must have remembered that I said I liked hockey a few weeks ago. He probably just wanted someone to go with because he doesn’t have any friends because no one likes him.”
There. Perfectly reasonable explanation.
“No one, eh?”
Stop reading my mind, you tiny freckled sorceress. Fine. I like him. To say that Logan has grown on me over the last month would be an understatement. His blunt honesty and complete lack of sugar coating is a welcome change from all the people in my life who tell me what they think I want to hear.
He’s also smart, thoughtful, and occasionally very funny, though usually not on purpose. Did I mention that he’s unfairly hot? If the man were a rollercoaster, I would wait in a three-hour line to ride him.
I wonder, and not for the first time, what he’d be like in bed. Would he approach it like work? Seriously and methodically? Or would that calm state of control crumble, unleashing an inner beast I haven’t met.
Yet.
Do I want to meet that Logan? I think I do. But the bigger question at hand is does that Logan want to meet me?
I’m not obtuse; I know that I’m a lot. Logan seems aware of it too, but unlike everyone else, I don’t feel like he handles me any differently because of it. When I’m with him, I don’t feel like he wants me to be anything other than myself.
Which is nice since I have zero fucking desire to change myself for him or anyone else.
“Enjoy yourself tonight.” Betty sits down on the bed, watching me roll up the sleeves on this gigantic jersey. “Maybe it’s a date and maybe it’s not. Regardless, just be yourself and have fun.”
“It’s not a date, Betts. Logan’s got too good of a head on his shoulders to pursue the likes of me.” A great head, actually. With a perfect face and glorious hair to match.
“Hey. Don’t talk about my best friend like that.”
Betty St. Claire is loyal to a fault. This girl has seen me through every high and low on this wild adventure called life and she’s never once asked to be let off. She’s more than my cheerleader, she’s my entire fucking marching band.
“Do you still want to do something this weekend?” I have a shift at Dive on Friday night, but we made tentative plans to hang out on Saturday.
“Shoot, I forgot to text you. My dad and Colleen are visiting this weekend. He got tickets for us to go see Come From Away at the Opera House. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly: You haven’t seen them since Christmas. It’s great that they’re coming to visit.” I’ve always liked Betty’s dad and I’m glad that she has him in her life. He and his fiancée live in Rhode Island where they both work at a University. Her parents divorced when we were nineteen and she recently severed ties with her toxic mother. “What about next weekend? Are we still having a girls night with Maggie?” I’ve seen them both briefly recently for coffee dates, but it’s been a couple of months since the three of us got together to drink wine and solve the problems of the universe.
“Definitely!” She brightens. “We’re going to go to Maggie and Callum’s next Friday night. I think the boys are going to join us. Is that okay?”
No.
“Of course.” I feel bad lying, but what else am I supposed to say? I love my brother, and Callum is a gem of a human with a heart as big as his net worth, and that’s staggering. But I was looking forward to some much needed estrogen therapy. I always have fun with the whole gang, but I also always feel like the superfluous fifth wheel. “I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late for my non-date.”
Betty is walking me to the door just as Josh gets home from work.
“Hey,” he says, dropping his duffle bag on the floor. He immediately notices what I’m wearing. “You’re stealing my jersey?”
“I’m borrowing it.”
“Borrowing implies I gave you permission to take it.” He doesn’t care about the jersey, he’s just ribbing me because it’s his duty and his right as the oldest.
“Your better half gave me permission. What’s yours is hers and what’s hers is mine, therefore what’s yours is mine.”
“Thank you for clearing that up for me, Crone.” He pats me on the head good-naturedly on his way to give Betty a quick kiss. “Why exactly are you borrowing my jersey?”
I grin at him. “I’ve been called up to the big leagues. The Bruins are down a forward, so they called me. It’s so last minute, they don’t have a jersey made for me yet, but I told them not to worry, I know a guy. It’s just for tonight. I’m sure they’ll have a Pine jersey made by the next game.”
“Wow,” he says with an eye roll so dramatic it looks painful. “You are particularly obnoxious tonight, Rill.”
“She’s just nervous,” Betty says, wrapping me in one of her unsolicited hugs. She’s surprisingly strong for someone so tiny.
“I’m not nervous.” I’m on edge which is completely different from being nervous. I wiggle out of her embrace. “I’m going to the hockey game tonight with Logan.”
His surprise is evident. “Seriously? You’re going out with the guy you’ve done nothing but complain about for the last year.”
“First of all, I’ve only been complaining about him for eight months. Second, we’re not ‘going out,’” I see Betty open her mouth to protest, but I level her with a meaningful stare and continue. “And even if we were, I’m not about to take dating advice from the guy who stole my life partner instead of going out and finding his own.”
“I regret nothing.” Josh wraps his arms around Betty from behind and looks down at her adoringly.
“Alright, love birds, that’s my cue to fly. Thanks for the jersey. I’ll try to bring it back in one piece.”
“Oh, before you go,” Josh stops me before I can make my escape. “I was talking to Mom and she wants you to call her. She said she’s been trying to reach you but keeps missing you. Something about a baby shower?”
Right. The date for my cousin’s shower has been set and Mom desperately wants me to go with her. It’s not that I don’t want to. Scratch that. It’s one hundred percent that I don’t want to. I barely escaped the last one with all my marbles.
First, there was no alcohol. I get that the mother-to-be couldn’t partake, but no one else in attendance was growing a Cabbage Patch doll in their toy factory. Then there were a series of cringe games, each one worse than the previous. Finally, we sat in a circle while my cousin opened her gifts. I didn’t know how I was supposed to react as she held up outfit after outfit so I said things like “Wow, that is so small” and “Oh look, that one’s even smaller.” Torture.
I’ve been avoiding calling Mom back about it, but I know I’ll end up going out of guilt. She hasn’t said as much, but I suspect she’s been finding it hard now that both of her kids are out of state. If anyone should go with her, it’s Betty. Even though she and Josh aren’t married yet, she’s practically Mom’s daughter-in-law. Not to mention, she’s a lot more likely to give her grandchildren than I am.
“I’ll call her,” I promise, meaning it. “I better get going. The puck drops in an hour and I want snacks. Apparently, the seats are right behind the Bruins’ bench. Jealous?”
“Yes,” he admits, miserably. “You’re not going to yell at the refs and call them twat-waffles like you did the last time we went with Dad, are you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether they’re calling the game like twat-waffles or not. Later, losers.”