chapter five Descending Into Awkward Chaos
chapter five
Descending Into Awkward Chaos
I spend three days staring at Lex’s jacket hanging over the back of a barstool in my kitchen before I decide to do something
about it.
After our exchange I’d completely forgotten I had her jacket tied around my waist until I’d got home, and then I’d immediately
felt guilty about being so rude to her. She’d gone out of her way to save me from an embarrassing situation, and how did I
thank her? By slamming a door in her face and stealing her jacket.
It’s not her fault she doesn’t believe in the curse—no one does. I’d stopped trying to explain it to anyone long ago. The
only reason she knows about it was because we’d spent hours together in the terse silence of a hospital waiting room and I’d
felt vulnerable. I thought my confession was safe with her since we were never going to see each other again. Guess I was
wrong.
But now I have her jacket. I can’t bring myself to not return it. It’s a nice jacket, Carhartt. Probably cost a couple hundred dollars. You can’t just replace a jacket like that—not
in this economy. I’ll have to return it, but without having to talk to her. Or her sexy brother.
Since I know where they both live, the easiest thing to do will be to drop it off on their doorstep and simply walk away.
No need to make a big deal out of it. Get in, get out, move on with my life.
I bring the jacket with me to work, and afterwards I navigate to the pub where Olsen and I met. Following the route we walked
that terrible night, I find my way back to his house. Olsen’s neighbourhood is even more impressive in the daylight: The updated
older houses have well-kept lawns, ample street parking, and established trees. All the vehicles parked outside are new models,
void of dirt or scuff marks. With how much I pay for my dingy basement suite, I can only imagine what the mortgage on a place
like this is. I knew doctors made a lot of money, but damn.
Eyeing the house, I look for signs of movement. It’s five thirty, and I have no idea what kind of hours doctors run. If it’s
anything like Grey’s Anatomy I’m assuming he mostly lives at the hospital. It’s also too bright and sunny out here for me to tell if any lights are on.
After waiting a few moments and seeing no one pass in front of the windows, I walk up the pathway to his front porch. Just
as my foot lowers onto the first step, the doorknob turns and two voices echo out into the front yard. A man’s voice, Olsen’s,
and a woman’s voice . . .
Not Lex? No. Definitely not Lex. Lex’s voice is like Olsen’s, deeper in timbre with a slight rasp, and the cadence of carefully chosen words. This woman’s
voice is light and tinkling, like a windchime.
Before they see me, I duck behind one of the posts supporting the eaves of the front porch, press my back against it, and slide down so I’m hidden from view.
“I had a really great time last night,” comes Olsen’s voice.
“Me, too,” says the woman.
“And this morning, and this afternoon,” Olsen adds.
The woman laughs much harder than she should. “You’re so funny!”
Oof, the lameness is bordering on painful. I hope she was more creative and interesting in the sack than this exchange lets
on. On one hand, I’m sad I couldn’t even get the guy’s phone number after our embarrassing excuse of a hookup. On the other,
I’m glad he’s well enough after his surgery to perform at such a high capacity.
The two of them kiss goodbye, which quickly morphs into sounds of moaning, groaning, licking, and sucking. I try not to gag. Please, make it stop.
Oh, shit. The moment their goodbye make-out session is over the woman is going to walk down the stairs and my cover will be
blown. They’ll think I’m spying on them like some perverted peeping Tom. I can picture it now: her screaming, me shouting
it’s not what it looks like!, the woman turning to Olsen and yelling at him for having another woman on the side, me having to explain to the woman the
whole cock-in-zipper fiasco, then to Olsen as to why I have his sister’s jacket—all things I want to avoid. I have exactly
three point five seconds to find a better hiding spot. My only option is the bush tucked against the side of his house.
Their noisy goodbye is, thankfully, perfect cover for me to squeeze my way behind the bush.
I push my way in, trying to jostle the foliage as little as possible.
Branches scrape at my arms and legs, tug at my clothes, and one almost pokes me in the eye.
I swallow the pain down and force myself to be still, and just in time—the clip-clop of footsteps descends the stairs, and then the path, until they fade away into the distance. Finally, the front door shuts.
“Ow,” I say, rubbing my watery eye. I’m not sure what’s worse, the pain of nearly losing my sight to a bush, or watching a
different woman live my dream of enjoying another person’s company without the world descending into awkward chaos.
Jacket in hand, I begin extricating myself from the bush. Getting in, as it turns out, was much easier than it is getting
out. The bush is much more brambly than I expected. The inner jumble of twisted, jabby branches is hidden by all the leaves
on the outside. A tangle of my hair gets snagged on one branch while Lex’s jacket becomes stuck on another. “Ah, fuck.” I
give a small tug to one, then the other. Neither give. In fact, I think I’m more stuck now than before. This bush is like
quicksand, sucking me further in the more I struggle. I try shifting to the right, then to my left, but no dice. Maybe if
I—
Someone clears their throat.
I twist in my spot, tangling my hair even further. “Ah, fuck,” I repeat, louder this time.
It’s Lex. Judging by her perplexed expression, she’s trying to figure out why the hell I’m wrestling with the bush outside
her house. She stares at me. I stare back.
“I’m returning your jacket,” I say, thrusting it forward. The jacket protests with a loud riiiiiip as a bramble tears through the sleeve.
Lex continues staring.
“I can fix that,” I say. “I mean. Not me. I can pay someone else to fix that. I’ve never sewed anything in my life. It’s a
lost art, like, could you imagine just two generations ago we all had to sew our own clothes, and—”
“What are you doing?” Lex interrupts.
I look from Lex to her jacket and back. “I thought you might want this.”
“No, what are you doing in—” She gestures vaguely to the bush.
“If I told you it was the curse, would you believe me?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Let me help you.” Lex abandons trying to make sense of my life and instead
steps forward to begin untangling me. She makes quick work of my hair, then of my clothes, and then, with a firm grip on my
hand, pulls me free.
I dust the dead leaves, twigs, and a spiderweb off me before handing over her jacket, which is in similar condition to myself.
Lex unceremoniously takes the jacket and steps back, giving me a bit of space. After shaking it out and inspecting the small
tear, she tosses it over one shoulder like a cowboy walking into a saloon. With bright eyes, a sharp jawline, and full lips
she’d even suit a cowboy hat. Is she even wearing makeup right now? Some people have all the luck.
And now I’m staring. I avert my gaze and try to think of something to say. I’d gone through so much effort to avoid talking
to either Lex or Olsen that I hadn’t thought of anything for if my avoidance plan failed, which, in hindsight, I should have
prepared for.
“So . . .” I rise onto my toes and drop back to my heels. “I, uh, I just want to apologize for the other night. You were super
kind coming to my rescue like that and saving me from even more embarrassment, and I was quite rude to you.”
Lex stays quiet, which only makes me talk more.
I shift under her intense gaze, searching for more words. “Thank you for lending me your jacket. And sorry for ripping it.
I know a place that can fix it, and if you send me the bill I’ll e-transfer you.”
“It’s fine.”
I’m captured by her eyes once more, which stare unflinchingly back into mine, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Well.” I clap
my hands, unsure of what else to say or do. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”
I brush past Lex and try my best not to trip on my own two feet as I walk back down the pathway, the hair on the back of my
neck standing on end as I sense her watching me leave. I should have just kept the jacket, or donated it to charity, or burned
it in a fire, or—
“Wait.”
I take two more steps before I stop and turn slowly to face Lex.
Her brow is pinched, deep in contemplation. “Maybe I can help you.”
I blink several times, not sure if I heard her correctly. “Help me? With what?”
“You know,” she says, leaning forward. Then, when I don’t reply, she sighs. “The curse?” She doesn’t use finger quotations
this time, but they’re definitely implied.
“You don’t even believe in it. How would you help me?”
“I’m a scientist.”
“Really?”
“Sort of. A data analyst. I can prove to you that the curse isn’t real, even though in science you never really prove anything
isn’t real, because the onus is on the person making the claim to provide evidence.”
“So,” I clarify, “you want to help me by trying to prove that the curse isn’t real?”
She nods. “Exactly.”
I step closer, not quite believing what I’m hearing. “You’ve witnessed first-hand, not one, not two, but three awkward scenarios. How can you still deny it exists?”
“Everyone can be clumsy at times,” Lex states, so sure of herself.
“Oh, my sweet summer child.” I cross my arms and shake my head slowly. “What you’ve seen so far is nothing. You think you
know anything about me, about what I live with, because of this curse? You’ve barely scratched the surface. I’ve been living
like this for years. Years.”
Lex tucks her tongue into her cheek. “Then I guess it will be easy to prove me wrong.”
As much as I want to put all this behind me and move on with my life, I can’t deny how badly I want to show Lex just how deep
this awkward rabbit hole goes. The amount of satisfaction I’d get wiping that smug look off her face would be worth all the
pain both me and my potential date would go through.
“How about the next time I’m going on a date, you secretly watch from the sidelines so you can see the whole thing go down
and I’ll prove once and for all it’s not a fluke.”
The corner of Lex’s mouth twitches up. “Fine.”
I reach my hand out to shake hers and make it official. Lex eyes my hand for a moment before taking it. Her hand is smaller
than mine, with long fingers like a pianist’s, and her nails are trimmed short and very clean. Her wrists are dainty, but
the forearms they lead to boast the kind of strength one would only earn at a gym. The way she shakes my hand is very much
like what I’d gathered of her personality: strong but not like she’s trying to prove it by squeezing too hard, with an underlying
sense of calm that permeates her entire being. I have the innate sense that if I gave her a task of any kind she’d be the
type to get it done. Which is probably why she’s a scientist, or data analyst, or whatever. I release her hand, watching as
Lex’s fingers flex closed before she tucks them into her pocket.
“Guess I’ll need your number, then,” Lex says.
“Sure. Give me your phone and I’ll add it.”
“Don’t have my phone on me. Just tell me the numbers, I’ll remember them.”
My brows lift slowly. I’m not sure what’s more impressive, leaving the house without a phone, or the ability to remember a
random string of ten numbers. I wouldn’t even remember my own mother’s phone number if it were the final question on Cash Cab.
I relay my number, Lex magically commits it to memory, and I escape back down the street toward the bus stop.
A wave of giddiness washes over me. For the first time in a long time, I’m actually excited to go on a date with someone—and
I don’t even know who they are yet!
Lex wants to see an awkward date? I’ll give her an awkward date.