—23— Wyatt #3
“Yep,” Connie concludes, “almost conned into a marriage by a man whose last name was literally Conner. But y’know what?
That is what we must learn in life the hard way.
Real love ain’t easy, and if the guy you’re into smiles too much, sock him in the teeth ‘fore he builds a second life with his big-tittied secretary.”
It isn’t that funny a punchline, but everyone in the room goes into a round of applause and laughter.
Then Lance says something about his ex back in California, Mindy mentions a guy she used to crush on named Steven Baker who cheated left and right, and the room shatters into twenty conversations of lifelong wounds and lessons learned in love.
Under usual circumstances, this is a nightmare.
But for some reason, tonight isn’t.
In fact, I’m having fun. My sister is a surprise blessing, despite her hunger for the spotlight at all hours.
Everyone else is having a great time, too.
Even Joel, still convinced Lance despises him.
Even glasses-wearing, shrinking-into-the-corner-of-every-room Noah, always overwhelmed at crowded social things, is a totally different person tonight, and I’m not even sure I can attribute all the credit to his calming, annoyingly-handsome, extrovert companion Cole.
At one point, Connie starts telling some embarrassing story of something I did when we were kids, and I don’t even mind.
I’m even adding to the story, not letting her forget when she rescued me from the evil kids at the playground, I did in fact lose my pants at the jungle gym and never got them back.
She’s on the floor howling out, “How could I forget that?!” I sure didn’t.
She asks Malcolm about “cutie patootie” quick-footed soccer-boy Bobby Parker, whose parents Patty and Dale live nearby, and somehow entirely forgot that he and Jimmy got married.
“Goes to show how fast you fall out of the loop when you don’t live here no more,” she says.
“Next time you see them, tell them I’m owed a hug, both of ‘em, because not coming to this party on account of running a big ol’ gym complex and Saturday’s your busiest night just ain’t an excuse that’s gonna fly with Connie Callahan. ”
I go to the kitchen to refill Bridger’s wine and look up when I hear the clanking of metal.
For half a heartbeat, I think it’s Diego outside working on the car.
But through the window, all I see is the dark house next door, no one outside, no Diego standing at his window glaring at me, just nothing.
Nothing is so much worse than a glare.
I prefer the glare.
Prefer him out there with his nose buried in his dad’s car, fetching his own wrenches from the toolbox I got him instead of tolerating me by his side as I pretend to hand him the right ones.
Should I bring a plate over again like I did that one time?
Or did I go too far yesterday and ruin everything we’ve built?
I let it go, not wanting to rip open my morning’s panic all over again, and help myself to another cracker with a block of cheese before heading back with the wine.
It’s while discussing whether everyone thinks TJ plans to go back to school for the fall semester or stay on tour with his hunky rock star boyfriend (the room is heated and divided in half with Anthony leading one side and Cole the other) that Lance has me pulled aside with his third rum and coke in hand to ask, “Tell me what’s going on with that beau next deau. ”
Beau next deau? I squint at him. “Huh?”
“Or is he a bore next door? I’m trying to rhyme n’ be cute. Let me.” He leans in. “I know something hot is up between you two.”
I snort. “Like you thought something was hot between me and the new employee at the gym? Or the assistant at the dentist? Or even Samuel two summers ago?”
“Never said a word to Malcolm, promise.”
“Nothing’s ‘up’ between me and my neighbors’ nephew.”
“You keep calling him your neighbors’ nephew like he’s a kid fresh outta college. He’s literally our age.”
“And has one foot out the door.”
“Oh? That’s the rub? So you’re not entertaining anything with him only because he’s about to leave?”
“No, no. I was just pointing out that they’re selling the house, so he’s only here until—”
“He could still stick around. Virginia’s always got extra rooms at the Spur Inn. Aren’t you pals with her? Or why not let him stay here? Don’t let that hot mechanic frolic outta town before you—”
“Hot mechanic?” blurts Connie.
From across the whole fucking house.
Everyone’s silent. Billy and Tanner peer over the couch at us. Bridger. Anthony. Malcolm and Samuel, caught mid-hug. Harrison and Hoyt, too, from the snack table. Mindy, her fingers pinching a tortilla chip dripping in salsa. Cole and Noah. Chad. Even Ethan, looking up from his phone.
“Are you datin’ a hot mechanic next door?” asks Connie in the ringing silence, oblivious to the horror on my face.
And proving she was, in fact, paying attention to our whole conversation, all the way over here by the front bay window with Lance’s rum and coke and my stupefied eyes.
Then Joel appears from the kitchen. “Wait a dang sec. You mean Diego? You and Diego are a thing?”