Chapter 17
JASON
“Yes, Aunt Stacey... no, of course not,” Eileen says as she looks over at me frantically.
“Well, we’ve been planning this wedding for a while now so if you haven’t received your invite yet, it must have been lost in the mail.
.. Yeah, that’s right. Our post office did a ton of layoffs a few months back. ”
She grimaces to me. I respond by scrunching up my nose until I make that “dumb, ugly face” Jossie likes to complain about. Eileen sticks her tongue out at me. So obviously I roll up mine in a hot dog shape at her. For added effect, I go cross-eyed at the same time.
Eileen has to stifle a laugh. Score one for me.
She glares and then flashes an ominous smirk. Her face morphs into this bizarre turtle impression.
I fucking lose it, covering my mouth to keep my laugh from getting to her aunt’s eardrums.
It’s really weird seeing someone jumping through all these hoops to make their family happy. In this case, Eileen is doing the impossible to make her family think Charlie isn’t a huge flake.
Who would put up with a hopeless charade like this for so long?
Maybe it’s because Charlie’s more responsible than Marek—or maybe Eileen didn’t give up on Charlie in her teens like I did with Marek.
Sure. Alex thinks I enable the fuck out of our cousin. But it used to be a lot worse. Everyone in our extended family knows what a screw up he can be. All I had to do is call up a few relatives, say “Hey, Marek got a girl knocked up. You coming to the wedding?”
Of course, most of them said no. At least the ones who said yes asked if everyone knew it was a shotgun wedding.
“Why are we only getting back to you just now?” Eileen says.
“Busy, grace period, trusted you,” I whisper shout.
She rubs her temple, squeezing her eyes shut. “Honestly... we know how busy you get and wanted to give you a grace period to follow up. Charlie was pretty devastated this morning when she saw you hadn’t RSVP’d yet.”
Some murmuring comes from the other line. Eileen’s cat, Max, saunters into the living room as she continues talking. Looks like he has a lot of fun living in this place. For as small as this one bedroom is, it’s brimming with shit clinging to the walls and sculptures cluttering the floor.
Eileen doesn’t seem to mind the way Max climbs on them, which is good since he seems to have absolutely no respect for the arts. It’s cool, though. All of these pieces are quirky, kind of vintage, but there’s something timeless in how messy yet elegant they try to be.
They all scream “Eileen’s so cool and thoughtful she doesn’t realize how cool she is.”
“Yeah, exactly,” she says. “That’s why I knew it’d be best to contact you personally.”
Max walks past her, walking over to my side of this ancient couch. He sniffs my jeans, clearly deeming me as the superior petter in this abode, and rubs up against my leg. I scratch the top of his head lightly.
“Think nothing of it,” Eileen says.
She glances down at Max, gesturing for me to pick him up. Welp, this is either a very friendly cat or the world’s cruelest joke.
“Come here, Maximilian,” I whisper as I pick him up.
He squeaks once but then settles into my lap.
“Yes, of course we understand. I’ll send them your regards.” Eileen groans when she hangs up.
“Five down, only a thousand more to go,” I say, kind of mockingly. “Keep it going, champ. I’ll bring dinner if we need to stay here that long.”
Eileen snorts. “You fucking cheated.”
“How?” I say indignantly.
“You told your family the truth,” she says.
“Uh, duh,” I say. “Rule number one of the Spearmans—what’s our business stays our business. Anyone else is fair game.”
She yawns as she stretches. I get a flash of her plump tits as she bends down. My fingers crave the chance to caress them.
God, what would it be to… Yep, totally normal, nothing to see here. One, three, seven, eleven, seventeen, twenty-three—
“Pretty sure yesterday you said,” she interrupts my countdown to argue. “Rule number one of the Spearmans is never give away your last donut unless someone has an espresso to compensate you.”
“We have a lot of first rules,” I claim. “That was the first rule of donuts.”
“Nice save,” she says.
She gets up from her seat with a sigh.
“I’m tired,” she confesses and asks, “Are you tired? We should just give up and tell Charlie everyone canceled.”
“Great idea,” I prompt and arch an eyebrow. “However… and just bear with me for a second. Have you considered how she’ll hunt all of these people down to personally apologize to her?”
“You are a fast learner,” she concedes with a groan. “Want something to lighten the mood? I’ve got shitty beer and cheap wine.”
“Beer me,” I say.
As she walks away my eyes trail after her. Her curly hair bounces as her hips sway languidly toward the kitchen. Her sweats do a perfect job of framing that luscious ass of hers. Does she work hard to always look so put together and gorgeous?
Or does she just roll out of bed like that?
She’s gorgeous.
What the fuck, Spearman. Rule number one of being Jason Spearman. You don’t develop crushes.
I shake my head, slapping myself a little.
Nope, strictly platonic acquaintance shit happening here.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Think about something else.
Mom, June, Jeannette. I sigh, knowing they would adore Eileen.
Come on, if they can keep up with Emmeline, I don’t see why they can’t add… There I go again.
“Hey, uh, why don’t we take a break? Watch TV or something,” I suggest trying to keep my mind busy.
“Alright, but I don’t have cable,” she announces.
“Who has cable these days?” I retort. “We could stream something?”
She points at the chest under the mounted screen. “I’ve got DVDs and bootlegged musicals.”
I must be dreaming. “Holy fuck. Which ones?”
“Rent, Wicked, 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee…” she says as she passes me a beer and sits down with her glass of wine. “I think I loaned my copy of The Drowsy Chaperone to Camilla, my best friend. But I should also have Spring Awakening, Waitress, and If/Then.”
Marry me, I think. You’re perfect.
“How are you literally the coolest person I know,” I say without thinking.
She giggles. “You know most people don’t hear musicals and say that’s cool.”
“Most people think slapping glitter on their face makes them look cool,” I inform her.
“Hey now,” she says with a straight face and murdering eyes. “I may have to reconsider your stay here if you have a problem with glitter.”
I shrug, petting Max behind the ear. “Your cat has no problem with me and my snobbery.”
“Yes, but he also thinks you, and everything else in this apartment, is a couch,” she says, bursting my bubble. I glare at the cat. I thought we became fast friends.
“Besides,” she continues. “He doesn’t care about being friends with the cool kids.”
“What a coincidence. Neither do I.”
Eileen shakes her, head taking a sip of her wine. While we choose what to watch, it confuses me how comfortable I feel in her place, with her company. I don’t mind Max being on my lap.
What does this mean?
That we’re friends, or that I haven’t built tall enough walls to avoid the attraction that continues to grow between us.
I should just leave.