A Fine Mess (Over the Top) (4 page)

I grip my mask tighter, unsure if she notices me wince. “No. He’s not interested. I’ll be fine. It just might be weird when we first see each other. For me, at least. Nothing’s actually changed between us, but it’s like everything is different. Maybe it’s all in my head.” Like my need to gather every discarded remnant of clothing I see.

“No, I get it. And I agree with Raven. Sawyer has it bad for you. This is just new territory for him. I could speak to Kolton, if you want; he’s flying down with Sawyer. Have him feel things out. Or I could ask Nico to smack the idiot in the head so he comes to his senses.”

I snort. “Thanks, but no. His reaction was pretty clear, and I don’t want to make things more awkward than they already are.” Sadness wells again—Shay leaving, Kevin gone, Sawyer firmly out of reach, it all lodges in my throat.

Shay lowers her mask. “I actually have a favor to ask, and I feel bad considering everything that’s gone down.”

I blink quickly and lower mine, too. “Anything. I’m happy to help, especially since I only have you for a couple more weeks.”

She sways her shoulders. “Okay, but you can totally say no. I wanted to pick Kolton up at the airport, but I’m selling my car before I go to Vancouver. Do you mind giving me a lift? It could be good if I’m there when you first see Sawyer, like a buffer? With all four of us together, it might be less awkward.”

I almost decline, but it’s not the worst idea. I can’t avoid the man, not when we work together, and it would be nice to have a friend there for support. “Sure. Like I said, I want to spend as much time with you as possible before you leave. And you’re probably right. If I have to see him anyway, may as well get it over with.”

“You’re the best.” She kisses my cheek, then pushes past me to grab a jean jacket from the wall. “This must be tried on.” She heads for the curtains at the back, not bothering to remove her dress-up clothes. But I stand rooted.

Sawyer. One week.

How do I look at him without imagining what could have been? How do we laugh and joke and talk as though things haven’t changed? Most of our interactions are long distance, but there’s no avoiding the face-to-face meetings. He’ll read me plain as day. I raise my mask into place as the urge to shop spikes, the irony of the prop not lost on me. I’ve worn a disguise most of my life. The illusion of stability. My best friends think they know me, my parents talk about me with pride, and Kevin’s been there for every obstacle and milestone.

None of them have a clue.

I drop the mask and pull off the hat, dragging my fingers along the smooth felt. Layers of sequins and deep-purple thread decorate the lilac base with shimmering leaves. The edges curl up, accentuating the bell shape, organza and satin flowers bunched on one side.
Whom did you belong to?
I think.
What life have you led?

My imagination vaults to life:
A young girl sneaks out her bedroom window for a scandalous night at her first speakeasy. Jazz music. Wild dancing. Shift dresses and pinstripe suits. A stolen kiss. The girl then marries the man her parents choose, her hat all that’s left of the life she lost.

My story might not be “the” story, but every item here has a lineage—a birth and a well-traveled life—histories and memories absorbed into fabric. I don’t understand how people let things go, toss things out like trash. I would buy the whole place if I could. Fill the void in my heart with tall tales, soothe it with the rush of a purchase. Instead I catalogue the items I’ll return for once I give Raven and Shay the slip: two beaded belts, the fringe purse, a few shirts, and the cloche hat. This is just our second store.

“If you want anything, it’s my treat,” Raven calls to me. “I’m getting the shirt.”

I spin around and shake my head. “I don’t need anything.” The lie comes so easily; it always does. In my world
need
and
want
have the same definition.

“Fair point.” She hands her credit card to the saleslady. “If you add anything to your craft room, you’ll crash through to the apartment below.”

Shay tosses her jean jacket on the checkout counter, her hat, vest, and mask removed. “Make that the lobby,” she adds.

The girls share a grin.

I smile. I brush the comment off like the joke it is, but my veins crawl under my skin, blood surging in torrents. There’s no question my pale cheeks are flushed. It’s always shameful, this feeling—like I’m different, not quite right. My aunt had issues, too. She shopped, but instead of used items, she gathered newspapers, magazines, and nonperishable foods. Her house became unlivable, my father eventually cutting her out of our lives. She lost her friends, too. Her world caved in until her heart literally stopped.

At her funeral, I vowed to never let my crazy shine.

Thankfully, the saleslady points to Raven’s wrist, offering a welcome distraction. “Nice tattoo.” The woman tucks her blue hair behind her ears, revealing enough metal to alter the Earth’s magnetic field. “It’s really good work.”

Raven rolls up her cuff to show the birds flying across her skin, and the feathers that honor her Native American grandmother. I’ll never forget the look on her father’s face when he saw her first tattoo. His yelling nearly shook the walls, but Raven, used to his tantrums, didn’t bat an eye.

The girls pay, then we grab our bags and zip our jackets, preparing for the crisp winter air. I take a final glance at the items on my mental list, hoping the girls don’t drag out our outing. Already each small purchase has calmed my frayed nerves, but the ache intensifies as I leave things behind, and Sawyer’s phone call is forced, once again, to the front of my mind. His reaction was for the best, anyway. A mantra I play on repeat. Sawyer’s all about fun and laughs and good times. He wouldn’t want a tenth of the baggage I carry. My lies. My mask. Better to be on my own. I’m just not sure how I’ll survive his visit next week.

Time is a twisted little fucker. If I’m excited about something, like a trip or clothing launch, the minutes leading up to it drag painfully. Six days from my seventeenth birthday, my mother told me I’d be getting scuba gear. Finn was studying marine biology, and I wanted to follow in big bro’s footsteps. Someone neglected to tell me science exams are written in Swahili. Still, I
did
and
do
love the ocean more than land, so I dragged my ass around as if I’d have a ZZ Top beard by the time those six days were up.

On the flip side, if I’m dreading something, if, say,
hypothetically
, I’d rather slurp down an oyster (mucus doesn’t count as food) than face Single Lily, Father Time decides he’s Usain Bolt.

The past week has flown.

Kolton settles into his seat by the window, and I ease into the leather beside him. Gotta love first class. I lean back, hands clasped over my lap, as I wait for the hot brunette flight attendant to bring me my first drink. I gained a love for Scotch at my high school graduation. I did a killer rendition of Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” I break-danced. I passed out face first into Jenna Hamilton’s tits.

Then I hit repeat.

I had the best night of my eighteen-year-old life. Some nights, I still drink to excess. Anything worth doing is worth doing well. But I also drink to get through stressful times, like every family function. Today, I’m hoping a few fingers of amber gold will stunt my imagination. If I picture Lily naked one more time, her pink lips traveling over my skin, the in-flight defibrillator will have to be used.

As the last passengers board, a feminine voice says, “Business or pleasure?”

Across the aisle a sweet young thing leans toward me, her cleavage lifted for prime viewing. I take in the view. “Business,” I say, glancing up at her face: black hair, brown eyes, long nose, pointed chin. The Anti-Lily. “What’s
your
poison?”

She shifts her arms, and her tits perk up.
Hello
, ladies.

“Always pleasure,” she purrs.

Twice since that call with Lily (National Cockblock Day), I’ve been out for postwork drinks and have had the opportunity to make up for the blow job fail. No luck. If I thought about Lily excessively before she tipped my world sideways, I’m now nearing obsessive levels.

Up until then I managed. Although my father is a massive prick, I was gifted with his looks. His full head of sandy hair, the brown eyes he uses to seduce everything north of the equator, a lean body easy to keep in shape with regular biking, skiing, and kayaking. The past nine months, I’ve exploited these attributes to push Lily out of my head.

Muff diving? No snorkel needed.

A little ass play? I’m game.

If my time were documented, the
Kama Sutra
would have to add a new chapter.

But things have shifted since that call. The more I flirt and try to forget Lily, the more I think about her. It’s my undoing. Like the Flash in
Crisis on Infinite Earths
, who ran so fast he was killed by the source of his own powers, my gift of seduction is my ruin. But I subscribe to the adage “If at first you don’t succeed, try harder.” It was my mantra as a hormone-riddled teen. When I rode my bike past Rose Schatzki and crossed my arms to show off, I bit the dust so hard my left nut nearly got crushed. The second time I skinned my knee to the bone.

Since my inner child is alive and well, I ignore the gut rot that now ensues when I chat up a woman, and I turn to the Anti-Lily. “How about I buy you a drink?”

She giggles, aware booze is free in first class. It’s a high-pitched, nasal sound. Not sweet. Not musical. Not Lily. Her perfume is thick, a floral bouquet of jasmine and vanilla that lodges in my throat. Lily smells like strawberries, a scent so sweet it blinds me. Aaaaand my mind is back on Lily, exactly where it shouldn’t be. I’m about to grit my teeth and flirt with my flight mate again when Kolton jabs his elbow into my side.

I turn and land a blow on the meaty part of his arm. “What the fuck, bro?”

He glances at my new friend’s impressive cleavage, then locks eyes with me. “If you’re not careful, you’ll screw things up with Lily.”

More like I’m saving her. “There’s nothing to screw up. We’re just friends.”

“Right. Friends.” He lowers his voice. “Don’t forget, I’ve had to work with you the past nine months while you’ve buried yourself in pussy, trying to forget her. So let’s try this again. Why didn’t you book a flight the second she broke up with Kevin?”

Since the plane is taxiing down the runway, it’s too late to scream
terrorist
and claim Kolton has a bomb strapped to his body. Now I’m stuck with the Asshole (Shay killed it giving him that nickname) and his lame intervention for the next five hours.

“There’s no point pursuing her.”

When I don’t elaborate, he shakes his head. “Why? She’s beautiful. You guys work together and always get along. You gossip on the phone like chicks. What am I missing?”

I cross my arms and bounce my knee, deciding on the simple truth. “She deserves better.”

He reaches up to turn off the air blasting his shoulder-length hair like he’s on the cover of a romance novel. “And?”

Jesus. We haven’t even taken off, and I’m ready to kill the guy. Unlike Nico, who could dismember me with a swipe of his finger, Kolton and I are an even match, in looks, build, and size. People often mistake us for brothers, and right about now, I’d have no problem showing him some brotherly love with a fist to his jaw. Instead of winding up with an air marshal’s gun to my head, I bounce my knee harder. “
And
…my family doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships. I won’t see Lily hurt because of me.”

I’ve stewed over the pros and cons the past week.

Pros:

Sex with Lily.

Sex with Lily.

Sex

with

Lily.

Cons:

No sex with Lily.

…And I break her the way my father destroyed my mother.

It was an easy choice.

Three uncles on both sides of my family couldn’t keep it in their pants. Two aunts had affairs with coworkers. I cheated on my high school girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. Granted, she called me “Soy Sauce” because she thought it was cute, and I was planning on ending things with her, but I still did it.

I’m a West, through and through.

Kolton crosses his arms, too, both of us staring ahead as the plane takes off. “You’re not like your family. I know you. Lily knows you. Don’t sell yourself short. And what about your brother? Finn and Meryl are good.”

“Finn is the exception that proves the rule. I’m the rule. I have no intention of marrying someone just to get divorced. The way things went down with my mother was a lesson learned. Lily is”—
smart, sexy, talented, too good for me
—“a sweet girl. I care about her. She’s not the type to want something casual, and I won’t be responsible for hurting her.” I glance at the woman with the nice tits, my gut rot alive and well. “I am what I am.”

“So when she starts dating other guys, you’ll be cool with it?”

I clench my jaw so roughly I bite my cheek, then I conjure a snuff film of me disemboweling any dude who touches Lily. “I’m pretty sure your degree qualifies you to run the business end of Moondog, not delve into my head. You should stick to accounting and spreadsheets.”

For the most part, Kolton and I work well together. In the eight years since we opened our first store, me focusing on the design end of things—ski clothing, outdoor wear, and accessories for hiking and biking—and Kolton making sure our bills are paid, we’ve only had a few blowouts. We move past things. That’s what friends do. Friends also give each other dating advice, but Kolton didn’t live with my mother when her world crashed. He doesn’t know how bad it got.

He angles toward me and narrows his eyes. “Whatever happens, don’t make things weird for Lily. She works for us, she’s a great designer, and I don’t want to lose her. So don’t be a dick.”

“Me? A dick? I’m the fun guy. Women love me.” But I replay Lily’s phone call and my nonexistent replies.

Dick-stuffed dick with a side of dick.

“Like I said, don’t be a dick. If you upset her and she quits”—an evil smirk lights his face—“I’ll have your car turned into scrap.”

I mimic his shit-eating grin. “Do that and I shave your head.”

He leans back and closes his eyes. “It’s like you’re still thirteen.”

I smile at the compliment. Then I’m imagining Lily on a date again, and I nearly crush my own head to erase the visual. But Kolton’s right. Somehow, I’ll have to deal. It’s only been a week since she broke up with Kevin, and already I’ve hurt her.

Usually, on the phone, once we’re done bouncing ideas off each other or talking through a sketch she’s e-mailed, she asks me a question about my day. Something trivial, like, “What did you eat for lunch?” Or, “What was the first song you heard this morning?” Half an hour later, I’ve told her an embarrassing story, like the kissing episode hijacked by my braces, and she’s confessed to swooning over the Hanson brothers.

I could write a twelve-part miniseries about Lily. When she eats blueberry yogurt, she doesn’t stir it. She eats the plain top and saves the fruit for last. She always sneezes twice in a row. She hates most reality TV but loves those stupid singing shows. She picks her nail polish when she’s nervous. I
know
Lily, and I know my reaction on the phone last week hurt her.

It can’t happen again.

I raise a hand to signal the flight attendant. As she strolls over, I lean to my right and wink at the Anti-Lily, breathing through my mouth to avoid inhaling her perfume. “So, that drink. What can I get you?” The only way to spare Lily pain is to step back. Distance myself from her so she moves on from me. Forget her smell, her laugh, her cute habits. I’m pretty sure the key to amnesia is hidden between the Anti-Lily’s tits.

Time for a manhunt.

The lady in question raises a sculpted eyebrow. “I’ll have a gin and tonic with a twist of lime. Next round’s on me.”

We smile at our private joke, and two rounds later we’re in the bathroom, a few minutes from joining the Mile High Club. I’m already a member. If there were a board of directors, I’d be CEO. It’s cramped as always and should be a blast, but her perfume suffocates me, the heavy scent nauseating. The walls close in. She rubs her body against mine, and I can’t even manage an ounce of enthusiasm. All I want is Lily.

I end the festivities as nicely as possible, claiming I just broke up with a girlfriend. I don’t normally lie to women. I set the ground rules from the starting gate, but this Lily situation is messing with my mind. We return to our seats, and I down another drink as my nose twitches, that damn perfume stuck to my clothes. Then I close my eyes for the last hour of the flight. It’s a good thing I sleep. Best to be rested when your best friend blindsides you.

As the captain comes on the speakers, our landing minutes away, Kolton yawns and says, “Shay and Lily are picking us up.”

Thanks for the heads-up,
buddy
.

My lungs pump like I’ve just biked the Pipeline in North Vancouver. I glance at the perfume-drenched cleavage that was plastered against me, and I nearly pull the oxygen mask down from the ceiling. There’s no time to shower. No lie I can tell. Lily will know a woman was with me. I rub my neck until it burns, then I force my lungs to inflate. This isn’t cheating. It’s not like Lily and I are together, and, aside from some kissing and groping in that bathroom, nothing happened. Plus, Lily knows the score. I’ve made sure she’s been aware of my extracurricular activities. Again, if I couldn’t have her, I wanted her to suffer, too. (Dick of the Year Award.)

Somehow this feels different.

“Did you confirm numbers with the bar for tomorrow night?” Kolton asks.

My brain figures out how to communicate with my body, and I nod.

He says something else about the company Christmas party, but it doesn’t register. The plane lands. We disembark. The Anti-Lily wishes me well. Then we’re approaching the arrivals area. I drape my coat over my carry-on bag, which I’m dragging at an injured snail’s pace. The closer we get to the doors and the throng of people waiting for their loved ones, the tighter my gut twists. Maybe it’s food poisoning. Maybe it was the lamb on the flight.

Sweat slicks my palms. Swallowing is painful.

Definitely food poisoning.

Kolton’s strides get longer. Purposeful. He hasn’t seen Shay in a month, and he’s been a cantankerous asshole. I wasn’t sure he’d meet anyone after Marina; losing your wife during childbirth is as hard as life gets. But Shay crawled under his skin in Aspen and has kept him on his toes ever since. By the time he makes it to the door, he’s ten paces ahead of me. I exit as he drops his bag and closes the distance to her. Her curls fly as he picks her up, and she buries her face in his neck. They kiss as he lowers her to her feet, practically grinding against each other. It’s like watching the end of a romantic comedy filmed by Hugh Hefner.

I avert my eyes and spot Lily.

Her white-blond hair is tied up in a messy bun, a thin headband taming flyaway pieces. Her pale, freckled cheeks blush as she watches our friends maul each other, and my heart skips a beat. It flat-out stops. I almost pound my chest to restart it, unsure when I developed an arrhythmia. When the rhythm regulates, I take the moment to soak Lily in.

Where some hipsters look like they spend hours perfecting their image so everyone knows they listen to bands no one’s heard of and eat organic food washed in purified water from Nepal, Lily’s style is effortless. Her three-quarter-length jacket hangs open over a cream sweater that hits her thighs. Her tight jeans are ripped in a few places, her feet turned in slightly. She may not be the type of girl I’d have envisioned during the Masturbation Olympics of my youth, but she’s all the inspiration I need these days.

Her hand floats over her heart as she watches Kolton devour Shay, then her gaze lands on me. It, of course, happens when Anti-Lily appears at my side. She slips something into my pocket, her perfume circling me like a boa constrictor, and she presses her lips to my ear. “If you change your mind, call me.”