Kimber (27 page)

                                                                                                   
                                      The faint image of a phone forms in my
mind as it rings. I reach for it but I’m incapable of actually touching it. The
more it rings the more annoyed I become until eventually, I’m awake. I’m not
the only thing pulled from my sleep though, the ringing has followed me. I rub
my eyes and roll over to my nightstand.

Unknown
,
the caller ID displays.

I
hit ignore and cover my head with a pillow. Within a yawns time the phone rings
again. I fling the pillow off me. Again it’s unknown. Annoyed, I hit
speakerphone and answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hello
Kimber, It’s Wyler Reed.”

I
sit up and grab the phone. How horrible is it that I completely forgot about
him?

“Hey,
how’s the leg?” I ask recalling how gruesome it had looked with a stingray’s
barb sticking out from it.  

“Intact.”
He says with the sound of a smile in his voice. “When I woke up this morning I
found your number on my hand. I was really out of it yesterday. I don’t take
too well to pain pills.” 

“You
weren’t too bad. It’s good your feeling better.”

“Yeah.
Thing is my leg is out of commission and I can’t drive my Jeep. So I thought, since
I’ll have to eat sometime today maybe I could do it with you. My treat.”

I
pull the phone away from me and look at the time. Eleven forty. I mentally note
to start going to bed and waking up at an adult hour.

 “Ok.
Give me a half hour.” I say then hang up.

Wishing
I had asked for an hour, I shower, moisturize, pull on a summery spaghetti
flora romper, slide my feet into white sandals and braid my hair to the side.

I
briefly wonder how good of an idea this was but quickly rationalize that if
Wyler Reed where trouble…well, with my track record it be too late by the time
I found out. But what am I going to do, never make a new friend again? 

I
have a moment of OCD as I, again, triple check every lock to make sure it’s
secure.

I
arrive outside Wyler’s apartment surprised to see him standing out front
crutches and all. I pop the trunk and get out to stand beside my car. Curiosity
fades into a wide grin as he crutches his way over to me.

“What?”
I ask, trying to hold back a smile.

I
know what he is thinking. My lack of high horse rich bitchiness always
surprised people once they discovered what I drive or where I lived. Wyler was
currently experiencing this.

“Nothing.”
He says smiling so bright it illuminates his almond eyes. He laughs to himself
as he ducks down into the car.

“Where
to?” I stretch the seatbelt across my chest and click it into its holster.

“I
know this place on fourth Street where we can sit outside.”

“Great.”
I put my car in drive, check for oncoming cars and pull out onto Central
Avenue.

As
I drive, Wyler talks about some crazy dream he had and how he thought, at least
twice, he went to the fridge for water but never really left the couch. He
tells me how he took painkillers before for an old hockey injury. He hated them
back then as much as he does now. He tells me that he was born in Florida but
moved to Ann Arbor Michigan at age five. He spent four years at the University
of Michigan before moving back home to Florida after graduation. I spin the
math in my head, making him twenty-two or twenty-three depending on his
birthday. Currently he had taken up an internship and enrolled at Eckerd
College for his master’s degree in biomedical science. It sounds like something
only ridiculously smart people could do.

The
restaurant resembles a neon themed tropical paradise. Decorative fake palm
trees double as outside water misters.

We
seat ourselves outside at a neon orange picnic table with a large yellow
umbrella. Mile markers, totem poles and a couple of fake parrots decorate
outside and around the bar. In the background, Bob Marley confesses to the
shooting of the sheriff but not the deputy.

The
menu is mostly sandwiches and salads with tropical names like Jamaican me blue
burger, fried Polly chicken sandwich, and crackin’ coconut salad. I love it! I
especially like how Libby refers to herself as our waitress and not a server. I
never liked that term. It seems so demeaning, like for the next forty-five
minutes she’s our slave, running to and from the kitchen obeying our command.
Please.

I
ask for a blackened chicken caesar wrap and Wyler orders the Polly chicken
sandwich.

“Ten
more of these and I’ll have broken ground on repaying you.”

I
fiddle with my braid, smile and politely decline. I know I vowed to stop being
the martyr of good deeds since they go unnoticed, but sitting across from
Wyler, I’m glad I was finally in the right place at the right time.

“I’m
just glad you called. You were really out of it when I left yesterday.”

He
grits his teeth and laughs. “Probably made a real ass out of myself.” Though
it’s not a question, I can tell he’s curious if I feel the same.

I
prop my elbow up on the table and lean my head against my hand. “No, not an
ass.” I tease.

“As
long as I didn’t cross a line, or get you in any trouble with your boyfriend.”
His right brow arches.

Inside
a part of me silently groans, my throat tightens and under my jaw itches. It
might not be a bad thing for my body to start physically rejecting
relationships. It’s not that I don’t find Wyler appealing. In fact he’s got
this sexy man thing going on, with his short curly hair, mysterious almond eyes
and what I’d assume is a ridiculously high IQ. But the most appealing thing
about Wyler is that he’s nothing like Leo.

I
race for a way to sidestep his question but Libby comes to my rescue as she
delivers our food.

            Since I am
less inclined to talk about myself Wyler leads our conversation. I learn that
not only is he ridiculously smart but he’s also hilarious. My abs feel like
I’ve done a gazillion crunches by the end of lunch.

            He challenges
me to a game of miniature golf, which I love because I can’t play the real
game. I take him up on the challenge and talk some smack on how I’ll wipe the
course with him. He’s a good sport about it and dishes it right back to me. But
the best part is how he uses his crutch instead of a club and still kills the
course. 

“You
have the box set of Harry Potter?” I joke as I scan through his stack of
movies.

I
hesitated when he asked me over but since I was having such a great time I
decided it was ok.

Wyler
stands in the kitchen swallowing Ibuprofen instead of painkillers. “Well, now
you know my nerdie secret.” He smiles and tosses me a bottle of water.

“Liking
Harry Potter doesn’t make you a nerd.” I taunt.

“Alright,
if you think you can do better, let’s see whatcha got?”

I
step over to the couch, fold one leg under me and sit facing him. “I used to
wear braces.”

“Braces?
That’s what you’re offering up?” He throws back his head and gives a hardy,
Ha
!

“Because
I sucked my thumb.” I stick my chest out, saying it all proud like.

He
looks derisively at me. “How long we talking?”

“Long
enough for a few teeth to grow in crooked. My mom tried all those extracts and
nail polish things, but they didn’t work. I didn’t have to wear them for long
but I have a permanent retainer because of it.” I lean forward, open my mouth
and show him the retainer behind my bottom row of teeth. “You can’t be a nerd
without a retainer.” I smirk

“Lifetime
of nerdness, hard to beat.” He mocks. “Explains why you’re single.” He takes a drink
of water. “You evaded my question at lunch. Psych one-o-one.”

“You
profiling me now?”

“You
didn’t talk about yourself once at lunch. You’re either not a girl, or just
guarded. I’m putting my money on the latter.” He says it so casually, without
judgment or eagerness to fix me. But even his relaxed tone can’t suppress the
pressure inside me.

Everything
involving Leo, including the real reason for my mother’s death, has to stay
locked behind my teeth. I rub my forehead and shrug my shoulders.

“Look,
I don’t believe in chance, it’s against science,” I laugh at the irony, “but I
have an opening for a friend. There’s an application around here somewhere.” He
smiles and flicks my kneecap with his fingers.

“Ok,
but I expect holiday pay.”

THE
NEXT FEW days fall into the next couple of weeks. I introduce my new friend
Wyler to my old friends at Tiffany’s birthday party. I thought the guys might
be harsh but they seemed to adopt Wyler into their little gang.

“Leo’s
grandfather died. He’s in New Zealand.” Mike D. says informing me of the cover
story either he or Leo made up. It’s a sorry excuse and one that I will not
use. I mean really. Could they not come up with nothing better than faking the
death of someone who is very much alive?

Karma
anyone?

Days
after her birthday, Tiffany, Amber and I exhaust every waking moment with last
minute wedding details. Since the wedding will be a small and intimate affair
Tiffany decided to make the aisle decorations and table centerpieces.

Amber
and Mike plan and execute a perfect unisex bachelor party.

The
wedding ceremony begins with organized chaos and ends with elegant beauty.
There isn’t a dry eye as Tiff and Tommy read the vows they wrote to one other.
And I’ll never forget the way Tiff glowed as she was announced for the first
time as Mr. and Mrs. Tommy Graham.

Having
lost our previous miniature golf bet, Wyler, dressed to the nines in a dark
gray suit and shiny metallic blue tie, accompanies me to the dance floor. He
dances like a white scientist, swaying back and forth, snapping off beat. I
shoo him off the dance floor, ending his misery.

The
more time I spend with Wyler the more ambitious I become. “You can’t achieve
something without risking something”, is what he always says.

Day
by day I find myself seeking positive change. So much so that I do what I
promised my mother I would. I enroll at Saint Pete College. Wyler helps with my
admission papers and since I haven’t a clue what I want to be he suggests
something most freshmen start off on, business management. I highly doubt Wyler
sat through business management his freshmen year.

On
our official nerd night,
a.k.a
Tuesday, I grab the popcorn as Wyler
starts the third season of The Big Bang Theory. It boggles my mind how
sometimes he gets the quantum and nuclear physics jokes and I just laugh
because it sounds funny.

I
like how smart he is and that no one can see it. People always turn strengths
into weaknesses. On the outside, he looks like he could be anything from a club
promoter to someone pinched behind a desk in a drab office drowning at the
water cooler. He always has a little stubble on his face, wears a University of
Michigan hat almost all the time and hits a hockey puck around his living room
floor when brainstorming. He’s just…mellow.

“Hey,
have you ever watched Labyrinth?” I plop down on the couch and place the bowl
of popcorn between us.

“With
David Bowie?” He shoves a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

“Yeah.
It’s like, a classic. I used to love it when I was little.” I pop a piece of
buttery goodness into my mouth.

My
cell phone rings.

“The
Last Boy Scout, that’s a classic.”

“You
mean like, Boy Scouts of America?”

 I
reach my left hand over the arm of the couch, blindly fumbling around inside my
purse.

He
laughs at my ignorance. “It’s one of the most quotable movies of all time.”

“Why
is it guys remember quotes? You forget just about everything else, except a
great one liner.”

I
find my phone as my missed call becomes a new voicemail. I don’t recognize the
out of state area code. Normally I never listen to voicemails, hence the reason
no one leaves me any. This one however has been marked urgent.

“We
have the superior hippocampus ‘cause you guys have, boobs.”

 “Yeah,
I’ve never seen a camp for hippos’ so I’m going to assume you’re answer is
really just based on boobs.” I smile and take pleasure in teasing him with my
genius word play.

He
clears his throat, to probably keep from laughing, and nods his head in an
official manner. “Your hypothesis is without fail.” 

“Such
a shame, and here I am thinking you’re immune to the sensuous pleasures in
life.”

I
shrug my shoulders and give him a dumbfounded look before breaking into a
smile. If I’ve learned anything from being around guys it’s that nothing, ever,
trumps boobs. Arguing anything other is a moot point.