Sometime Soon (29 page)

Wes grins at me, enjoying his
guessing game. “Was it his forgetfulness then? Like I said, if his head wasn’t
attached, he’d forget it half the time. It’s like he’s always in the clouds or
something. He gets all wrapped up in a technical problem and he can’t focus on
anything else until he’s got it figured out. He’s always forgetting the
simplest stuff.”

Wes doesn’t notice, but I’m now
hanging on his every word.

“His company got him an assistant
to help keep his schedule straight, but I think Ryan put her to work doing
something else.”

“So, he’s really forgetful?”

Wes nods.
“He might forget plans, or be in New York but by mistake say he was in
Chicago?”

He nods again slowly. “Is that what
happened?”

I concentrate on my coffee cup. “I
was asking hypothetically.”

His spoon clanks onto the table.
“That’s it. Isn’t it? I knew Ryan screwed it up. You figured he was playing you
or something, right?”

I glance up at him. “I’m not really
comfortable discussing this with you, Wes.”

He looks me in the eye and says,
“My brother is a total space cadet, but he’s not a liar or a player. I can
promise you that. He actually has a real bug up his butt when it comes to
lying. That’s one thing you never have to worry about with him.”

 “Why is that?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “That’s his
story to tell, not mine.”

His intense expression reminds me
of his brother. Then our food arrives, breaking the spell.

“Geez.” Wes breathes, eyes wide,
the strawberry covered mountain of waffles steaming in front of him.

My own plate is similar, except
covered in cinnamon apple slices that dribble over the sides. A plate with a
dozen or so greasy slices of bacon is set down beside it.

“Do you usually eat all this?” Wes
asks. “Why aren’t you as big as a house?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No. I do
not usually eat all this. But we could make a little wager on it.”

He glances at me over his pile of
fruit. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if I finish mine first, you
have to tell me the truth about what you’re doing here.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “What do
you mean tell you the truth?”

“I think there’s more to this than your
coming up here to visit Ryan and him forgetting about it. No matter how
forgetful you say he is.”

He takes the measure of both me and
my waffle as he thinks it over. Finally, he comes to a decision. “I’ll take
that bet. But, if you don’t finish first, you have to drop it.”

I watch him carefully. “If you
promise you’re telling the truth, then I’ll assume that you take after your
brother, and I’ll believe you.”

“All right,” he answers, squirming
a bit in his seat. “If I finish first, I have something I want you to do.”

“What?” I ask warily.

“You have to give my brother
another chance.”

I open my mouth to respond. Then
close it again.
“No bet?” he prods.

I sigh. “It may not be within my
control. What if your brother doesn’t want another chance with me?”

Wes smiles slyly. “You still like
him, don’t you?”

I think of him kissing me in my
kitchen and I feel my cheeks redden. I’m blushing in front of a
fourteen-year-old. This is beyond embarrassing. “This is a silly bet,” I
answer.

“I won’t take your bet if you won’t
take mine.”

I swallow hard. I doubt Ryan wants
me to give him another chance. I haven’t heard a peep from him since our last
date. “Okay, fine. But it’s out of my control if your brother wants nothing to
do with me.”

“It’s a bet then?”

“It’s a bet,” I say, eyeing my
heaping plate of waffle and fruit speculatively. I generally have a hard time
eating half of a waffle plate like this. What am I thinking?

And so it begins. Wes eats quickly,
forking in mouthfuls. I get nervous watching him and warn him to slow down. “It
doesn’t count if you barf it all up again,” I tell him. His pace relaxes a
little after that. I eat more slowly, figuring this is more of marathon than a
sprint.

We eye each other as we chew and
swallow. “What about the bacon?” Wes asks, pointing his fork at it after he
swallows a huge bite of waffle.

“You can have it if you’re still
hungry when I beat you,” I taunt him.

“Big talk,” he replies, a glint in
his eye.

My own bravado is quickly drowning
in apple topping.

Sometime later, both Wes and I are
struggling. I never want another waffle as long as I live. My stomach feels
stretched beyond capacity, and Wes is easily gaining on me. He has maybe a half
dozen strawberry soaked pieces left, but he’s moving more slowly now, obviously
forcing it down.

When the waitress walks by, eyeing
us curiously, Wes asks for a glass of water. “Me, too,” I choke out, swallowing
another bit.

“You gonna give up?” Wes
challenges.

I shake my head. My mouth is too
dry to properly form words.

“Me neither,” he says, shoveling
another forkful in. Then after gulping down his water, Wes only has one more
bite to go. He makes a production of it, displaying his fork to me with a
flourish, spinning it like a wand in the air, before bringing that last bite
home, chewing and swallowing. With an air of finality, he lays his fork down on
his empty plate and dons a satisfied smile. I immediately drop my fork and sit
back.

“You’re not looking too good,” Wes
states, suppressing a chuckle.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t know. You look a little
green to me.”

“Bacon?” I offer sweetly, nudging
the plate toward him.

A pained expression crosses his
face before he quickly recovers, shakes his head, and looks away. I’m guessing
he’s one bacon slice short of barfing.

“I won,” he gloats.

“Shhh, I’m concentrating on
breathing and not throwing up,” I reply curtly.

Wes chuckles.

The waitress notices that we’ve
stopped eating. “Can I get you anything else?”

We both shake our heads vigorously,
and she strolls away.

“You and my brother,” Wes says,
raising his eyebrows at me.

“Even though I lost, how about you
tell truth?” I counter, slumping back further into the booth, crossing my arms
over my stomach.

“The truth, huh?” Wes imitates my
body language. Then he pushes his empty plate as far away from himself as he
possibly can. He looks at me and takes a deep breath. “The truth is: my parents
think I’m a mental case.”

“Isn’t that the definition of being
fourteen?” I ask.

He nearly answers with a grin, but
visibly stops himself. “They have reason to think so,” he adds seriously.

From my conversation with Ryan on
the beach, I have a feeling I know what Wes is going to tell me, but I remain
silent, watching him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I get a decent allowance,” he
begins. “I can buy anything I want with it. Well, within reason. But I don’t. I
steal it instead. Basically, because I can. I’m pretty good at it.” He watches
me for my reaction.

This is what I’d been expecting.
So, my reaction is minimal. “Are you good at anything else?”

He looks as though he wants more
outrage on my part. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you. I don’t think it
makes you a mental case though.”
He looks away. “Okay, maybe I do it to get attention.”

“Does it get you attention?”

He turns back to me, angry now.
“Hardly, they threatened to send me away to boarding school.”

“So you ran away?” I surmise.

“I didn’t run away. I ran
to
Ryan. Only Ryan isn’t anywhere to be found.”

“Your parents must be pretty
worried about you.”

“I doubt it. They probably haven’t
even noticed I’m gone.”

I see his defeated expression, and
I sit up straighter. My stomach does not appreciate the movement.

“If you’re going to barf, don’t do
it here okay? Try to make it to the bathroom.” He eyes me nervously.

When the waitress passes the next
time, I ask her for the check. Once she’s gone, I turn back to him. “You know
you have to call your parents and tell them where you are.”

He blinks at me. His mouth is a
tense, straight line. Then he turns away, saying nothing. When the check
arrives, my cell phone rings inside my bag. I grab it, and I’m relieved to
recognize the number.

“Is Wes still with you?” Ryan asks
after I say hello.

“Yes, he is.” My eyes meet Wes’s
and his widen, realizing I’m referring to him.

“Thank god. I just checked my phone
and heard these frantic messages from my dad and from Wes. I was completely
panicked until I listened to the last message from you.”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“I’m at a customer site in
Manhattan, but I’m going to get on the next plane back. Can you keep Wes for a while
longer?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Andrea. I’m really sorry
about this. I’d better call my dad and let him know. I don’t know what that kid
was thinking.”

“No need to apologize. We’re fine.”
It’s Ryan
I mouth to Wes.

“How did he know to call you?” Wes
whispers, before realizing that I must have called his brother and narrowing
his eyes at me. “Is he mad?” Wes next asks.

I shrug, unsure.

“I won’t be back until late,” Ryan
continues. “I might not be able to get to your place until after midnight or so
depending on the flights,” he says. His voice is apologetic again.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re just
going to go back to my house and try to digest our dinners.” I wink at Wes.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“Nothing. We’ll be fine. Really.
Don’t worry about the time.”

“Can I talk to Wes for a second?”

I hand my phone over to a reluctant
Wes. I can only hear his end of the conversation, but he seems to be explaining
how he ended up with me and why. I listen while he relates the boarding school
threat to Ryan. Then Ryan talks for a long stretch while Wes listens and nods.
Finally, Wes tells his brother good-bye, ends the call, and hands the phone
back to me. Wes looks marginally better now. He picks up his own phone and
examines it. “It’s dead. He tried to call me first.”

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He nods. “Ryan said I can stay with
him until everything gets straightened out. He’s going to talk to my dad about
it.”

“You’re lucky to have him.”

“I guess,” he shrugs.

When we get back to my place, we
tiredly sit on the couch and watch television. I let Wes control the remote.

“It’s all
Law and Order
all
the time,” he grumbles flipping past the ubiquitous television show that seems
to be on nearly every channel. “What’s with your cat?”

I look over and see Tiger perched
beside Wes on the couch armrest, staring at him. “You’re new. He’s curious.”
“Well, he’s freaking me out.”
“He might smell you, too.”

“No way,” Wes cries moving toward
me, away from the armrest.

After more channel surfing, Wes
finally lands on The Learning Channel and a show about renovating and reselling
houses.

When the doorbell rings sometime
later, I startle awake. Beside me, Wes is rubbing his eyes, indicating that he
has just woken up as well. The clock on the wall reads after one in the
morning.

“I think we just slept together,”
Wes comments with a lopsided grin.

Shaking my head at him, I stand and
try to smooth my hair and wrinkled shirt. The mirror I pass on the way to the
door illustrates that it was a wasted effort. I have dark circles under my
eyes, and despite my lame attempt at fixing it, my hair is a tousled mess.

Wes traipses behind me, peering
over my shoulder as I open the door. There he is, looking nearly as tired and
rumpled as I do. Only somehow, it looks good on him. He has on faded jeans that
ride low on his hips and a blue long sleeve T-shirt. His dark hair is waving in
all directions. When his eyes meet mine, I feel as though I’ve been punched in
the stomach.

“Hi,” he says wearily, running a
hand through his messy hair.

“Hi.” I smile and then step back to
reveal Wes.

“You okay?” Ryan asks him, stepping
through the doorway.

Wes nods. “Andrea tried to kill me
with waffles, and then we slept together.”

Not surprisingly, Ryan seems
confused and slightly dismayed.

I glare at Wes. “That’s what I get for
feeding you dinner, and then giving you control of the remote.”

Wes is wearing a huge smile,
seeming completely unconcerned about the worry he has caused his family
tonight.

“Get your stuff,” Ryan tells his
brother, in no mood for humor. Then he turns to me. “Thanks again. I’m really
sorry about this.”

“Please don’t apologize. I’m just
glad that he found me and that he’s okay.”

Once we’re alone, I’m very aware of
Ryan’s nearness as we stand together in the entryway waiting for Wes. Now is my
chance to say something, to apologize for suspecting him of lying. “Your dad
must have been relieved to hear from you,” I offer instead.

Ryan’s eyes are dark and weary when
looks down at me. “He was. Then he was mad as hell.”

“Well, Wes is a really good kid. I
hope everything gets sorted out.”

“Me, too.”

“How’s business?” I ask, still
working up to my apology.

“Busy.”

“That’s good, right?” I ask
hopefully.

“Right.” He smiles, but it seems
forced.

I’m beginning to wonder what’s
taking Wes so long. Then he appears in the hallway. “Can I use your bathroom?”
he asks.

“Of course.”

He shoots me a meaningful look
before disappearing.

It’s obvious that Ryan is no way
interested in me or in anything I have to say, but I can still apologize to
him, and it’s now or never. “Um Ryan,” I begin, fumbling for the words, my
stomach doing flip-flops. Why is this so hard? Because he’s being completely
monosyllabic and standoffish. I take a deep breath.