“No, I’m good,” Bradley said.
If I took down my hair or put on lipstick now, everyone would notice. Worse, it would look like I was making an effort for Bradley. Besides, I couldn’t take the time to change. I had to get out of here, fast, before Bradley and Alex started talking. They’d already gotten to know each other plenty well enough.
“Ready to go?” I asked, just as Alex said, “Hey, Bradley, how about some Chinese?”
Suddenly, she was filling a plate with egg rolls and garlic chicken and Mom was fetching him a glass of water and Bradley was sitting down at the table.
“You won’t believe how great Bradley’s photos are,” Alex said, sitting down next to him. Why not just climb in his lap? I thought bitterly. No, no, not bitterly.
Bitterly
conjures up images of a pursed-lip maiden aunt.
Sassily
, that was the word I was striving for.
“I’ll drop off some copies for you next week,” Bradley told my parents. “Alex finished picking out the ones she liked best last night.”
I felt like I was in a boat that had become unmoored and was
drifting out to sea. I had to regain control. I quickly pulled over a chair and sat on the other side of Bradley.
“Remember that picture you took for the school yearbook?” I asked him. “The one where you climbed up into the rafters to get shots of the school play?”
I’d helped Bradley develop those photos; I wanted him to think about us spending those hours together in the darkroom.
“That was when I knew I wanted to be a photographer,” Bradley told me, smiling.
“More rice?” Alex asked him, and he turned to look at her.
“More water?” I asked him, and his head jerked back.
“I’m good,” he said, looking a little startled. And possibly whiplashed.
“So Bradley, tell me what else you’re up to these days,” Mom said. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s doing great,” Bradley said. “Still working at the law firm, but he cut down his hours a few years ago.”
“And what else is going on with you?” Mom asked. “Are you dating anyone?”
Oh, Christ. Why? Why? Mom even gave me a little wink. Once again, the bar for the worst imaginable thing was raised. It was like playing limbo in reverse.
“Not right now,” Bradley said. “Actually, my girlfriend and I broke up a few months ago.”
“Which movie do you want to see?” I asked. Not the best segue ever, but Mom had to be stopped at all costs.
“Oh, are you guys going to the movies?” Alex asked, and I realized I’d walked into a trap. But I had no one to blame; I’d laid it for myself.
“Yeah, the new one with Orlando Bloom,” Bradley said. “Want to join us?”
Of course Bradley would say that. He was a nice guy; what
else could he say when Alex left her question hanging there and stared at us with puppy-dog eyes?
“Love to,” Alex said. “Sure you guys don’t mind?”
She looked directly at me, and I choked out, “Of course not.”
What else could I do? Leap across the table and throttle her? Yank her hair? Kick her in the shins? Put Nair in her shampoo bottle? Make her—
“What time do we need to go?” Alex asked, rudely interrupting my thoughts just as they were getting creative.
Bradley looked at his watch. “We should probably head out,” he said. “Parking is always a pain in Bethesda.”
“Should we drive separately?” I suggested helpfully. Strategic planning has always been my forte. “I mean so you won’t have to come back here afterward to pick up your car, Alex.”
“No, I’ll just squeeze in with you guys,” Alex said cheerfully.
I dashed upstairs, ripped off my suit but left on my silk shirt, and threw on some tan pants and flat shoes. I forced myself not to think of my new, pretty outfit in the trunk of my car. I made it downstairs just in time for the tail end of Bradley’s tussle with Mom over whether he could put his dishes in the sink. Then Alex and I headed out for my dream date with Bradley.
“Don’t keep my daughters out too late!” Dad yelled after us, chortling and slapping his knee.
Oh, Christ.
When you can’t give your full attention to Orlando Bloom’s bare buttocks, you know there’s a problem. I sat in my seat, fuming. Bad enough that Alex was tagging along tonight. Bad enough that the guy at the concession stand had flirted outrageously with her and even given her free popcorn while he mixed up my order—and the only thing I’d ordered was a bottle of water.
But now, despite the fact that I’d planned our seating arrangement with more zeal than any Bridezilla, everything had gone wrong.
I’d run plays through my head like a football coach as we bought our tickets. If Bradley walked down the theater aisle first, followed by me and then Alex, then he’d naturally take the innermost seat in the row. I’d sit next to him, and Alex would be on the outside. Perfect. So all I had to do was get Bradley to go down the aisle first.
But what if Bradley went first, then stood aside to let me and Alex file into the row of seats first? Then Alex would be in the middle, and I’d be forced to kill her if she gripped his arm during the scary parts. Especially since we were seeing a romantic comedy.
“Bradley? Want butter?” Alex asked, accepting the free jumbo tub of popcorn from the concession guy. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the little plastic packets of honey I’d pilfered from a coffeehouse. Bradley’s eyes met mine, and we both smiled.
“No thanks,” Bradley said, and the tightness in my chest eased the slightest bit.
Luck seemed to be with me for once when we went into the theater. The place was packed, but we found seats in the very last row, and I ended up between Alex and Bradley with no scuffling necessary. Perfect. Well, as perfect as things could be, considering I was out on a date with a guy who didn’t know it was a date and my sister was leaning over me to grab a handful of the popcorn from the bucket he was gripping between his manly thighs.
Should I let my knee accidentally brush against Bradley’s when the movie started, or would that be too obvious? Maybe I should whisper something to him during the credits instead. I felt around in my purse for a breath mint.
Was this how Bradley had felt all those years ago, wanting desperately to touch me but not knowing how I’d respond? I felt a pang of sympathy for that skinny, sensitive, teenage Bradley. I wished so much I’d returned his feelings back then. But then again, how many high school romances survive into adulthood? It was better this way, better that I was discovering Bradley later in life, when our relationship would have a real chance.
I sat back in my seat and tried to think of something funny to whisper to Bradley. Maybe I could casually put my hand on his arm when I leaned over, too. Just to emphasize my point.
A preview for a movie about a mass murderer came on. Probably best if I didn’t crack a joke about it; not everyone saw the slapstick humor in cannibalism. The next preview rolled. Ah, here we go: This one was about a wedding where everything went wrong. Excellent. I was testing out punch lines in my head when the door to the theater opened and two women came in. One had a broken leg and was using crutches. They waited in the aisle next to Alex’s seat, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the change in the light.
“Here, do you want my seat? Then you’ll have two together,” Alex offered, gesturing to the empty aisle seat next to her. “I can move over.”
“That’s so kind of you,” the younger woman said.
“No problem,” Alex said, flashing them a smile. She hopped up and slipped past me, into the empty seat on the other side of Bradley.
And just like that, my night was officially ruined. But little did I know the bar was about to be lowered again.
“I’m never eating popcorn with butter again,” Alex said as we exited the theater. “The honey’s worth the sticky fingers.”
She sucked her index finger, and a guy walking toward us nearly smashed into a tree.
“Need a wet wipe?” I asked sweetly, handing her one.
She looked at me, then threw back her head and laughed. “Always prepared, aren’t you? Hey, do you guys want to grab a drink? There’s a place right across the street.”
“I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” I said quickly. I wanted nothing more than to go home, to try to forget the memory of Alex leaning over to whisper to Bradley during the movie. To erase the sounds of their low laughter.
During one part of the movie, when Orlando was reading a letter from his ex-girlfriend, Alex had even put her hand on Bradley’s knee. “What does it say?” she’d whispered, like she couldn’t read the giant letters on the screen. I’d barely held back a snort.
“C’mon, Lindsey,” Alex said now. “Live a little.”
“Just one drink?” Bradley suggested. “We’ll make it a quick one.”
“Sure,” I finally agreed. What else could I say?
The bar was full; a DJ even held court in a corner, and a few people had ventured onto the dance floor. We stood near a booth where a couple was sitting with an empty beer pitcher in front of them, pouncing when they left a few minutes later. Bradley and I slipped into one side, and Alex sat across from us. I took a bit of comfort in the fact that he’d chosen to sit next to me. But just a bit. After all, he was looking across at Alex.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Alex said. “Sam Adams all around?”
“Sure,” Bradley said, handing her a twenty. “But it’s on me.”
“I’ll just have water,” I said.
“Three Sam Adams coming up,” Alex said, heading for the bar.
I rolled my eyes at her, then twisted around so I could look at Bradley. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He looked casual and relaxed and—and
great
.
“So,” I said.
“So,” he said, smiling.
I tried to quash my nervousness; this was
Bradley
.
“What were you working on today?” I asked. Bradley’s passion for photography was contagious; he was one of the few people I knew who adored his job.
“A portrait of this artist who lives in Takoma Park,” Bradley said. “He’s an amazing guy. Paralyzed in a car accident ten years ago. He paints by holding the brush between his teeth.”
“That’s incredible,” I said.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it when I walked in his house,” Bradley said. “The entire place is filled with paintings. They’re stacked three deep against the walls. He told me painting saved his life. The funny thing is, he’d never picked up a brush before his accident.”
“How’d you shoot him?” I asked.
“It was tough. I wanted to emphasize his work, not his wheelchair, but it’s so big that it was hard to keep it out of the frame. I also wanted people to get a sense of what he feels like when he’s painting—his emotions. I finally stacked a few of his paintings in the background of the shot, then I centered him in front of a fresh canvas,” Bradley said. “He’s got the paintbrush gripped in his teeth, and he’s just putting on the first stroke of color.”
“So it’s like anything is possible,” I said. “His imagination can take him anywhere.”
“Exactly,” Bradley said, smiling at me.
Alex came back to the table, carrying the beers by their necks. She tossed the twenty back at Bradley.
“I wanted to treat,” he protested.
“They were free,” Alex said. “The bartender recognized me from my show.”
“Nice,” Bradley said. “Remind me to take you to bars and buy you drinks more often.”
I laughed merrily. Like hell.
“So where’s Gary tonight?” Bradley asked.
Excellent
question, I silently commended him. Let’s continue with that train of thought.
“In L.A.,” Alex said. “His company’s developing an apartment building out there.”
“Does he travel a lot?” Bradley asked.
“Mmm, a few nights a week,” Alex said. “Usually L.A. or New York.”
“Do you ever go with him?” Bradley asked.
“Sometimes. I did at first. But it got a little old,” Alex said, grinning. “You’ve raided one minibar . . .”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two guys talking and sneaking looks at Alex. Maybe one of them would come over and ask her to dance. Maybe one of them would happen to spill a sticky drink all over Alex, and she’d have to run home to shower. And if the drink just happened to be radioactive . . . I tuned Alex out as she prattled on. I wanted another five minutes of this fantasy, my consolation prize for letting my sister take away Bradley. Well, technically not
take away
. It wasn’t like Bradley was forcibly yanked away from me as he belted out “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going” like Jennifer Hudson.
“. . . New York?” Bradley was asking.
“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t hear you over the music.”
“I was just saying, do you miss New York at all?”
Yes
, I thought suddenly, surprising myself. I missed my friend Matt. I missed my apartment. I missed the sense I had of waking up every morning and knowing exactly where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing. But . . . I didn’t miss my job. Not even a little bit.
“Sometimes,” I said honestly. I took a sip of beer and looked at Bradley. “But it’s good to be home, too.”