13
Don’t Get Bent
Walking into Brass Tapps, my favourite eatery and sports bar, I’m still fuming from my earlier altercation/meeting/conversation or whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it I’d had with McCoy in my classroom. I was pissed not only at him, but at Keaton, too. How could he not tell me that McCoy Graves was back in town? Better yet, how could he keep the fact from me that McCoy was not only in town visiting, but would be living here—permanently, as it turns out? What’s more, how could my own flesh and blood not tell me the guy was also going to be my new boss?
“I’ll get mine. Ha, you’re about to get yours, buddy,” I mutter, before nodding at Cassie, the owner, who’s behind the bar drying glasses.
“He’s already here, East. Go on back, hon.”
“Thanks,” I smile, despite my inner tirade against my so-called brother.
What happened to loyalty? And, better yet, whose side was the asshole on?
“Asshole,” I let slip out loud, spotting Keaton sitting at our usual table, where we meet with a group of our mutual friends on Wednesday nights for dinner, a few drinks, and—more importantly—our game of trivia. Keaton and I have always been competitive and nothing says competition like two hours of PubStumpers trivia, where we can test our knowledge against each other and other teams with a variety of questions, music clips, and images. It’s a lot of fun and it really helps break up the workweek. But tonight, before I relax and have a good time, I need to get a few things off my chest.
“East, you’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?” Keaton questions, as I approach and drop my purse over the back of the chair across from of him. “And where’s Kami?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him, ignoring his questions. His green eyes, so much like mine, widen, and that’s when it hits home.
“You’re pissed, eh?” he says.
“You think, genius?” I say, taking my seat. “Now, why didn’t you tell me?”
“He asked me to keep it secret. So I did. No big deal,” he shrugs, when it’s a completely big deal. My brother, the idiot, folks.
“It’s actually a huge flipping deal. To me.”
“Easy, killer. It’s not that big a deal. You’re just being over the top. You sure you don’t teach drama?”
“Har har. Keaton, the comedian.” I stand back up and clap, drawing the attention of a few tables around us.
“All right, calm down, East. McCoy asked me not to tell you, said he wanted to surprise you.”
“Surprise me? The asshole not only surprised me, he caused me to look like I’ve turned into the batshit-crazy one in the family. You should have seen me today. I not only stumbled over my own feet in utter disbelief when I saw him, I literally invented the new language of Mumble, for Chrissakes. I’m positive my colleagues are wondering what my drug of choice is, and if I’m selling.” I run my hands over my face.
“See? Drah—ma,” he coos, and I stick out my tongue.
“Wine. I need wine. Where’s the server” I look around the busy restaurant for Sandy, who usually serves us on trivia nights.
“So, it went well, then? Surprised?” Keaton asks, chuckling, clearly proud of himself.
“Just you wait until I tell Mom about this shit you pulled,” I snark, and I know that will scare him. I’ve always been my mom’s baby. She’ll take my side, and Keat knows it.
“Nah, twenty bucks says she bakes McCoy a cake,” he barks with laughter, and I feel my face go pale, because he’s right. She would totally bake him a cake.
“Forget it, I’m not telling Mom shit.” I shake my head and it causes him to laugh even louder.
“Told ya you’d get yours. Ta-dah!” he says, giving me fucking jazz hands.
“Oh, shut up. This is all your fault, and I hate you. Where’s Sandy?” I ask.
Keaton says nothing, continuing to look amused.
“You’re an asshole! No wonder you and Coy are so tight.”
“Why are you getting so bent? It’s just Coy. Why do you even care so much about him being home?” He eyes me pointedly. “How bad could it be having him around again? I’m glad he’s back. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya, all right?”
“It’s fine. I’m over it,” I lie, but I want to move on. I’d said what I needed to say, and I hope going forward that my brother will think twice before keeping things from me.
“So, now that we’ve made up, where’s Kam?” he asks.
“I told her trivia was cancelled. Said you’d texted, that you had to go to the after-hours clinic, told her you thought you had crabs.” I smile sweetly.
“The fuck you did.” He eyes me skeptically.
“Why are you getting so bent? It’s just crabs, Keat,” I say, imitating his voice, and now I’m the one who’s barking out a laugh as Sandy plunks a very large glass of red wine in front of me—like she’s read my mind, bless her—and Kami and the others reach our table.
Thankfully, the rest of the night is exactly what I need to forget about what’s in store for me where McCoy is concerned. As I sit in bed later that night feeling relaxed and hopeful, I’m flipping through the newest edition of Cosmo when I stumble on an article called “I Can’t Believe I Fell for Him.”
After reading the article and laughing out loud on more than a few occasions, I close it, and sit thinking about McCoy. I soon realize that my anger isn’t really all that valid. In no way shape or form had he always been the jerk I’ve portrayed him to be. In fact, so many times his actual actions have annihilated that image, proving that he never should have been placed in the jerk category. And let’s be clear: as if I’d really let myself fall for the guy the way I had if he were indeed the asshole I make him out to be. I’m smarter than that.
“Huh,” I mutter, as the light bulb goes off. Maybe I’m the asshole here?
Maybe it’s time to drop my defences and let whatever is going to happen happen. I just hope I won’t be left standing brokenhearted at the foot of anyone’s driveway this time around.
June 22, 2005
Dear May,
I know I bitch about McCoy a lot. Okay, basically everyday, but I’ll be honest with you. He really isn’t the jerk I make him out to be. To be fair, I’ve mostly been sharing the bad. He really can be a good guy. Like today…God, May, today he made me melt.
It was the year-end dance and most of the students in the junior and senior classes were in the gym. “Yellow” by Coldplay was playing, and all of my friends were already dancing with boys. I was the only one not slow dancing out of my group, because I’d come late after helping Mrs. Chow. We’d had to organize and box up all the cans and other food donations collected from our summer food drive because Ms. Francis was going to deliver them right away. Sooo, walking in, I was a little upset that I’d have to stand off to the side, looking like “that girl”, the one no one wanted to dance with. I was thinking maybe I should have just gone to watch the movie in the library or to the computer labs instead.
I made my way to sit on the bleachers, hoping no one would really notice me. But he did, May. Just as I’d taken a seat, ready to find McCoy (because my heart always sought him out like a strange kind of torture, I needed to see him surrounded by his flock, as if to remind me of what I could never have).
And guess what happened?? OH MY GOD!! NOT even KIDDING!
He appeared right in front of me. Smiling, he said, “I’ve been waiting for you, East.” And I swear he sounded a little nervous, but I’m sure that’s just my wishful thinking.
Of course, when he said that my brain chose that exact moment to short-circuit, and I suddenly developed a stutter as I tried to get the words out.
“Y—yo—you have?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, a sound that made my knees go weak the more I heard it.
“Wha—what? Why?”
“Wanted a dance with you,” he said, his smile less confident than normal. My stomach dipped with the knowledge that maybe I affected him, too, on some level.
“Y—you do?” I had finally got out.
“Why wouldn’t I, East?” he asked, and, May, his forehead wrinkled in confusion and it was so cute!
“I dunno,” I told him. My brain malfunctioned again when I placed my hand in his as he helped me up and led me out onto the dance floor, and I couldn’t say another word. But I really didn’t need to.
It was incredible and we danced TWO whole songs, “Yellow” and another one I can’t even think of right now! I felt like the belle of some crazy ball.
Well, until Stacy Cane came along and snatched McCoy’s attention away as soon as the second song ended, reminding me that the likelihood of this being anything more than a favour for his best friend was a long shot.
You know what, though? I don’t even care. In my mind, it meant something, and only confirms how much I like him.
Of course, Kami made a huge deal about the whole thing and we basically planned my wedding on the phone for over an hour.
Good night, my friend, and I vow to share more of the good stuff from now on. The last thing I want is for you to think he’s as big a jerk as I make him out to be.
TTFN,
East. XO