My Own Mr. Darcy (25 page)

“I didn’t think you’d be
up this early,” Janessa said in the kitchen a few minutes later. “You got home
so late.”

“The wallpaper was a
nightmare. It came off in pieces the size of confetti.”

“Ugh. That stinks. You
should have called me. I could have come and helped you after work last night.”

“Thanks, but I ended up
with some help the last few hours.”

“Really? I didn’t picture
Matt as a manual labor kind of guy.”

“It wasn’t Matt. It was
Chad.” I didn’t look at Janessa but I could feel her eyes on me. I pulled my bagel
out of the toaster and slathered strawberry cream cheese on it.

“That’s . . . interesting?”
Janessa was testing the waters.

I sat down at the table
with my bagel and orange juice. “It wasn’t a big deal. He stopped by to pick up
the mail and water his mom’s plants. He could see I was having a hard time and
he offered to help. That’s all.”

“That was really nice of
him.”

“He’s a good friend.” I
took a big bite of bagel. It appeared the conversation was over but Janessa
kept glancing at me. I’d known her long enough to see she wanted to say more. “Go
ahead Janessa. If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Who said I had something
to say?” she asked. “I was just noticing how pretty you look. Mascara and lip
gloss. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to look nice.” She
smiled mischievously.

“Knock it off,” I said but
it took some effort not to smile back.

Janessa finished her bowl
of Cheerios and noisily rinsed out the dish. She squeezed my shoulder as she
walked by. “Good luck over there today.” She stopped at the door. “Oh, by the
way, Ben and I are going out tonight so I won’t be home until late.”

“You might still beat me home.
We’re priming and painting both rooms today.” I cringed inside as soon as the
words were out. I should have said “I” not “we.”  Janessa raised one eyebrow
and I could tell she’d caught my mistake. I waited for her smart aleck reply
but it didn’t come. She just turned and headed for the door.

“Many people overlook
priming the walls and jump right to the paint. That is a mistake made by
amateurs.”

“Professional painters
know a primed wall grabs the paint and makes second and third coats less
likely.”

“A primed wall guarantees
your finished wall will be true to the color you selected.”

I repeated the words of
past professors to myself as I worked on the primer coat. It was a real
temptation to skip that step given the amount of wall space that needed
painted, but I wanted to be sure the colors were exactly what I wanted.

I’d finished in the dining
room and had started on the largest wall in the living room when a gust of wind
whipped the plastic as the front door opened.

“Sorry I’m late,” Chad
said stepping through the plastic into the living room. “Tell me what to do.”

I turned to give Chad some
instructions and stopped. This might have been a bad idea. Chad looked way too
good in his faded jeans, a navy long-sleeved t-shirt and some old tennis shoes.
The wind had left his hair a little messy and brought a ruddiness to his cheeks
that made his eyes look bluer than ever. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever
noticed his blue eyes. One corner of his mouth curved into a crooked smile and
I realized I was staring at him.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize
we’d set a time so how could you be late?”

“I was planning to come as
soon as swim practice ended but Carter asked if he could talk to me after
practice and we ended up talking for almost an hour.”

“Is Carter the one who’s
going to swim for the Ducks?” I asked.

“Good memory. Yeah. He’s
got some stuff going on at home—his parents are getting a divorce—and he just
needed someone to talk to.”

“I’m glad you didn’t rush
out on him. You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know. I want to. Put me
to work, oh brilliant designer.”

I laughed. “Don’t get
ahead of yourself. I haven’t earned that title yet.”

“It’s just a matter of time.
Hey, I brought my iPod dock if you’d like something other than the radio.”

“Sure, that sounds great.”

A few minutes later we
were both priming the walls while the best mix of music I’d ever heard played
in the background.

“Where did you find some
of this music?” I asked.

“Oh no. You don’t like
it?”

“I love it. I’ve just
never heard most of it before.”

“I don’t like most of the
stuff they play on the radio. When I find a group I like, I plug it into
Pandora and find the bands that compare to them. It’s given me a pretty good
variety. Let me know if you hate something and we’ll skip it.”

“No, I really like it.”

The afternoon zipped by in
a flash. By late afternoon, the dining room walls wore a soft, cozy blue that
made me want to sing. I held the Flow Blue plate up to the wall. The contrast
in blues was lovely.

We’d painted the wall
around the windows when Chad checked his watch. “Hey, do you like basketball?”
he asked.

“Sure.”

“Do you mind if we listen
to the Oregon State game?”

“Of course not. Chad, if
you want to watch the game, you should go watch it. I don’t mind.”

“Let’s just listen to it
and keep painting.” Chad tuned the radio on to the game and we continued to
paint.

“You’re a Beavers fan?” I
asked.

“That’s where I went.”

“Really? Me too.”

We soon established that
we’d only overlapped one year. What if we’d met in a history class or at the
library, I wondered. Would things have been different? Would I have been
willing to give Chad a chance if we’d become friends first? Or would I still
have held out for Matt?

Timing is sometimes a
joker because as these thoughts went through my mind, my cell phone vibrated in
my pocket. It was Matt. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Chad and walked through
the plastic sheeting into the kitchen.

“Hey Babe,” Matt said.

“Hi. Did you have a good
trip?”

“Sure. We got here around
noon. We’ve been working all afternoon.”

“Me too.”

“How’s the wallpaper
removal coming?”

“It’s finished. I’m
painting now.” This time I remembered to use the word “I,” but I noticed the
guilty feelings that descended on me. Was I guilty for not giving Chad credit
or guilty that Matt didn’t know Chad was helping me?

“We’re leaving for dinner
in a few minutes but I wanted to talk to you. I wish you were here.”

“Where are you eating?”

“I can’t remember the
name. Alan said it’s one of his favorite restaurants, so we’ll see what that
means. It probably means we’re going to a sports bar so he can watch half a
dozen sporting events and eat a greasy burger.” It didn’t sound like a place
Meg would like but I didn’t ask if she was joining them. With Chad in the other
room painting, it seemed hypocritical to pester him with questions about who
would be at dinner.

“I wish I was heading to
dinner with you. I’m starving,” I said.

“It must have been my
reference to a greasy burger that did it,” Matt said and we laughed. “What did
you have for lunch?”

“I just realized I didn’t
stop to eat lunch.” I sat on a stool at the counter.

“That’s not smart,
Elizabeth. I can understand your excitement about the job, but you need to take
breaks and eat.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll
order something when I get off the phone.”

“Sorry I’m missing your
Dad’s birthday.”

“Me too. They were looking
forward to meeting you.”

“We’ll arrange that after
I get back. Maybe we can all go to dinner.”

“Or you can come to
another Sunday dinner.”

“We’ll work that out later.
Oh, they’re here.” I guess Meg was with them after all. “I’d better head out.”

“Have a good dinner,” I
said.

“You too. Stop working and
eat right now.”

“I will. Thanks for
calling.”

“Meg, where’s Alan?” Matt
said into the phone.

“Waiting in the car,” I
heard Meg say.

“Gotta run, Elizabeth. Good
night.”

“Good night.”

The phone was dead almost
immediately. I sat at the counter, hungry and tired and bereft. What was wrong
with me? Part of me wanted to tell Matt that Chad was helping me, but why? Did
I want to provoke him? Was I looking for a chance to point out that Chad had
been willing to help me when Matt hadn’t? That was silly. It didn’t mean Matt
didn’t care. He was just busy with the new store and it was unfair of me to
begrudge him that. It was probably that I was bugged that Meg was there with
him and I wanted him to feel just as bothered as I felt. Or maybe it was
something else. Something I didn’t want to scrutinize too closely.

I couldn’t tell if I was
sad, angry, frustrated, or just hungry and tired. I laid my head down on my
arms.

“You okay?” Chad was
standing at the doorway. I had no idea how long he’d been there.

I sighed. “I’m fine.
What’s the score?”

“It’s halftime and
Washington is ahead by two.”

“Chad, I’m starving.” My
voice had an embarrassing quiver.

“Then let’s eat.”

“How about I order pizza
and root beer and we watch the second half of the game,” I said.

“Sounds good to me. Let’s
order from Longinetti’s and get some of their cinnamon bread sticks, too.”

It was just what I needed.
The second half of the game was close, with several ties and lead changes. The
food tasted even better than I’d thought it would. I felt like a new person
after eating and even though the game was a nail-biter, it was fun and I felt
relaxed.

“I’d better be careful,”
Chad said when he jumped out of his seat after a score and his paper plate with
two crust ends landed on the carpet. “Whew! We’re safe,” he said when he was
sure there was no pizza sauce on the carpet.

Washington held a two-point
lead with eleven seconds left and Chad was sitting on the edge of the couch. I sat
cross-legged in the corner of the couch, a pillow clutched in my lap. The
Oregon point guard brought the ball down and with six seconds took a short jump
shot that tied the game.”

“There’s too much time
left. We left them too much time,” I said.

“I know. Come on defense,”
he said speaking to the team as if they could hear him.

Washington took a time out
and when they came out their star dribbled for a few seconds and then drove to
the basket. The ball looked like it might go in, but then it bounced out.

“Overtime,” Chad said and
sank back into the couch.

“Better than a loss,” I
said.

“Except we don’t have time
for an overtime. Shall we listen to the overtime while we paint?”

“No, let’s just watch it
and then paint.” I smiled at Chad’s obvious relief.

The first two minutes of
the overtime looked grim. Washington came out with gusto and soon they had the
biggest lead of the game, eight points. But Oregon didn’t give up and during
the last two minutes, they whittled it back to another tie. Neither team scored
in the last thirty seconds and the overtime ended in another tie.

Chad looked at me and we
started laughing. Hours of painting waited beyond the plastic sheeting and here
we were, an empty pizza box on the coffee table, a bottle of root beer losing
its fizz on the counter and a game neither of us wanted to leave.

“I’ll hurry and clean up
dinner during the break and then we can get right to the painting when the
game’s over,” I said.

“I’ll help.” Moving
quickly, we threw away the garbage, put the root beer in the refrigerator and
wiped down the counter. We made it back to the television just as the second
overtime began.