Twitterpated (7 page)

Chapter 10

“
R
ING, STUPID PHONE, RING!”

I shifted my laptop so I could watch Sandy. She stood, hands on hips, glaring at her cell phone lying on the counter. Sandy pleading for a phone call instead of ducking one? This was new. She tapped a manicured nail on the counter next to the phone. French tip, of course.

“Does that work?” I asked.

“The phone?”

“No, yelling at it. I’ve never thought of that.”

She didn’t answer. Instead she came to fling herself onto the sofa next to me. “He hasn’t called,” she grumbled.

“Who?”

“The Brad Pitt look-alike from The Factory. It’s been a week, and nothing.”

“That’s a first. Maybe he lost your number,” I suggested.

“Fat chance. I typed it directly into his cell phone.”

“Maybe he lost his cell phone.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to call me.” Good old Sandy, the angry pragmatist.

“We should burn your cell phone to help you move past it,” I said.

She ignored me. “I don’t get it,” she said instead. “I thought we had a connection. I’m hot, he’s hot. What’s the problem?”

“Sitting around being hot for hours at a time might get old. Did you talk?”

“Yes, we talked.” She pouted for another minute. “That’s what’s bugging me. We talked all night. About sports and work and movies and music. No awkward pauses where I had to redirect his eyes above my chest. He was smart; I was funny; it flowed. So why wouldn’t he call?”

That did seem odd. I’d never known anyone to resist Sandy’s charm once she set her sights on him. She left a slew of broken hearts and busted egos in her wake, but she never intentionally acted cruel. I could tell from her face she had figured out that careless could sting too.

I tried to think of a way to comfort her. “There are a million good reasons he might not have called.”

“Name one,” she challenged me.

“He broke his dialing thumb.” That earned a reluctant smile. I tried another one. “You accidentally typed in the wrong number, and he’s been calling an insurance office day and night asking for you.” Another smile. “Or probably, he’s an idiot,” I concluded.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” she said.

“I’ll get the chocolate,” I replied.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” She listlessly waved me away from the kitchen.

“I know. I just want chocolate.” I headed into the kitchen but stopped short as a cell phone shrilled. Mine, not Sandy’s. I refrained from diving for it but barely. I fished it out of my purse, which hung from the back of a dining room chair. Yes! It was Ben.

I mean, cool. It was Ben.

“Hello?” I said. Totally cool.

“Hi, Jessie. You busy?” Ben asked.

“No. What’s going on?” I settled back onto the sofa, his voice sending a charge up my spine.

“So I know I said I would call to set up a date for tomorrow, but I changed my mind.”

“You’re calling to tell me you’re not going to call me?” I teased.

He laughed his warm, delicious laugh. “No, I mean I changed my mind about waiting until tomorrow to see you. I had a great time at lunch yesterday so I thought maybe we could do dinner tonight.”

I almost said yes. Almost. But instead I said, “I’m so sorry; I can’t go out tonight.”

Sandy waved her arms frantically, trying to get my attention. “Liar!” she mouthed. I gestured for her to knock it off.

“Oh.” Ben sighed. “I guess it’s bad manners to call a girl on a Friday night and assume she’s free, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that. Trust me. I’ve got nothing exciting going on. Just work.”

“You’re still there?” He sounded surprised.

“No, but I brought a bunch home with me. I hate making people put in overtime on the weekend, so I’m trying to get some stuff done on my own.”

“I see,” Ben said. He sounded subdued.

“But hey, does the offer stand for tomorrow?”

“Of course. I’m thinking midafternoon, before it gets dark. Sound okay?”

“Sounds great.” I gave him my address and confirmed the time. When I hung up, I turned around to find Sandy staring at me, her arms crossed in irritation.

“How is that fair?” she asked. “I beg the cell phone idols for a call, and nothing.”

“False idols?” I guessed. “I hear Motorola is pretty fickle.”

“Ha ha.” She changed the subject. “That was Ben.”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you turning him down?”

“I have a lot of work to do. I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with seeing him today
and
tomorrow?”

“I’ll work tonight, go out tomorrow. It’s called balance.”

“Working at six thirty from home on a Friday night is not balance!”

“Spending too much time with Ben isn’t balance either,” I answered.

“I’m going to drop this only because you’re going out tomorrow. But I know where to find your Häagen-Dazs.”

“It’s a small freezer. I’m not impressed.”

I turned back to my laptop, and Sandy retrieved her cell phone then tapped it against the countertop.

After a minute, I burst out, “Stop.”

“What? Oh,” she said, looking down at her bouncing cell phone. “I need something to take my mind off of this. I want to talk about your date. Where’s he taking you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“Why would I be? He’s pretty normal.”

“I mean, aren’t you worried about how to plan? If you don’t know where you’re going, you can’t figure out how to dress. That doesn’t concern you?”

I set my laptop aside. “It didn’t. It does now.”

“A movie matinee and mountain biking require totally different outfits. You should think about that.”

I leaned my head back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling forlornly. “Why didn’t I ask him? I’m an idiot.”

“It’s a good excuse to call him back now.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m obsessing about my outfits.”

“Even though you are?”

“Especially because I am.”

“Okay, we’ll figure it out. For an outdoor activity, he’d have to warn you so you could grab the proper gear, like hiking boots or running shoes, so I think you can rule that out.”

“Oh, good. That leaves the theater, a picnic, bowling, or a million other possibilities I don’t know how to dress for. Maybe I’ll wear about twelve layers and peel off all the ones that don’t fit the activity.”

“Good plan. But he might think you’re doing a weird striptease. Bad on any date, super bad on a Mormon date.”

“True. Which means I don’t have a plan again.”

“Hmm. Middle of the afternoon implies casual, so don’t worry about the theater or anything like that. Unless he takes you to a museum or something.” She blew a bit of hair out of her eyes. “This is hard. Didn’t he give you any kind of hint?”

“At lunch, he said something about a baseball game, but that’s about it.”

“There’s no baseball in January,” she protested.

“That’s what I said.”

“Still, it’s the only clue you’ve got. Come on. Let’s hit your closet. I’ve got an idea.”

Chapter 11

T
WO DIFFERENT JACKETS LAY ON
the bed, and two pairs of shoes sat by the front door. Watching Sandy stage everything the night before reminded me of what a diabolical genius she could be.

“It’s all in the delivery,” she explained.

“I thought that was babies and jokes,” I replied.

“And mystery dates without a dress code. You open the door, say hi, and figure out if he’s dressed for casual or nice.”

“He’s going to think I’m checking him out!”

“Won’t you be?”

“Yes, but I don’t want him to know.”

“Chicken,” she teased. “It’ll only take a glance anyway. He’ll never catch on. When you know which outfit you need, you tell him to hang on while you get your coat. You come grab the jacket from the bed. Then you slip on the right pair of shoes at the front door, and you’re out of here like that’s the outfit you planned to wear all along.”

“This is why you’re my hero,” I said.

“It’s not world peace, but at least you don’t have to stress anymore.”

I looked at the time. I had this cool original modular clock from the 1950s that my grandma gave me when she cleaned out her basement. I watched the second hand creeping around the face of it, each tick measuring off what felt like an hour. After a full minute of willing it to move faster, I gave up and headed for my mirror to check my reflection. Again. Ben wasn’t due for another ten minutes anyway.

Hair down and loose around my shoulders. Freckles hiding under a dusting of mineral powder. Subtle eye shadow. And, of course, lip gloss. Passable, I guess.

Sandy watched me study my reflection. “You look good.”

“Thanks.”

She had loaned me her Hudson jeans. When I saw how good they looked, I had to promise not to make fun of her for spending that much on denim in the future so she’d let me wear them. The dark wash complemented my gray sweater. It wasn’t expensive or anything, but the slim cut and merino wool made it easy to dress up or down. If it looked like a casual afternoon, I would grab Sandy’s trendy puffy vest that fit like a glove and throw on Converse on the way out. If Ben showed up dressed to prowl art galleries and debate foreign policy, I would grab my own black leather blazer and slip on some high heeled ankle boots instead.

Sandy stretched and yawned. “I’m worn out from your outfit intervention. I want to take a nap. When’s he getting here?”

“You’re not meeting him,” I protested.

“Why not? I deserve at least that much after being your personal date stylist.”

“I don’t want him to feel all ganged up on.”

“I’m sure Benny-boy can handle himself. I’ll be cool, I swear.”

I relented after delivering a threat. “You crack one joke, and I will kill you slowly.”

“I’ll be good.”

When the doorbell rang, I was fastening in some delicate silver drop earrings. My stomach lurched, and I took a deep breath to settle my nerves.
Get it together, girl.
Sandy raced to the sofa and thumbed through a magazine, feigning boredom. I padded out to the front door in my black socks and checked the eye hole. Ben stood there in a blue sweater and jeans. Casual, then. I slipped on my Chucks and opened the door.

“Hi,” I said, trying not to sound as dippy as I felt. I stepped aside to let him in.

“Hi back,” he answered. He took an interested glance around the room. “I like your place. Have you lived here long?”

“About a year,” I answered.

“It’s hard to find something in this neighborhood. How’d you luck out?”

“I have a realtor in my ward who gave me the scoop before it came on the market.”

“You own it? Nice.”

“It seemed better than paying rent.”

“Definitely. And you get to pick the colors,” he smiled.

Time to make the introductions. “Ben, this is my roommate Sandy. Sandy, this is Ben.” I watched his reaction curiously. Even though Sandy had pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and wore jeans and a baggy T-shirt, she still looked gorgeous.

He moved to shake her hand politely, but his face showed nothing more than well-bred courtesy. “So you’re the one who’s into identity theft,” Ben nodded, the teasing note clear in his voice. “Nice to meet you, Sandy.”

Sandy looked ready to fire back a snappy retort, but at my warning glare, she said only, “Nice to meet you, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben grinned. “Too bad. I thought I owed you a thank you for putting Jessie’s info on Lookup.”

“I would never do something like that, but whoever did sure must be an awesome and amazing friend to Jessie,” Sandy said.

“Must be,” he agreed. I rolled my eyes.

“Would you like to sit for a second while I grab my jacket?” I asked. He wandered over to my fireplace mantle instead.

“Do you mind if I sneak a peek at your pictures while I wait?” he asked.

“Not at all. I don’t keep the embarrassing ones in the living room anyway.”

He laughed, and I went to retrieve Sandy’s vest from my bed. It took a talented designer to turn puffy down and nylon into something chic, but leave it to my roommate to find the one who could. I slipped it on and returned to find Ben where I’d left him, standing in front of the fireplace. Sandy leafed through her magazine and studied him from the corner of her eye.

He turned when I walked in and lifted a quizzical eyebrow at me. He held up my graffiti rock in his hand and read aloud, “‘This is just a rock.’ I’m guessing there’s a story here?”

I shrugged. “Not anymore.”

“That’s all I get?” he asked.

“That’s all you get.”

“Fair enough. Are you ready to go?”

“Sure.”

I locked the door behind us and managed to block his view of Sandy’s huge grin and thumbs up gesture before it clicked closed, then I followed him to his car. I half expected a massive lumberjack pickup truck, but instead, he opened the passenger side of an Acura sedan. Sensible and stylish. My, my, my. When he got in and started it, music filled the interior. An old White Stripes song blared out. So he liked his rock and roll loud. That went in the plus column too.

“Sorry,” he muttered, fumbling for the volume control. “I should have remembered to do that before I got out.”

“Don’t worry about it. I like this album,” I said.

He put the car in gear and pulled smoothly onto Eleventh Avenue, heading south. “Do you have any idea where we’re going yet?” he asked.

“Not a clue.”

“Does that make you nervous?”

“No way. I’m one of those totally kickback chicks. I’m going to let it ride.”

“Uh-huh. I don’t believe you. Kickback chicks don’t own condos when they’re twenty-five.”

“Well, I’m going to be a kickback chick for this afternoon, then.”

“So you’re not at all curious about where I’m taking you?”

“Of course. But I’m practicing patience.”

“How big of you. How about if I let you guess?”

“That works. How many guesses do I get?”

“Three.”

“Okay, first guess. We’re going door to door to collect canned goods for charity.”

“Thoughtful, but wrong.”

“Um . . . we’re going to try on formals at the mall and crash some high school’s winter dance.”

He grimaced. “Scary and wrong.”

“Then I guess I’d better give you a serious guess.” I tapped my chin and pretended to think. “Let’s see. We’re going to join a group attempting to set a Guinness record for the most people jumping on pogo sticks simultaneously.”

He stared at me for a full two seconds before shaking his head and turning his blue eyes back to the road. “Your mind goes to some fascinating places,” he said.

“I only wish I could take credit for those, but they’re actual dates I’ve been on,” I said with a grin.

“So high school was all about the creative and cheap dates, huh?”

“Oh no. Those were all since I’ve been in Seattle.”

“I’d like to thank those guys for setting a low bar. I’m feeling better and better about our plans.”

“I’m looking forward to finding out what they are. Oh, and if there’s food involved, I promise to spill first again so you’ll feel even better.”

“Thanks, but I can’t let you do that. It’s a guy’s job. I’ll do it,” he said.

“You’re a real gentleman.”

“My mother taught me well.”

This was fun. No awkwardness, no uncomfortable pauses. Now that the stress of what to wear had passed, I found myself trying to guess what Ben had planned. The conversation turned to questions about the pictures Ben had seen on my mantle, and I kept an eye on the scenery. We stayed on Eleventh Avenue, and I watched townhomes pass by on the tree-lined streets. Within a few minutes, the car slowed, and Ben flipped his signal on to make a left turn. Cal Anderson Park, home of the neighborhood baseball diamonds.

“There really is baseball in January?” I asked.

“Only because you requested it,” Ben answered. I hadn’t exactly, but I wasn’t going to spoil the moment by pointing that out.

Instead I said, “I didn’t know there were city league games going on this time of year.” I was fishing, and he knew it.

“There aren’t,” he said and clammed up.

Dang.

He pulled into a space next to the closest field, which indeed teemed with baseball players. Short, very cute baseball players. He turned the engine off and grinned at me. “Come on out and meet the team. This is a special exhibition. They agreed to play a game just for you.”

As soon as he stepped out of the car, a swarm of boys surged toward him calling, “Ben!” or “Brother Bratton!” in high-pitched, excited voices. When we got closer, I could see most of them were about my nephew Caleb’s age, somewhere in the nine-year-old range. What on earth?

He laughed as the boys clamored around him, some trying to give him a high five, a couple of them tugging at the hem of his light blue sweater to get his attention. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, men. I promise I’ll answer everyone’s questions in a minute. Yours too,” he added with a nod toward me. “Let me make some introductions first.” He gestured to the group. “This is the West Seattle Ward Cub Scout pack, along with several of their little brothers.” He waved to a small stand of bleachers across the field. “Those are their parents and drivers.” About eight adults sat watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lastly, he turned and pointed to me.

“Boys,” he said solemnly, “This is Jessie. Sister Taylor.”

A chorus of exuberant hellos fluttered up from the herd of Cub Scouts. One little voice came from a cute freckled redhead who looked maybe six years old. “Are you the lady who likes baseball?” he asked excitedly.

My nephews always liked it when I came down to their level, so I crouched and, adopting Ben’s gravity, said, “Yes, I am. I love baseball. How about you?”

“Of course,” he answered. “That’s why I’m here. We’re going to play!”

“This is my live baseball game?” I asked Ben.

“It is,” he said, grinning. “You are looking at parts of the three finest Little League teams in Seattle, and they’re here to show you their mad baseball skills.”

A towheaded boy from the back of the bunch piped up. “Actually, my team stinks, but the coach says we have heart.”

“That’s what matters,” I said.

“My big brother says winning all the time is what matters,” the redhead said.

“All the time? That sounds boring. I prefer variety,” I said. Ben looked at me, pleased—I guess with the way I handled the boys. If he thought they would throw me, he had another thing coming. Six nephews had made me a seasoned pro.

“Game time!” he announced, eliciting a chorus of whoops. “Hit the field, men.” They all tore off to their respective dugouts with such enthusiasm I had to laugh again. All except for one, that is. The redhead remained behind, staring at me with a fierce expression.

“Winning
is
important. The most important. My brother Tyler said so.”

His intensity surprised me. I opened my mouth to answer him, but Ben intervened. “You’re right, Logan,” he said gently to the upset boy. “Winning is important. But Sister Taylor is also right that you don’t always have to win. It’s okay to play for fun.”

“Tyler says you should never let someone win on purpose. You have to always fight. I’m going to keep points in my head even though you said we weren’t keeping track.” He crossed his arms, his knobby elbows jutting.

Ben drew a deep breath and held it for a minute. Then he quietly exhaled and turned to me. “Excuse me for a moment, would you, Jessie?”

“No problem.” I took a seat in the bleachers and watched as he placed an arm around Logan’s shoulders and slowly walked with him across the field, speaking quietly. Gradually, the tension in the small boy’s shoulders relaxed, and he uncrossed his arms and nodded solemnly. He stared at Ben for a long moment before giving him a high five and scampering the last few yards to his team’s dugout. Ben turned and headed back toward me.

“Sorry about that,” he said when he reached my newly claimed seat. “He’s had it a bit rough. His dad took off when Logan was a tiny guy, and his mom’s been raising him and his two older brothers. The oldest, Tyler, is overseas in Afghanistan right now. Logan has a case of hero worship.”

“Sounds like he should. Is he okay to play?”

“He’ll be fine. He’s intense, but eventually the kid in him wins out.”

“I hope so. He’s too young to carry around so much heavy baggage.”

“They all relax when they play. It’s fun to watch. Some of them are too young for pitches, so they’ll be batting off a tee. I know it’s not the Mariners, but you don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Of course not! How did you pull this off?”

“I’m the assistant Cubmaster in the ward. I offered to let the den mothers off the hook for an activity this week so the boys could work on their sports activity badges, and they were happy to go for it.”

“That’s so funny. Don’t you have to have kids to get pulled into Scouts?”

“Usually, yes. But I worked at Scout camp every summer in high school, and the Scoutmaster is the same guy I had back in the day. And my nephew’s in the troop.”

“So he lured you in.”

“He didn’t have to try hard. The kids are a blast.”