Your Big Break (24 page)

“That could be part of it,” I agree, playing with a pencil on my desk. “But his undergrad GPA was a three-point-eight, and he did pretty well on his MCATs—that's the med-school entrance exam.”

“Then there's no reason he shouldn't apply. Have you asked him why he's reluctant?”

“A couple of times,” I say, folding my hands in my lap. “He brushes it off, or cracks a joke about having too much fun shelving DVDs. I don't know. . . . He's smart, yet he spends all his free time watching TV and playing video games.”
I sound like my parents.

“Want me to talk to him?”

I'm taken aback. “That's okay. I don't think he'd appreciate me sending my friends to pester him about his career.” As soon as the words have left my mouth, I realize what I've said.
Friends. Can I call her that? Have we reached that stage? Or is she still Evan's ex?
We've hung out so many times, talked about our personal lives, watched movies together. I'd definitely say that qualifies.
Is being friends with a client's former girlfriend in violation of Your Big Break Inc.'s rule #5?

I decide that it's not.

“I could find out what he wants to do with his life in a roundabout way,” Sophie says. “We'd just talk, like friends.”

“Maybe the doctor thing isn't his dream anymore?” She gives me an imploring look. “Your brother's so adorable and sweet. I'd hate to see him pass up the chance to make something really great out of his life.”

I study her face. Ever since the topic switched to Sean, Sophie has been grinning from ear to ear. She sure is interested in my brother's med-school plight. Come to think of it, it was her idea to drive all the way out to Sean's Blockbuster the other night, too. I remember her remarking, ever so casually, that his location had the best selection.

“You could give me Sean's cell number, and I could call him up sometime.”

“Do you want to go out with my brother?” I ask. No sense beating around the bush.

She doesn't hesitate. “Yes.”

I stare at her incredulously.
“Really?”

“Geez, Dani, you make Sean sound like such a catch,” she says.

“It's not that. I just never imagined you'd like someone like Sean.”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“He's doesn't seem like your type.”

“I don't have a type,” she says. “I've dated all sorts of guys. Rich, poor. Different races. It doesn't matter. I base it on whether or not I like the person. And I think Sean's charming.” She pauses. “Do you think he would go for me?”

“Do I think Sean would go for you?” I ask, laughing. “Yes, I think Sean would go for you.”

She giggles. “Fabulous! I was so nervous about this! Deep down, I'm just this big dork.” She smiles.

“If you want, I can talk to Sean,” I offer. “I'll even set up a date for you two, if you'd like.”

“Would you?” Sophie jumps up and rushes around the side of the desk. She bends down and gives me a quick hug. “That'd be fantastic.”

I hug her back. “Of course. I'd be happy to.”

“Thanks, Dani,” she says. “You've been so great to me. I feel awful the way I treated you the first time we met. And then the way I stormed out of Ben and Jerry's that day—”

I wave my hand. “Don't sweat it! The first time we met, I was dumping you. Of course you weren't going to welcome me with open arms.”

“This is so nice . . . having you as a friend, and now maybe having a date with Sean. I feel lucky.”

“Me, too. Things have been rough with my family lately,” I confess. “I think it would really cheer Sean up to go out on a date.”

“I was sorry to hear about your parent troubles. If there's anything I can do to help . . .”

“Thanks,” I say, holding up the issues of
Playgirl
. “But you've already gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

 
 
I stop by Sean's Blockbuster on my way home from work. I need to give him the
Playgirl
magazines. We've decided the best strategy is for Sean to sneak them into Jude's yoga bag. Since he lives at home, he has much easier access. My job will be to “discover” them tomorrow night. I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to accomplish this. I'm sure I'll think of something between now and then.

Sean's helping a customer when I arrive, so I spend a few minutes browsing.

“Have you got the stash?” he asks, sidling up to me. He glances around nervously, making sure no one's within earshot.

“Right here.” I pull them out of my bag.

He immediately stuffs them under his shirt. “I can't believe I have to hang on to these for the rest of the night.” He groans. “If any of my coworkers see them, I'm toast.”

“Can't you hide them in the break room?” I ask.

“That's what I'm planning to do,” he says, nodding. “The way my luck's been going, my manager will stumble across them while she's taking her coffee break.” He looks really stressed-out. I feel awful for my brother. There are bags under his eyes, and he can't stop fidgeting. “I have some news that's guaranteed to cheer you up,” I say, slinging my arm over his shoulder.

“Dani, nothing could cheer me up right about now.”

“How about a date with Sophie Kennison?”

“Sophie?” he sputters. “As in your majorly hot friend Sophie?”

“The same.”

His eyes bulge. “Don't tease me, Dani. It's not nice.”

“I'm not teasing,” I say. “Sophie wants to go out with you.”

Sean smiles slowly. “Well, I'll be damned. You were right. There
was
something that could cheer me up!”

26

Hey, Jude

Sometimes I wish I were a smoker, so I could suck down a few cigarettes and let the nicotine soothe me. They say it performs miracles on shot nerves. Until it kills you.

As I turn into the driveway, I catch sight of my brother, crouched down by the side of the house. I do a double take. He's lying in wait like a prowler.

I pull the car to a stop at the edge of the driveway, parking behind Mom's Ford Explorer. I've just climbed out when Sean comes running toward me. “What are you doing lurking out here?” I ask, staring at him in surprise.

“We've got a big problem,” Sean hisses in my ear.

“Words I'm not fond of hearing,” I say wearily. “What is it?” I don't know if I can handle any roadblocks. This is already too complicated.

“Jude didn't bring his yoga bag.”

“Oh, no.” I groan. “You said Jude and that yoga bag were joined at the hip.”

“Apparently, he gave it the night off.”

“So much for Operation Gay Porn.”

“Gotcha,” Sean says wickedly. “He brought it. It's in the closet, and I've tucked in the magazines.”

I blink in surprise. “So the plan is a go?”

“Yes. Sometime during the course of dinner, you've got to unearth the stash.” Tugging at my sleeve, he adds, “Come on, we'd better go inside.”

I grab his arm. “I can't just go digging around in his personal bag.”

Sean throws up his hands. “You'll figure out something.”

I'm glad one of us is confident.
We walk inside the house. I can smell dinner wafting in from the kitchen as we head into the living room. “Prepare to enter hell,” Sean whispers.

I walk into the room. “Hello!” Mom calls out.

“Hi,” I answer.

Mom and Jude are sitting on the couch, holding hands and drinking white wine. “Jude, this is my daughter, Danielle. Dani, this is Jude,” Mom says. She's positively glowing.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. Jude nods in my direction.

I perch awkwardly on the couch beside them. Jude looks nothing like how I pictured him. I was expecting some artsy-fartsy, ponytailed hippie who walks around the house barefoot chanting “Ommmmmm” and striking yoga poses. But Jude's as normal-looking as they come. He has short, gray hair and is lightly tanned. He's wearing khaki pants and a white polo shirt with loafers. He seems more like a retired banker than a yoga instructor.

“Dani, would you like some wine?” Mom asks.

“Yes, I'd love a drink.”
Morphine would be nice, too.

“I'll get Dani a glass,” Sean says, scooting off to the kitchen. I'm left alone with Mom and Jude. The silence is so deafening I can actually hear the second hand ticking on Jude's watch. So I know it is exactly one minute later when Sean returns with my drink. “Enjoy,” he says, clinking glasses with only me.

“Dani, why don't you tell us what's been going on at work?” Mom prompts.

Sean plops down on a chair opposite us. “Yes, Dani, update us on the fascinating world of writing promotional copy for websites.”

I glare at him. “Dani?” Mom asks. “I think Jude would really like to hear about your job.”

I turn to face Jude. “Are you interested in my work?” I ask him.

Jude smiles brightly. “I'd love to hear about it! What Web design programs do you use? Microsoft Frontpage?”

“What do you care,” I snap.

Jude looks genuinely hurt.

“Dani!” Mom gasps. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I don't want to talk about work,” I say stubbornly.

“I was merely trying to make conversation,” Mom says. After that, she doesn't try so hard. The four of us sit there in silence for what feels like an eternity but is probably closer to five minutes.

“So, Sean, Beth tells me you work in the film industry?” Jude prompts.

I snort. “He works at Blockbuster. It's hardly Hollywood.” I'm being mean, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I'm scared Sean will take offense, but he plays along.

“Dani's right. I'm a video clerk. In fact, I only make ten dollars an hour, so I hope if you and Mom get married, you'll be willing to support me,” he says.

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Mom quips.

“I'm your child,” Sean says. “It's not like you can throw me out on the street.”

“Children have to grow up sometime,” Jude points out, and we lapse back into silence.

“How about I get us some munchies?” Sean asks. He's smiling so tightly that his teeth are clenched.

“I'll come with you.” I spring up and stalk into the kitchen before Mom can stop me. “This is a nightmare,” I say as soon as we're out of earshot.

He pulls open the oven door. “Do you think if I stuck my head in here anyone would notice?”

I swat him on the arm. “I'd notice. And I'd kill you for deserting me.”

Sean sighs, slamming the oven shut.

I reach into the fridge and pull out a container of hummus. “What are we having for dinner?” I ask.

“I have no clue,” Sean says, opening the oven again. “Looks like some sort of casserole.”

I look down at the hummus. “I doubt this goes with casserole.”

“Who cares? Serve it anyway.” He shuts the oven again and turns to look at me. “As a matter of fact, I think we've got some sardines in the cabinet.” He stands on tiptoe and begins digging around.

“Sardines?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. “Don't tell me you're going to serve those.”

“Yup,” he says. “And jelly and crackers. This is going to be the suckiest dinner ever. Get me anything else weird you can find,” Sean instructs. He locates the sardines and proceeds to open the can.

I search through the refrigerator and retrieve a packet of tofu and a jar of pickles. “Together?” I ask, holding them up.

Sean nods his approval. “Mix 'em.”

I get out a bowl and concoct a tofu/pickle dish guaranteed to make even a pregnant woman cringe. “This reminds me of when we were kids. You remember how we used to mix up all sorts of food and make vomit-worthy creations?”

“Sure do,” Sean says, a look of intense concentration on his face. He grins devilishly. “I just had an idea. Put the sardines in with that.”

“Really?”

“We're kicking the plan up a notch.”

I continue to stir while he passes over ingredients: jelly, peanut butter, raisins, paprika. Once I'm finished, Sean grabs the bowl. “Here goes nothing,” he says. Using an oven mitt, he takes the casserole out of the oven. Then he dumps the horrendous-looking concoction over it.

I gasp. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Sprucing up dinner,” he says.

“We can't eat that!”

“We're not going to eat it.” He grins. “Mom wanted a bonding dinner with Jude. Well, this is what I think of her damn dinner.”

I burst out laughing. “You're too much.”

“What's taking you two so long?” Mom asks, sailing into the kitchen. Her gaze zeroes in on the ruined casserole in Sean's hands. “What did you do to this?” she demands, waving her finger at the demolished dish.

“We added a few ingredients,” Sean says seriously. “To improve the flavor.”

“Bullshit,” Mom says, and I wince. Mom never cusses. I've heard her swear a few times in my life. “I can't believe this,” she scolds. “Here I thought you two were in your late twenties. But, apparently, you're five years old. My children are five years old!” she yells, turning on her heel and stomping out of the kitchen. “Fine then, fuck dinner!” she calls from the other room. “Tonight, we starve.”