So Not Meant to Be, page 27
“So, are you going to adopt one?”
“What? God, no. Fuck, imagine me with a goddamn pigeon. What the hell would I do with it?”
“I honestly don’t know, dude. You sound like you need a hobby or a friend.”
“Or a girlfriend,” I mutter as I sit back down in my chair.
“A girlfriend?” Breaker asks. “Tell me more about this, because as far as I know, you’ve never really wanted one.”
“Well, you know what, fuckstick? People change. Okay? Why can’t anyone see that? People fucking change, and I think it’s time that we all sit down, have a glass of wine, and talk about how someone named a freaking pigeon Kazoo and got away with it.”
“What’s wrong with the name Kazoo?”
“It’s such a slap in the face to the pigeon community. Let’s name this majestic feathered friend after a simple twenty-five cent child’s toy that gives the vocalist a timbral quality when playing it.”
“I love you, man, but I really think you’ve lost it.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nope, I’m seeing things so fucking clearly right now. Like a goddamn crystal.”
“It seems like that crystal is foggy.”
“Fuck, do you know what I should do?”
“Seek a counselor?”
“I should send an email.”
“Uh, what sort of email? You know, sending emails while intoxicated is never a good idea.”
“I’m not intoxicated. I’m finally seeing things the way that I should.”
“And how is that?” Breaker asks.
“Well, I want a girlfriend, and I need a date for the wedding, so I should send an email.”
“Wait, can we go back to this ‘wanting a girlfriend’ thing? Where’s this coming from?”
“Dude, can’t you fucking keep up?”
“No, I really can’t. One moment you’re talking about pigeons, and the next you’re saying you’re going to send an email about girlfriends. I really think we should slow down, reel it in, and maybe drink some coffee.”
I heave a heavy sigh. “Christ, I told you how I like Kelsey, how the urge to be around her is so consuming that I feel like … fuck, I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s so fucking pretty, and her smile makes me happy, and the way she laughs creates a bolt of lust straight to my cock. And she’s so weird and quirky and likes love but is terrible at it for some reason. And fuck is she uptight about things like organization and she loves being right, but I like that about her because she’s neurotic and I’m a bit neurotic in my own way—fucking pigeons, you know, man—so I think we’d make a great fucking couple but she doesn’t like me and just wants to be my friend because she thinks that I’m just some player who can’t commit and, sure, maybe that’s in my past, but like I said, people change and I want to change for her, but she doesn’t want to see that so she friend-zoned me and she’s now going out with Derek, who didn’t even fucking kiss her on the first date, what a douche. He shook her hand. Like, dude, have you fucking seen this girl? She’s not handshake material, she’s marriage material. She’s the girl that you take home to your parents. You don’t fucking shake her hand at the end of a date, you kiss her, claim her, make her yours. Well, she’s going out with him again, so I need a girlfriend, so I’m going to send an email.”
“Ah … fuck. And an email to who?”
“To everyone.”
“You know, I really think we shouldn’t do the email thing. That seems like a bad idea.”
“It seems like a great one to me.”
“Because you’re drunk,” Breaker says. “Spending fifty grand on pigeons seems like a good idea to you.”
“It was only twenty grand altogether. Fuck, should it have been fifty?”
“That’s not the point. I think you should just calm down, take a deep breath and, JP, if you really like her, I think you should try to date her.”
“And how do you suppose I go about doing that?”
“I have some ideas, but I don’t think saying them right now is going to help you. Not sure you’ll retain anything. I’m going to text you, and you can read it in the morning, when your mind is … fresh.”
“I’m fresh as fuck right now.”
“It’s cute that you think that. Listen, don’t email anybody right now. That’s a bad idea. Maybe cap that bottle you’re drinking from, go get some food, and park it in your room for the rest of the night. You don’t want to say or do something stupid. If you really like Kelsey, then let me help you figure out a way to show that.”
“Think a pigeon will carry a note to her?”
“Great possibility, man.”
I sigh again. “Okay.”
“Okay? So, you’re going to go get some food, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And no emailing.”
“Right, no emailing.”
“Good. And hey, not sure I said this, but good job being a voice for the pigeons, man. You’re doing God’s work.”
I clutch my chest. “Thank you, that means a lot to me.”
After some goodbyes, I hang up feeling marginally better. I saved the polar bears and the pigeons and I’m going to win Kelsey. What a productive afternoon.
Pleased with myself, I cap the Scotch bottle like Breaker said, pick up my empty glass, and head toward the kitchen. Just then, I hear the door open, and I pause in the hallway, holding my breath.
She’s home.
Do I want her to see me like this?
Probably not.
I know I told Breaker I wasn’t drunk, but let’s call a spade a spade—I’m fucking sitting pretty right now, and I don’t need to mess up anything with Kelsey because Scotch has been my mistress this afternoon. So, I spin on my heel and head for my bedroom, but I stop when I hear a male voice.
I quickly turn back around. No fucking way did she bring him back here.
I slide along the wall, hoping to stay undetected as I attempt to eavesdrop on a conversation I’ve no right listening to.
I grow closer and closer. Then I hear Kelsey.
“Thank you so much for walking me up here. You really didn’t have to.”
Yeah, you didn’t have to, fucker. She’s more than capable, she’s done it many times already.
“I just felt bad, the way I left you last time.”
Because you’re a moron.
“Well, thank you. I had a nice time,” Kelsey says in her sweet voice, and I swear if I hear them kiss, I’ll fucking melt into a puddle of despair right here.
“Me too.”
I hold my breath.
I wait for the telltale sound of two mouths colliding.
I’m tempted to whip around the corner and watch desperately as they say goodbye.
“I’ll call you,” Derek finally says, and I can’t tell if they kissed, hugged, or shook hands again, but it’s nearly killing me.
“Okay, sounds good. Have a good rest of your day.”
The door shuts, and I stand there against the wall, unmoving as I attempt to tell myself to move, to get out of here, to not look like a peeping Tom. But the unknown of whether or not they kissed is keeping me in place, my mind reeling. What is she feeling right now?
“JP?” she asks, looking down the hallway at me plastered against the wall, tumbler in one hand, Scotch in the other. “What are you doing?”
Errrr …
What am I doing?
Well, honest truth—trying to decide if I need to finish this bottle based on if he kissed you or not.
But that doesn’t seem like a safe answer. Even in my drunken state, I know that’s not a safe answer, so I go with the second-best thing …
“Smelling.”
“Smelling?” she asks, her face tightening in confusion. “What are you smelling?”
“The wall,” I answer, and then to my horror, I spin around, plant my nose right on the wall, and take a big old whiff.
Whoa … why does that smell like kielbasa?
“Why are you smelling the wall?”
Great, solid question.
And unfortunately, I don’t have a great, solid answer to match it.
“Favorite pastime,” I say. “Smell a wall in your spare time. Anyway, so you’re back from your date.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, taking a step closer.
“Fine,” I answer, gripping the neck of the bottle tighter. “Just, uh, thirsty.” I hold up the Scotch. “Going back to my room. Watching a documentary about dying polar bears. Don’t worry, I donated to help them … and the pigeons.” I swallow. “Anyway, just going to do that. But, yeah, glad you had a nice time and you look … you look beautiful in that dress. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s just an observation.” My throat grows tight. Why is it tightening? Am I … fuck, am I feeling emotion?
“JP, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I choke out. “Sorry if that beautiful comment made you feel weird. I just … I just think that you look really nice. Really pretty. But you know, you’re dating Derek. Was his kiss good?” I hold up the bottle. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. None of my business. I don’t want to know. I just … man, those polar bears, they’re really thin. You can see their ribs. And I’m going to write a letter to the pigeon place, and tell them they shouldn’t name a pigeon Kazoo. He looks more like a Kevin. Just my honest opinion. So, yeah, okay. Well, I’ll, uh, see you later.”
I turn and practically run to my room. I slam the door and lock it for safe keeping.
Fuck, what was that shit?
Embarrassing, that’s what it was.
I set down my Scotch glass on my nightstand and pour myself multiple fingers. I can’t imagine what she must think of me, but it can’t be good. And Derek, fuck, I think they kissed. I didn’t hear any lip smacking, but they might be quiet kissers. That motherfucker kissed her before I did and that stings.
I know her better.
We’ve been acquainted for longer.
I’ve pined after this girl for fucking months.
And he kissed her first.
I don’t even know the fucker, but it makes me so goddamn … sad.
Fuck.
I tip back my tumbler, sucking down some more Scotch. I don’t like this pain I’m feeling. I don’t like these emotions souring through me. I don’t like any of it. I want to be numb. I want to not have to deal with these self-deprecating thoughts. I don’t want to think about their date, what they did or didn’t do, or if she’s texting him right now. Or if she’s telling Lottie how much she likes Derek, how she wants to take him to the wedding.
The wedding …
I spend the next half hour downing the rest of the bottle until there’s only an inch left.
I cry about the polar bears, watching them all over again.
I send an email to the pigeon place, inquiring about Kazoo.
And I text Breaker that I’m a loser who masturbates to exhalations.
And sometime in the night, when I’m just about ready to pass out, I send one more email from my private account.
To: McKayla, Kenzie, Hattie, Eileen, Barbie, Olivia, Betty, Rita, Jessica, Tess, Pauline, Dominique, Miranda, Cara
From: JP Cane
Subject: Be my Date
Hey ladieeees,
Sending a big old cock of an email because, you know … I have a big cock, so this email has to match.
Here’s the thing. Hux is getting married to Lulu Lemon and they told me I need a plus-one. Looking for a willing candidate to escort me down the aisle.
All expenses paid. Promises of pleasure.
If interested, hit me up.
I wear condoms still.
K. Bye.
JP
FUCK.
Me.
Ohhhh … fuck.
My stomach rolls, my body heaves, and I’m clutching my toilet, puking for the third time this morning.
Please, Jesus, make it stop. I promise to never drink that much again, just make … the … puking …
Fuck.
My body rears back, my stomach revolts, and once again, I let it rip until there’s nothing left inside me.
I slide to the bathroom floor and rest my heated cheek on the cold tile.
If hell was a place, I imagine it being this, over and over again. A hangover with a constant, throbbing headache and matching nausea.
I take a few deep breaths as my phone buzzes next to me on the floor. Needing a distraction, I look and see that it’s Breaker.
Breaker: Are you alive this morning? You texted me a picture of Kazoo eleven times last night, all in a row. That leads me to believe you didn’t stop drinking.
I lean against the wall as I text him back.
JP: I think I used up one of my lives last night. I’m pretty sure I just threw up a boot.
Breaker: What the hell happened to “go get some food”?
JP: Kelsey’s date walked her back to the penthouse. I think they kissed. I lost it, man. I told her about the pigeons, rambled about sick polar bears, told her she was beautiful, and then went back to my room where I blacked out. So … yeah.
Breaker: Jesus. So, you didn’t listen to me at all.
JP: Nope.
Breaker: So, what are you going to do this morning?
JP: So far, retching. Not sure what the plan is after that.
Breaker: Do you really like her? Like … you want to go for this?
JP: I think after last night’s events, if I don’t at least try, I’m going to drink myself into an oblivion.
Breaker: Do you have any plans?
JP: Not even one.
Breaker: Okay, first, you need to stop being a dick to her, because that’s not winning her over. And start being her friend.
JP: Her friend? I’m already there. She friend-zoned me.
Breaker: Good, because now you can hang out with her without the pressure of sex. Show her that you’re fun, that you’re a good match for her. You know the attraction is there, but you need to work on the personality.
JP: If you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at controlling my emotions.
Breaker: Not an excuse. Just work harder. If you want her to be with you, you need to show her that you can be the man she wants. You need to woo her.
JP: Woo her? Fuck … don’t use that term.
Breaker: But that’s the term she’d use. She’s a romantic. You have to do things that she’d notice, things that matter. Make her meals, pull out her chair, bring home things that remind you of her. Little touches here and there. And when you’re in the penthouse, hanging out, sit close to her. Don’t make it sexual, but let her know you’re there.
JP: Who made you the expert at this shit?
Breaker: No one, but I’m pretty damn sure I have a better idea than you at this moment.
JP: Fuck … fine.
Breaker: And, for the love of God, don’t go out there this morning until you’re done puking.
JP: Trust me, I’m smart enough to realize that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KELSEY
Meant to Be Podcast
Griffin and Ren
Kelsey: Welcome, listener, to the Meant to Be Podcast, where we talk to madly-in-love couples about the way they met. Griffin and Ren, thank you so much for joining me today.
Griffin: Sure. When Ren told me about the podcast, I thought our story was interesting enough to talk about.
Ren: Interesting enough is a good way to put it. Tell Kelsey about The Curse.
Griffin: *Sighs* I was in New Orleans with my brothers, and it was a drunken night when we stumbled upon a palm reader. Long story short, she did a terrible palm reading, we voiced our opinion, and then—my brothers and I will swear on this—she cursed us.
Kelsey: What was the curse?
Griffin: Broken love. It was intense, the wind swirled and everything.
Ren: We live in a small town called Port Snow, in Maine, and the entire town knew about this curse. The boys were untouchable. And to Griffin’s defense, he did lose his wife right after the trip, so he was scared to try to find love again.
Kelsey: So, how did you meet?
Griffin: Ren was looking for a fresh start. She got a teaching job in Port Snow. Came all the way from California.
Ren: I was driving to Port Snow in what felt like the backwoods, and I wasn’t prepared for incoming traffic.
Griffin: When she says incoming traffic, she means, incoming moose.
Kelsey: Moose?
Ren: Yup, a moose came out on the road, I swerved and rolled down a hill, and my car got stuck between two trees. Griffin is a volunteer firefighter and pulled me out of my vehicle. I was slightly insane that day and he helped me get to my rental, which happened to be a place his brother owned.
Griffin: Despite her screaming at me and the blood dripping down her head from a cut, I thought she was beautiful. She intrigued me, and it was the first time since my wife passed that I felt attraction. And then, soon after, I believed I could date again. Ren was my miracle.
Kelsey: Aww. I’m so glad to hear that. So, you started dating?
Ren: Not quite. It didn’t happen that fast, though, because, you know … the curse.
Griffin: *chuckles* Don’t bust my balls on a podcast about that.
Ren: Oh, Kelsey said we have an hour. Trust me when I say I will be talking about the curse for that entire time.
Griffin: Great.
I’D LIKE to say the penthouse is soundproof, that I can’t hear what JP is doing and he can’t hear what I’m doing, but I think after the whole walking in on him while he was pleasuring himself situation, we know that’s not the truth.
For a good portion of the last twenty minutes, I’ve heard JP throw up multiple times. I’d be concerned that he was sick, but given the bottle of Scotch he was holding last night, I know that’s not the case.
This means, he got completely wasted last night and he’s battling the effects of it this morning.
Why did he get drunk last night? Why was he talking about polar bears and pigeons? Well, probably because he was drunk.
He also said I was beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t make me feel all warm inside. Because it did.
