When It All Goes Wrong Again

We wandered into his house, Pete picking things up as we went. By the time we reached the living area, his arms were full. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy. I wasn’t expecting company today,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. “I’ll go grab a towel. Make yourself at home.” He left, taking his armload with him.

Looking around, I noticed it was a bit messy, but in a good way. I’ve always hated those pristine, everything-in-it’s-place homes, and let’s face it, I’m a bit of a slob myself. This home looked lived in. In the kitchen, there were dirty dishes in the sink. There were notebooks and scraps of paper spread over the bar, plus this morning’s paper. Farther in, there was a comfortable looking chair with a book-laden table beside it. In the living room, DVD’s and video games were strewn across the entertainment system, pillows and blankets piled on the floor in front of it, and for some reason, there was a pair of shoes on the coffee table. To my left was a row of patio doors showing a view of a pool. As I went closer for a better look, I noticed a couch in what must’ve been the dining room. This couch was covered in clothes. And in the middle of it sat an adorable dog.

“You must be the infamous Hemingway,” I said walking towards him. He looked up at me with big brown eyes, his ears perking at the sound of his name. I held out my hand for him to sniff. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing ever,” I said, getting on my knees and scratching behind his ears. I murmured a string of nonsense while Hemingway closed his eyes and grunted happily, his tail thumping on the couch.

“I think he likes you,” came a voice from above.

I stood up quickly, hoping Pete didn’t hear all the silly things I was saying to his dog, but by the look on his face, he did. “I have a feeling he likes everybody.”

“Not true. He won’t come within 10 feet of my dad and he always tries to steal Patrick’s shoelaces.” He smiled at Hem fondly as the dog inched closer and nudged my hand with his nose. “But I think the latter is just him being playful.”

“Well, I like him, too,” I said, giving in and rubbing Hem’s head.

Pete watched for a second, then cleared his throat. “I brought you a towel, and um… a shirt you can um… change into.”

“A shirt?” I wondered, looking down at my own. “Oh.” The thin, white shirt was completely see through. You could see the pink of my skin, my pretty blue bra, the tattoo I had, well, nevermind.

Feeling a blush creep up my neck, I grabbed the towel and held it close to my chest. “Thanks,” I said gratefully, taking the shirt with my other hand.

“You can change in there,” Pete said, pointing to the room he just left.

I collected what composure I had left and walked through the door he pointed at, closing it behind me. It was a large bedroom with plain white walls. The only colors were the racks of hoodies beside the bed. Not paying them a second glance, I shuffled into the bathroom, stripping off my wet shirt as I went. With the towel I rubbed my head vigorously and dried myself as best as I could. One look in the mirror made me cringe. The toweling made my hair tangled and what had been left of my makeup was now history. My lack of sleep showed in the dark circles under my eyes. Well, I thought to myself, I’m not here to win a beauty contest. I picked up the shirt Pete gave me and pulled it on. It was blue and said, ‘I lost my cool. Could I borrow yours?’

Gathering up my rumpled shirt, I headed out of the room. When I opened the door, the sight of Hemingway looking up at me expectantly greeted me. “Were you sent to make sure I don’t run away?” I asked. He just snorted and walked down the hall, looking back to make sure I followed.

He led me to the kitchen, and when I walked in, Pete handed me a mug of something hot. “It’s hot chocolate. I didn’t know if you liked coffee or not and you looked cold.”

“Thanks,” I replied, taking a sip and sitting on the barstool he offered.

“So,” he said, hopping up on the stool on the other side of the bar, “A.J. That’s a nickname, right? What’s it stand for?”

I gave him a level stare and said, “A.J.”

“Okay, okay, maybe that’s a little too personal,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “How’d you get into this kind of work, or is that too sensitive?” He was teasing me now, but I decided to ignore it.

“When I moved out here a couple of years ago, I had a hard time finding a job. So, my best friend called up this guy he went to college with to see if he knew of anything. Turns out, the guy’s dad was in the singing telegram business and well, the rest is history.”

“Have you always wanted to sing?” Pete asked seriously.

He was cute. Almost painfully cute. “You’re not really going to sit there and ask this cliché, getting-to-know-you shit, are you?” I sat my cup down and leaned forward on my elbows. “You don’t really want to make small talk about work or the weather or who my favorite Backstreet Boy is, do you?”

“You have a favorite Backstreet Boy?!” Pete said, looking shocked.

“No. I think there was an A.J. but don’t hold me to that,” I teasingly said.

“Okay then, what should I ask?”

I picked up my cup and took a drink. Might as well make the most out of a horrible day. “Well… What’s a song you’re afraid to admit that you like? Where’s your favorite place in the world? What’s one thing you couldn’t live without? If you could assassinate anyone and get away with it, who would it be?…”

_________________________

“…and then he climbed on the roof and shouted, ‘I am King Kong!’ while beating his chest!” Pete said. He was standing up and hitting his chest to emphasize his point while I laughed so hard tears came to my eyes. Light flashed off of my watch as I reached up to wipe them away.

“Shit!” I cried, jumping up. “I didn’t realize how late it was! I should go.” I picked up my keys and now ruined shirt from the counter. “Um, your shirt…”

“Keep it,” he said. “It looks much better on you.” He fell behind me as I walked towards the door.

“You’re crazy and I’m sending it back. Clean, dry and folded neatly.” We stepped outside; it was beautiful. The sun was shining and you could just make out the chirping of birds over the sound of the traffic.

“See, I told you that if you came in it would stop raining,” Pete said smugly.

I muttered, “Nobody likes a smart ass.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a card, handed it to him, and said in my fake work voice, “This is my shameless bit of proprietary promotion. Please think of us for your future telegram needs.” I gave him a huge smile and shook his hand vigorously. “And thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking pity on a poor, rain-soaked girl with nowhere else to turn!” I cried dramatically in a crappy southern accent.

He lifted my hand to his lips and said in a crappy southern accent of his own, “The pleasure was all mine, I’m sure.”

I pulled my hand away and laughed nervously. “Well, thanks for making what should have been a miserable day slightly more bearable. Have a nice life Pete.”

“You too A.J.”

I got into my car and drove away.