When It All Goes Wrong Again

“So, dish,” Maggie demanded as she tossed her brightly colored salad on the table beside me in the break room.

“Dish what?” I uttered distractedly, my eyes never leaving the television as my seat was dragged halfway around the table.

I was exhausted; it was only one in the afternoon and I had already taken eight calls. I’ll have to check, but I’m convinced that it was a new record. The only thing I wanted to spend my lunch hour doing was to eat my snack size Chili Cheese Fritos and watch Maury. Daytime TV wasn’t usually my thing, but I take a strange, secret pleasure in betting with myself over paternity tests. And I was 97% certain that Tyrese was Chantalle’s baby daddy.

“You have to be kidding me!” Maggie half-sneered. “Your party full of famous people – wait, you did go, didn’t you?”

“Sure, I went,” I answered absentmindedly, blindly reaching into the bag for another chip. “And there weren’t that many famous people there.”

“God A.J., you’re so lucky,” she said, ignoring my comment with a happy sigh. “I bet Pete followed you around all night! Did he tell you all kinds of crazy tour stories? Did you get the dish on the stuff no one knows?”

“I actually didn’t talk to him barely at all that night.” The last commercial flashed across the screen and Maury appeared, holding the test results. Cheers and jeers came from the crowd as the excitement grew.

“Wait – that night? What does that mean?”

“Tyrese, you are the father!” I knew it! He just had that desperate, slacker, deadbeat dad look about him. Tyrese jumped up and stalked backstage, fervently denying the truth, repeating his innocence like he was trying to avoid a prison sentence. “It’s wrong, man. The fucking test’s wrong!”

Yeah, blame the test, dude, I thought. Cause denial has influence over science.

“A.J.!” Maggie cried, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Real life’s more important then staged entertainment!”

“It may be more important, but it’s not always as interesting,” I muttered before lifting the bag and pouring the last of the chips into my mouth.

Maggie grabbed the remote and shut the TV off, throwing a sarcastic snort my way as she did. “Says the girl who went to a party at Pete Wentz’s place. Now,” she said, turning my chair so that it sat squarely in front of hers, “what did you mean by that night?”

“Just that there were a lot of people there so we really didn’t get to talk until the next day.” When I looked up from my crumpled Fritos bag, I found that Maggie was giving me the strangest look: her eyes never left me as they grew and narrowed at the same time (a feat I am definitely jealous of), her mouth poised to say something, but no words were leaving it. For some reason, I felt incredibly guilty under the weight of the stare that was starting to creep me out.

“You stayed the night?” she finally forced out.

“Of course I didn’t!” I stood quickly, my chair sliding back and hitting the table with a sharp crack, and walked over to throw my trash away. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

The silence in the room sucked at my ears like a vacuum and I was already missing the distracting roar from the television audience. Not quite ready to turn around and face Maggie – who would only take anything I had to say out of context – I grabbed a dirty coffee mug from the counter and busied myself with filling it with hot, soapy water and meticulously scrubbing the brown ring from it. Once it sparkled, I sat it upside down on the dish drainer to dry.

Throughout my entire exaggerated cleaning process, not a sound came from behind me. Maybe she left, I hoped. She always makes things out to be more then what they really are. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore and chanced a peek.

She sat Indian style and perfectly still on the hard plastic chair, her eyes wide and round, leaning forward slightly with her hands resting on her knees. “So, what did happen?” she asked, her voice coming out higher pitched then usual. Whether it was from excitement or worry, I couldn’t say.

I leaned back against the counter and decided to approach this casually, because really, I had nothing to hide, right? “Nothing happened, Mags. He felt bad for ignoring me all night so I agreed to go to the zoo with him. It’s no big deal.” Her eyes narrowed and another pang of guilt stabbed at me. “And I might’ve went swimming with him and the guys yesterday, but that’s all, I promise!”

Maggie’s eyes stared at me so hard I was afraid she could read my thoughts – which was what she was probably trying to do. As calm as I knew I was portraying myself, there was still a part of me that felt… weird under that stare, like I was subconsciously hiding something. Which I’m not. The faucet behind me began to drip, and the sound filled the room, setting my nerves on edge the way a loudly ticking clock would. Suspense – just waiting for the bomb to drop.

“You’re going to marry him, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t help it; I had to laugh – not so much at the ridiculousness of the statement as at the complete somberness of her delivery. “You’re insane Maggie! Why would you even say something like that?”

“Just a feeling,” she said with a shrug. “It’s pretty clear that you’re in love with him.”

I walked around to the other side of the table and sat, resting my arms on top and leaned forward. “It’s pretty clear that you need to be committed,” I said seriously. Maggie just winked and gave me a sweet smile. “We don’t even know each other Maggie! How the hell can you get ‘love’ from this?” She said nothing, just nodded her head as if confirming some private thought. “So we spent a few days together – big deal! I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again. And honestly, that wouldn’t bother me a bit!”

As if on cue, my phone started ringing. I pulled it from my pocket and we both stared at the unknown number flashing on the screen. “Are you gonna answer it, or are you practicing your telepathic skills?”

“Of course I’m answering it. I only use my telepathy on you,” I replied, sticking my tongue out in her direction. “Hello?”

“A.J.?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, you owe me money! I told you she gave me her real number!”

“Pete?” I asked somewhat incredulously. Maggie’s posture perked up and she gave me one of her patented ‘I Told You So’ looks.

“Yup. Cool, you recognize my voice!”

Maggie smiled at me and started gathering up the remains of her lunch.

“Are you there? Is it alright that I called?” Pete asked. I could hear the doubt in his voice.

“Sure,” I said, slowly recovering from my shock. “I just never thought that you’d actually call me.”

Raucous laughter from the background drifted through the receiver. “Why would you think that?” he asked, sounding honestly bewildered.

“Yo, Pete! Have you asked her yet?” a deep voice called out. Strange, scratchy noises filled my ear as the mouthpiece was obviously covered, muttered words and a muffled “Ow!” making their way through – along with the shutting of a door.

“Sorry about that. Brendon’s a little pushy today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he – well, we – wanted you to come to dinner tonight.”

I was silent for a few seconds while I let this sink in. “You want me to come to dinner?”

Maggie snapped the lid back on her salad and started to ceremoniously hum Here Comes the Bride. The dirty look I threw her didn’t shut her up. “I’ll give you two lovebirds some privacy,” she said, rather loudly, as she sauntered out of the break room.

“Lovebirds? What was that?”

“Nothing,” I recovered quickly. “Aren’t you sick of me yet, Wentz? I’ve spent the last three days with you, and Lord knows I’m not that entertaining!”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re extremely entertaining.”

For some reason, my cheeks grew warm, filling my face with the unnatural reaction of a blush that I thanked God Maggie couldn’t see. “Well, I don’t know Pete. We’re pretty slammed today and I’m not sure if I’ll have the energy to hold up one end of a conversation, much less captivate you two with parlor tricks.”

“Don’t worry about that A.J., we’ll let Brendon cover the entertainment portion of the evening. Besides, he’s dying to show off more of his culinary skills. What do ya say?”

“Well…”

“You wouldn’t leave me here all alone with a sad, pouting Brendon, now would you?”

“No, I guess I can’t,” I reluctantly admitted. “But I won’t get out of here till about seven. Will that be too late?”

“Nope,” he said happily. “That’ll be perfect! And I promise you’ll be home by ten. See you soon!”

He hung up before I could get a word in edgewise, surely so I couldn’t change my mind. I ended the call and turned the small device around in my hand, pondering the last five minutes. What exactly just happened?

A glance at my watch told me that lunch was over and I shoved my phone back into my pocket, leaving the break room and hurrying down the hall to get my next assignment. I couldn’t help letting a smile form at the tingly feeling spreading throughout my body. A foreign feeling I never thought I’d let myself feel again.

I think I have a friend.