Miss Behave Read online

  My mind shies away, exhausted .

  Last night, lying in bed, I thought it might be fun. Like an adventure. A wedding, a honeymoon, the fantasy of being swept off my feet by some rich, brilliant doctor.... Google-stalking him only made him seem more enticing: kind of wild, kind of promiscuous, but certainly good-hearted. Passionate about his work. Plus, no one was accusing him of anything worse than liking a good time .

  I drifted off picturing myself shyly unbuttoning his shirt, for a closer look at those spectacular abs. Can’t remember what I dreamed of, but I woke up feeling pretty optimistic .

  Then came the mail: two past-due bills and a foreclosure notice. The idea of James as my only choice made him seem less of an adventure, more of a prison sentence. I mean, whitewater rafting’s a great vacation, but nobody wants to be shipwrecked, bouncing around in a dinghy with no way home .

  Then again, how’s his idea any worse than, say, going on one of those reality dating shows? They get cash prizes; they get engaged at the end. And they’re doing it for an audience, just as we would be .

  I stare at the forbidden door. The handle’s so dusty I can see shiny fingermarks where I grabbed it. Dad wouldn’t approve. Or maybe he would. Can’t picture him wanting me to lose the house. He never wanted me to take that second mortgage in the first place. Begged me to put him in a home, finish college, live my life .

  Wish I could ask him. Wish I could ask someone .

  Maybe I could ....

  I wiggle my phone out of my pocket. Been so long I’ve forgotten the number, but it’s still in my contacts—Kate from Claire’s. Can’t believe this is who I’m asking, a long-ago co-worker who taught me how to pierce ears. Gave me my first taste of wine from her mom’s stash, too. Not exactly a good influence, but I always —

  “Diana! Hey! That’s amazing, you’re calling me—I was literally just thinking about you! What’s up ?”

  And that’s why I’m asking her. If there’s one person I can count on not to judge, to be thrilled to hear my voice, that’d be Kate. “Hey, yeah—sorry it’s been so long! I’ve been... You know how it is. Crazy busy .”

  “Mmm....” Don’t think Kate’s been what you’d call “crazy busy” in her life, but at least she’s making the right noises. Sympathetic ones. “Oh, did you hear about Lisa ?”

  I barely remember Lisa. “No... What about Lisa ?”

  “She married some guy in his sixties! And he’s not even rich!” Her consonants go all fuzzy, like she’s talking through a yawn, or—no. Putting on mascara. Probably getting ready for a night out. I remember those.... “Oh! And he’s a magician ! ”

  I blink. “What, like a stage magician ?”

  “Yep.” I can hear the mascara wand now, busily squidging in the tube. “He, like...made an elephant disappear. Or a rhino. It was on CNN. Or ESPN .”

  That...doesn’t sound right. “So, uh... If he was rich, would that’ve been better or worse ?”

  “Hm.” Kate blots her lips—I can hear the pah! pah! “That depends. I mean... How rich is he? Does she need the money? Is he a normal rich guy, or does he think of marriage as, like, just another transaction ?”

  “I don’t know—really rich, yes, and normal-ish ?”

  “Can’t see anything wrong with it.” A compact snaps shut. “If they treat each other nice, and they’re both getting what they need, what’s the problem ?”

  What, indeed? “I don’t know... Maybe it’d get... Maybe she’d get bored, and he’d get lonely, and they’d end up one of those couples where you’re like... What’d they ever see in one another ?”

  “Then they’d say ‘I don’t’. Marriage is like a mattress: gotta change it every eight years. Or when the springs start poking you in the back.” She’s walking, now, heels clicking on tile. “You know me—do something till it stops making sense...then stop doing it !”

  I have the feeling I’m getting horrible advice. But Kate always makes me laugh. “You can be my maid of honor,” I tell her .

  “Aww. And you can be mine.” A door opens in the background. “Hey, I’m just grabbing a cab, but you wanna go out soon? Catch up properly ?”

  “Sure.” I smile into the phone, hoping she can hear it in my voice. “I’ll call you next week .”

  We say our goodbyes and hang up. Not sure that exactly helped, but it felt good to laugh .

  I’m probably agonizing over nothing. Haven’t even heard from James since I dropped him off in Fonthill. He was probably drunk, or stoned, or joking—maybe all three. Doubt he even remembers me. And of course, here I am, acting like I could call him right now and accept his proposal, and we’d actually get married. More likely, he’d get that “my, this is awkward!” voice people do when you’ve shown up to a party you thought you were invited to, or brought birthday balloons to a wake .

  The sun’s going down, and I’m getting stiff from sitting on the floor. I hoist myself up, grab my cleaning supplies, and head for the kitchen. I’m not going to solve anything in the next twenty minutes. Might as well make some dinner .

  I’m stirring rice into a pot of chicken broth when my phone rings. I almost ignore it—The bill collectors love to call around mealtimes. It’s like they can sense when you’re about to take a load off, let go of your worries. But when I pick up, it’s not a collector .

  “So...did you think about it ?”

  It’s James. And apparently, he does remember .

  “From every conceivable angle.” Might as well be honest .

  “You gonna keep me on tenterhooks ?”

  “What is a tenterhook, anyway ?”

  He exhales through his nose. “A hook for stretching cloth. And you’re stalling .”

  He’s not wrong. “Do you... What would we do together? I mean, what would a typical night look like, at home, after work ?”

  “Mm, well, we’d cook dinner, watch movies, walk the dog. Talk about our days. Y’know, friendly stuff. Like couples do .”

  “You ever actually been in a couple ?”

  He chuckles, low and rich. “Not as such, I suppose, but I know how it goes. Or, I know how I’d want it to go. Down, Percy.” There’s a deep woof, and James laughs again. “Go on, git. This is a private conversation .”

  “What about, uh... You know....” I clear my throat. “Other couple stuff. Of a more intimate nature .”

  “What, you mean sex ?”

  “Wasn’t that clear ?”

  “Sorry. Had to tease you a little.” Is he even capable of talking about sex like an adult? I swear, if the next words out of his mouth are squish mitten, hot pot, or—horror of horrors—bacon rose —I’m cutting him off. “Naw, I mean...not right away. Not if you don’t want to. Figured we’d get to know each other, and when the time felt right ....”

  “Sounds reasonable....” I feel like I should press for details—I don’t know, ask him what he likes, if he’s been tested lately, if he’s into anything weird—but maybe all that comes later, during the getting to know each other part .

  “So, we doing this ?”

  I survey my surroundings, taking in the sad pot of broth, the red-stamped foreclosure notice, the bucket in the corner, catching drips. The hall’s full of shadows, but I know what they’re sheltering: that door, that sheet, that abandoned book .

  What am I holding on to that’s so great ?

  “We’re doing this .”

  I half expect him to burst into laughter—hooo-boy; can’t believe you fell for that!— but the sound that drifts down the line is a sigh of relief. “Thank you—thank you, thank you . ”

  You’re welcome doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. Nothing exactly does. When the silence gets uncomfortable, I blurt out “It’s okay .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You’ll be fine. You’ll see.” My soup starts to simmer. I stir it, making a whirlpool of rice. “This time next year, you’ll be the poster boy for everything good and wholesome .”

  “I hope so.” He clears his throat. “So,
uh... I got my lawyer—thought you’d come by tomorrow, check out the contracts, and if you’ve got someone you want to look over them ....”

  I don’t. It occurs to me I’m at a real disadvantage here .

  “I’ll bring someone in, if you don’t. You shouldn’t be going in blind. Doesn’t seem fair .”

  “Thanks—yeah, I don’t.” Feels like I should say something more. “I appreciate that. You didn’t have to look out for me that way .”

  Maybe this won’t be so bad—more adventure than prison sentence .

  “Hey, I want you to be comfortable.” There’s a warmth to his voice, an earnest note. “We’ll go somewhere after. Have a real date. Something a little romantic, take the edge off all that ink .”

  “Sounds good .”

  My soup starts to boil over. I dial the heat down, balancing the phone on my shoulder. It’s all moving faster than I’d expected. “Hey, I’ve got something on the stove—I should go. What time tomorrow ?”

  “Make it noon .”

  “Okay—see you then!” I hang up quick, breathing deep to fend off the panic. This is... Wow .

  This is seriously happening .

  7

  J ames

  I kind of hate the contract signing .

  Wish we’d done the date first, then this. Feels too much like a scene from one of those movies where the princess has to marry the evil dragon king to save her realm—only, instead of her father leading her to the altar like a sacrifice, it’s a bored-ass lawyer leading her through the contract clause by clause, while I sit like a dope, wishing I could hold her hand .

  Diana looks scared—or maybe she’s just concentrating. She dressed up for the occasion: a pristine white dress with red buttons down the front, white stockings, red shoes. She looks amazing, and I didn’t even get the chance to tell her. Tom scooped me up on the way to the conference room, and he’s been on me like glue ever since. Not sure what he thinks I’m going to do, but he glowers at me every time I so much as reach for a glass of water .

  She looks up at me right before she signs: a long, probing stare, like she’s taking my measure. I meet her gaze, afraid she might change her mind if I blink .

  She grips her pen tight. I can see how white her knuckles are .

  “All right,” she whispers, and it’s done. Feels like there should be more to it, some kind of ceremony—a wax seal, maybe, or a solemn oath—but her lawyer just snaps the folder shut on the contracts and pushes away from the table .

  “Dr. Ashby; Miss Carson.” He nods. “I’ll messenger over your copies this afternoon .”

  So... That’s that ?

  Tom shoots me one more death glare on his way out the door. I ignore him. There isn’t much time before the wedding, and most of that’ll be eaten up with planning. This is my one chance to court her, and I’m not letting it go to waste .

  “Ever been to Bird Kingdom ?”

  Diana shakes her head. She looks a little stunned .

  “C’mon. We’re going.” I offer my arm, and she takes it. “It’ll be fun.” It occurs to me that I have no idea what her idea of fun might be, but I keep talking anyway. “There’s all kinds of birds, flying around wild and free. And they let you feed the lorikeets .”

  “Lorikeets?”

  Not sure if she doesn’t know what they are, or if she’s got whiplash from everything happening so fast, but I jump on that. “Yeah—they’re these...rainbow-colored parrots, with, uh, tongues....” I do a fluttery thing with my fingers. “Trichoglossus haematodus —that’s what the trichoglossus part means. Hairy tongue. Had one lick my finger, one time. It...tickled.” Shit. I’m babbling .

  “I know what a lorikeet is.” Diana gives me an odd sidelong glance. “Just... Sorry. Got a little....” She stands up a little straighter, tightening her grip on my arm. “You know what? You’re right. Sounds like fun. Bird tongues and all .”

  I’m hoping the birds’ll be like... a therapy dog in a hospital. Good way to break up the tension, get Diana’s mind off what we’ve just done. I want her relaxed for this, in a good frame of mind .

  Seems like she’s thinking along the same lines: halfway to the aviary, she turns to me, half-smiling. “You ever go to Rice Road, back in the day ?”

  “You mean when they used to have that petting zoo, and you could feed the sheep, and stuff ?”

  She nods. “Yeah. My dad used to take me when I was little. Loved the peacocks .”

  “I went with my aunt. Spent all my summers with her. She’d take me to Rice Road, Sherkston Beaches—the Falls, of course.” I grin. “Remember that one sheep they had, the big fat one, with the....” I make an asthmatic snuffling sound, like the sheep used to make when we’d feed it .

  “Big Willy, I think.” She wrinkles her nose. “Or Big Sam. Big...Something. Been a while .”

  “So, hey—we just found something in common.” I want to touch her—squeeze her knee, stroke her arm—but she’s driving. “How about you? Ever been down my neck of the woods ?”

  “Had a layover in Atlanta once... Don’t suppose that counts .”

  “Nah, Atlanta—that’s a whole other beast. Me, I’m from redneck country.” I smile a little, thinking of home. Heard it’s gone downhill since I left, but Statesboro was a pretty nice place to grow up, especially for an outdoor kid. Lots of bugs to catch. Trails to explore .

  “Speaking of home... What’s your family going to think? Have you told them? Are they coming to the wedding, or ...?”

  Ouch. Guess the subject was bound to come up sooner or later, but ....

  “Sorry—did I say something wrong ?”

  “No. No, only, I don’t have much family left.” I flatten my palms to my knees, forcing myself to stay cool. “Dad passed last year, and Mom’s been gone a long time. My aunt’ll be there, the one that took me to Rice Road, but that’s about it .”

  “Sorry. About your father, I mean.” I wonder if she’s going to say anything about her own family, but she just cranes her neck to check her side mirror. Looks like we’ve arrived .

  The mood lightens once we get inside. Looks like Bird Kingdom was a good choice: Diana gets right into it, snapping pictures with her phone—even pulls me in close for a selfie, which... Yep. First time she’s touched me, without me reaching out first .

  A big blue-purple bird struts up and rips the tassel off my shoe. That gets her laughing—another first for the day .

  “Ugh! What the—? Devil pheasant !”

  “Ha, ha—that’s a pigeon !”

  “That is not a pigeon!” I stab my finger at it. “Yeah: I’m talking about you. Just who do you think you are ?”

  The bird shakes out my tassel, like a terrier with a rat. Its crest bobs and quivers .

  Diana holds up her phone. There’s a picture of the same damn bird, smug as hell, chest puffed out. “See?” She taps the screen. “Victoria crowned pigeon. Totally harmless .”

  “Tell that to my shoe.” I flap my hands at the bird. “Go on—shoo!” It cocks its head, unruffled .

  “Hey, at least it didn’t shit on you .”

  “No, but that’s supposed to be good luck. This, now—this is just vandalism.” But I’m starting to get into it too. Having fun. And we’ve got the place mostly to ourselves: never seen it this quiet before. Then again, I’ve never been on a weekday afternoon in the off-season. It’s just us and a chorus of twitters and coos, the whir of wings, water dripping on leaves. Feels like walking through an enchanted forest, straight out of a fairy tale .

  I stop her at a point where two palm trees bend overhead, forming a natural arch. She raises a brow, questioning. I take a deep breath and turn to face her. “Now, this might seem sudden, but we don’t have a lot of time, and....” I reach out slow. When she doesn’t flinch away, I tuck her hair behind her ear, letting my hand linger against her cheek. “Well, you’ve never looked as lovely as you do right this second, with the dew in your hair, those blue eyes all sparkly—and there’s something I want you to ha
ve .”

  Her eyes follow my hand as I reach into my breast pocket and pull out a black velvet pouch .

  “This is ...?”

  I press it into her hand. “My great-grandmother’s.” I’m not sure why—it’s not like she’s going to choose this moment to say no, when she’s already signed the contract—But I’m getting nervous, watching her loosen the drawstring, shake the ring out into her hand. Should’ve just gotten her a diamond, something modern, something —

  “You...really want to give me this?” She’s turning it this way and that, watching the fire dance in the opals. “This is a family heirloom. I couldn’t — “

  I squeeze her hands in mine, carefully, so she won’t drop the ring. “Listen, I know in a lot of ways, this is...wrong. Rushed. And tomorrow, we’re gonna be knee-deep in fittings and caterers and... I don’t know what all goes into a wedding, but there’s going to be lots of it, coming at us fast.” I step a little closer. “I wanted this to be right—something real, something from the heart, before we have to...y’know .”

  She takes a long, shuddering breath. I swear her eyes glisten a little. “Then...then, yes. Yes. Put it on my finger .”

  I slide it on slowly, almost reverently. It’s a perfect fit. Diana looks down at the ring, up at me, and this is my moment .

  I lean in for a kiss .

  She stiffens at first, but soon she melts into it. Her lips taste of mint gloss; her hair’s fresh and citrusy. Her arms slide around my waist, and for a moment, it all feels natural, as spontaneous as the first kiss I ever had, on the bank of my granddaddy’s pond .

  The spell breaks when we pull back, but I wouldn’t say it ruins the moment. We’re both giggling, self-conscious, and there’s a high flush on her cheeks that I’m sure is reflected on mine .

  “I’m glad we didn’t have to do that in front of the lawyers,” she says .

  “Yeah, that could’ve been... Might’ve taken some of the magic out of it.” I take her hand and we keep walking along the trail. That bird’s still following us, the little shoe-eating dickwad, but I don’t even care. I’m going to float in this bubble while I can. Not sure she’s ready for what’s coming next—I know I’m not. It’ll be good to have this to look back on, so we’ll know there’s a spark, something nice between us .