About Face (Love in the Suburbs Book 1) Page 4

  Chapter 7

  A lady should always stay classy.

  My grandma smiles at the knock on the door. “Now, that’s more like it. None of this honking the horn business.” She nods in approval as she opens the door. “You must be Shelby.”

  Shelby holds out her hand, but Grandma reaches forward and hugs her. “Tell me. Are you Francis’s special friend?”

  Oh my god! She did not just insinuate Shelby’s my girlfriend. “Grandma!”

  Grandma is unmoved by my outrage. “What? I’m a modern gal.”

  Shelby starts laughing. Pretty soon she’s bent over at the waist snorting and trying to catch her breath. I smack her on the back. “It’s not that funny.”

  “Yes.” Snort. “It.” Snort. “Is.”

  I smack her again. “Stop it. I’m not entirely pathetic. I could have a girlfriend, you know.” Now, I’m arguing I could be gay. What is wrong with me?

  Shelby immediately sobers. She grabs my hands and pulls me close. “You are not pathetic at all. I don’t know what’s under your bandage, but you’re beautiful no matter what.” I open my mouth to remind her I also have a deformed leg, but she shoves her palm in front of my face. “Nope. I don’t want to hear whatever negativity you’re about to spout.”

  Grandma claps from behind me. Oh crap. I forgot she was there. “Are you sure you two aren’t you know?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  “My grandma has sex on the brain.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” she shouts as she walks away. “It’s perfectly natural. Isn’t it, Bill?” Grandpa grunts. Smart man. He knows better than to open his mouth.

  “Please. Get me out of here,” I beg Shelby.

  “Your chariot awaits.” She curtsies and indicates the taxi with a regal wave of her arm.

  I call her a nerd before starting to hobble my way down the walkway to the awaiting car.

  ♥♥♥

  We’re on our second drink when Shelby finally asks the question I’ve been dreading. “So,” she takes a swig of her beer before continuing, “what’s the reason you needed to escape? Don’t say it’s your grandma ‘cuz she’s a hoot. I want to adopt her.”

  I ignore her. Everyone always wants to adopt Grandma. What they don’t realize is how Grandma acts is only funny when she’s not your grandma. When she is, it’s plain out embarrassing. “I was feeling depressed is all.” I shrug.

  “And a session with Brody didn’t lift your spirits?” She sighs and leans her head on her hand with a faraway look in her eyes. “He’s positively dreamy.”

  I snort. “Sure, he’s dreamy until he starts torturing you. And then, when you don’t grunt in pain, he gets annoyed and starts a counseling session.”

  “A counseling session? Please proceed.”

  Ugh! I lay my head on the table and cover it with my arms. If I hide my head, no one can see me, right? Because I don’t want to talk about this! It’s embarrassing. My own friends dumped me. A glass is plopped down in front of my head. I open one eye to discover a full glass of red wine. Exactly what I need. I sit up and take a large swallow.

  “Now tell Shelby all about it.” When I ignore her, she snorts. “You might as well tell me. Or I can bug you until you talk. Your choice.” She picks up her phone and quickly types a message. My phone goes off immediately.

  Tell me.

  While I’m staring at the first message, three more arrive. Tell me. I’m waiting. Losing patience here.

  “How the hell do you type so fast with one hand?” I blurt out in frustration and then smack my hand over my mouth. “Forget I said that. I’m an idiot and a crap friend.”

  “And an even worse girlfriend,” Shelby chimes in with a huge smile on her face. “I can’t wait to tell everyone I know your grandma thinks we’re dating.” Her smile is decidedly evil. Uh oh.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you – as long as I’m not suddenly in a relationship with you on Facebook.” When she nods her agreement, I proceed to tell her about my awesome Friday night out with my girls. Sarcasm intended.

  “Those bitches!” Shelby proclaims as soon as I finish. “There’s only one solution to this problem. Let’s get drunk!” Now, there’s a plan I can get behind.

  The night gets fuzzy after my second glass of wine. The next thing I know we’re walking around Target. Well, Shelby’s walking. She’s stuffed me into one of those part shopping cart part wheelchair thingamabobs. “Oops!” she shouts as she runs into yet another clothing rack.

  I can feel my face heating up as an elderly customer walks past us tut-tutting as she shakes her head. I’m never going to be able to shop at this location again. “Let me out. I’ll walk,” I hiss as we swerve down another aisle.

  “Not happening, freak! I could barely get you out of the taxi.”

  She has me there. I thought maneuvering on crutches was difficult. Then, I decided to ignore doctor’s orders and drink a gallon of wine. The ability to maneuver at all became impossible. Good thing I’m feeling no pain as I hit the side of the taxi pretty hard.

  I look around and notice we’re in the candy aisle. This is not good. My hands itch to reach out and fill the cart with all the goodies I usually deny myself. “We need to get out of here before I buy the store out.”

  “No way. There’s a huge M&M dispenser here. I only eat blue M&Ms. Ordering those blue babies is expensive.” She stops the cart and swings it around. “Voilà!”

  My mouth drops open at the sight in front of me. There is a row of clear, plastic tubes containing various colors of M&Ms extending from the ceiling. From the looks of it, you place a container at the bottom of the tube and twist a knob to dispense the candy. This is too cool. Shelby already has a huge container in her hands and is heading for the blue M&Ms.

  I’m not that picky. I scooch the wheelchair cart thingy to the nearest dispenser. When I’m close enough I bend over backwards and stick my mouth under the tube before twisting the release valve to start the flow of candy. As soon as my mouth is full, I stop the flow with a twist and start crunching away. I close my eyes and moan.

  “This is awesome!” I say once I swallow the heavenly taste of candy-covered chocolate peanuts. “This is exactly what the world needs. More candy!”

  Someone clears their throat, and I open my eyes. Crap. That’s not Shelby. Nope. Shelby isn’t wearing a red polo shirt and khaki pants. I roll myself away from the dispenser and slowly sit up.

  “Can I help you?” My words come out slurred. Eating candy has not sobered me up. Bummer.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  I nod. “I was planning on paying for those M&Ms.” I actually wasn’t, but not because I’m a thief. My alcohol-soaked mind simply hadn’t gotten past the thought of ‘hey, candy!’ yet.

  “Hey!” Shelby shouts. I see she’s holding five huge containers of blue M&Ms. Guess she was serious about only eating the blue ones. “You’re not kicking her out because she’s a freak, are you?”

  My eyes bug out of my head. She did not just say that! My hand moves to my face without me being consciously aware of it. Crap! My bandage is missing. I hold my hand over my face as I re-arrange myself in the cart.

  “Go pay for those. I’ll meet you at the taxi.” I start pulling myself forward using my good leg and one crutch. It’s not easy, but I’m determined. No one else is going to see my face! Ever!

  Shelby nods at me before turning on the manager. “How dare you embarrass her? Don’t you think she has enough to deal with?” Luckily, I hear their footsteps moving off in the opposite direction. I don’t want the manager’s pity. The only thing I want is to get the hell out of here.

  I’ve finally managed to get myself situated in the waiting taxi when Shelby arrives with her bag stuffed with blue M&Ms. “I’m sorry,” she says as she shuts the door and motions to the driver to get going. “I didn’t mean to call you a freak because of your face. I hadn’t noticed your bandage was gone. Promise.”

  I stare out the window. “It’s fine.
”

  She grabs my wrist and pulls my hand away from my face. “It’s not so bad, you know.” I don’t bother responding. She doesn’t know what I used to look like. I wasn’t beautiful or anything, but I wasn’t ugly either. Now? Now is a completely different story.

  “I’d totally do you. Well, if I batted for the other team. But I don’t. Despite what your grandma thinks.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, the driver pipes in. “I bat for your team, and I’d date you. You’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Those Irish looks do it for me every time.” He dangles a business card over the seat. My mouth hanging open, I grab the card before stuffing it in my pocket and covering my face once again.

  We ride the rest of the way to Grandma’s house in silence. I wish I could jump out of the taxi and escape as soon as we arrive, but I still have this stupid leg injury to deal with. Instead, Shelby hops out and helps me. I try to pull away from her as soon as I’m steady on my feet, but she’s having none of it. She helps me to the door. “I really am sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

  I groan and admit, “I’m not mad.” She didn’t lie or anything. What she said is true. I am a freak.

  “You’re not a freak.” Yeah, sure, whatever. She waits a minute, but when I keep my mouth firmly shut, she grunts and stomps back to the waiting taxi.

  I wasn’t lying. I’m not mad. But I do need a minute to wrap my head around what happened. Excluding a gazillion doctors and nurses, no one except Grandma and Grandpa has seen my face since the accident. I wasn’t planning on showing my face ever again. I was therefore woefully unprepared for my new friend to get a glimpse today. Despite her assurances, I’m not convinced she can see me as anything other than a freak now.

  Chapter 8

  A lady should always be modest.

  “Someone’s here to see you,” Grandma shouts from the front door. Ugh. I hope she doesn’t expect me to move. I have the worst hangover of my life. Of. My. Life. The combination of red wine, pain killers, and chocolate is not one I can recommend. My stomach somersaults at the mere thought of any one of those items coming anywhere near my vicinity again. I’m sprawled over the recliner in the living room watching Hallmark movies I will never admit to watching.

  “Hey, Frankie!” At the sound of my assistant’s cheerful voice, I jolt and have to catch myself before I fall off the recliner. What’s Jackson doing here? And why is he here on a day when I look like death warmed over? I reach up to re-do my ponytail but realize it’s a fool’s mission as my hair is a complete rat’s tail.

  “How are you doing?” Jackson chuckles as he takes in my pajama-clad self. “Rough night?”

  “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up.” My grandma says from behind Jackson. She points at Jackson and then gives me two thumbs up while winking. Oh god, who does she think he is?

  “This is my assistant Jackson, Grandma.” When she only smiles in response, I continue. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Things can change,” she sings as she walks out.

  “No, they can’t,” I shout at her retreating figure.

  Jackson is full out laughing now. “It’s not funny. She keeps setting me up on dates with grandsons of her friends. Thus far, I’ve met a man who is in his late thirties but still lives with his mom. I wasn’t good enough for him. And then there was the man who wanted to steal my painkillers.” He tilts his head back and bellows. I throw the remote control at him. “Stop it!”

  He easily catches the remote before sitting on the sofa across from me. “How are you really doing? Do you think you’ll get back to work soon now since the cast is off?”

  I scrunch my eyes at him. We talk nearly every week to catch up on everything going on at the office. He knows I’m in physical therapy and still struggling with walking on my crutches. Putting weight on my left leg remains a distant dream. “What’s going on?”

  He stares at his feet for several long moments before speaking. “The woman they hired to temporarily fill in for you? Tara?” I nod at him to continue. “She’s gunning for your job.”

  I’m not surprised. Event planner jobs are few and hard to come by. The firm I work for is one of the best in the business as well. Everyone who’s anyone in the event management business knows the firm. We only work for the biggest, most respectable brands. In other words, getting a job there is like winning the lottery for an event planner.

  “There’s more,” Jackson starts but then doesn’t continue.

  I wait but the seconds tick by. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”

  “She’s going around telling everyone you can’t do the job anymore.”

  She’s not exactly wrong. Right now, I most definitely cannot perform my job. I log over 20,000 steps on an average day at work. And those are ‘office days’. Event days can cause the number to double. The doctors have assured me that with physical therapy and a lot of work (and a lot of pain which they conveniently forgot to mention), I can return to normal. I won’t be running any marathons, but I wasn’t planning on losing my mind and running one anyway.

  I explain this to Jackson – once again – but he shakes his head when I finish. “No, that’s not it. She…” He coughs as a light shade of pink colors his face. Oh boy. I’m not sure I want to hear what he has to say anymore. He clears his throat and tries again. “She says you’re deformed, and clients will never want to work with you.” His face is now beet red.

  “What the hell?” I shout and jump up to start kicking some ass. My so-called ‘good’ leg gives out and I fall into a clump on the floor. Jackson rushes to me and helps me back into my seat.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you should know.”

  I nod as my initial anger fades. Deformed? Am I deformed now? My hand flies to my face to cover my scar. Good, I exhale a sigh of relief, the bandage is still in place.

  “Stop it.” Jackson sits on the coffee table in front of me. He reaches forward and pulls my hand away from my face. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “How do you know?” I sneer at him.

  He points to the bandage. “If it weren’t for the bandage, I wouldn’t even know there was anything wrong. The rest of your face looks as beautiful as it always has.” Yeah, right. Sure, it does. He can’t possibly be serious, right now. “And the bandage isn’t very big. It only covers your right cheek.” He grabs my other hand and cradles my hands in his. “You are not deformed.”

  I hear a sigh behind me. I don’t need to look to know my grandma is spying on us. I pull my hands away from Jackson. “He’s not my gentleman caller,” I shout at her. She doesn’t respond, although I do hear giggling before her retreating footsteps indicate she’s giving us some privacy.

  “My grandma is crazy.”

  Jackson ignores the entire grandma incident. “Why don’t you show me how it looks? I can be impartial. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think it is.” My eyes widen at his words. Is he out of his freaking mind?

  “Nope. Unless you happened to catch me at the Target in the middle of the night eating M&Ms straight out of the dispenser, you’re out of luck.”

  He chuckles and returns to the sofa. I regale him with tales of my adventures at Target. But he isn’t distracted. “What are you going to do about Tara?” he asks when I finish my story.

  I shrug. What can I do? It’s not like I can waltz back into the office and claim my job back – at least not yet. “Devon promised me my job would be waiting for me when I’m ready to return to work.” Devon’s my boss and one of the senior partners. We work well together, and I consider him a friend, but the world – and his business – didn’t stop revolving because I’m injured.

  “What if you don’t come back?”

  “What?” My eyes widen at his suggestion. “What am I going to do if I’m not an event planner?” It’s the only job I’ve ever wanted. And I’m good at it. No, not good. I freaking rock my job. Every single person for whom I’ve planned an event has asked me to plan their next eve
nt.

  “No, I don’t mean stop being an event planner. I meant why don’t you start your own company?”

  “My own company?” I’ve never given going out on my own a thought. The events I plan cost tens of thousands of dollars and take massive amounts of coordination. There’s no way I could do it without a team behind me and some serious financial backing.

  “Yeah, why not?” Jackson asks as if his suggestion didn’t totally rock my world. “You could even stay in the suburbs and work for smaller companies at smaller venues. I bet this town is dying for someone of your caliber.”

  Um, no. I don’t think so.

  “I’d work for you.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’d leave the city to come work in the boondocks for me? At a start-up company? You do know the chance of a start-up company going bankrupt within the first year is way over fifty-percent?” He’s lost his marbles. “Are you running a fever or something?” Oh wait, I sit up straight. “Is Tara a total bitch? Does she not bring you your favorite coffee every morning? Poor baby. How will you ever survive?” Jackson may be my assistant, but I always take care of him. Since there’s a coffee shop on the ground floor of my apartment, I stop every morning and grab us coffees. He’s spoiled.

  Jackson snorts. “Tara is a total bitch, but not the reason I think you should start your own business.”

  “Spill.”

  He shrugs. “You’d make an awesome business owner. What more of an answer is necessary?”

  I prod him some more, but he doesn’t spill where this idea of me starting a business came from. Not a problem. I can be tenacious. I’ll figure out what’s going on with him eventually.

  After fifteen minutes, Jackson stands. “I better get back to the city. Tara’s probably on the warpath by now.” He reaches in his pocket for his phone and frowns. “Yep, she’s definitely on the warpath. I can’t wait for you to come back.”