Evan doesn’t truly believe that he is some boyfriend from the closet of the unmentionable and denied? Bess has those types from college, to be sure, but her only remorse about Evan is in how it ended. Or didn’t end. Or whatever it was that happened.
Bess chose Boston College for undergrad because it was closest to home, and therefore closest to him. She thought they had some unspoken agreement, but then Evan left. He went to Costa Rica for a summer, which turned into six years once he found a native to shack up with. The woman was Latin and glorious and sent a ripple of envy through every male who’d been bred on the island. Son of a gun, Evan Mayhew leapfrogged them all.
When Evan showed up at Bess’s wedding, she wasn’t sure if he’d come on a plane or from across the street.
“Oh no, he’s been back for years,” some now nameless and faceless Nantucketer told Bess as they waited for refills of wine.
“What happened?” Bess asked whoever it was.
Meanwhile, where was Brandon, Bess’s new husband? Who the hell knew. The important question was: Why did Evan leave Costa Rica and did he bring the girl?
“Dunno,” the person replied.
“I have to admit,” Bess says now, at the construction site, the wind stirring up the sawdust around them. “When discussing high school boyfriends with the girls on my freshman hall, ‘random townie’ ranked as the best by far.”
“Well, duh. Especially once they learned you were serenaded at prom.”
“Ah, yes. In front of the whole school. Actually that almost disqualified you.”
“Hey,” Evan says, pretending to be outraged. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever done!”
“How sad for you. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.” Bess puts a solemn hand to her chest. “‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ is very romantic. I’ve grown awfully tired of hearing it at weddings though. I mean, come up with an original first dance song already.”
“Cut me some slack. I was an eighteen-year-old kid. That was my way of showing affection.”
“And it was very cute,” Bess says. “Initially. But after the song ended, you and the rest of the baseball team broke into the ‘Macarena.’ So forgive me if I wasn’t swooning.”
Evan laughs.
“Okay,” he says. “You have me there. The ‘Macarena’ is terrible. Well, I can tell you one thing. That Brandon douchebag never sang ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’ to anyone.”
“Safe assumption. So that’s why you didn’t like him? He was deficient in Coolio appreciation?”
“Yes. That. Also because, from the moment I met him, I knew he wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Brandon?” Bess is puzzled. “Seriously? He’s an asshole once you get to know him, but on the surface…”
Brandon wasn’t all bad. Not in theory, anyway. Bess has standards. She fell in love with something. There was his over-the-top-gentlemanly stuff, for one. He made the bed the first time he slept over. While Bess showered, he snuck out and bought not only breakfast but a week’s worth of groceries. Never mind the chores; there were the notes he left in Bess’s purse. Once a week, at least.
You looked beautiful this morning.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept looking over to make sure you were still there.
Don’t make plans tonight. I have a surprise.
He always kissed her before leaving for work. And if he somehow forgot, Brandon would drive all the way back to right this grievous wrong. Sometimes he came back anyway, ten, twenty minutes having passed.
“But you said good-bye!” Bess might’ve laughed.
“I needed another kiss. And I love that look on your face, the surprise when you were sure I’d already gone.”
Brandon could be so loving. So protective. So overly concerned with Bess’s whereabouts. At least a half dozen times he showed up at the hospital because Bess wasn’t home and he was worried. Admittedly, that was a bit creepy in hindsight, but Bess was too swept up to question it.
“On the surface, what?” Evan asks, and lifts a brow. “Listen, he’s pretty and all. If you’re into that kind of thing. But I remember thinking, whoa, that guy does not deserve to be here. He shouldn’t even be at the game.”
“But why? That’s not what you…” Bess starts, trying to shake off the confusion. “Okay. So in your grand total of two times meeting Brandon, what, exactly, didn’t you care for? And P.S., you could’ve mentioned something.”
“He has jerk hair,” Evan spits out.
“Jerk hair.”
“It was too styled. Plus, he had this vibe … like he’s a shyster or something.”
“A shyster?” Bess chuckles. “That makes him sound far cleverer than he really is, like his dickishness is intentional and not simply part of his DNA.” Bess mulls this over. “Although, I did once bust him Googling ‘romantic gestures.’ Now I can’t decide if that’s sweet or ‘psycho to the extreme,’ which was my cousin’s take.”
Evan laughs in return.
“I don’t know if it’s psycho,” he says. “But it’s not normal. Did you ever recognize any of the alleged ‘romantic’ moves?”
“Oh yeah, all the time.” Bess sighs. “I should’ve listened to Cissy. Never trust a guy who didn’t play a team sport.”
“Not a jock, huh? Well, between that and him being a techie type…”
“You remember he’s a techie type?”
“I have this mental picture of him hunched over a computer, all pale and sickly and wheezing on an inhaler. It’s a pretty awesome visual.”
“As much as I like the concept,” Bess says, “Brandon is not pale or sickly. He plays golf and racquetball and his lung capacity seems to be in excellent shape.”
“Because of golf? Can you even break a sweat doing that?”
“You can. There’s also his proliferate sex life.”
Evan flinches, and so does Bess.
“Crap,” she groans. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Dear God, how far over the line has she just leapt? This is the problem with Evan Mayhew. It always has been. He’s either poking at Bess, or making her feel way too much at home.
“Ugh,” she says with another groan. “Forget it. Let’s never speak of this again.”
“A little hard to forget,” Evan responds, slowly. “As for the sex, you must not be talking about yourself as you sound pretty pissed off for someone getting a lot of action.”
“Well, we had sex sometimes. We were married after all.”
“But the bastard had a girlfriend,” Evan finishes for her. “What an asshole.”
“Oh, I don’t know that he had a girlfriend per se.”
“Then why…”
“I was referring to the prostitutes.”
And bam, just like that, a second admission slips out. A bigger one this time. Bess smacks a hand over her mouth, though it is far too late. But, really, her mistake is no surprise. When it comes to Evan, she is guaranteed to overstep, overexplain, over-Bess or “Bess up” in some irreparable way.
14
Monday Morning
“Prostitutes?” Evan says as Bess burns with regret. “Prostitutes?”