Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) Page 3

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I guess I’ve got infidelity on the brain…you know…”

  Will let his pinecone roll under a nearby bench. “It’s okay, Luce. I wish there was some juicy, drama-filled story behind our breakup, but there’s not. I just—“ He pauses, and looks away from me for a second. “I just realized that I didn’t love her. I know I hurt her, but wouldn’t it have been worse to marry her?” When he looks back up, I feel a sudden wave of affection for him. We had only been friends a few months when he and Diana broke up, but I suddenly wish that I’d been there for him. The way he’s always there for me. And Jen, of course.

  “When did you realize that you didn’t love her?” Will is suddenly fascinated with his shoelaces. Part of me wants to drop the subject, since he’s clearly uncomfortable, but the other part of me thinks it might do him good to talk about it. I realize I’ve been a horrible friend. What if he’s been hurting all this time, damaged by a failed relationship, unable to move on? It occurs to me that he’s never even dated anyone since he broke up with Diana. A few nights out here and there, but…nothing.

  “Will?”

  “I’m not sure. I just realized one day that I didn’t love her. And holy crap, there’s Jen’s car. Thank God.” He gives me a nervous smile and I smile back. Shyly. Which is so weird, because Will and I have never been shy or nervous around each other. Ever.

  “Sorry, sorry. Who knew there were so many cars on the road at seven am?” Jen’s pulling her long, dark hair back into a huge ponytail as she walks towards us. “I haven’t been on the road this early in years.” The academic life is not one that starts at sunrise. It’s rare that any of us get to work before ten. But then again, it’s pretty common for us to still be there at midnight.

  “It’s alright,” I say, my irritation from earlier having evaporated. “So, what do you think we should do today? I was thinking six or seven miles.” I pull my foot back to stretch, so that my heel digs into my butt. I think it makes me look like a serious runner.

  “Six or seven miles?” Jen looks at me like I’m mental. Will is trying his best not to laugh.

  “What?” Is that too much? Too little? What the hell do I know? The last time I ran regularly was in high school gym class. I was always having to do laps for talking.

  “Let’s see how we’re feeling after two.” Jen says, and then she rolls her eyes at Will, and it pisses me off. I’ll show them. I used to beat my little brother all the time in the fifty-yard dash at field day. I’m not as feeble as they think.

  ***

  I. Want. To. Die. My legs are screaming in pain. My tank is not wicking a single drop of moisture from my body. My brand-new shoes have given me blisters in at least six places. I feel trails of sweat beading uncomfortably between my breasts, down my back, down my butt! This is hell.

  “Okay, that’s mile one,” Will says cheerfully, and now I hate him. I hate his long legs, and the way he keeps having to stop and run backwards so that Jen and I can catch up with him. I hate that he’s barely winded. I especially hate his teasing monologue, and I wonder to myself how I ever thought this asshole was the least bit funny.

  “C’mon, Muffin, we’re halfway there,” he calls, his voice lilting with enthusiasm.

  “Oh, have I got a fucking pet name for you,” I gasp menacingly.

  “See, he’s not so funny out—“ Jen stops short when my toe catches the exposed root of an oak tree adjacent to the running path, and I fall flat on my face. I’m stunned, and the impact leaves me breathless.

  “Oh my God, Luce, are you okay?” Jen’s voice is equal parts laughter and horror, and I’m not sure how to feel, until I look up and see Will running back, at full speed, towards me. He looks scared, almost panicked. Now I’m thinking I might freak out.

  “Oh, Lucy…oh shit,” Jen cries. I move my hand tentatively to my face, which I now realize is covered in dirt and blood. Will’s on his knees beside me, and then so is Jen, and now people have stopped to point and stare, and I just want to die.

  “C’mon, let’s get your face out of the dirt. Do you think you can sit up?” Will’s voice is as smooth as syrup, but his eyes are still wide with fright. I look away quickly, choosing to just listen for the time being.

  “Can’t…breathe…” I wheeze pitifully. “Why…can’t I…breathe?”

  “You just got the wind knocked out of you, hon.” Jen is rubbing my arm, and Will has gently lifted me to a quasi-sitting position, my shoulders and head tucked gently in the crook of his arm.

  “Where are you hurt?” Will asks urgently, skimming my arms and legs with his fingertips. I look at him again, but I’m too stunned to even call him a perv.

  “My nose…and my hand…” I lift my arm gingerly, and my eyes fill when I see my raw, bloody palm, full of dirt and gravel.

  “I’ve got a bottle of water in my car. I’ll be right back.” Jen’s running away quickly, already pulling her car keys out of the back pocket of her running shorts, even though the parking lot is still a good quarter-mile away. Will reaches down and gently pushes my hair back from my forehead.

  “Who put that tree in front of you?” he asks gently. “I never say it coming.” I try to smile, just to make him feel better, but my eyes are full of tears, and I’ve started to shake. Not being able to breathe is a seriously scary deal.

  “I’m sorry,” I squeak, but I can still feel my hot tears run slowly down my cheeks. Get a grip, Lucy.

  “Hey, hey…you’re okay. Don’t be scared. You’re okay.” He picks up the tail of his T-shirt, and very gently, wipes the tears and dirt from my cheeks. His shirt is warm and damp, and it’s so oddly comforting that I almost start full-on bawling.

  “Are people staring at me?” I whisper, suddenly aware of my surroundings.

  “God, Luce, conceited much? I’m pretty sure they’re staring at me.” He bends down and places a kiss on the top of my head, then looks across the field towards the parking lot.

  “Well, I think Jen stopped for a beer or something. Let’s go find her.” He stands and lifts me in his arms, while I give a little grunt of protest.

  “Will, please put me down, I can walk.” Now I’m super-embarrassed, and I’m sure I look like a drama queen, being carried off like some kind of damsel in distress.

  “Luce, just relax, and lean your head back. Your nose is still bleeding. If we don’t stop it soon, you might lose it.” I look up at him quizzically, and he gives me a lopsided grin. It’s the first time the worry has left his eyes since I fell, so I’m feeling a little better.

  Jen meets us halfway to the car with a bottle of water, a towel, and a bag of ice she got from the concession stand at the park. Soon I’m ensconced in the back seat of Will’s Jeep, my head in Jen’s lap, and we are headed to the University infirmary. A quick examination reveals that my wrist is sprained, my nose is bruised but unbroken, and the palm of my hand needs six stitches where a particularly sharp rock has left a nasty flap of bloody skin.

  By the time we get back to my apartment, it’s after ten o’clock. I’m embarrassed, and sore, and depressed, and I just want to be by myself, but Jen and Will are hovering. In fact, they are talking about me as if I’m not even there.

  “Listen, you go on and teach your noon class, and I’ll stick around until you get back. But be back by two-thirty, because I’ve got a seminar at three.” Will is talking softly, in the kitchen, but I can hear him. I’m injured, not deaf.

  “Both of you, go to work. I’m fine.” When they ignore me and keep murmuring, I get pissed. “Morales! Fisher! Out here, now!” I immediately regret my outburst, since the throbbing pain in my face is now back in full force. Jen comes out, but Will remains in the kitchen.

  “You should be resting, not screeching” Jen says, as she sits down at the end of the couch, pulls my feet in her lap, and starts to rub them gently. It feels like heaven.

  “Please go. Both of you. I really just want to be alone and sleep.”

  “Luce, let us stay for a litt
le while, just to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. The doctor said I’m fine. I’m feeling really dopey from those pain meds, though, and I just want to lie here alone and sleep. Okay?”

  Jen gives me a squinty look, then nods. “Okay. But call us if you need anything. You’re phone’s right here on the coffee table. Do you want anything to eat or drink?”

  “No, Mom. I’m good.”

  “Alright. We know when we’re not wanted.” She lifts my feet from her lap and calls to the kitchen. “C’mon, Will, let’s roll. Luce needs some alone time with the couch.”

  “What?” He sounds incredulous, and Jen grins at me.

  “He’s never going to leave you alone like this,” she whispers. I bite my lower lip thoughtfully. She’s right.

  “Will, come here for a sec.” My voice sounds scratchy, like I’ve already been asleep, although right now I can only dream about it. Will finally emerges from the kitchen with a fresh icepack and a glass of orange juice.

  “We’re not leaving you here by yourself,” he says firmly.

  “Yes, we are.” Jenny takes the orange juice from his hand while Will places the icepack gently on my swollen cheek.

  “Go home, or I will make you sit here and watch a 90210 marathon.” A pained expression flashes over his face, and Jenny decides to help me.

  “Yep. Right after The View, of course. And maybe a few reruns of Gossip Girl—they play that every day now, Luce.”

  “No shit?” I’m not sure if she’s kidding or not. God, I love Gossip Girl.

  “Fine, you win,” Will grumbles. “But call me if you need anything.”

  “Mama Morales already gave me the lecture.”

  “And keep that wrist propped up. I’ll come back by when it’s time for your next pill.”

  “Jen, get him out of here.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” He pulls his arm testily from Jen’s grasp. “Do you need your bag of sweeties?”

  “Oh, God, yes, please,” I sigh. Bless his heart. I’ve always kept a bag of candy stashed in my purse. And not good candy, like chocolate or anything—my taste leans more towards Skittles, Sweet Tarts, and Fun Dip. My Dad, who’s originally from England, called it my ‘bag of sweeties’ when I was a little girl, and twenty years later, I still carry it around.

  Will brings my sweeties, and then they both tuck me in and hover like idiots for a few more minutes. Finally, I am alone. I actually do watch The View for a few minutes, but I wasn’t kidding about those pain pills making me dopey, and before long, I am fast asleep.

  Chapter Five

  A thumping noise wakes me up, and I am completely disoriented. I open my eyes and see that Paul is hovering over me, sitting on the edge of the couch.

  “Jesus Christ, Luce, what happened to you?” I’m so looped I forget for a moment that we’re broken up, and reach up for a hug. He holds me gently, running his fingers under my hair, at the back of my neck, and even after I get my wits about me and realize what’s going on, I still shamefully let him cuddle me. So sue me, I’m hurt.

  “Are you alright? What happened?” He pulls up and sets me back against my pillow, and I almost whimper with the feeling of loss.

  “I just…” God, I don’t want to tell him about training for the race. Especially when I’m doing such a bang-up job of it. “I fell. On the street. Missed my step and fell ass-up off the curb.”

  “Poor kiddo,” he says gently, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, and yes, I’m lapping it up like a saucer of milk, dammit. After a moment he clears his throat, and whatever spell we are under passes.

  “You haven’t been sitting here eating your sweeties all morning, have you?” He frowns at the bag on the coffee table.

  “Oh, those?” I make a scoffing noise in the back of my throat. “I didn’t even see them—Will must have put them there.”

  “Figures,” Paul mutters, and I scowl at him. Paul might be the only human being on the planet (other than Diana, natch) who doesn’t like Will. For the life of me, I’ll never understand it.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, changing the subject. What the hell is he doing here?

  “I came to pick up some stuff. I’m sorry, I thought you’d be at work.” He stands slowly, and I guess he figures this part of the conversation needs to be conducted from the other side of the room. The flying potpourri pot flashes through my mind, and I don’t blame him.

  “Oh, yeah, well…” I trail off uncomfortably. “Go ahead and get what you need.” He doesn’t move, so I keep talking, because I never miss an opportunity to flap my jaw when I’m nervous.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “With a friend,” he says noncommittally. He picks up the TV remote and starts flipping through channels. I’d tell him to stop, but technically, it is his TV.

  “A friend with ties to the Pentagon?” I mutter from under the icepack on my cheek, but when Paul asks “What?” I say nothing. Screw him—why does he have to look so good?

  Paul stops on a sports channel, and then refocuses on me. “Why don’t I just get my clothes for now, and I’ll come back later for the other stuff when you’re feeling better.” This sounds reasonable to me, and I watch him walk back to “our” bedroom. I’m still sleeping in the guest room, but I have left a mess in the master bath. I start to feel bad about it, then decide he can stuff my wet towels and make-up stained tissues up his ass. God, his ass looks tight in those jeans.

  Get a grip, Lucy.

  After a moment, I hear him yell “Luce…” from what I can only assume is the cavern of the closet. If I scream back, I’ll give myself a colossal headache, so I gingerly scoot off the couch and make my way back to the bedroom.

  “What?”

  “Where are my DVD’s?”

  “What are you talking about?” Holy shit, did Will actually take them? Suddenly I’m on the verge of a huge, stress and codeine-induced laughing fit. I cover my mouth with my hands, then let out an unattractive wail of pain.

  “Whoa, are you okay?”

  “Yes, it’s just my stupid wrist. And I had to get some stitches, and they’re starting to sting a bit.” I hide my arm behind my back suddenly. I don’t want him to see my injuries-they’re so ugly.

  “Well, you’re face looks like you were run over by a truck. You’d better go back and lie down.” He pulls several suits and jackets from the closet and throws them across the bed. I continue to watch him take items from the closet, and the finality of it all hits me, hard. Afraid I might start crying, or throwing things again, I turn to leave, but stop short when I hear a “what the fuck?” from the bathroom.

  “Paul?” I walk in and find him crouching underneath the sink. He’s pulling out toiletries from the cabinet, and I see a few dozen of his DVDs, which have been haphazardly crammed in between his hand towels and Sonicare toothbrush refills. A bubble of laughter rises from my chest, and Paul gives me a disgusted look.

  “You think this is funny? Screwing around with my stuff?”

  “I…I didn’t…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence, so I just stand there, trying my best to stem my giggles. I am going to kill Will. Or kiss him. I haven’t decided yet.

  “Have you screwed around with anything else?” He sneers from inside the closet.

  “Have you fucked around with anyone else?” I counter. That shuts him up. He finishes throwing various items into a large blue duffel bag, then turns to face me.

  “We need to talk. Soon.”

  “About what?” I’m the picture of innocence.

  “About this condo. I’d like to sell it.” I’m not sure if he expects me to argue or not. But I’m not going to.

  “Fine, sell it. If you give me my half of the down payment back, we’ll call it even.” I won’t let him see me sweat, but shit, where the hell am I going to live?

  “I’d like to get it on the market soon. You got a raise, didn’t you? This won’t put you in a bind?” Like you give a shit, you asshole.

&nbs
p; “No, not at all. Get it on the market, and I’ll be happy to show it.” Wow, I sound so mature and calm.

  “Well, you’ve got to keep it clean if you’re going to show it, Lucy. You can’t keep the bathroom looking like a train wreck.” And, so much for mature and calm.

  “Well, I’ve been so busy, Paul. I mean, cleaning up your sex stains from the master and all. You two sure do leave a mess.”

  “You know, Lucy, you sure make it hard for me to feel badly for you.”

  Oh. My. God. I’ve never been so angry. Seriously, if I was a cartoon, steam would be coming out of my ears, like a locomotive. “Fuck you! The last thing I need is for you to feel badly for me, you piece of shit. Get out of here!”

  “Lucy?” Paul and I freeze. It’s Will, coming round to make sure I take my afternoon pills.

  “What’s he doing here?” Paul’s hissing whisper has a nasty edge to it. “Are you fucking him already?”

  “Shut up! God, you are disgusting. Please, just get your stuff and get the hell out of here.” I’m literally shaking, I’m so mad.

  “Luce…are you okay?” Will’s voice is closer now—he’s standing in the hall outside the bedroom door. He sounds wary, and I’m sure he doesn’t know whether to stay or go.

  “Dude, do you always barge in here without knocking?” Paul calls out, quite rudely, I think.

  Will walks slowly into the doorway. “Not usually, no. But I figured Lucy would be asleep.”

  “Well, she’s not asleep, and we’re having a private conversation here, so maybe you should leave.”

  “Gee, Paul, I’m pretty sure I just heard her ask you to leave.” His voice is low and even, and his face is completely unsmiling, which is weird for Will.

  “Lucy, we’re not done here.” Paul looks at me sharply.

  “Oh, I think we are. Just go. Let me know when you find a listing agent, and we can set a time to sign the papers.” Will and I both look at the ground as Paul grabs his stuff and huffs out. The front door slams, but we remain silent for a long moment.