Chapter One: Stickfigure Days

To be honest, that wasn’t the only strange dream I’d been having about Santa Fe lately. There’d been others.

It was true that I had returned from there months ago, my friendship with Edward all the more stronger for it. And more complicated. Santa Fe had been both a wonderfully and horribly bizarre life-disruption.

And now I was back to a more mundane life on the homefront. Like the stickfigures in Becca’s drawing.

I was back to work at Animators, Inc. – it felt robotic and stressful. And I was having the same ol’ conversations with Jean-Claude and Richard that I’d had with them before I left. Nothing had changed. Just a vicious circle that was boring me out of my mind. I felt like I needed another vacation.

It’s no wonder my REM sleep had been so wacky lately. I looked over the art of a First-Grader again, telling myself that the dreams weren’t about Edward’s eccentricities, but simply aggravation at having to clean up my home life.

And speaking of messes – my attention was drawn back to the lake that was now my dining table. All paperwork was soaked with exception of Becca’s portrait. And a little, sad, garbled beeping was emitting from somewhere in the pile.

Ah. My pager. Someone was trying to hail me on it, I think, but the LCD display was hardly speaking English. Oh well. Probably someone wanting to complicate my life further.

“Here, let me help.” Nathaniel had come out of nowhere with a dishcloth and paper towels.

“Arg,” was all I could manage as I began to wrangle my mail. “Thanks.”

He reached for the glass that I’d over-turned and caught sight of Becca’s potential Fridge art, still clutched in one hand.

“What’s that?” he asked and took it. “Awww … Scary.”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like you, though.”

“Just give me that.”

“Who sent it – a fan?” Now he was teasing me. I was used to it.

“Actually, it was stuffed in an invitation that her mother had sent me,” I replied, now vaguely looking for the Donna’s blue envelope and, thankfully, not finding it.

“You mean this?” Nathaniel held it up and peeked inside. I pretended not to see; I was avoiding reading it again. “Hmmm. A party,” he was going on, curious as always. He wasn’t even trying for sly anymore; he’d removed it from the envelope and was holding it up to the light, making a show of it, as if his eyesight was lacking.

I tried to ignore him and managed to wipe up the last of the water.

“ ‘For Theodore Forrester and Donna Parnell’ ”, he read. “…Oh. It’s a Jack and Jill party. How…swank.”

I looked at him then, eyes narrowed. “And how would you know what those are? Been reading Modern Bride?”

“I get around,” he replied, aiming for cryptic even though I knew he barely left my house anymore. Then he met my gaze, a little forlornly. “This is in New Mexico … You just got back from there.”

“Nathaniel. I’m not going to the silly thing. That woman grates on my nerves.”

He was looking at me funny so I retreated into the kitchen to find a dry checkbook.

“You’ll go.” I heard the unwarranted resignation in his tone.

I sighed. He so obviously wanted me to ask: “Why do you say that?”

He took a while to answer, so I knew it was going to be profound.

“When Edward beckons, you follow.”

I wanted to laugh in response, but I could see he was serious. Nathaniel wasn’t stupid.

I sat down and tried to get back to work. “I’m not going. Alright? Heck, I already refused to be IN the wedding, for Christ’s Sake.”

Dismissing himself at my tone of voice, he smartly retreated elsewhere. But not before I heard his passing retort: “And why do you think that is?”

Before I could recover from the fact that Nathaniel had purposefully irked me and ran, the phone rang.

I answered the damn thing accordingly – “What!?”

“ … Having a bad day?”

My stomach curled in on itself, unprepared. Speak of the Devil. “Edward.” I half expected Nathaniel to peek his gorgeous head back into the room, but he didn’t. “How is the groom to be? Or is this a business call?”  I was half hoping it would be the later: discussing his upcoming nuptials made me nervous.

There was slight reservation in his voice when he finally answered me. “Donna said she invited you to the party.”

Damn it. I subconsciously turned over Becca’s drawing so the “Ted” stickfigure wouldn’t be looking at me while we talked, reminding me of my naptime. I picked up a letter-opener instead, unconsciously in self-defense.

“Yeah. And she made me feel guilty for not being a bridesmaid or coming to the blessed event.”

“You still don’t approve.” Flat statement. But I could hear the humor trickling through now. Is this why he had called? Was he afraid I’d show up at his wedding with David Carradine and a Hitori Hanzo sword and pull a ‘Kill Bill’ on his ass?

“Does it matter?”

I got a resounding, “No.” And then ,“I can’t picture you in teal chiffon anyway.”

Urgh. Disastrous photo shoot avoided! Teal did not go with my complexion. “What about you, Edward. Do YOU want me there? I would think that you’d be sick of me for a while. Is this little call to uninvite me?”

A chuckle and then a pause. “You do whatever you want, Anita. You always do.”

Why had I just felt he’d just laid down a challenge? Or was that code for, ‘It would be nice to see you – this woman is driving me insane’?

And why the hell did I care enough to try to decipher it?

“And anyway,” he went on, “I thought I’d better call and warn you about Donna. If you do decide to show up, she’ll manipulate you into helping with the festivities. I know that’s not your kind of thing.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Anytime.”

There was a silence, and I got the distinct impression he really DID want an answer. He wanted to know if he needed to be on his guard - like he could ever turn that part of himself off – and I suddenly found myself feeling a little hurt by his wariness. I sighed. This emotion would never have crossed my mind two years ago. Not to mention the recent dreams that were filled with him. Those alone should be the warning signals not to go…

I thought up a number of responses while staring at the pile of bills. The calendar on the wall said I was booked up for all manner of mundane, “stickfigure” things.

And then it became clear all at once that I should surprise the hell out of him and say, “I’ll be there.”

Hesitation. “You will?”

“Sure,” I replied enjoying my slip into madness, albeit briefly. Instantly my brain was rattling with indecision. What was I thinking!?  He was right to be suspicious! What if I opened my big mouth in front of Donna and her new-age friends and caused irreversible damage – it’s been know to happen! What I needed was back up! “But, not alone, if you don’t mind. Is it alright with you if I bring Richard?”

Oh, I was steadily digging my own grave. Richard and I were barely speaking.

But it was my turn to be surprised. Edwards’s voice dropped five octaves and I felt a sudden cold rush through the telephone connection. “Richard?”

Uh-oh. I’d picked Richard out of the air because Edward already knew him; even tolerated him. He didn’t know Nathaniel (which would have been the safer choice, I admit), and he would’ve draw a line in the sand over Jean-Claude…

What was all the stone-cold attitude for, I wondered.

“Yeah. Richard. Is that a problem?” And thinking fast I added, “Because I’ve already invited him.” Which I hadn’t.

Instead of a direct answer I got, “So that’s the choice you’ve made with your boys?” His voice was nearly back to normal; I think he had caught his fall to the darker side, and now the complete Edward-indifference act was back in place.

I didn’t want to dignify that with an answer. Especially when I didn’t know. But I was a little baffled by his strange demeanor over this.

“Like it matters?” I asked him. Carefully.

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

Uncomfortable pause one right after another. Weird.

“So… You’re okay with him coming?” I prompted.

“Sure. It’s your love life.”

“Thanks,” I replied, light on the sarcasm. And in my mind I was thinking, ‘because I wasn’t sure there for a second.’

Maybe this was a bad idea…
 

o….o
 

As soon as I got off the phone with Edward, I dialed up Richard before I lost my nerve.  The feeling was stronger than ever that I shouldn’t go to this thing alone.

He picked up after the fourth ring. Before he could launch into his usual tirade about our relationship, I stopped him short, jabbing the letter-opener into my palm to keep me from going insane.

“Richard, listen. I have a favor to ask …”

o….o
 
 
 

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