The BFD (A Big Deal Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 9

  “My three-alarm chili,” he said with a grin.

  I’d already known. Dad could make one thing and chili was it, but he took great pride in it, so we all always oohed and ahhed at how good it was whenever he made it. And every time, he made so much of it, it was the one thing we didn’t have to worry about being stolen at the dinner table.

  “Awesome! Smells wonderful!” I declared. “Where’s Mom?”

  “In the living room with Ramsey, Reese, Rhett and the girls.”

  “Roark’s not here?”

  “He will be. He had to wait until Sophie got off from the hospital, so they should be here any minute,” he explained.

  “Good. I’m gonna go tell ‘em all hi.” I grabbed a beer then went into the living room.

  Walking in, I saw my three big brothers with their wives and a twinge suddenly zapped my heart as I wondered if I’d ever be sitting there with someone smiling and laughing and cutting up like they were. But I didn’t feel too bad about it because even though Roark had been with Abby for a couple years, he wasn’t married either, so I wasn’t the lone holdout.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Mom said, getting up from her chair and coming over to give me a hug.

  “Hi, Mom,” I replied, hugging her back. “Is that a new sweater?”

  She nodded. “It is! I saw it at Zoey’s Boutique and had to have it.”

  “Hey, Roar,” Rhett called, coming over to hug me before heading into the kitchen to get another beer.

  “Get me one too!” Reese called after him before he, too, stood to hug me. “How’s my baby sister?”

  “I’m good,” I answered. “How’s my big brother?” I questioned, patting his belly. Looking down at his wife Hannah, who was pregnant and due to deliver any day now, I grinned and leaned down to hug her, asking, “Sympathy belly?”

  “I think so!” she answered with a laugh.

  I then went to hug Ramsey, who stood, then bending to hug me, picked me up as he usually did and squeezed hard. “Good to see you, Roar. How’s the bakery doing?”

  “Great! How’s the computer business?” he was an applications development manager and worked for a computer firm that outsourced its employees, so he traveled frequently.

  “The same. Good as ever. You know how dumb people get when it comes to computers.”

  I laughed because he’d had to set up both Mara’s and my shop before we opened. “I do, me included.” I leaned down and hugged his wife Whitney. “Hey, Whit. It’s good to see you.”

  “Hey! Look who I found,” Dad hollered and we all turned to see Roark and Abby coming in with him.

  I ran to Roark and gave him a huge hug. I think since we were closer in age, he was my favorite, but I still loved my other brothers tons.

  “How’s my favorite sister?” he asked with a smile, then turning me in his arms, he locked his arm around my neck and gave me a fricking noogie with his fist, messing up my hair.

  “Stop!” I said giggling, jamming an elbow back into his ribs getting him to let me go with an Oof!

  “Good job.” Abby grinned before hugging me.

  There were hugs all around—we were a huggy family—and after visiting a bit more, I went with Mom to make the cornbread, and we were all finally seated around the table.

  “Heard you on the radio,” Rhett said, pointing his cornbread at me before taking a bite of it. “You dissed the hell outta The BFD.”

  I felt my cheeks get hot as everyone laughed and commented and gave him a shrug. Then thankfully, the conversation went another way and I was off the hook. When we finished, I, along with my brothers who’d been trained well, cleared the table and got the plates for dessert, which was a cherry cobbler Mom had made.

  As we all chatted, I’d just thought about how much I loved my family when Roark stood.

  “I have an announcement.”

  Oh, God. No. No!

  I looked at Abby who was blushing like crazy and I knew I was the last one. Ugh.

  “I asked Abby to marry me,” Roark began.

  “And she came to her sense and said, ‘Hell no!’” Ramsey shot out making everyone laugh.

  Everyone but me.

  “I said yes!” Abby cried and held her left hand up to show us all a dazzling engagement ring. A ring similar to the one I’d worn a little over a year ago.

  Everyone clapped and yelled out their congratulations, toasting them loudly while I snuck off and went upstairs to my old room where I flopped onto the bed and hugging the pillow, cried.

  I heard the door open and close, knowing Mom would come, and felt her sit on the bed beside me, putting her hand on my back and rubbing it making a shushing sound. When I finished feeling sorry for myself and finally turned over to sit up, I was surprised to see Roark sitting there.

  I started crying all over again.

  He scooped me into his lap and wrapping his arms around me, rocked me like he had so many times before—when I’d busted my knee open playing football when I was ten, or learned I hadn’t made the cheerleading team in seventh grade, or found out my best friend in eighth grade was moving, or when I’d last had my heart broken a year and a half ago.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Roar,” he whispered against the top of my head.

  I pulled back and looked at him as tears still ran down my face. “I didn’t mean to spoil your announcement.”

  He chuckled. “You didn’t.”

  “I’m a baby.”

  He set me next to him then bending his knee up and resting the side of his thigh on the bed, he turned to me. “You’re not a baby. You got hurt. I could still kill that motherfucker for doing that to you,” he bit out. Then he quickly added, “But you’re gonna be okay.” He was quiet for a moment before he said, “You know what I think happened with Noah?”

  “I turned him gay?”

  He snorted. “You and I both know that’s not true. He was gay all along. He just didn’t know how to come out.”

  “And he,” my voice caught, “did it in the grandest of ways.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t ideal. But, Roar, here’s what I think happened with you two.” He let out a deep breath. “I think you attached so much of your sense of worth to his opinion of you, that when everything happened, you hit rock bottom because for some reason you felt unworthy of him since he didn’t want you. You started thinking you weren’t good enough for him, when in reality, you weren’t man enough for him.” He let out a snort. “It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him. He’s gay. He had you fooled. He had us all fooled. But it’s not your fault. It’s all on him for being an asshole for betraying you that whole time. You get what I’m saying?” I nodded because it made sense. “I’m sure he felt bad about what he did, and I doubt his intention was ever to hurt you. But I do know his opinion of you hasn’t changed. He still knows you’re amazing. And I’m sure he still loves you. It’s just that he’s gay and he let you go, which means,” he tucked his bent finger under my chin making me look at him, “his opinion doesn’t matter anymore.” He raised his eyebrows letting that sink in. “You know your sense of worth can only come from inside of you.” He removed his finger from my chin. “You haven’t changed. You’re still the same cool-as-hell woman you’ve always been, and there’s not one damn thing wrong with you. You just gave him too much power. And I think the reason you’ve been afraid to date is you’re probably terrified it’ll be the same. But it won’t. You’ll be with someone who’s your partner, you’ll both be happy and it’ll work. Do you see what I’m saying?”

  I picked at the bedspread for a moment thinking all of that through. Then I brought my eyes up to his and whispered, “You’re right.” He nodded and it was as if a lightbulb turned on inside my head because suddenly, everything was so clear. “You are so right,” I repeated and hugged him around the neck, whispering, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. And, really, Roar, everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “I just got upset because now I’ll be the only one who isn’t
married,” I pointed out. “I mean, I wanted you to be the loser, not me.” I giggled.

  He chuckled. “Who cares who’s last?” Then he bugged his eyes out at me. “Hell, what if this means you’re the only sane one left.”

  That made me laugh even more.

  “You have a full life, Roar. You own your own business, you have a great apartment, you’ve got an awesome best friend and you have an amazing family with a fantastically brilliant big brother named Roark.” I laughed. “And you also know that being with someone is just an option. You don’t have to be with anyone to be happy. You can be perfectly happy just being with you, right?”

  “Right,” I answered, truly agreeing with him.

  “There’s tons of famous women who’ve never been married. Wanna know some?”

  “Sure,” I answered with a chuckle.

  “Queen Elizabeth the first.” I tilted my head to the side, giving him a look. He snorted and continued. “Mary-Louise Parker who I totally crushed on because she was badass in Weeds. That chick who played Rory’s mom on Gilmore Girls—Abby loves that show and sometimes make me watch it.”

  “I love Abby.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Um, Kylie Minogue, Winona Ryder, Sheryl Crow, Edie Falco, Marisa Tomei, that chick who played the stepmom on Juno.”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked.

  He grinned sheepishly. “I sometimes sneak Abby’s People magazines and read them when I’m on the shitter. Don’t judge.”

  I cracked up. “You’re such a goob.”

  He pulled me into another headlock and rubbed his knuckles on top of my head making me say “Uncle” before letting me go. As I sat up, giving him a dirty look and trying to straighten my hair, he finished, “So, see? It’s okay to be alone.” He shrugged. “And it’s okay to be with someone.”

  I laughed. “You sound like someone on Sesame Street.”

  He cracked up. “Oh, fuck, I do.”

  “But you’re right, Roark. I do have a good life.” I hugged him again. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Anything for my favorite sister.”

  I pulled back and rolled my eyes as I wiped under them. That’d been his running joke since I was old enough to understand what it meant. “I’m your only sister,” I complied letting him finish what he’d always thought was a hilarious ending to it.

  “And thank God for that.” He cuffed me under the chin. “You good to go?”

  “Yeah. Do I look like I’ve been crying?” I asked as we stood.

  “Nope,” he said, putting a hand to my back and leading me out of the room. “And I’ll just tell everyone you had a terrible bout of diarrhea and needed me to get your some more toilet paper, so you won’t be embarrassed.”

  I turned and punched him in the arm. “Gee, thanks.”

  No one acted like I’d been gone when I returned to the table, which was how my family was—gracious, understanding and nonjudgmental. Dad poured a glass of wine for everyone, winking at me when he picked up my glass, letting me know everything would be okay, then we all formally toasted Roark and Abby.

  I so loved my family.

  Chapter 13

  So, I thought I knew how to be a DJ and run a turntable and all, but I quickly learned I was clueless. I did kill it with how I’d dressed, though, but only because I’d called Melissa Taggart from KWSH at four o’clock that Saturday to ask what I should wear.

  “Way to wait until the night of,” she’d said sarcastically, but I thought she nailed it when she told me to mimic Vanilla Ice from the 90s.

  “And what the fuck would that be?” I’d responded, baffled.

  “Baseball cap, t-shirt, jacket and Hammer pants.” She started giggling uncontrollably.

  “What the hell are Hammer pants?” I asked.

  “Google them,” she answered through waning giggles.

  After seeing what they were, I shouted, “Oh, hell no!” making her giggles get loud again.

  “I think they’d look fabulous on you!” She snorted loudly as she continued laughing.

  “Ha ha. But let me tell you, I’d make anything look good.”

  Still laughing, she stated, “There’s The BFD I know and love.”

  “That’s right, baby. And don’t forget it. Oh! Here’s a picture of him wearing jeans. Jeans it is, thank God.”

  “Gotta run,” she told me between chuckles. “Ben and I will see you tonight!”

  I’d taken her advice and now had on an Aerosmith t-shirt under a brightly-colored Nike jacket, jeans and a baseball cap that I’d turned slightly sideways. See? Killin’ it.

  At six o’clock, people had already started filing in, which was awesome, except it didn’t start until seven, but I guessed it was okay. I’d wanted to mess with the sound system and try to figure it out, but with people milling around, stopping to say hi to me and chat me up, I lost some time. Thirty minutes later, I finally got onstage and panicked when I couldn’t figure any of the sound shit out, not even knowing how to select songs or adjust the volume. I’d had to make another call to a KWSH employee, Mike Musie, who’d sent Dan the DJ by to show me how things worked, for which I was eternally grateful. Once I kinda had it down, I started playing music exactly at seven, and although I was still a little shaky, things had gone well.

  More people came by to say hi, along with my mom and dad and Carson and Myles, and I saw that most of D.C.’s elite had made an appearance to get their picture in the paper before promptly leaving, but all of that was okay because it looked like everyone was having fun. And as long as KIDS Klub benefited from their generosity, it was all good.

  “You ready to par-tay, D.C.?” I yelled into the mic and got a loud, “Yeah!” from the crowd. “Awesome! Let’s do this!” I said back.

  I pushed a button on the soundboard and when “Thriller” came on, the crowd went wild. I laughed watching everyone line up to do the dance together which looked pretty cool. Since the song was so long, I took a break to down a bottle of water then look out at the crowd, seeing there were several others who I thought were dressed like Vanilla Ice too, a few guys had on those fucking saggy diaper pants Melissa had tried talking me into wearing, I saw some Michael Jacksons, and there were about fifty Madonnas.

  Guess the eighties hadn’t been all that diverse.

  As the night went along, I got confident in my DJ skills, and when people came up to make requests, I usually got it right. Look at me goooo.

  Even Dad came up and asked me to play some lame song by a band of chicks named the Bangles, something about a flame because, and I—disgustedly—quote him, “This is the song Mom and I made you and your sister to.”

  Well, that’ll be imprinted in my brain forever. Sick.

  A few songs later, Carson yelled, “Hey!”

  I looked down to see her standing on the dance floor but leaning on her forearms and looking up at me. “’Who’re you supposed to be?” I yelled back.

  “Posh Spice!” She spun, modeling the tight, short, sparkly black dress she was wearing, along with some damn pumps with heels so thin and spiky they looked like they could be used to perform surgery. She turned back and grinned at me.

  “I don’t know who that is,” I said just to piss her off.

  “Fuck off,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

  “So I guess you want me to play some Spice Girls, huh?”

  “No! Play me some ‘MmmBop!’”

  I stared at her.

  She laughed. “I’m serious! Come on, Calder! Please?”

  She’d had the biggest crush on the Hanson brothers so my entire seventh year in the world, she’d tortured me, playing that dumbass song at least a hundred times a day for a month straight. Seriously, in the car on the way to school, “MmmBop!” On the way to her cheerleading and my football practice, “Zip-a-da-dee-doo ba!” On the way home from practice, “MmmBop!” Every morning when I woke up, “biddy-dab-oh-doo-ba!”

  I fucking hated that song.

&nbs
p; “Pleaseeeeeee,” she begged.

  “You owe me.” She nodded. “Big,” I challenged. Then I held my hand out and made her pinky swear because for some reason women around our age did not go back on pinky swears. Must’ve been some cult-following thing in the 90s.

  “Thanks!” she yelled, then with a squeal went to find Myles who I knew was going to love this.

  “Hey, man!” I heard and turned to see Mike and Jeff, the radio guys coming up to my DJ booth…thing.

  “Hey! Thanks again,” I said to Mike. “I’ve just about got it all figured out.”

  “Good! Happy to help!” he replied.

  “Nice turnout,” Jeff yelled.

  “I know!” I answered. “Makes me proud of my city!” The song ended, and I told them to hang on as I cued up Carson’s ridiculous song. When it started playing, tons of women screamed and ran out to the dance floor, my sister Queen Bop of them all. I glanced over at the guys who, if I hadn’t known any better, I’d think they were watching a video of Dr. Pimple Popper doing her thing.

  “Reason I’ve only worked for rock stations,” Mike grumbled.

  A Madonna impersonator Vogue’d her way to the booth asking if I’d play some Destiny’s Child. Kidding. She wanted “Like a Virgin,” of course.

  “Hey, speaking of Madonna, Rori Flannigan’s looking pretty good,” Jeff said.

  I jerked my head back. “She’s here?”

  “Yep,” Mike confirmed, looking out at the floor then pointing. “There she is.”

  I squinted, trying to figure out which one she was. “Where?”

  “There,” he repeated. “The one dancing with cone-tit Madonna. See her?”

  Boy, did I see her. And she was dancing her ass off wearing early Madonna—white bustier, black jacket and short, tight skirt, black big fishnet tights, short boots and those lacy half glove things. Damn. Lastly, I saw that her hair was frizzed out and topped with a big, black floppy bow. I’d say she nailed it.

  Carson’s song was over, so I played the Madonna request and watched as what seemed like fifty Queens of Pop raced to the floor, but I kept my eyes on Rori, guessing she was dancing with Mara, who’d chosen to go as cone-tit Madonna.