In the Stars Page 8

  I test my own strip. “Well, mine is ready to go, so yours probably is too. Just pull it off super fast or it will hurt more.”

  Josh nods and yanks at the strip. A white strip of hairless skin appears on his jungle of a leg. He grunts a little in the pain and then throws his shoulders back. “Nothing to it. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

  I shriek again as I pull my own strip off and say with a grimace, “Well, fine, you win the tough guy award.”

  “No way, I haven’t won the tough guy award yet.” Josh pulls the robe off and displays his underwear, brief style. “This is the true test.” He dips the spatula in the wax and spreads a large amount on his inner thigh, just inches down from the leg band of his underwear.

  I wince in anticipation. “That’s going to hurt. You’re putting too much wax on.”

  “Nope, this is exactly the right amount to crown myself Waxing King.” Josh puts his leg up on the vanity and braces himself. He rubs the cloth strip up and down until it appears to be ready.

  “Do it before it cools too much,” I suggest. He nods and I count for him. “One. Two. Three.”

  He yanks at it and instantly doubles over in agony. “Too tender! Too tender!” he howls, falling to the floor. “That is intense!”

  “Did you get it?” I eye his hands but don’t see the strip of cloth. “It did come off, right?”

  Josh looks down at his leg and groans. “No! It’s still there.”

  We both stare at the strip of cloth, now firmly imbedded on his upper leg. “That’s too close to your groin. You should have realized it would be super sensitive there.” My lecture falls on deaf ears.

  “How am I going to get this off?” Josh is beginning to panic. “Will water rinse it off?”

  “How should I know?” I manage to choke out amid laughter. “This is my first time too.”

  “You’re a girl. You’re supposed to know these things.”

  “Do you want me to text Heather? She’ll know exactly what to do.”

  Josh lunges for my phone and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. No Heather! Don’t you know how bad she’ll mock me for this? It’ll be on Facebook. It’ll be on Twitter. She’ll tell the mayor at her next photo shoot. Heather can’t keep a secret and you know it.”

  “Okay, but I have no other ideas. We could leave it.”

  “No, it has to come off. It’s just wax. Why don’t you pull it off?” Josh says. “I’ll look away and brace myself while you tug. Deal?” He holds onto the counter. “I’m ready.”

  I get a grip on the strip and with all my strength give it a pull. Josh yelps and jumps and the strip doesn’t move. “I think you have too much hair there. You’re kind of like a hobbit. It’s got quite the hold,” I say, but I don’t think Josh appreciates my wit.

  “How do we get it off?”

  “Maybe cut it off?”

  I dig through my luggage and pull out my makeup and toiletry bag. I have a tiny pair of scissors that I use for my eyebrows. I take them out and slowly, painfully, cut at the cloth. Soon the scissors are covered in wax and refuse to open more than a centimeter. The strip is still hanging on for dear life.

  “My grammy always said that if you pull out a grey hair, it will cause ten more to grow in its place. So it’s a good thing your hair is so dark.” My second attempt at humor falls on deaf ears.

  Josh is growing more agitated. “What do we do? This is ridiculous! Can we reheat the wax and make it pliable again?”

  “That might work.” I think for a second. “Maybe if you jump in a hot shower,” I suggest. I leave the room and Josh gets in. “Crank it way up,” I holler through the door. “The hotter it is, the more likely the wax will get malleable again.”

  Waxing is overrated. Why cause yourself pain if you can get essentially the same result with a razor? The shower turns off and after a brief pause, I hear a squeal of pain and then a cry of triumph.

  “I got it!” Josh wraps a towel around his waist and steps out, waving the now-soaking strip above his head. It drips with wax, water and a few thousand hairs.

  I applaud and he takes a bow. When he straightens, I feel something strange. I stare at Josh wearing nothing but a towel and realize that we’ve never been alone like this before. I mean, he’s always been such a fixture in my life that I never . . . I don’t know, I never recognized him as a very attractive man. His bare chest with hundreds of water droplets clinging to it makes me feel flushed and uncomfortable. I try not to think about the honeymoon comments from earlier today, but they rise unbidden to my mind. Does he feel the electricity, too?

  Josh is my friend, I tell myself firmly. It’s been too long since I had a date, that’s all. When I see Drew tomorrow, thoughts of Josh in this new, attractive light will be gone.

  “Ready to go explore?” Josh watches me with delight. “We’ve had our wax party, which for the record is a once in a lifetime experience, and also which we will never speak of again. What happens in the hotel bathroom stays in the hotel bathroom.”

  I flush a second time at that comment.

  Josh continues without noticing my discomfort. “And now, my friend, I’m hungry. You up for it?”

  “Of course,” I reply. See? Nothing more. He doesn’t feel anything for me other than friendship, and I fully reciprocate.

  Josh grabs his clothes and closes the bathroom door to get changed. I hear a moan and then he pokes his head out. “Uh, so it looks like I, uh, might need a Band-Aid or two. Any chance you have something in your purse?”

  “A Band-Aid? Why? Are you bleeding?”

  Josh flushes and lowers his eyes. “Well, uh, seems like I might have done a little damage when I finally got that wax strip off.” He coughs awkwardly and a peal of laughter escapes from my lips.

  “Are you for real? Mr. Tough Guy ends up bleeding?”

  Josh attempts to glare but ends up laughing himself. “Stop mocking, it hurts.”

  “Well, don’t put a Band-Aid on,” I offer. “You don’t want anything else sticky down there or it’ll hurt even more when it comes off. Maybe get a clump of toilet paper and hold it on for a minute.”

  Josh agrees and the door closes once more. I get dressed and five minutes later Josh emerges, ready to go.

  “Bleeding stopped?” I ask innocently.

  “Not a word,” he commands, avoiding eye contact.

  I obey and we are out the door in no time. Downtown Victoria is incredible, with bushes cut into the shape of killer whales, the glorious and majestic Empress Hotel with thick ivy climbing up the walls, and all the little bakeries, shops and boutiques. It is also packed with tourists, snapping pictures and crossing the street way after the lights have turned red.

  We turn the corner and it is instantly quieter; apparently the tourists typically stay on the waterfront. It’s nice having some time to ourselves. We window shop, peering in an art store with sculptures and breathtaking paintings depicting a sunrise over a lone fishing boat. The next store contains ceramics; plates and cups and vases, all handmade right here on the island, according to a little note card placed front and center in the window.

  The next window makes me stop. Chocolate! Sweet, delicious looking chocolates of every kind: mint cream, strawberry, dark chocolate, white chocolate, chocolate whales and starfish and even little packs of flavored hot chocolate powder.

  “Do you want some?” Josh isn’t gazing at the chocolate but instead watching at me.

  “No.” I lick my lips.

  “Sure you do.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out some coins. “Go in and grab a few pieces.”

  I can’t turn down chocolate. “You rock!” I tell him. Once in the store I am hit with colossal indecisiveness. Which ones? After vacillating for a while, I finally decide on two mint chocolate squares and four butter cream cent
ers. They place them in a little brown paper baggy and I rejoin Josh.

  I pop one into my mouth and close my eyes. “This is delicious.” I offer one to Josh and he accepts. We polish off the bag then go find something for dinner.

  Everyone wants to go to heaven,

  but nobody wants to die.

  —English Proverb

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wish Josh was with me as I draw a deep breath and close my eyes. All right, think calming thoughts. Peace be with me. Happiness, sunshine, flowers and rainbows. Think happiness. My mind refuses to calm itself.

  The door in front of me is intimidating and not what I expected. I had taken the RSVP address from the wedding invitation envelope and punched it into Google Maps. It led me here, to a house in the prestigious Uplands in Oak Bay community, a place where I never expected to find Drew.

  Let’s face it. I always picture him in my mind dirty and covered in sweat in the middle of a football field, or lounging on a couch in a friend’s basement with his feet up and swigging a beer while watching hockey. This luxury home doesn’t seem like the Drew I remember.

  Sure, Drew grew up with money. Seeing his parents last week reconfirmed that. But this home is beyond extravagant, and not even in the way that the home I cleaned for the realtor was. This house backs onto an inlet of the ocean. There is a wooden dock, stained a deep shade of reddish brown. Flowers line the walkways, bright pinks and blues and yellows. But it is the house itself that is most impressive. It is an old Victorian style house, larger than most, with turrets and a wraparound porch. There is even an elegant sign on the lawn that proclaims it as a “beautiful historic landmark”.

  I can’t even imagine what it is like to live in a landmark.

  And I especially can’t imagine Drew living in a landmark. Back in university he would toss his empty beer cans on the floor of his Mustang convertible, wear four hundred dollar jeans to football practice and once he spit some gum out in the living room of his apartment. He was aiming for the trash can, but when he missed he didn’t bother to pick it up. It sat there, squished into the rug for two days before it drove me crazy and I removed it with a paper towel and cleaner.

  The point is, he isn’t the most qualified person to be living in a historic landmark. It should be home to a nice old librarian with a pinkish tinge to her hair, that’s who.

  I’m stalling.

  Before I can procrastinate any longer, I raise my hand to the huge, brass knocker and let it fall. It doesn’t make much noise, and to the side of the door I spot a doorbell. The modern fixture seems out of place, but I press it quickly before I lose my courage.

  Chimes ring out, louder than I had expected and I jump despite myself. Five, ten seconds go by. I fidget to and fro and suddenly I feel a leap of anxiety in my soul. I can’t go through with this. I turn on my heels and bolt. Half jogging in my high heels, I am down the steps and part way across the lawn when I hear a voice behind me.

  “Hey, wait!”

  I stop in my tracks. I think that’s him. I’m not one hundred percent sure, it has been a while since I’ve heard his voice, but it sounds familiar. This is awkward. Not only am I here, but I’m here and then fleeing. I swallow, but there seems to be a lump in my throat that has appeared out of nowhere. I hear footsteps behind me and then the voice again.

  “Were you looking for me? Can I help you with something?”

  I turn and stare into a face that has haunted my thoughts since the day I first met him. I lick my lips and croak “Hi.” I sound like a fifty-year-old chain-smoking alcoholic.

  Drew eyes me intently for a moment and then breaks into a huge grin as recognition dawns on his face. “Charlotte Ann Southard. What the hell are you doing here?”

  The next few minutes are a blur. We both begin to say something and then stop and we’re laughing and he reaches out and gives me a huge, warm hug. His shoulders are broad, just as I remember. His arms go around me and my heart beats so rapidly it’s getting difficult to breathe. The earlier awkwardness dissipates and I can’t get the words out fast enough, my words stumbling over his.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “How are you?”

  “I haven’t seen you in what, five, six years?”

  “I’ve thought about you for so long! This is crazy!”

  “Your hair looks different, but I like it.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

  The questions and comments fly out and I feel like I’m twelve years old and it’s the first day of school after summer holidays. My cheeks hurt I’m smiling so much.

  We finally take a breath and Drew chuckles and rubs the stubble on his face with the palm of his hand. “Holy crap, Charley. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “I know. I just, well, I was thinking about you the other day and I ran into your mother and she told me you were out here. I had to come out for a job interview anyway, so I figured I’d swing by and see you.”

  I got it out coherently and didn’t even have to lie. Ha! I did run into his mother. Sure, it was at her house, but still the truth. And the job interview is, okay, maybe that’s a bold-faced lie, but I could have come for one. Theoretically. It was part of the plan this morning when I left the hotel. I didn’t want him to think I was creepy or anything, and flying a thousand kilometers to see an ex might fall into that category. By saying I have an interview makes everything seem sane and plausible.

  Drew steps back and eyes me up and down. I gauge his expression, discomfited in the knowledge that he’s checking me out. Then he smiles again. “You look more beautiful than ever. How did I ever let you go?”

  I beam at the compliment. “Thank you. You look pretty dapper yourself.” In a shaggy, unshaved way.

  Drew reaches out and grabs both my hands in his own. “I want to invite you in, but I have some things going on right now. We need to catch up, though. Do you have time later? I’d love to go out for drinks with you. Where are you staying?”

  I want to ask about his fiancée, but I can’t force the words out. Is she in there? Is that why I can’t come in? Is she prettier than me? Do you love her? You’re so excited to see me . . . does that mean you and your betrothed are kaput?

  “I’m at the Hotel Grand Pacific right near the harbor,” is all I say. The rest won’t come. But I’m sure it will all be discussed when we sit down together.

  “How about I meet you there in a couple hours and we’ll go to the lounge?” Drew is as take-charge and confident as ever. That has always been one of his most attractive qualities and I feel myself melting into a puddle of mush. He has to be willing to give up his fiancée. This is destiny.

  “Yes, absolutely. Will you, uh, be alone, or do you have, I don’t know, friends or someone you should bring too?” I can’t get the word fiancée out. But the sentiment hangs heavy on the breeze.

  Drew glances over his shoulder at the house. I follow his gaze but don’t see anything in the darkened windows even though certainly she must be in there. He clears his throat. “No, it’ll just be the two of us.” He hesitates for the briefest second. “You’re not implying something are you? You dating someone? You’re not married, are you?”

  I shake my head. “Nope, I’m single as a fox.” What does that even mean? I am officially an idiot.

  Drew smiles and puts a hand on my waist. “Good. Then we’re both in agreement. Just the two of us. What time works for you?”

  I reach up and run my hand through my hair. “Say around five?”

  “It’s a date.” Drew winks at me, gives me one last hug and then walks back across the lawn and up the steps. I’m dying to see the inside of the house (is it as luxurious inside as out?) and wish he’d invited me in, but there will be time for that later. The door closes behind him but I can’t seem to break myself away from my trance.
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  We spoke! He hugged me! He was happy to see me! We have a date! Or something.

  I don’t want to see Josh again until after I have a better handle on where things are with Drew so I wander the neighborhoods, slowly making my way back to downtown Victoria.

  Everything is so green here. There is a slight mist in the air, as if Mother Nature hasn’t decided if she wants it to rain or not, and it feels refreshing on my face. I breathe it in, my lungs soaking up the humidity. Flowers bloom in every yard and I get lost in a vision of me and Drew gardening together in front of that beautiful Victorian. I can almost smell the dirt and flowers and fertilizer.

  I try to analyze our conversation. There was no mention of his girlfriend. Not in passing, not when I brought it up casually. Nothing. But what does that mean? Does Drew think we’re meeting up for drinks strictly as friends? Or is his relationship on the rocks, and he doesn’t feel like he has to talk about it? I mean, he’s supposed to get married but obviously something’s wrong. His mom did almost slip and tell us what it was when we were talking to her. Maybe he’s already called the wedding off and I don’t know about it because I’m not technically on the guest list.

  That could be it.

  I wander for a while before I even bother to check my cell phone for the time. Its four -thirty and I have three missed calls from Josh and one text from Heather. Fill me in! Have u seen Drew yet? I am dying to hear how it went. Dying!

  I smile as I read the words. I can picture Heather saying it, impatient to a fault, wanting to know everything. Even when we were kids, at Christmas time she would unwrap her presents when her parents were gone and then rewrap them. Not knowing my situation must be killing her.