Such a Pretty Face by Annabelle Costa

Chapter 26

“I’d like to cook you dinner tomorrow night,” I tell Brody on the phone one night. We’ve been talking for two hours. Flirting, followed by phone sex, followed by more flirting.

“That would be great,” Brody says. “Do you want me to tell Nancy to go get you some groceries?”

“Actually, I was thinking you could come over here,” I say.

Brody has never been to my apartment before. We’re coming up on six months, and he’s never once even been in my neighborhood. I get it—it’s hard for him. But he could come here once, for Christ’s sake.

He hesitates. “I could, I guess…” He doesn’t sound thrilled at the prospect.

“Well, you’ve never been to my apartment,” I point out to him. I try not to let my irritation show.

“Is it accessible?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “I mean, there aren’t any stairs or anything.”

“Yeah, but…” Brody sighs. “Stuff you might think is accessible might not be. I mean, like, how wide is your doorway?”

“I don’t know…”

“My wheelchair is pretty wide,” Brody reminds me. I don’t point out to him that I’m pretty wide too. “You should measure it. If it’s at least thirty-two inches, I should be okay. If it’s a little less, I might be able to manage.”

“I don’t have a tape measure,” I say lamely.

“Emily, listen,” he says. “This has happened to me before. Do you know how much it sucks to come all the way over there and not be able to get through the door? It will ruin our evening.”

I can sympathize. I know what it feels like not to be able to fit somewhere. I feel a twinge of guilt, but I push it away. Brody and I have been together long enough that he should come over to my apartment at least once. “I’ll buy a tape measure,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

The doorway to the apartment measures thirty-one inches and the bedroom is thirty inches. Abby catches me with the tape measure and gives me an odd look, but doesn’t question me about it. She probably thinks I’m trying to figure out how much weight I can gain before I won’t fit through the door.

I report the numbers to Brody, who gives his approval, saying he may not fit in the bedroom but at least he’ll most likely make it into the apartment. Sure enough, it ends up being a little tight, but he makes it through.

“Whew.” Brody grins up at me. “Okay, now that we got through that, what’s for dinner, woman?”

I laugh. “You don’t want the grand tour?”

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

I show him the rest of my small apartment, which is tiny because, hey, this is Manhattan. I’m just lucky I don’t live in one of those shoebox apartments where my bed has to fold into the wall. Even though Brody fits through the door, he can’t fit through the space between my bookcase and my couch, which in all honesty, I’d always found a little tight as well. It isn’t that big a deal, considering all that’s behind there is my bedroom and we already determined he wouldn’t be able to fit in there. But I still feel bad, so I huff and puff and move the couch about three inches to give him space to squeeze through.

“Thanks,” he says, looking embarrassed by the whole thing.

Then lo and behold, a great miracle occurs, which is that he’s able to get through the doorway to my bedroom. He swore he wouldn’t based on the width but I guess I must have measured wrong because he makes it inside. When he sees my bed, he wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Getting any ideas?”

“Um, unless you’ve got Mike tucked away in your backpack, I don’t think so,” I say.

“Really…” Brody says in that husky voice he uses when we’re having phone sex. “You think I can’t do anything for you without Mike’s help? I think you’re wrong.”

I stare at him, my heart thumping in my chest. The way he’s looking at me is so freaking hot. “Sit down,” he says, gesturing at my bed.

I obey, wincing as the mattress creaks under my weight. Brody pushes his hand into his joystick to come closer to me. He puts his hand on my knee, and I’m grateful that I wore one of my few skirts today. The skirt lifts as his hand slides underneath, creeping up my bare thigh. He’s still gazing at me with his bright blue eyes, and I’m having a little trouble breathing normally.

His hand presses into my groin. He rubs it back and forth, up and down, as I bite my lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. “I can only do so much with my arms,” he says. “I can do a whole lot more with my tongue.”

Oh my fucking God.

I’m just about to suggest that maybe we explore that possibility when I hear keys in the lock of the front door. It takes me another few seconds to realize we left the door to the bedroom open several inches. Brody realizes it at the same moment and yanks his hand out from under my skirt. I almost trip over him trying to get to the bedroom door, but I’m too late. Abby is right outside my room.

Shit. Well, at least she didn’t see anything dirty.

Abby is staring at us, her mouth hanging open. She couldn’t look more shocked if she found out I was dating a baby zebra. “What… what’s going on here?”

“Um,” I say brilliantly. I force a crooked smile. “Abby, this is Brody.”

“This is your boyfriend?” Abby gasps. She looks like she’s having trouble breathing normally. Seriously, she could try to have a little more tact.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Oh,” she breathes. She clears her throat and plasters this great big smile on her face. “Well, that is just… wonderful! So, so wonderful! Good for you! Both of you!”

Gee, thanks, Abby.

Abby takes a few tentative steps into my room, even though I wish she’d leave. “Hello, I am Abby,” she says to Brody in this slow, exaggerated voice. “It’s very nice to meet you, Brody.”

“Nice to meet you too, Abby,” Brody says politely. I can see a few beads of sweat still on his hairline from the activities of a minute earlier. I don’t think Abby notices. Or if she does, she doesn’t know why he looks flushed.

She holds out her hand for him to shake, which of course, he can’t do. He just holds out his hand to let it brush against hers. Abby audibly gasps when he does this. I can’t imagine this being any more mortifying.

“I am Emily’s roommate,” she says, continuing in that slow voice. “That means we live together here.”

Oh God. Somebody please shoot me.

“Yeah, I know what a roommate is,” Brody says. He doesn’t sound as pissed off as he has a right to be.

“You do?” Abby claps her hands together. “Well, good for you.”

I can’t tell if it would be more or less humiliating for everyone if I inform Abby that Brody is not mentally challenged. I finally decide against it. The sooner this awkward encounter is over, the better.

“How did you get here to visit us?” Abby asks him. She glances around. “Is there someone who helped you?”

“No,” he says with impressive patience. “I just took the bus.”

“All by yourself?” Abby gasps.

“That’s right,” he confirms.

“Listen, Abby, Brody and I were about to have dinner…” I say.

Please, Abby. Take the hint and leave.

“How nice,” Abby says, cocking her head to the side. I may strangle her. “Um, so… I guess I’ll just leave you two alone then.”

She backs out of my room super slowly. So slowly that I’m tempted to shove her out the door. As soon as she’s gone, I slam the door shut, my face burning red. I turn to Brody, “Christ, I am so sorry about that. She’s a total idiot.”

“No problem,” Brody says. Amazingly, he doesn’t even sound angry.

“I’m sorry she acted that way,” I say. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with her.”

He shrugs. “Eh, it happens. Not the first time. Won’t be the last.”

How can he be so cavalier about someone assuming he has cognitive deficits? Granted, he’s been dealing with people’s idiocy for a long time. But then again, I’ve been fat my whole life, and it still humiliates me when someone gives me a hard time about it. Maybe he just doesn’t get embarrassed as easily as I do. Which is a good quality to have if you’re a quadriplegic.

Abby sort of killed the mood, so we go back outside and have our dinner. And it’s delicious, but I just can’t stop thinking about what Brody would have done to me with his tongue if he didn’t have to get back in time to meet Mike.