“Sounds like feminazi baloney to me,” Pete reiterated.
“I know feminazi baloney when I hear it,” Denny said. “You should hear my sister.”
“Right, you told me about her,” Pete said. “What’d you call her, a ball of rage?”
“That’s about right,” Denny admitted. “You should’ve heard the earful she gave me about the gal I bought this for.” Then he chuckled. “If only she knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Well, Pete…” Denny wasn’t at all sure he wanted to give out the big secret, but he conceded he’d already pushed the envelope too far. “The gal I bought this for? Is my sister’s best friend from high school.”
“WHAT?” Pete was more amused than outraged, and he doubled over laughing. “Man, you must’ve fallen overboard a time too many!”
“Yeah, well, maybe I did,” Denny said. “But she’s not like my sister, not anymore. She’s also not really the romantic type, so you know, I’m already pushing my luck a little bit with yellow here.”
“Doesn’t sound like that’s all you’re pushing, man,” Pete said. “Anything your sister doesn’t know about you two?”
“She doesn’t even know we’ve re-met.”
“No, I mean before. You knew her when you were younger, right? Ever have a quickie in the basement while your sister was on the phone or something?”
Denny laughed. “You kidding? I was her friend’s pesky younger brother! I mean, I would’ve if she were willing, but she was never the type. Except…” He paused and sighed at the guilty pleasure of a memory that had just bubbled up.
“Except what, man?”
“Well, a couple of times, she was changing clothes in my sister’s room, and the door was ajar…”
“What’d you see?”
“First time I ever saw a girl in her bra. Poor thing probably still has no idea.”
“And you think you’re going to get somewhere being a gentleman now?” Pete’s scepticism wasn’t even dented. “Besides, any friend of your sister’s…isn’t she going to just think Valentine’s Day is nothing but commercial bullshit for selling flowers and candy? ‘Cause, I mean, that’s exactly what it is, Denny, you know that.”
“Do I?” Denny asked. “I mean, yeah, there is that side to it, but what’s wrong with a day to celebrate romance?”
“You don’t believe in romance, man, do you? We’re guys, aren’t we?”
Denny laughed to keep from losing his temper at his friend. “I ought to set you up with my sister. You guys’d be perfect together.”
He also knew Pete well enough to know he was the last guy on Earth who ought to be doling out advice about love and friendship, on Valentine’s Day or any other day of the year. Yet some of his comments had hit home with Denny. Was he really falling for Martha, or was it all just a matter of fulfilling his long-ago fantasies? They’d bonded up a storm on those two meet-ups (already Denny realized he couldn’t call them “dates” when nothing romantic had ever been implied at all), talking for hours that had felt like minutes and getting to know one another far better than they had back in the day. But for all that, Denny had never quite been able to forget all the many times back then he’d jacked off to the fleeting vision of Martha — Maddy back then — in her bra.
And the better he’d gotten to know the wonderful woman she’d grown up to be, the guiltier he’d felt about it. He’d been blameless as far as he could tell, happening to be walking down the hall at just the right moment when Clara had left her bedroom door ajar, but still.
Was it really the long, lovely chats that had inspired him to buy the rose that was now clutched in his left hand as he rang her doorbell? Or on some level was he still the horny guy of before hoping to see more this time around?
“Hel-lo!” came her familiar voice, too cheerful by half, clearly expecting a friend and nothing more. Even Pete could have seen that!
“Uh…hi, Martha,” he stammered, feeling a throwback to his even younger years. This was worse than a junior high dance.
“Denny, you look frigid out there!” Martha teased. “Come on up and let’s get you warmed up!”
The door buzzed, and Denny was equal parts joy and angst as he stepped into the warm lobby. There was an old ashtray set under the prominent no-smoking sign, that could clearly double as a trash can. He paused and looked at the package in his hand. Clearly a mistake, and at least a rose would brighten up the drab lobby a bit. He almost unwrapped the paper, then recalled in the nick of time what Martha had just said — You look frigid out there. She must have seen him — and the package.
The damage was done. Maybe they could have a laugh over the whole thing — to think she would bother with her friend’s pesky little kid brother anyway! Denny bit his lip and went up the stairs.
Martha opened the door a crack to let Denny in, and retreated to the kitchen to take the muffins out of the oven. She was feeling utterly tickled by what she thought she had seen on the intercom camera. When was the last time anyone had given her flowers? She couldn’t even recall offhand. There was time for one last quick look at herself in the mirror by the kitchen door as she stepped back out. She saw nothing wrong, but was still feeling like a schoolgirl at her first dance when the soft but firm knock came at the door.
“Denny? It’s open, silly!” Then just as quickly she wished she could take it back — all at once she recalled why he wouldn’t assume her door was open. Poor guy still probably had no idea.
Silly or not, at least she had a welcoming smile as he stepped in — a smile that was more than reciprocated when he got his first look at her. “Wow, you look beautiful!” Then he shook his head and cringed. “I mean — I’m sorry! Just…”
“Sorry for what, that I’m beautiful?” Martha said. “And thank you! Take your coat and boots off already!” As Denny complied and lay the oddly shaped package on the old chair by the door — she now saw it was just what she’d suspected, for the paper was covered with a flower shop logo — she felt the same pang of self-doubt she always felt with wonderful guys like him. Maybe he was meeting another woman later who wasn’t just an old friend.
“Well, no,” Denny said, pulling his boots off. “I just meant, I didn’t want you getting the wrong idea, is all.”
“The wrong idea about what, Denny?”
“You know, about Valentine’s Day, and we’re just old friends, and…”
“You haven’t been talking to your sister, have you?”
“No need to,” Denny said. “I know what she thinks of Valentine’s Day! Does she know about us, by the way?”
“I certainly haven’t told her,” Martha said. “She’d never understand, I know that too.”
“Right,” Denny said. “I just didn’t want you to think I had the wrong idea, about what day it is.” His eyes darted briefly to the package he’d left on the chair — only for an instant, but Martha noticed.
She couldn’t resist asking — if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, at least she would know. “Speaking of which, have you got a hot date later, is that who that’s for?”