In the mornings, Wayne Cooper liked Black coffee and a piece of rye toast. He was up by Nine A.M sharp. Wayne was quiet. He hated Jamie from next door.
Wayne said, "Why is Jamie the way that she is?" every morning before she rang the doorbell. She wiped her shoes on the doormat and disturbed the private balance of Wayne's independent routine.
Jamie was lovely. That's what all the neighbors thought. So pretty and friendly. But her chatter confused Wayne; making all of his thoughts bend crooked and his limbs feel fragile, like he had been hit by a car. Wayne was nervous when Jamie came over. He wished she would stop. But every morning there she was, bringing blueberry muffins. Sometimes it was poppyseed. Wayne hated muffins. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust and smashing her face in the door, he repressed his antagonism and smiled calmly.
“Hello Jamie. You’re looking very lovely today.” He observed the cheerful daisies and lacy details that adorned her sundress. He was suddenly filled with the desire to vomit on her pristine white keds but instead noticed that her hair looked different. “I like your hair.”
For a moment, Wayne was alright. Jamie had brought chocolate muffins, which wasn’t so horrible. And her hair really was nice, sort of like the labradoodle he had owned as a child but on her head. But then she opened her mouth and he remembered the bees in his ears.
“Wayne,” She spoke earnestly, perched atop his Ikea sofa with her manicured brows knit in a tight line. “Why haven’t you RSVPed to my birthday party?” Wayne imagined all of the neighbors eating barbequed ribs on Jamie’s screened patio. The kids would play in the sprinkler and Wayne would sit in the corner trying to ignore the warbling of Neil Diamond on the surround-sound stereo.
“I’m busy that day.” He said. After all, Wayne Cooper was a considerate man. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She was lovely. But he hated barbeque ribs, and Neil Diamond.
Jamie scowled and picked imaginary lint off Wayne’s pressed lapel.
“I specifically chose Sunday afternoon because I know you golf on Saturdays.” Wayne noticed her hair didn’t move very much. He wanted to sniff it to check for chemicals. Wayne also didn’t golf on Saturdays.
But he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
“Okay.”
“Promise me you’ll mingle this time.”
“Okay.”
“And my sister wants to meet you.” Wayne did not want to meet Jamie’s sister. He had seen a picture, and she was not lovely.
“Okay.”
“Good. I’ll see you Saturday then.” Wayne wondered what would happen if he sniffed Jamie’s hair.
“Aren’t you seeing me now?”
“Well...yes…” Wayne shifted on the couch so there was a nice space between them. He flipped on the television and watched a man with grey hair rave about a red George Forman grill.
“Jamie, why do come in the mornings and bring muffins?”
“Because we’re friends.” She announced, cheerful. She didn’t smile.
“Oh.” Wayne eyed Jamie. She was pretty, and she was his friend. And she was sort of staring at him. What if he kissed her, right now? If they got married, she would stop smiling so damn much.
Then he remembered she would taste like muffins. And her hair would smell like aerosol.
Wayne did not go to Jamie’s birthday party.