Making Friendship: Hijinks in Jenks, #2

By Rylee Shelton

She's been his best friend since they first met and hit it off. However, he's marrying another woman soon.

 

Bradley isn't feeling too hot about his fiancée's recent behavior. Both of them live two hours away from each other and it doesn't help his insecurities. Is his fiancée cheating on him? Jennifer, his best friend, is the only rock in his life keeping him anchored to reality, and she's the only one to help him figure it all out.

When Jennifer and Bradley set out to confront his fiancée, the trip doesn't go as smoothly as it should. A five-year-old stowaway in Jennifer's pickup truck may be the one person who throws everything off the rails, but also may be the one who brings the two friends closer. Can they get the girl back to her rightful guardian and still confront Bradley's wife-to-be? Not if a deadbeat dad named Dudley has anything to say about it. Dudley, the girl's biological dad, is a far bigger threat than Bradley's relationship problems.

 

Jennifer has always had his back. But, Bradley's current behavior will determine if Jennifer remains his loyal companion or if she moves on. Bradley, meanwhile, has a decision to make: follow and trust his best friend in the whole world? Or, go through with his marriage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rylee Shelton
• Release date: Apr 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223581451

Rylee Shelton

Rylee Shelton lives out his days in Oklahoma - the heart of the nation - sipping water and thinking about burritos a lot. He loves to make up humans and have them do things in order to make real humans feel things.  He lives with his son. They have two dogs: one sweet and big, with a brain the size of a peanut, and the other tiny and scruffy who thinks he's everyone's boss. Rylee Shelton likes to relax with his son and talk about how terrible algebra classes are.

Book preview

Summer, 1981

The Aikins property, its dusty drive, its twenty acres of red dirt, grass, and weeds… it was all an illusion. It wasn’t real. Something about day-to-day life just seemed so plastic. That was Bradley Aikins’s pensive conclusion. He figured the only thing that was truly real was how his blood ran hot for Lillian Cattaneo. God, he missed her. Life felt fake and plastic without her near him. He tried to even remember what her kisses felt like as he gently swirled his cup of orange juice and vodka.

Bradley’s dad had once bought the land and hired a crew to erect a two-story slatted wood house, painted white with bright curtains in the windows. This all happened when he was a baby. It didn’t take his father long to bring in livestock. His specialty was pigs and cattle. This was all Bradley knew growing up.

Bradley sat the cup on the ground, then stretched his arms and interlaced his hands behind his head. He stretched his back in the wicker chair and mused to himself, One day, this’ll all be dust. Nothing is forever.

If he wanted to talk to himself like this, the screened-in front porch was just the place.

He wasn’t alone for long, though. The screen door opened and a stout middle-aged woman ambled out. She wore flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt, all underneath her favorite purple bathrobe. Her hair was scraggly from bed-head and her face clammy from sleep. Her name was Whitney Aikins, but Bradley called her mom.

A little early to be drinking, isn’t it? she said.

Bradley glanced down at the screwdriver he’d made before exiting the house. It’s just orange juice.

My aching ass, it is. You think I can’t smell? she replied, joining him in the wicker chair next to him. What’s going on with you?

He rubbed his face. Lillian won’t call me back, he said.

She’s twenty-one, son. She probably hasn’t thought to check her answering machine.

I’ve left six messages in the past three days. She always calls me back.

Always?

Okay, usually. Sometimes. Whatever, the point is, I can’t get a hold of her and something feels off.

He could feel his mom’s eyes on him, studying him, before she again said, She’s twenty-one…

He looked at her. So? I’m twenty-four.

And more mature than a lot of boys your age, I’ll tell you that. But, you’re still too young to get married. Just my opinion.

You married dad when you were nineteen!

Exactly! she said through tired eyes. Now, pass me that damn screwdriver.

Shocked, he whipped his head between the drink on the ground and her haggard face, then said, It’s nine a.m., mom.

Exactly, she repeated.

He did as he was told.

She took a hesitant sniff, then grimaced. You make these too strong, she said, rising from the chair to pour it out into the grass beyond the concrete porch.

Exactly, he answered, mimicking her favorite response. That way you won’t confiscate it the way you just did.

Yeah, well… she muttered, wrapping her robe tighter around her midsection and rejoining him. She placed the plastic cup on the ground underneath her and said, I’m not about to drink so early right after gettin’ onto you for it.

In the distance, they could hear the pigs’ grunts behind the house as they performed their early morning scavenging despite Bradley feeding them at six a.m. sharp.

You know what I think? she asked. I think this girl is a placeholder for you.

A placeholder?

Yeah. A ‘just-in-case’ case.

"A what case case?"

Just in case case.

How many cases are we talking about? I’m confused.

You know what I mean.

I've been in love with her since I was a kid! Bradley defended.

My aching ass, you have.

Would you stop cussing in front of your only child, please?

Whatever. Go make me a slightly weaker screwdriver.

He gaped at her.

I’m kidding! she finally said, then mumbled, I am now, anyway.

They both rose. Let me make you breakfast today, Bradley offered.

That’s sweet, but I’m off to meet up with dad in Tulsa, she said with fatigue in her voice. He’s landing this morning and we’re going shopping. I need to get dressed.

Shopping?

Farm supply stuff. Not at any mall I’m aware of. It should be incredibly boring and make me wanna pull my hair out.

You never liked being a farmer’s wife, did you?

Oh, I like it! she said behind him, holding the screen door open so he could walk in first. I love the smell of shit fields in the morning. Don’t you?

After Whitney retreated back to the master bedroom, Bradley lingered in the kitchen, staring at the bottle of vodka and the jug of orange juice next to it, half tempted to make a new screwdriver.

What am I thinking? he whispered to himself.

His next move was to climb their stairs to his second story bedroom and stretch out onto his bed. The mattress gripped his entire body so perfectly. They’d talked to him about eventually converting his bedroom to a guest room and keeping the bed after he moved out. But, um, hell no. He loved this bed. He especially wanted it for him and Lillian after they got married.

Lillian.

Damn, where are you, babe?

The dial tone was in his ear again. He’d done well to not call too early this morning, though he was really tempted when he first woke up.

He had to dial her number again. He just had to.

Six rings, then his own voice greeted him. A low, druggy voice that he’d performed to her delight several months ago, trying to sound like a seductive, smokey-voiced madame: Hey, this is Lillian, leave a message, sweet buns. He was with her when she got her own answering machine for the dorm room. He’d snuck in, even though boys weren’t allowed. She’d been nervous to record the greeting, so he stepped in to do the job. After saving it to the machine, she’d slapped his bulky arm. You’re such a dork! she teased.

That memory was one of his favorites so far.

He listened to his ridiculous impersonation for the last time that day, almost tempted to leave a message. But, he decided against it and just hung up.

Ah, Lillian. Little Lilly whose family was from Italy. That was his teasing refrain. Her great grandparents were Italian immigrants. He’d be the first peachy-faced blonde boy to marry into the family.

Lillian, with her black hair, slight olive tint to her skin, and those eyes. Those amazing green eyes with just a smoky hint of gray around the irises. God, he was ready to tie the knot.

Despite his better judgment, he decided to call one more time. He had to be overreacting. He just kept missing her, that’s all. She was taking summer classes, and in nursing school, that was a big deal. Social lives just didn’t exist in that world.

He heard his voice recording again as the machine picked up. He waited for the beep to record himself, not knowing what to say.

Then: Hey! Uh, Lil, it’s Bradley. I know I keep missing you, but-

A loud click, then, Bradley?

An answer!

Though… it wasn’t her.

A male voice.

Bradley, dude… came this husky, almost half-asleep interlocutor. It was a voice issuing from a face that hadn’t been shaved yet and was covered with stubble. He just knew it. Dude it continued, why are you calling so much, man? Get lost, already.

Bradley was speechless.

Get lost?

The stubble voice hung up. A dead ringtone blared in his ear. He put the phone back on the receiver on his nightstand.

Get lost? Calling so much? And, dude? Dude? Who the fuck was this guy, some surf bum from California?

When the shock wore off, he swung his legs down and tried to stand. The blood rushed to his head too quickly and he plopped right back down onto his ass.

Get lost. Dude.

Then, his phone rang, punting the nervous silence away, down to the ten-yard line. He shook his head and picked it up before his mom could.

Hello?

Bradley, oh my god! It was her voice. Lillian’s. She’d called back finally. I am so, so sorry! I can’t believe that asshole did that?

And, that asshole is?... he muttered so lifelessly that he wondered if she’d even heard him.

His name is Brian.

Friend of yours?

Barely a friend, I guess. He’s Jessica’s boyfriend.

There was something in her voice. Something that soothed the tension. He didn’t know what it was, but damn sure knew that it was proof they were in love. All his earlier musings on the porch seemed to evaporate.

He tended to jump to conclusions too much.

He also hated how doubtful people were about him and Lillian. If they only really understood. If they only witnessed their one-on-one chemistry and heard the way they talked to each other on a regular basis.

And, it made perfect sense if her roommate, Jessica, had a boyfriend over! Though, it was weird. He was pretty sure Jessica hated guys.

Jessica has a boyfriend? he asked aloud, his tone of voice mirroring his assumptions.

Yes, babe, she said with mock irritation. You’re wrong about her, as always.

He stretched out onto his back again and wedged the phone between his cheek and ear. Sorry, he said. I was just getting worried. We haven’t talked in almost a week.

Babe, you know finals are coming up.

Yeah. Yeah, I know, he said, his voice a breathy, apologetic sigh. I miss you. That’s it.

Oh, honey, she murmured into the phone. I miss you too, and I love you so much. Just one more semester, and then you can have all the time you want with me, okay? Well, unless I’m on duty at a hospital or something.

I know, I know. I have to be patient. Still, though, I think it’s time I made a trip over to Edmond. I say if this Brain can sneak into y’all’s dorm and hang out with Jessica, I can do the same when he leaves, right?

You know what I’d do to you if you snuck in here, right? she whispered in a feisty tone. She didn’t whisper quietly enough, apparently, because he heard exaggerated gagging noises in the background.

Bradley laughed while she pulled the phone away from her mouth and commanded the voice to shut up and grow up.

He said, Tell Jessica at least she doesn’t have to look at my face in the mirror every day like I do.

Lillian laughed at this, dutifully defended his face to him, and issued a command to never speak ill of himself in such a manner ever again.

Then, she said something that didn’t sit well. It didn’t sit well with him at all.

Actually, Jessica’s not here. She took a semester off. She won’t be back until August.

He frowned, then said, Oh! Oh, okay. Then… who else did I hear in the background?

It wasn’t anyone else, babe. Just Brian.

Just Brian, he repeated.

Yeah, why?

In his head, he heard his mom’s voice all over again: She’s twenty-one. You’re mature for your age. She’s a placeholder.

Instead of answering Lillian’s ‘Why?’, he said, Babe? You know you’re not a placeholder, right?

A what?

A placeholder.

What does that even mean?

He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. The smell of cow shit wafted through the cracks in his window.

Never mind. Call me when you have free time again? he said.

Yeah, of course. I love you.

I love you too.

I love you, dude! came Brian’s voice from the background.

She hung up first, but he didn’t like the rising lilt of her giggle before her voice cut off completely. It had a flirtatious tint to it. She sounded way too close to Jessica’s boyfriend.

‘Barely a friend,’ she’d said.

That feeling crept into him again. Love and loyalty. Plastic illusions.

He dropped the receiver onto his chest, but it rolled off, then tumbled from the bed to the floor. It just lay there and hummed its flat, monotone, pulsating cry.

I will not tell him ‘I told you so.’ I will not tell him ‘I told you so.’

This played through Jennifer Dosela’s head several times.

They were at The Bucket, her and Bradley. Two peas in a pod. Two friends that were so close, you might wonder if they were family.

The Bucket was a little hole-in-the-wall bar in rural Jenks, Oklahoma. It had served as a familiar hideaway for her, Bradley, and their other friend, Roland Milner for almost a year now. The only thing was that Jennifer was not a drinker. She abstained from it completely. Alcoholism ran in her family, but it wasn’t because of her Mescalero Apache heritage. She often found herself correcting people on that due to shallow and unresearched assumptions about Indigenous peoples and alcoholism. The fact was that Jennifer’s direct bloodline was just unlucky when it came to the bottle. She’d lost a couple of family members because of it and refused to become another statistic. Because of that, she used to buy a beer and take fake sips just to feel like she fit in. At this point, though, she was past fitting in. Why waste money on unconsumed beer? She was who she was, damn it, and these boys of hers accepted her no matter what.

Bradley was in the men’s room. Roland wasn’t due to meet them there for another twenty or thirty minutes. Izzy, the owner and operator of The Bucket, handed her the quarters for the billiards table and asked, The new usual?

Please and thank you, she responded.

Izzy, the owner and operator of The Bucket, was a tall young man, around her age. He was handsome and had brown eyes that radiated mystery and intrigue. Jennifer wondered if he ever got hit on by female patrons. Probably.

He smirked at her. Reverential laugh lines formed around his eyes as he filled her a tall glass of Dr. Pepper, her new favorite indulgence. Since she ensured her sobriety any night they were there, Izzy didn’t charge her a dime as long as she drove Bradley.

Bradley loved knocking them back, though.

She went to rack up the billiard balls, leaning over the table and lining the triangular arrangement as perfectly as possible. Bradley returned from the restroom just in time for her to hand him a stick and say, This time, you start.

He sighed and said, I don’t know that I can even concentrate enough to play.

My aching ass, you can’t.

He frowned at her, leaning on the edge of the pool table. Have you been talking to my mom behind my back again?

"What a weird question, bro! I mean, maybe I have."

He rubbed his face. I haven’t ever worried about my relationship with Lillian this bad.

Jennifer leaned across the billiards table, looking up into his eyes and said, "Hey, you don’t need to sweat it right now. Just