Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“I understand that you little guys start out with your woobies, and you think they’re great . . . and they are, they are terrific. But, pretty soon, a woobie isn’t enough. You’re out on the street trying to score an electric blanket, or maybe a quilt. And the next thing you know, you’re strung out on bedspreads, Ken. That’s serious.”

— Mr. Mom (1983)

The first thing I did upon arriving home was remove the auburn wig, the fancy shoes, and the custom pale green cocktail dress on loan from Chelsea that had complimented my complexion perfectly. Then I called my sister and left a ranting message for her to call me back during her next break.

When I’d agreed to help Chelsea, I promised I wouldn’t reveal details about the secret society or the marriage meetup to anyone, not even Grace. And I wouldn’t. But I had to tell my sister about seeing Des Sullivan again. I had to. I HAD TO!

I’d finished washing the wall of makeup off when I heard my phone ring. Carrying a towel with me, I sprinted across the apartment and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Ava! What’s going on? Your message sounded urgent.” Unsurprisingly, it was my sister.

My sister and the rest of my family, for that matter, were the only people I hung out with regularly and who, over the course of my life, never made me feel like I needed to apologize for being myself or bite my tongue rather than say what was on my mind.

That’s not true. There is one other person⁠—

“It’s Des! I saw him.” Falling back on the couch to combat the dizziness and sick feeling in my stomach, I dabbed my face with the towel. “I saw him and he’s illegally handsome!”

My heart gave a pining ping and I tossed an imaginary wet blanket slathered in numbing hemorrhoid cream over the instinctual pining ping. I would not pine for him. I would not!

“Wait. Wait, wait. You saw Des?” Grace sounded satisfactorily shocked, as she should be. “As in Desmond Sullivan, Uncle Quinn and Aunt Janie’s oldest child? Your former best friend until he left when you were fifteen and he ghosted you?”

Us Archer kids called Des’s parents “aunt” and “uncle” only because we’d all grown up together, but we weren’t blood relatives of the Sullivans. Our parents were simply exceptionally close.

“Yes. That’s the one. The very same Des. He is not allowed to look like that!” Standing up, I shoved my index finger through the air.

“Look like what?”

“He’s—he’s—” UGH! I was so angry. “He’s not supposed to look so good. He’s supposed to be pitiful, holed up somewhere—maybe a hovel or a damp cave—feeling sad and remorseful for cutting me out of his life.” And he definitely wasn’t deserving of my nostalgia, wistful thinking, and heartache.

“Ava—”

“And another thing! No one suspected anything. There I was, getting away with it. I’m talking Oscar-worthy performance. And similar to the last time we spoke on the phone ten years ago, he swooped in and made me feel stupid.” I’d been embarrassed for years after that phone call. I couldn’t think about our last conversation without cringing, remembering my words, what I’d said, and how I’d been unequivocally rejected.

“Calm down for a second and tell me what actually happened. Where did you see him? And how did he make you feel stupid?”

I waved away her questions. “It was a party⁠—”

“Wait. You went to a party?!” Now she sounded ridiculously shocked. “You went to a party on purpose? You didn’t talk yourself out of it? Is the world coming to an end?”

“I didn’t have time to talk myself out of it. I only had one hour to—you know what, forget about the party. It doesn’t matter where I saw him or how he made me feel like an idiot. That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“HE’S TOO GOOD-LOOKING!” I moved the phone further away from my mouth as I shouted, not wanting to hurt my sister’s ear but also needing to get my point across by yelling.

I heard my sister release a sigh. “Okay, Ava.”

“What? Why don’t you sound upset? I need you to be upset on my behalf.” Even if she didn’t feel upset, she should’ve pretended. We did this for each other. When Grace was upset, I would get worked up with her so she didn’t have to be angry by herself. Being angry by oneself is irritating. Anger shared is comforting.

The members of my family were like me, quoting movies and bursting into song with equal frequency. We always supported each other, and being around them was relaxing rather than taxing.

Ha! See what I did there? Because I’m a tax attorney? Get it? I’m the funniest person I know, in my head.

My sister must’ve walked into a different room because I heard a door close. “All I’m saying is, don’t you think maybe you’re a little biased where he’s concerned? You’ve never gotten over him.”

“You make it sound like I was in love with him or something.” I huffed several disbelieving, snorting laughs while uncomfortable heat spread from my chest to my neck and cheeks. “We were best friends and that’s all. We were just friends. We were never like that. He left when I was fifteen, before I had those kinds of—of—of urges. I was never attracted to him in that way. And I’m sure he never saw me that way. I mean, why would he?”

“Ava, listen to yourself. You doth protest too much.” A cabinet or something similar snapped shut from her side of the call. “Why do you care if he’s good-looking now if you never thought of him that way? And why would you get worked up like this if you never had those kinds of feelings for him?”

A vision of adult Desmond appeared in my mind’s eye. It was the moment tonight when he’d backed me against the door in the alley and gazed down at me with those familiar and yet entirely unfamiliar gorgeous blue eyes of his.

My heart pinged again. Stupid heart!

“I’m telling you, my perception of his handsomeness now has nothing to do with our history. You would want to photograph him and make him one of your cover models.”

Grace was working toward becoming a full-time photographer, but her income wasn’t enough to cover even half our monthly expenses, which meant she did most of the household chores and I paid most of the bills. Her weekends were usually booked for photographing weddings and her evenings were full of studio shoots that ran well into the night.

Perhaps one day she’d be able to quit her day job and do what she loved. If she were very lucky. In the meantime, I didn’t mind paying more than half of the rent and utilities if it meant I got to live with my sister. Plus, I wasn’t a fan of weekly and monthly maintenance cleaning. I cleaned up after myself, obviously, but dusting never occurred to me. Our arrangement suited us both. And yet, even though we lived together, we didn’t see each other nearly as much as I would’ve liked.

“Where were you tonight? Where did you run into him?” Grace asked, and it sounded like she turned on a faucet.

I waited until the running water ceased before responding. “Nowhere important.”

“I can’t believe you went out. Is Manny in town? Did you go out with him?”

“Manny is in Paris. I haven’t seen him since New Year’s. Where I was tonight and why is not important.” Manny was one of the only people I considered a good friend outside of my family, but we didn’t talk very often. He lived in Paris most of the year and owned an apartment in Chicago. Sometimes I watered his plants for him. Ever since his visit back in January, I’d been feeling restless.

Now reviewing my day in retrospect, the months-long restlessness had played a big part in my hasty decision this afternoon to help Chelsea as well as in my uncharacteristic bravery tonight. Really, this was all Manny’s fault.

If he hadn’t been out there living his best life, making every moment count, I wouldn’t have impersonated my coworker doppelgänger and run into Des tonight. I would have no idea Des was currently doing great, not missing me at all, while walking around looking criminally handsome.

“Focus, Grace. Des’s face is why I called. And how he looks in a suit. There should be a law! That’s how good-looking he is. His picture would sell a million romance novels.”

She snorted. “Yeah. Okay. If you say so.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me.” Swiping at a patch of water on my neck, I stomped back to the bathroom. “You’ll see him for yourself at Mom and Dad’s barbecue this weekend.”

“Whoa. Hold on. Desmond is coming to the barbecue this weekend? Is that why he’s in town?”

“No. He didn’t seem to know about it. And that’s also not the point. Wait! Wait until you see him.” Inspecting myself in the mirror, my heart gave another twist as an unbidden question surfaced.

Against my will, I wondered what he’d thought of me tonight.

Throwing the towel at the mirror and fighting a breath-stealing wave of something resembling embarrassment, I flipped off the light and marched to my bedroom.

He probably thinks you’re ridiculous.