Maybe Later

by Claudia Burgoa

“Look at you, so fashionable. I should check that marriage box off my to-do list and have a child. Seems joyful.” I give her a narrowed gaze, pretending I’m judging her.

  “Are you telling me I look like shit?”

  “No, I’m telling you maybe we should try to get you out of the house every once in a while. You know, put on a little makeup and some real clothing. I mean, you’re starting to look like me.”

  Laura takes off her bandana and fixes her auburn hair. “My husband loves me just the way I am.”

  “He better or I’d bury him alive. I’m happy that you two are happy,” I say, smiling at the screen. I do envy her just a little because they have an incredible relationship and I would love to have someone like Al by my side.

  Well not like him. We’d be done with each other within a day. What I want is someone who understands me and loves me like Al does Laura.

  “So, I assume you went out on a date with,” she pauses and bats her eyelashes. “The hottest guy in Colorado!”

  “Hey, come on. I didn’t fangirl like that yesterday morning,” I defend myself.

  “I reserve the right to reenact the shit out of it,” she says. “You seemed smitten with him. What’s happening?”

  “Jack is hard to explain. He’s sweet and patient too,” I say closing my eyes for a few seconds. I savor the memory of our first kiss and the one he gave me when he dropped me at home. “You know when you feel like you’ve known someone your whole life even though you just met?”

  “No,” she responds, giving me a curious look. “But that sounds like something you would experience. I’m surprised that you’re even considering spitting the word, magic, again. Do you believe in it?”

  “I never stopped believing in it,” I correct her.

  “Which means there were sparks with Jack,” she concludes.

  I sigh and nod without telling her that there’s magic happening with Jackson Spearman too. The same magic that I pushed away during yoga, but for some fucked up reason is back.

  “So, even if things don’t work out romantically with him, you two are still going to be best friends,” she concludes. “At least, you can check off your friend box. Once you find a great connection, you don’t let go. What’s he like?”

  I describe him from head to toe. His boyish grin, the soft dark hair that contrasts his eyes. The little frown that appears on his forehead when he’s thinking and deepens when he’s upset.”

  “You really like him,” she says in a singsong voice.

  “Obviously I like him, but I’m not sure how far things will go. We’re trying to take it slowly, but it’s hard when we have this off the charts chemistry coupled with a strong connection. There are certain things I can’t tell him.”

  “There are things you don’t want to tell me,” she adds.

  To this day, I don’t like to talk about my sister Amy. How she wanted everything for herself, and how I gave as much as I could because I was hoping that it’d make her happy. What would’ve made her truly happy was our parents’ love. It’s hard for me to admit I feel responsible for her death. And even after all these years, I still feel as if I lost half of myself with her death.

  “Tell me if I have this right. He’s smart, hot, and you guys have amazing chemistry,” she says with a taunting tone. “So, what is wrong with him?”

  “No guy who looks like Jack is single at thirty-four without a reason,” I declare.

  “Meaning he’s a player or he’s married?” she suggests.

  I shake my head. “In my professional experience, you don’t see married men spending Saturdays in the mountains.” Handling a company where I manage the calendars of at least seventy-nine male clients, I can assure her what most of them do. “That’s where they take the mistress during the week, and tell the wife they have a business trip.”

  “I get the feeling you know someone who’s done that before.”

  “Unfortunately, many,” I agree. This isn’t compromising anyone’s privacy, I’m not giving names. “You have no idea how many clients we’ve had over the years who say things like: ‘I’m going to the Maldives, but my wife thinks I’m in London on business.’”

  “Assholes!” She looks up at the ceiling and sneers.

  “Oh, don’t worry, most of them have gotten caught.” I can’t help but laugh.

  “What did you do?”

  “We made sure to send their corporate credit card bill to their home address.”

  Her mouth opens wide and then she laughs. “You’re kidding me?”

  “Nope, I’m super serious. I refuse to be used to cover that kind of shit.”

  “I’ve always said it. You are evil,” she concludes. “It’s hard to find a good guy these days.”

  “Do you believe Jack is one of the good guys?” I ask out loud. “Maybe my apprehension isn’t about him, but about me instead. I’m not an easy person. What’s he going to do when he realizes it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “You are fun, smart, and kindhearted. You help a lot of people even if you don’t give yourself credit for it. He has to learn to love you along with all your perfectionistic tendencies. All of those quirks that you carry around like a security blanket.

  She actually shows me a baby blanket and says. “Look at me, I’m Emmeline, and I’m terrible, so stay away.”

  I groan. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means you advertise your flaws in a neon banner over your head, then say, ‘here I am so inadequate you don’t want to get close to me.’”

  “Well, that’s the best way to keep away undesirable people.”

  She ignores me, continues folding clothes and asks, “When is your next date with this guy?”

  “He said he’d call me on Monday or Tuesday, it all depended on his workload.”

  “Got it,” she says popping her lips. “You’re his weekend mistress. Unless he has one for every day of the week.”

  “Then I would choose to be the Sunday girl,” I input, taking my dishes to the kitchen.

  “Why Sunday?” I hear her ask.

  “Because then he could help me with all my errands and chores,” I joke looking at my house.

  “There’s more proof that you’re diabolical.”

  I can’t help but laugh. She’s been around me too much and knows me too well. “Diabolical and selfish.”

  “You don’t have a selfish bone,” she corrects me.

  “Speaking of bones, I have to go out for cat food, groceries, and maybe lunch. Say hi to Al and Simone, I hope she talks soon,” I say, changing the topic and getting ready to leave.

  “She’s only four months old. Not all of us can say we started talking at nine months old, you freaking prodigy.”

  “I had to be a prodigy or else I wouldn't get fed,” I defend myself.

  “That’s hyperbole, right?”

  “Who knows, I can’t remember my infancy. Anyway, I really, really have to go. Love you.”

  “Love you back, girl.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack

  Sunday, May 1st, 11:16 a.m.

  I never liked shopping centers. Or shopping for that matter. I always found it both useless and frivolous. Mom insists it’s because I grew up in the time of e-commerce. She’s not wrong, I prefer to click my way through a store, checkout in two minutes, all without having to interact with anyone as well as keeping everything private.

  Unfortunately, Jason, my brother, doesn’t think the same way. He prefers to be accosted by shitty music blaring from the speakers of stores with slick modern interiors, and loud, retina burning colors. Let’s not forget it’s a Sunday and every human in a fifty-mile radius decided to do the same. Shop at the mall. What’s wrong with going to a park, visiting a museum, or just staying at home?

  “What do you think of these boots?” Jason shows me a pair of snowboarding boots.

  “They’re overpriced, and they look just like the pair you already own,” I answer.

  “What’s with the attitude? I
thought you were finally getting some.”

  “Some?” I blink twice.

  “Aren’t you fucking some librarian?” he says. “That’s what Alex told me.”

  I groan. Fucking Alex. I bet my entire family now knows about Emmeline, but of course via his dirty porn version.

  “Whatever he told you, don’t believe it,” I say and find a pair of boots similar to the ones I bought for this season. “Here, these are better than the ones you’re holding.”

  “So, you’re not seeing a hot librarian who has you reading Fifty Shades?”

  I laugh. “No, I met her at a used bookstore. She’s not a librarian. I read a Fitzgerald book because she said it’s one of her favorites.”

  “Well, I can see why Alex gave us a more interesting version of the events.” He pats my back. “Dude, you went from one extreme to the other. Please tell me you’re tapping that.”

  “We’re not discussing Emmeline,” I manage as I try to control my rage.

  What the fuck have they been saying about her?

  “Well, at least you’re moving on with your life. Vivian fucked you up royally.”

  I run my hands down my face. There’s a ball of fire rising inside my stomach, chock-full of anger and frustration. He couldn’t understand my current situation, because I don’t even understand it. I have no fucking idea of what I’m doing with her. Yesterday, I had a great time with Emmeline, but then when I got home, the first thing I wanted to do was contact Amy and tell her about the antique store. How fucked up is it to want two women at the same time? I like that I can talk with Emmeline, but Amy challenges me. She makes me want to be better.

  “Her name is Emmeline?” he says with a mocking tone.

  Fucking hell. What’s up with him today?

  “Do you have a problem with that?” I grumble as we arrive at the register. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  I massage my temples. He’s on a roll. Next door is the pet store, and for a second, I entertain the idea of buying a few toys for Sushi and Ramen. I’m sure Amy’s messenger knows where to ship them.

  “Dude, seriously?” Jason says as he comes out of the store. “If you want, we can go to the strip club on Colorado Boulevard. It’s just a few blocks from here.”

  “Unbelievable.” I glare at him. He doesn’t live here, but he knows where the strip club is located.

  “What? I’m entertaining this week, and need to know where all the hotspots are. Thank you for the house in Steamboat, by the way.”

  I shake my head. To be free of any commitment—including a job.

  “But I have a few hours that need to be entertained,” he says, whistling at a woman who happens to have a pretty sweet behind. “Hey sweetheart, do you have any idea what I can do with your ass? Come to Papa!”

  “Look, Papa,” the woman says with a loud voice as she turns around. “Objectifying women just because you get a kick out of it, is not only rude, but misogynistic. What gives you the right to talk to me like that? I can call my lawyer right now and have him press charges for harassment.”

  “I really like you,” I tell Emmeline once she finishes her rant.

  She turns to look at me and her eyes widen. “Jack.”

  “Em,” I say.

  As I slap the back of my brother’s head, I introduce him, “Meet my brother, Jason.”

  “Oh, you two are related?” She scrunches her nose.

  “Jason, meet Emmeline,” I inform him. “I’d appreciate if you apologize to her for what you just said.”

  “Sorry, I was trying to embarrass him but …” My brother looks down the same way he does when he pisses off Mom.

  Emmeline just stares at him and shakes her head. “Let me guess, the middle child, the class clown, and probably Mom’s favorite.”

  “Yes, to the first two. Mom doesn’t play favorites,” he answers. “Anyway, I’m leaving. The drive to Steamboat is long.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account,” Emmeline says.

  “I’m leaving on his account. He’s had murder in his eyes for the past ten minutes. You might—”

  She raises her index finger and says, “Stop right there. We don’t know each other at all. Don’t make shitty jokes about your brother and me—ever.”

  “Sorry about that,” he apologizes. “It’s nice to meet you. Jack, I’ll text you when I’m back in town so we can have lunch or dinner.”

  Once my brother leaves, I take the bag of food she’s carrying and say, “hi,” before I wrap my arm around her tiny waist and kiss her.

  “Hey,” she answers, her arms linked around my neck. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Should I be sorry for my reaction?” she asks.

  “He deserved it. We’ve told him plenty of times to stop being crass.” I kiss her nose. “Sorry for that though. I was going to say something but what you did was a lot better.”

  “Let’s take that to my trunk,” she says, referring to the bag after she untangles her arms from my neck.

  I take a better look at her. She’s wearing a pair of yoga pants, a tank top, and running shoes. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail.

  “Are you wearing this for fun, or did you do yoga today?” I ask.

  “Both?” She frowns, as she opens the trunk of her Tesla SUV. “I take yoga at Wash Park on Sundays. You should come with me next week.”

  “I’ve never done it before,” I confess.

  Her lips curl into a slight smile and her eyes crinkle. “Well, we should fix that. Maybe next weekend you can come with me. It’s free and they have all kinds of levels from beginner to advance and in-between. It’d be interesting to see you trying to do a crow pose.”

  “Do I even want to know what that is?” I ask, slowly looking at her and controlling the temptation to say ‘Show me that crow pose, naked.’

  “You should come find out,” she says with a challenging look.

  “I’d rather see you in a downward-facing dog,” I emphasize suggestively.

  “You would, huh? Stick around and I might show you.”

  Once she closes the trunk, I take her hand and kiss it. “I missed you.”

  “It’s only been a day,” she states and stares at me for a moment with her big brown eyes.

  “A very long day,” I conclude. “Where do you want to go for a date?”

  “A date?” She frowns, checks her phone and looks back at me. “I thought it was my turn to plan the next one. I’m not prepared.”

  Her eyes are a bit troubled. As if she had one job to do and failed.

  “How about lunch, and afterward you can decide where to go.”

  She looks left to right a couple of times and then says, “There's a small sushi bar just around the corner. We can go there and then … how about if we go to the bookstore.”

  “Is that your idea for our next date?”

  “We’re improvising, mister,” she says excitedly. “You have to give me more time to make the perfect plan. I had a few ideas, but you just threw me into the scene.”

  “Perfect?” I ask confused. “What would you consider the perfect plan?”

  “Well, there are dancing lessons, painting lessons, we could always go to a cooking class. If none of those are enticing to you, there is always the music scene.”

  “Music?” I ask a bit puzzled about the last choice.

  She doesn’t look like a music geek.

  “Yeah, we could go to a concert.” She finally looks at me and asks, “Do you like music?”

  Her question makes me think of Amy and our earlier conversation. Does she go to concerts? I’d be nice if we could spend more time talking about the music she likes and her thoughts about the lyrics. In such a short time, she’s got me listening to songs in a different light—feeling them.

  “Love it,” I say, brushing Amy from my mind. “Are there any concerts happening in town?”

  “The Fillmore might have something,” she says and growls
when her phone rings. “Buddy, you know I’m off today. I’m not acknowledging you.”

  “Work?” I ask curiously.

  “Yeah, he’s one of my best clients, unfortunately, he doesn’t get that I’m not his full-time employee, and I have a life. Actually, let me respond to him.”

  She types furiously and then looks at me.

  “Sorry about that. I should have brought my personal phone, not my work phone.”

  “You have two phones?”

  “I have to have two phones, or I’d be working all the time. This gives me a little separation between my job and my personal time. It was consuming me so much I had to find a way to set up boundaries.”

  “So which phone do I have?” I ask because I am not thrilled by her confession.

  People who have two separate lives usually hide more than I’m comfortable with. But even when I want to be upset, I can’t because she throws one of her beautiful smiles my way.

  “Personal,” she answers. “You don’t want to be one of my clients.”

  She chuckles.

  “What is it that you do again?” I ask her.

  “It’s complicated. My best friend says I’m in the business of solving people’s lives.”

  I’m guessing she’s a consultant, or she could be a life coach, or maybe one of those human resources consultants who goes from one company to another. Maybe she trains personnel to improve productivity. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt—for now.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jack

  Sunday, May 1st, 12:54 p.m.

  The sushi place was closed, so we ended up at a gourmet hamburger bar. They have good burgers, and their whiskey collection is one of my favorites.

  “Sorry about lunch,” she says, sounding bummed. “The hamburgers were good. I’d never tried bacon and Swiss with sautéed mushrooms on a burger before. It was tasty.”

  “You weren’t happy about the ‘variety?’” I observe as we walk to where she parked her car.

  We’re driving in separate cars to her apartment so she can feed her cats and drop off her car.

  She glances at me suspiciously. “I’ll be honest with you,” she says with a serious tone.

  The fun, gorgeous smile disappears along with that sparkling personality of hers.