Life's Too Short

by Abby Jimenez

  “You got it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  I hung up the call.

  I didn’t tell Vanessa what I was trying to do. I didn’t want to get her hopes up. But if anyone could find this thing, it was Tom.

  I swiveled back around to find Becky standing there like a marble statue. Her face had gone white. “You’re Jesus’s Abs,” she breathed.

  I leaned over my desk for a pen. “What?”

  “Jesus’s Abs,” she whispered. “Windowless white van guy. I can’t believe this is happening…”

  “You can’t believe what is happening?” I asked, clicking the pen.

  “This is the greatest day of my life. I’m in the presence of a hero.”

  I hovered over a legal pad. “Becky, I’m going to give you five seconds to explain to me what you’re talking about, and then I’m going to need you to go,” I said.

  “The girl you’re seeing is Vanessa Price? She talks about you. In her videos. Your abs are famous!”

  I froze. “What?”

  She was already pulling out her cell and then frantically typing into her screen. She held her phone out in front of me. “LOOK.”

  The video was Vanessa, sitting in her bathroom, the morning I’d met her by the outfit she had on.

  I watched it with wide eyes.

  And then she was talking about me.

  CHAPTER 11

  TAKE THIS QUIZ TO SEE

  WHICH OFFICE CHARACTER

  YOU ARE!

  VANESSA

  It was 2:30 on Monday. Harry Puppins was sleeping in his diaper on his doggy bed in my bathroom. I had Grace’s stroller and was just grabbing my keys to run to the store when someone knocked on my door. I opened it to Adrian standing there with a cocked eyebrow, leaning an arm on the door frame in his suit, his tie loosened. “Jesus’s Abs?” He grinned.

  He was watching more of my videos.

  I beamed at him and put my hands up in a shrug. “I’m a teller of truths.”

  He laughed. He was thoroughly amused by this. Thank God.

  Even though I hadn’t given revealing information about him, I didn’t know if being fodder for my channel might bother him. It clearly didn’t.

  And it was a good thing that he wasn’t weirded out by me talking about him, because my viewers loved him.

  Sight unseen and mentioned once, Adrian was, by far, the most requested topic I’d ever had, short of my brief romance with Drake Lawless. They were begging for updates.

  I was going to have to do another vlog, and soon.

  He peered past me at Grace in her car seat. “Were you leaving?”

  I looked over my shoulder and came back to him. “Yeah. I was going to go get a Christmas tree.” I paused. “Well, sort of. I can’t lug a whole tree up here by myself so I was going to Whole Foods to see if they had a little one in a pot or something.” I tilted my head. “Why don’t you have a tree? It’s December.”

  “I don’t need a tree. It’s just me.”

  I laughed. “So? It’s Christmas.” I tugged on the end of his tie. “Want to come with me?”

  He glanced down the hallway and then came back with a smile that reached his eyes. “Well, I was going to go get an oil change for the windowless white van today, but I think I could fit this in.”

  I snorted. “You’d better not let this thing go to your head. I have to talk about my life in my videos, and you’re ridiculously attractive. I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

  He smiled and pushed off the doorway. “Give me five minutes to get changed.”

  * * *

  Adrian insisted that he drive again. His car was an itty-bitty slate-blue BMW coupe. We couldn’t fit the car seat in the back, let alone a Christmas tree. Not even one in a pot. So we took my GMC Acadia.

  Despite his warnings that he drove too fast, he was being very careful and considerate with the baby in the car.

  He smelled really good. His cologne or whatever he used was super fresh and it lingered in the car. I was breathing through my nose on purpose.

  “Do you always get out of work this early?” I asked, as we idled at a red light. “You got out early last week too.”

  “No,” he said, talking to the road. “I usually work late. I don’t get home until midnight sometimes. I’ll leave early if I need to take my grandma to the doctor, but that’s about it.”

  “You go with your grandma to the doctor?”

  “I used to. Up until October when she still lived here.”

  Gah.

  This man was amazing. Like, in every single way. Unless he had a micropenis he was self-conscious about, I couldn’t see why he wasn’t all over Tinder letting women climb him like a ladder. I’d climb this man no matter what he had in his pants.

  Maybe he did have a micropenis…

  Maybe that’s why he didn’t send dick pics…

  Maybe that’s what he meant by shock and awe…

  I gasped quietly and slid my eyes over to his lap.

  “My assistant is obsessed with you,” he said, breaking into my thoughts.

  I darted my gaze away from his crotch. “She’s not from Monett, Missouri, is she?”

  He laughed.

  He was different this afternoon. Lighter somehow. More Mr. Bingley and less Mr. Darcy.

  “You’re almost not brooding at all today,” I said. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

  He smiled at the road. “I think it’s the sponge.”

  I pulled my legs up and crossed them under me on the seat. “You know, I have a lot of good ideas.”

  He turned into the Whole Foods parking lot. “Like what?”

  “Like, I think you need some throw pillows, a fleece blanket, and a plant in your living room. Your apartment’s a little American Psycho. Every time I’m in there I feel like you’re going to start talking to me about Phil Collins.”

  “‘Invisible Touch’ was the group’s undisputed masterpiece,” he said, giving me a line from the movie.

  I laughed so hard I started choking on my spit.

  He turned into a parking space with a grin. “I’m not letting you decorate my apartment.”

  I wiped at my eyes. “I’m not trying to decorate your apartment,” I said, putting my fingers in quotes. “I’m trying to enhance your quality of life. Your surroundings affect your mood.” I nodded through the windshield. “There’s a Pottery Barn, right there. I say we go.”

  He chuckled, putting the car in park. “Okay. I’ll make a deal with you. I will let you enhance my quality of life with homewares on the condition that you tell me what you used to do before you were a YouTuber.”

  I pivoted in my seat to look at him full-on. “Four throw pillows, two throw blankets, a Christmas tree, and I get to pick a centerpiece for the dining room table.”

  Something lawyerly flickered across his face. “Two throw pillows, one blanket, a poinsettia, and we agree on the centerpiece.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No. Not good enough.” I got unbuckled and got out of the car.

  “That is an extremely generous offer my client is making you,” he said, as we both leaned into the back seat on our respective sides to grab Grace at the same time. I let him take her and I picked up the diaper bag instead.

  We met around the back as I pulled the stroller from the trunk in the nippy winter air. “What I used to do for a living is epically ironic. You will love it. I’m not wasting it on some half-assed attempt at placating me.” I pulled out the stroller and he clipped the car seat onto it. I started pushing Grace toward the shops.

  “Placating you?” he said, chirping on the car alarm and jogging next to me with a grin.

  “Poinsettias are poisonous. You have a dog and a baby that comes over,” I argued.

  “I’ll get a fake one.”

  I blanched and he laughed.

  “A fake—that is so not even the point of this exercise. My God, you’re Scrooge,” I said, navigating the sidewalk. “I need you to smell pine when you come home.
It’s part of the thing.”

  He opened the door of Pottery Barn for me to a whoosh of warm cinnamon-scented air. I went in, then turned to face him in the entryway. “I can be agreeable to two throw pillows and one blanket,” I said. “But I pick the centerpiece, and you get a Christmas tree. A live one.”

  He put a hand to his chin like he was thinking about it. He paused in his fake musing. “Are you having dinner with me at my place tonight? Because I’m not setting any of this up on my own. You come over and help or we don’t have a deal.”

  I scoffed. “I mean, yeah, totally. Of course I’m coming over. What kind of question is that?” I didn’t let him see it, but I seriously liked that he’d asked it.

  I was officially in crush territory. There was no more denying it. I liked him. A lot.

  I couldn’t do anything about it. My dating rules were my rules. Plus, my good days were likely numbered now—and the number was low—and it wasn’t like he was available anyway. He wasn’t dating, so it probably wouldn’t have made one difference even if I could have pursued him. But I was crushing on him just the same.

  He smiled. “Okay. We have a deal.”

  I smirked, walking into the store.

  “I’m waiting,” he said from behind me.

  I stopped at a sleek leather recliner and picked up a pillow with Rudolph on the front that I knew he’d hate. He had a red bell for the nose. “I like this one,” I said, wiggling it so it jingled. “What do you think?”

  He took it from my hand and set it back on the chair I got it from. “Your part of the bargain first.” He crossed his arms.

  I twisted my lips and smiled. “I was a receptionist for a paper company.”

  His arms dropped. “Oh, come on. Like Pam Beesly from The Office? Here I was, ready to buy a damn Christmas tree—”

  I looked him in the eye. “I am dead serious. I was.”

  He walked away from me toward tablewares.

  I followed him, pushing the stroller. “I’m not making this up,” I said to his back.

  “Deal’s off,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I have prooooof,” I sang.

  He stopped at a table with a Christmas dinner setup and pretended to look at a napkin ring, but I could tell he was waiting for me. I punched into my phone and then waved it at him. He glanced up and arched a playful eyebrow at me.

  “They used to call me Van Beesly,” I said.

  He snorted. “Fine. I will momentarily entertain this farce.” He put his hand out.

  I smacked my phone into his palm. “That’s me, three years ago.” I’d pulled up the album called Work Christmas Party. “It’s called Paper Waits Cards. We sold cards, invitations, envelopes, and craft paper. I worked at their home office in Edina.”

  He flipped through the pictures of me dressed in office casual. Then raised his eyes to mine. “Van Beesly?”

  “Yes. And you’d better not call me that if you want me to answer.”

  He looked like he didn’t believe me.

  “Okay, you need more proof. Fine.” I took my phone from him. “I will call an old coworker. I’m willing to make the ultimate sacrifice because I think you need a Christmas tree in your life and I’m a giver. I give. It’s what I do.” I scrolled through my contacts, found the number, hit Send, and put the call on speaker. I held the phone between us as it rang, staring at Adrian’s face. Someone picked up and a man’s voice came through the line. “Van Beesly!”

  I hung up. “There. Now do you believe me?”

  Adrian nodded at the phone. “Who was that?”

  “Not my Jim Halpert, I’ll tell you that.” The phone was already ringing in my hand as he called me back. “He was obsessed with me the whole time I worked there and he just stopped trying to slide into my DMs like six months ago. I just shook the hornet’s nest. For you. You see how committed I am to this project?”

  He laughed. “Okay. Which pillows do you want?”

  I smiled triumphantly.

  I didn’t torture him too much. I chose two very tasteful, sophisticated Christmas pillows that said MERRY CHRISTMAS and HAPPY HOLIDAYS on them and a red fleece throw blanket with a faux fur trim. We agreed on a pine-and-berry centerpiece. And, he let me pick a wreath for the inside of his door. But only because I was watching his dog for free, he said.

  I think he secretly liked it.

  We grabbed him some ornaments, a star, a few strands of lights, and a tree skirt.

  We bought it all, put the third row down in the trunk of my car, and loaded it in, and then wandered over to Whole Foods for groceries.

  “So what do you want for dinner?” he asked as we walked in through the automatic doors.

  “Soup,” I said, pushing the stroller. “We can throw it all in a pot and simmer it while we set up your tree.”

  “Soup it is,” he said, grabbing a cart. “What kind?”

  “Um…chicken and wild rice? It’s filling enough for dinner.”

  He smiled. “Agreed. We’ll get some bread bowls to put it in.”

  I bounced. “Let’s get a gingerbread house for dessert! We can decorate it and then eat the roof.”

  He grinned, walking into the produce section. “Does anyone ever tell you no?”

  I pretended to think about it. “Never.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he said, stopping by the oranges to pull a business card out of his jacket. “I thought you might be interested in this for your dad.” He handed it to me. “Her name is Sonja Duggar. She’s a sober companion and life coach.”

  “A what?” I asked, taking the paper.

  “A sober companion and life coach. We use them to keep clients out of trouble while they’re on trial. She’s particularly good at cases where the client needs to look reformed in front of the judge at their next appearance. She’s good. He’ll like her.”

  I looked up at him. “What does she do exactly?”

  “Whatever needs to be done. If alcohol or addiction is the issue, she’ll get the client clean and sober and keep them there. She drives them to AA meetings and therapy sessions and supervises visitation. Makes sure they’re not in any violations of their court order. Ensures that medications are taken, they hold down their job, and show up to court on time. She used to be a therapist. She’s retired now and she does this on the side.”

  I scoffed. “A babysitter. And it’s sad because he actually needs one,” I mumbled.

  We started walking toward the onions. “She’ll be expensive,” he said. “Insurance won’t cover it. But it’ll free you up so you’re not worrying about him when you’re not there. She’ll get the house taken care of, and she’ll help him deal with the underlying reasons that got it there in the first place.”

  Oh God, that would be incredible. There wasn’t enough of me to go around. I was spread too thin as it was.

  I smiled over at him. “This is amazing. I didn’t even know this was a thing.”

  “It’s a thing. It might be difficult to get him onboard. The stakes are higher for my clients, so it’s not that hard of a sell when I pitch it.”

  I snorted. “Oh, the stakes are high here too. If he doesn’t get his shit together, I’m cutting him off.”

  He smiled and grabbed a bag for the onions. “She’ll even live there if he has a spare room and he doesn’t mind her cat—though it’ll cost more.”

  I didn’t care about the cost. I needed results. And Dad was always so lonely he’d probably love someone staying with him who wasn’t as fucked up as he was.

  Speaking of Annabel…

  My sister hadn’t surfaced since the car accident. She was still posting her digital art pics on Instagram, so I knew she was alive. Probably crashing on someone’s sofa if I had to guess, completely oblivious to the chaos she’d caused, as usual. I was beyond pissed at her. Between destroying the car and finding out she was maybe using while she was pregnant, I was done. I’d officially gone full tough love on her ass. I’d already cut off the money, and she wasn’t allowed
back at Dad’s. But yesterday I’d had her cell phone shut off too. I wasn’t contributing one dime to enabling this bullshit. Let her hit rock bottom faster.

  “I’ll call Sonja today,” I said. “Thank you for this.”

  He smiled at me. “You got it.”

  Picking out groceries with Adrian was one of the most fun things I’d done all year. He was exactly like me when it came to produce. He inspected everything, picked out all the best ingredients. He went with fresh herbs instead of dried stuff, organic heavy cream and chicken broth for the base, Plugrá butter for the roux.

  Then we went crazy and bought like seventeen different cheeses. People were staring at us. We were dangerous together. I couldn’t even imagine us in France. We’d go broke on the wine alone.

  Somewhere along the way, dinner for tomorrow came up and suddenly we were shopping for that too: chicken cordon bleu, with horseradish mashed potatoes and glazed carrots. But at my place this time instead.

  When it came time to wander out to the tree tent in the parking lot, Adrian paused with the shopping cart at the sliding doors.

  “What?” I asked.

  He had a weird look on his face, like he wasn’t sure he should say what he was thinking. “What if we went and cut one down?”

  My face lit up. “Like at a tree farm or something?” I started bouncing. “Will you wear a flannel? Will you have an ax?”

  He snorted. “I do not own a flannel. And if memory serves, they give you a handsaw.”

  I bit my lip and squealed excitedly.

  He smiled. “My dad used to take us to a tree farm every year. He’d cut one down. It was a tradition.”

  Ahhh. Now I understood the hesitation. And the reason he never had a tree.

  My face went soft and I peered up at him. “Was the last time you got a Christmas tree back when your dad was around?”

  He paused a moment. “Yes.”

  “So when your dad left, it was the end of your childhood,” I said.

  He drew in a long breath. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

  I smiled up at him. “But look! Now you’re the grown-up and you get to cut down a tree for Grace’s first Christmas and give that experience to her like someone gave it to you once.”