by J. Sterling
“As soon as I finish up the dishes.” I walked into the kitchen and turned on the faucet to fill the sink with hot water, squirting in a measure of soap. “Did you brush your teeth like I asked?”
Matson groaned, and then I heard his feet padding across the floor. I turned my head to watch him pass by, but he stopped.
“I’m going. See?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Welcome,” he muttered before disappearing.
After an hour of unwind time, I tucked Matson into his bed and read him his favorite book about dinosaurs.
Twice.
“One more time, Mama. Please.”
He batted his baby blues at me, knowing damn well they were my kryptonite. I could have flipped it and asked him to read to me, but I secretly enjoyed these moments when he still wanted me there, still asked for me to read to him. One day it would all change, and there would be no going back.
As I pretended to ponder his question, he tilted his head, blinking his eyes even faster than before, and I laughed.
“Last time,” I said, preparing him. If I didn’t tell him that, he would ask me to read to him over and over until the sun came up.
Even after I finally stopped reading and walked out the door, guilt consumed me for not reading it just one more time. What harm would it have done?
I pushed the thought aside and filed it in my brain under the category I liked to call Mama Guilt. Nothing was ever enough. I could always do more, be more, spend more time, have more, give more—more, more, more. But I also knew that if I didn’t take the time to give myself some self-care, I wouldn’t be the best mom I could be.
I considered that balance as I made my way to the couch and flipped the channels for a show to watch that was way more grown-up and far less Disney.
No sooner had I found a trashy reality show when my phone pinged with a text message. I glanced at it, seeing only a phone number instead of a name, and it wasn’t a number I recognized.
Wary, I opened the message.
Unknown Number: Still on for our date, angel?
Nerves shot through me as I wondered how the heck Ryan had gotten hold of my phone number. He was a resourceful guy, so I figured he had his ways, but I was slightly unnerved.
Another text pinged.
Unknown Number: Don’t even think about hanging this old man out to dry. And if you tell Ryan I called myself old, I’ll be forced to call you a liar in public. Don’t make me do that, Sofia.
I laughed out loud, both with relief and at Grant’s words. Tucking my feet underneath me, I leaned into my couch and added him to my contacts, then typed out a quick response. I decided to tease Grant a little before agreeing to our date.
Sofia: I’m impressed that you text. I pegged you as more of a caller.
The bubbles danced as I waited for his response.
Grant: I thought texting was less rude at this hour. Were you sleeping?
Giggling again, I glanced at the time, even though I didn’t need to check it. Matson started getting ready for bed at eight thirty on the dot each night, and I made sure that I was done reading and out of his room by nine. It was barely five after.
Grant: You’re stalling.
Patience, Grant, I thought. You need to work on your game.
Grant: Sofia!
I couldn’t stop laughing, and before I could even respond to his text, my phone blared out its ringtone, the music way too loud. I quickly silenced it before answering, hoping it didn’t disturb Matson.
“You have zero patience,” I said instead of saying hello.
“You took too long,” Grant grumbled. “And you’re right. I like talking better than typing on this stupid thing. My thumbs are too big, anyway. I always press the wrong buttons, and it has to correct it for me. Half the time it sends something that makes no sense at all. Like why would I ever tell someone to water the zoo?”
I laughed again, still not getting a single word out before he continued.
“I was thinking we could go to the bar on Thursday or Friday, your choice.”
I pondered for a second as I considered my options. Thursday would be less crowded, but Matson needed me to stick to our weekday routine. I didn’t want to mess it up any more than I have been lately.
“Friday works,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. I needed to ask my mom to watch Matson, and she’d want to know what I was up to, but it wouldn’t be a problem. Part of me hated leaving my son any more than was necessary, but I had promised Grant I’d do this, and the sooner I agreed, the sooner it would all be over. This ridiculousness could stop, and we could all move on with our lives like we’d never even met.
“Friday, it is,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at eight. That way it won’t be too crazy in that godforsaken place.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said, but Grant cut me off.
“This is a date, Sofia. How can I make Ryan jealous if we arrive in separate cars? I’ll pick you up. Text me your address.”
He was so bossy. “Okay. I will.”
“Good night, angel. Sleep tight.”
“Good night, Grant. Don’t forget to water the zoo.”
I pressed End on the phone and convinced myself that none of this meant a damn thing. I’d go, have fun with Grant, and never think about Ryan or his ridiculously charming self again.
Sam’s Bar
Sofia
The rest of the week went by in typical fashion. There had been no more unannounced visits from Derek, and that only slightly calmed my nerves. I knew he hadn’t shown up out of nowhere for no reason, so I waited anxiously for him reappear. Thinking about what he could possibly want made me sick to my stomach every single time, so I tried to push it out of my mind.
That proved to be easier said than done, especially where my son was concerned. I’d woken up twice this week from nightmares involving him taking Matson from me in a public place. I never remembered the exact details, except Derek was there, screaming at me with Matson in his arms, and I couldn’t reach them in time.
Work was busy, as usual, and Sarin entertained herself by harassing me about my upcoming date with Grant. She called it Spyin’ on Ryan. Even though I told her I wanted nothing to do with him, she never believed me. I wouldn’t have believed me either. There must have been some subconscious reason that made me agree to go.
Friday night, I convinced my mom to watch Matson at my house so I wouldn’t have to wake him up to bring him home after being out. I figured it would be easier on him to be in his home and in his own bed. It gave me comfort too, knowing my son wouldn’t be disrupted by my unusual Friday night outing.
Most single moms needed time away from their kids. They tended to be desperate for an escape, a night out, a day away. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t feel that way. Maybe it was because I was away from Matson for most of the day while I worked, getting home past six and sometimes later, depending on what was going on at the office. All I knew was that I enjoyed being around Matson, and I hated being away from him. If I worked from home, however, I’d probably feel differently.
“You know if you get tired, you can always stay here. I can sleep on the foldout,” I said to my mom as she watched me getting ready in my bathroom. Matson was in the living room, eating my her famous homemade enchiladas and watching his favorite animated movie for the hundredth time.
“I’ll be fine.” She stroked my long hair, her fingers sifting through the soft curls I’d added to the length. “Your hair looks beautiful, mija.”
I grinned. “Thank you, Mom. It looks just like yours.” Staring at our reflections in my mirror, I noticed the way we resembled each other in more ways than just our highlighted hair. There was no doubt that I was Mira Richards’s daughter.
“So, tell me more about this Ryan.” Mom waggled her eyebrows at me, and I scowled.
“I told you I’m going out with Grant.”
She clucked her tongue. “Yes, but not really
. It’s not a real date.”
“I know.”
“You told me he wants you to see Ryan, right?”
Why did my mom remember everything I mentioned to her in passing? Couldn’t she forget some of the details? Or why couldn’t I lie to her like a normal daughter?
“Yeah. He wants me to give Ryan a chance. See him in action or something. Even though I’ve already seen him in action before.”
“I’m confused by all of this. Ryan is a bartender? Or he owns the bar?”
“Both. He owns the bar, and he bartends,” I said, basically summing up all I knew about Ryan in just a few words.
“And he’s cute?” She gave me a knowing look.
“Does it matter?”
“It always matters.”
“He’s very good-looking,” I said, trying to sound unaffected as I thought about how gorgeous Ryan Fisher actually was.
Mom gave me a cryptic look. “It’s the good-looking ones that get us into the most trouble.”
“Not if you don’t let ’em,” I said confidently, certain that there was nothing Ryan could do to change my mind.
She laughed. “True. And you’re good at not letting them.”
“I just want to make the right decision for Matson and me. It’s not enough if the guy is good enough for me, but not for him, you know?”
Mom wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. “Of course I know. You’re a great mom, Sofia. I’m proud of you. But at some point, Matson will need to know what love looks like between a man and a woman.” Her voice was so romantic and nostalgic.
“That’s why he has you and Dad,” I said as if that solved everything.
“Your heart can’t always stay locked behind a door no one has the key to. Sometimes you need to let it come out and breathe. That’s how it grows.”
Smiling at her, I said, “Well, it’s not coming out to breathe tonight. It’s not even getting involved in this.”
I believed what I told her, honestly thought my heart wasn’t involved when it came to Ryan. Hell, I believed it wasn’t interested in him at all.
I should have heard my heart laughing all the way to the bar, but I didn’t.
• • •
When Grant rang my doorbell, I had to stop both my mom and Matson from rushing to the door. I still wasn’t ready to go there with Grant, so I answered the door before I hurried out of it. My jaw dropped when I stepped outside and saw the classic brown Cadillac waiting at the curb, whitewall tires and all.
Feeling like I’d stepped back into a time I’d only ever seen in movies and pictures, I told him, “This is a beauty, Grant,” as he opened the door for me. Seated on the cool white leather, I glanced around, impressed at how everything was in pristine condition, almost like new.
Once Grant was situated in the driver’s seat, he turned to me. “Aside from my beautiful wife, this Caddy was my baby. Never had any real babies, you know,” he said, his tone almost wistful as he pulled away from the curb.
I’d assumed they didn’t have children, since no one was at the hospital except for Ryan and me, but I hadn’t been sure until now.
“Does she have a name?”
“My wife or my car?” He glanced at me as he navigated through the busy streets.
“I meant the car, but both, I guess.”
“The car’s Miranda. My wife’s name was Carol. Lost her a little over a year ago. Life’s not the same without her here. It downright sucks, if you want to know the truth. That woman lit up my damn life. She made every day brighter. I hate being here without her.”
“I’m sorry. She sounds lovely.”
“She had to be to put up with me, right? An absolute saint, she was. But full of piss and vinegar too.” He laughed. “You couldn’t tell Carol to do nothing she didn’t want to do. She was a rebel before her time.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to know her,” I said, and I meant it. She sounded like a strong woman.
“She would have liked you.”
We stayed silent for the rest of the quick drive, fifties music drifting softly from the speakers. Grant pulled Miranda into an almost vacant lot behind Sam’s that I hadn’t even known existed. Only two cars and a motorcycle were there, so I assumed it must be employee parking.
“Will we get in trouble for parking back here?”
Grant guffawed. “That little shit even thinks about towing my baby, I’ll hang him up by the balls.”
Shaking my head, I stopped myself from rolling my eyes as he reached for my hand and placed it on his arm. We walked around to the front entrance and Grant pulled the door open for me, not even stopping to give the bouncer a glance. I gave the tall, beefy guy an apologetic look, but didn’t stop either as I followed Grant inside.
Sam’s was hopping, which I’d expected. I zeroed in on the bar and wasn’t surprised to see Ryan behind it, a huge grin on his face as he leaned toward three girls wearing party hats. They had their hands all over him, pawing at his chest and shoulders, and my stomach flipped. I wanted to turn around and walk right back out the front door, but Grant must have sensed it.
Tugging me toward him, he shouted in my ear, “It’s not his fault they grab at him like that,” then pulled me away from the bar and toward the tables in the back. A couple got up to leave right as we reached them, and Grant pulled out one of the chairs for me before taking a seat across from me.
A deal was a deal, so I was determined to stick it out for at least one drink, but I had no idea how much longer than that I could last. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure what I was doing here in the first place. Yes, I’d agreed to the date for Grant’s sake, but now that we were here, all I wanted was to leave. The girls pawing Ryan, the look on his face revealing how much he loved the attention—these were the exact reasons why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with him.
The truth was that I wasn’t equipped to handle that level of competition on a daily basis. How could one woman ever date Ryan and feel secure?
“Angel.”
Ryan’s voice met my ears, and I thought I must be hearing things. Glancing to my right, I saw him standing there, his arms crossed.
“You came,” he said, then looked at Grant. “With the old guy.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed. “I can hear you, you know.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan teased.
“Why don’t you take your pretty-boy mug back behind the bar and make us something drinkable,” Grant said before giving Ryan a little shove.
I pressed my lips together to suppress a laugh. The two of them always behaved like children when they got together. Why would tonight be any different?
“Do you have an alcohol preference, Sofia?”
The sound of my name coming from Ryan’s lips prompted all my girlie parts spring to life, making me aware of just how long it had been since I’d had a man inside me. Once I’d opened that door, I found myself desperately curious what it would feel like to be with Ryan. I imagined he’d be gifted in size, and I almost moaned at the thought of him entering me.
No, no, no, no, no, I chided myself.
But out loud, I said, “I don’t care. Rum. Vodka. Tequila.”
“You like tequila?”
“Are there people who don’t?”
“What about you, old man?”
“Whiskey,” Grant said gruffly. “Now, go away.” Once Ryan was out of earshot, Grant laughed. “Isn’t it fun picking on him?”
“I don’t pick on him.”
“You should,” he said, and I turned my head to watch Ryan.
Nick, the brother I’d met the other day, was behind the bar too. Together, he and Ryan worked quickly, making drinks and serving them before heading to the next person. I realized how stressful a job like this had to be as I watched them move nonstop, each with a constant smile on their face.
Ryan glanced up, and our eyes met across the bar. Even with the distance between us, I could tell that he was looking right at me as I watched him. A crooked grin
brightened his face, and I couldn’t help but smile in response.
“Stop flirting with the enemy.” Grant slapped a hand on top of the table, jerking my attention to him.
“I wasn’t,” I lied, but my dreamy smile gave me away.
“See, you do like him,” Grant said, calling me out.
I turned my smile into a frown. “I don’t even really know him.”
“That’s why we’re here,” he said as if I was the most naive person in the room, then pointed with his chin.
I looked in the direction he’d pointed and watched as Ryan maneuvered his way through the crowd, a drink in each hand. Women tried to stop him, but he continued right toward us without so much as a glance. They grabbed at his shirt, pulled at his pants, but he kept moving like nothing was going on around him. I almost felt sorry for him before I decided that he probably liked being manhandled by women every night.
His bright blue eyes met mine as he smiled. “Adios Pantalones for the angel, and a Guy Hater for the grumpy old man. Seemed fitting,” he said as he placed the drinks in front of us.
“Guy Hater? Stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Grant grumped as he took a cautious sip.
“Good?” Ryan asked, clearly wanting approval.
Grant took another swig. “Damn good. But next time I’ll take a plain whiskey on the rocks. I don’t need anything froufouing it up for me. I can drink whiskey like a man.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Ryan said with a mock salute before turning to me. “What about yours?”
“You really made me a drink that means good-bye pants?” I asked, curious about his beverage choice and wondering if I should be offended or not.
“It’s the best tequila drink in the house. Ladies love it,” he said with a shrug. “If you want something different, I can make it.” He reached for my drink, but I pulled it toward me.
