by Celeste, B.
All I manage to do is nod.
It isn’t until he’s gone that I manage to snap out of whatever trance I lock myself in, sigh, and turn to the flowers on my counter. Expecting a note from Vickie with something funny on it, which I could use, I grab the paper attached to the holder and read it.
Then gape.
Stare.
Gape some more.
My heart lurches into my throat.
I’m sorry.
~H
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dad’s kitchen smells like slightly burnt stuffing, but the perfectly browned turkey makes up for it. If that hadn’t, Mom’s famous macaroni and cheese might have saved the holiday lunch we’ve gathered at Dad’s house to have.
“Can you mash the potatoes?” my dad asks as he pokes at the turkey.
I’ve always helped my parents with holiday meals, so I know where everything is as I get to work across the kitchen. The caramel apple cheesecake I made is sitting on the counter next to Mom’s peach cobbler. Dad thinks we don’t know that the chocolate peanut butter pie beside those is store-bought even though he moved it to a glass pie dish, but we all know his baking skills are nowhere near his cooking ones.
“Is Vickie coming later?” he asks. Vickie sometimes stops by for dessert and drinks while they yell at the TV over whatever football teams are playing.
“I don’t think so. Her family is in town for once, so she was planning on seeing them.” I don’t expect to get an SOS text or a reason to call and make her come here, but my phone’s sound is on just in case. She’s had a lot of problems with her parents over the years, but nothing that’s ever stopped her from seeing them when they’re around.
“Too bad,” Dad comments. “I was looking forward to rubbing it in her face when the Lions lose.”
I snort. “Great sportsmanship.”
“Like she’s any better.”
“True.”
Before he can pick on my best friend anymore, Mom walks in. “What are we talking about?”
I finish the potatoes and turn to her as she presses a kiss against my cheek. “Dad is trash-talking Vickie and her love for the Lions.”
She rolls her eyes. “You said she’s with her family today, yes?”
“Yep.”
“Did she bring anybody?”
Internally, I groan, knowing where this conversation is going. “Nope. Just her.”
“Hmm.”
Dad chuckles to himself from where he stands in front of the stove.
“Have you dated?” Mom comes out and asks. “You’re still young, Stevie. Plenty of men would be more than happy to take you out.”
I know she means well, but that doesn’t make me want to talk about this. “I went out on a date once not that long ago. It didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“Because it didn’t.”
“Did you even try?”
“Mom,” I groan in disbelief that we’re having this conversation. “He wasn’t right for me. Please stop trying to push this on me.”
She frowns. “I just want to see you get out and live your life. What’s wrong with that?”
“I go out with my friends,” is my reply.
That’s still not good enough for her. “But going out with Vickie and your coworkers isn’t going to get me a grandchild anytime soon, now is it?”
I stop what I’m doing to stare at her, in awe that she’d say that to me, knowing how badly I wanted to get pregnant once upon a time.
To make it worse, she’s oblivious and keeps going, driving the knife deeper into my heart. “All I’m trying to say is that Hunter may not have wanted kids, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a nice man out there who isn’t willing to go down that road with you someday.”
Unlike Mom, Dad notices the tension in my shoulders. “Sandy…”
Mom’s brows pinch as she looks between him and me in confusion. “What?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No, what is it?”
I eye her. “He texted me.”
Her eyes widen.
Dad makes a disgruntled sound from behind me.
“And he sent me flowers,” I add.
It effectively shuts her up.
“I didn’t reply or thank him for the roses.”
Both my parents are staring now.
I grab the bowl of potatoes and turn to my mother with the dish tight in my grasp. “I love you, Mom, but you of all people should know that when you spend years with somebody, suddenly forgetting about them and moving on isn’t as easy as it sounds.” Eyes going to Dad, who looks a little uncomfortable, I shake my head. “I know you two love me and want me to be happy, and I appreciate that, but you need to let me live my life at my pace. Jumping into a relationship with somebody when I’m not ready will only make me miserable.”
“Oh, Stevie…” Mom reaches out and touches my arm.
I shake it off. “I know, Mom. Really. It’s fine. But don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical to urge me on dates when you’ve been divorced from Dad and still see him all the time and act like you don’t have feelings for him? Everyone in this room knows that’s not true.”
“Stevie,” Dad warns quietly, playing devil’s advocate as usual.
“No. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m simply stating a fact. You guys are my parents, but that doesn’t mean you’re always right. We’re all adults and should be able to say how we feel without being reprimanded. But you telling me that I need to find a man to have children with is going too far. You knew how much I wanted that life and how badly it hurt that I wasn’t given it. So maybe, just maybe, put yourself in my shoes and think about how that makes me feel.”
They’re both quiet. Mom’s face looks flushed, and her eyes start to glaze, but I can’t make myself feel bad for hurting her feelings when I’m being honest. “I’m going to set the table.”
The rest of the day is slightly awkward, but we all make conversation so it’s never silent. About work. About Vickie. About what they’re up to. New hobbies.
I never bring up Hunter again, and neither do they.
And when Vickie comes over right before the game starts, I almost send a thank you to the sky because it distracts my parents from me and lets me sink into the background for a while.
Sitting in an armchair in the corner while my dad and friend argue about something sports related, I open my text messages and stare at the one Hunter sent me.
Hi, smalls.
I tap my finger against my phone in contemplation.
Bounce my knee anxiously.
Then, I delete the message.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The look Bex is giving me makes it impossible to say no, and she knows it. Wrapped in winter clothes since the early December weather has brought snow showers and single-digit temperatures, she wiggles the bribe in shape of cookies and then gives me the puppy dog eyes.
“It’s one night.”
One night.
“It’ll be fun.”
If she thinks it’ll be fun, she wouldn’t be begging me to tag along with her. “Bex, the idea of speed dating sounds…” Awful. It sounds awful. I barely even liked the idea of online dating but have been considering it for a little while now, thanks to Vickie’s encouragement. “It doesn’t sound like it’s for me.”
“It’s for anyone,” my neighbor disagrees.
“Don’t you have to sign up for this type of thing?” I ask. She says the event starts in two hours, hardly enough time for me to register that way there’s an even number of participants.
When my neighbor’s face, with laugh lines and the start of crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes, shifts a little, I know she’s leaving something out. “I may have signed you up when my friends made me sign up.”
I gape, processing her words.
“I’m sorry!” she rushes out. “I know it isn’t a respectful thing to do. Truthfully, I thought I’d talk myself out of this by now and not e
ven have to tell you, but then I thought that it may be time. And, who knows, it could actually be fun.”
I want to be angry, but the hopeful look on her face is making that hard. Plus, she’s holding gingerbread cookies that her daughter made. They’re even decorated in a way most skilled culinary students would decorate them.
Bex keeps going. “There will be a range of men there, all different ages and types. It isn’t like it’s only for people my age.”
That has me rolling my eyes. “You aren’t that much older than me, Bex.”
“Twenty years,” she reminds me, almost sadly. She lets that go quickly, though. “I could have birthed you.”
The thought of it slightly disturbing, so I brush it off.
“I’ll make it up to you somehow. Anything you want. My daughter is a great cook, too, so if there’s a dish you love—”
“Bex—”
“Please, Stevie?”
Oh God, she broke out the magic word.
I sigh, wanting to close the door, turn the TV onto something mindless, and devour my weight in sugar. But I don’t. “I’m only doing this one time, okay? I’ve never really been comfortable with the idea of this.”
She claps. “Oh, you’re the sweetest. I won’t do anything like this to you again.” Bex makes a cross over her heart and then passes me the cookies. “I’ll leave you to get ready and then come pick you up in an hour or so.”
My reluctant agreement comes in a barely-there voice as I close the door behind her and instantly regret my decision the second I let myself think about it.
Maybe she’s right.
It could be fun.
Something I need.
If nothing else, it’ll get Mom off my back for a little while, knowing I at least tried again.
I wake up sore. Head sore, mouth dry, and body aching as I crack my eyes open. The usual sunlight I’m greeted with in the morning is too much for my eyes, and I groan and turn over trying to remember what happened last night.
Speed dating.
There’d been guy after guy that left me even more in a panic. Each one of them vastly different than the man I’d said my vows to all those years ago, yet, I still found something similar with every man that sat down across from me. My neighbor must have sensed my impending meltdown because she pulled me out of there despite talking to a silver fox she seemed into. I’d have to apologize for that, but hopefully he given her his number before we left.
We’d gone to a bar nearby the event after leaving. One I hadn’t been to before. And I’d drank. Way too much. Something that, if the hangover plaguing me right now is any indicator of, I won’t be doing again for a very long time.
There’s a noise from beside me that locks up my entire body. A sound too deep to be Bex, and certainly not one that came from me.
When I open my eyes again, I see a naked back. A naked back that looks lean and smooth and unfamiliar, and the back of head with long brown hair that I don’t recognize.
Then it comes back to me.
Everything.
The drinks.
The music.
The guy who was dancing with me.
Bex told me we should go, but I’d wanted to stay. I was finally letting go after one too many drinks, and I stopped feeling like I was going to cry. It’s a little fuzzy, but I remember the guy touching my hips, hooking his arm around my lower back, and then suggesting we leave.
And I’d agreed to that.
Why did I agree to that?
There’s a familiar ache between my legs that I haven’t felt in a long time, one that tells me exactly what happened even if I only can grasp bits and pieces at the moment The feeling of soft sheets against my skin, and only my skin, reminds me that I went too far.
The smart choice would have been letting Bex drive us home after I convinced the bartender to give me another margarita, but the buzz had loosened my tense shoulders and eased the pain settled in my chest. With each sip of my drink, I’d started having more fun—stopped thinking about how embarrassed I was of myself for freaking out over something as simple as speed dating.
The man groans again, breaking apart my memory and reminding me of my poor decision.
Panic starts wrapping itself around every nook and cranny it can get its claws into. Darting out of bed with the blanket despite the protest of the other person laying on my mattress, I bolt to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
When I meet my eyes in the mirror hanging above the sink, I take in my disheveled appearance. Makeup smeared. Brown hair a frizzy, bed-headed mess. Bloodshot eyes with dark circles underneath. I’m paler than usual and my cheeks are flushed, and I can barely breathe.
Leaning over the sink when I start to feel nauseous, my eyes capture what’s in the waste basket between the sink and toilet.
A used condom.
My bottom lip trembles.
Tears sting my eyes.
“I just want to forget,” I’d told the stranger. “Help me forget.”
My head drops forward as I suck in a shaky breath, then another. It’s hard to control the stiffness in my chest. The tightness. With each inhale, it becomes even tighter, suffocating me slowly.
Slipping on the robe I keep hanging on the back of the door, I tie it around my waist and inhale slowly before counting to five and heading back out. The stranger is still sleeping, an arm draped over his face, the remaining top sheet resting low on his stomach and revealing the skin I saw far more of last night if my foggy memory is correct.
“You need to go,” I tell him, voice raspy.
Nothing.
I step forward, willing my voice to raise even though I want nothing more than to let out the tears welling behind my eyes. “You need to leave.”
This time, he wakes, grumbles, and moves to his side.
Nostrils flaring, anger rises from the pit of my stomach all the way up until it gathers on my tongue, tasting sour. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops. Get up. Get dressed. And get the hell out of my house.”
I don’t care that my voice cracks.
Or that he calls me a bitch when he finally moves, reaching for his clothes scattered across the bedroom floor.
Or even when he says I was more fun last night.
If anything, I want to vomit for putting myself in this situation.
Once he’s dressed, I make sure he really does leave, following him downstairs. He’s not that much taller than me, dressed in jeans and a long sleeve sweater. A nice pair of black shoes. His face is nothing special, not that I let myself look long.
He isn’t my usual type, though. That I can tell. Maybe that’s why I let him bring me home. Why I let him touch me. Do things to me that only one other man has before.
Help me forget, I’d all but begged.
We don’t say a word as he walks out, though he does mumble something under his breath that probably isn’t nice.
My arms are crossed over my chest as he gets into a beat-up car in the driveway and backs out, speeding down the street like a jackass.
Then I hear, “Hi, Ms. Foster!”
But instead of returning the greeting to the boy who’s playing with Admiral while his father watches from their open porch, I turn around, close the door behind me, and walk upstairs to turn on the shower.
I spend twenty minutes scrubbing my skin until it’s red and raw.
Ten minutes crying on the shower floor with my knees tucked into my naked chest.
And five minutes drying off while avoiding the reflection in the mirror.
Help me forget.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bex shows up that evening holding two cups of coffee and a smile on her face. But after one single question, an inquiry that millions of people are asked daily, my will completely crumbles, and the floodgates open.
“Are you okay?”
One question, and suddenly my neighbor knows every single bad thing that’s happened to me over the past two years. The ups, the downs, the struggles I’ve
had coping. She gets it all while passing me tissues as I sob and snot and shake my head until my voice is hoarse.
And when it’s all out in the open, floating between us, she pulls me into her arms and hugs me as tightly as she probably does her daughter after a bad breakup. “Oh, Stevie. I had no idea.”
I sniffle, pulling away and dabbing a tissue under my eye. “I don’t like talking about it. It’s embarrassing.”
Her eyes soften. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. These things happen all the time. Divorce is hard, but you’re a strong person. Look what you’ve done for yourself!” She gestures around the house. “You bought a beautiful home, have a great job, and you have a support system with you every step of the way.”
I blink back more tears. “I’ve only ever been with one man my whole life, Bex,” I admit aloud, feeling my face warm. “One man who I’ve shared everything with. And then I get drunk and just let some stranger into my home? Let him…”
She doesn’t need to know the details, and I don’t feel like reliving them. Not that I remember everything. Bits and pieces that I hope I can forget about soon enough. “I’ve never been that kind of girl.”
“You feel guilty,” she states.
“I guess.”
She grabs my hands and squeezes them while giving me one of her famous smiles. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me when I tell you this but hear me out. What you did is natural. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a strong, independent, grown woman having some fun. You’re trying to move on, Stevie. Last night was a step in a direction you probably needed to do that. And if you learned that those types of relationships aren’t for you—” She means one-night stands, pointless flings, but I’m glad she’s choosing her words carefully for the sake of my sanity. “—then you learned something about yourself that you wouldn’t have known otherwise. Right?”
I think about it, then eventually nod. “I never thought about it that way.”
Another hand squeeze. “I know it’s tough to move on. Speed dating was…” She searches for the word. “It was difficult, to be honest. Talking to men who weren’t my Billy. But it was something I needed to jumpstart other possibilities. And I met some nice men who seem like good people.”
