by Fields, MJ
Eve already told me that these women were looking for kindness plus strength. They want us to be kind and gentle, but they’re also in a sensitive place and need someone strong to trust, who they can hang on to. Who would have thought it would be me?
By four o’clock, I’m desperate for a coffee. I knock on Eve’s door. “Hey. Coffeemaker?”
“It’s here.” She lifts her head from a file, smiling at me in relief. “I am so glad you’re with me. I really wish you’d stay. I’ve tried to hire other girls, but no one is … you. So nice and friendly and thoughtful but also smart. Mary came in before leaving and told me how warm you were with the women who were in today.”
I flush from her praise, but it is what it is. I add water from her liter bottle of Poland Spring before adding a paper filter and scooping in the ground beans. “My apartment is sitting there, collecting dust. My parents are there. My … friends …” I try not to choke on the word.
I haven’t heard anything from any of them. It’s not really a surprise. We have nothing in common. All we had was our looks and our mutual enjoyment of shopping and parties. That kind of glue always stays wet.
“What about Slade?” She presses her lips together. “It’s obvious you guys have something going on.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” I swallow.
“Well, start talking.”
And so, I do—sort of. I tell her the general story from her wedding, the outline of the shooting, and skim through the drama without giving too much away. As much as I want to tell her every gritty detail, it would be a betrayal to Slade for me to give too much information about what I’m sensing about his internal life. And, anyway, what if I’m wrong? I’d be spreading things to his friends that might not even be true, and that wouldn’t be right.
Her eyes widen with worry when I run through last night at the motorcycle club and his erratic moods, but otherwise, she stays completely quiet.
“I would stay for him,” I continue, “if he gave me even the hope of more. You know I would. I like it here. A lot. And he’s an amazing man, but obviously, he has some issues, right? Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I get the feeling he’s hiding something. And, anyway, our entire relationship right now is built on the fact that, when I leave, we’re done. I’m getting older though, and I need to meet someone real. I want kids. I want a man to love me back. I want more than two weeks of no strings, and that’s something he’s made clear he isn’t willing to give.” I finally pause my rambling.
“Honestly, I agree. You deserve a future, Lauren. You really do. If you want to go back to LA, I’d never blame you. And, if you change your mind and realize you’d rather be here, you always have a spot at the Center. There are other men here, too. I know Slade is special, but at the end of the day, you’ve got to be on the same page. I’m convinced most of life is timing.”
“You’re right. But, with Slade, it’s different. I feel that electricity between us, and it’s not just sexual. It’s more than that …” I exhale, letting my voice trail off. “Then again, maybe I’m just not used to a good man who’s authentic. Like, maybe this is just how he is?”
“Yes, he’s a great guy. But you aren’t one of those girls who imagines things. If you feel that connection, it’s because it goes both ways. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to face the fact that he has the best girl ever in front of his face.”
I know Eve has my best interest at heart. I pour us each a mug of coffee, and we drink in a warm silence like the best friends we are.
“But, Eve?”
She takes a sip before replying, “Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Vincent what I’m telling you. It’s Slade’s private life, and if he wants to tell Vincent, he should be the one to do it.”
“The stuff with the motorcycle club sounds shady, but I’d never interfere. Slade is like a brother to me. I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary with him. Then again, I’ve been so involved in my own world that I’m not paying attention. I’m going to start though.”
“I’m sure Vincent already knows anyway. They’re so close, right?”
“Right. Best friends. Whatever is going on, I’m sure Vincent is on top of it.” She bites her lip, mannerisms opposite from the confidence in her voice.
We turn to a hard knock at the door. Eve questioningly looks at me and with slight anxiety. Is it an angry ex-husband? She stands tall, pulling out a gun from her drawer, and my eyes widen.
Holy shit! Eve has a gun?
My immediate instinct is to hide and pretend we aren’t here while hers is to take out a weapon. Do I know this woman? She moves toward the door.
I flail my arms, mouthing, No!
Eve ignores me and quickly opens the door, as though she needs to act before changing her mind. It’s Slade.
He sees the gun and immediately raises his arms. “Whoa.”
We both stare, open-mouthed and shocked. Speak of the devil …
Eve lowers her gun, hand shaking.
“What’s wrong?” He looks between us in confusion, and we burst into laughter.
“We thought—you were—a killer ex-husband—but instead—it’s you,” I speak between fits of laughter.
A few seconds later, I get ahold of myself. But Eve cannot stop laughing. I know she has this issue; when she starts with the nervous laughter, she cannot stop.
“Here we go again.” Slade chuckles. “Lauren, get this woman some water. For God’s sake, Eve.” He laughs himself.
She wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, but her body is still going at it.
“Care to tell me what’s so fucking funny? I’m not the psycho husband. Maybe we should do a special code word, so you know it’s me.”
“How about just a text letting us know you’re coming?”
He smiles at me. “Smart girl.”
“It’s you!” Eve laughs. “We thought—”
She’s cackling as Slade and I roll our eyes. The girl is losing it.
“Well, I’m here to check up on you all. Not kill either one of you. But, Eve, I might have to take matters into my own hands if you don’t stop laughing. Christ!” His body shakes from his own laughter. “This shit is contagious.”
Eve turns to face the window, taking large, heaving breaths.
“So, all is well?” Slade asks me.
In unison, Eve and I say, “We’re great!”
She looks at me, ready to crack up again.
I point a finger at her. “Don’t laugh, Eve. Take another breath,” I speak slowly, wanting to keep her from another giggle attack.
“Oh, you! Get to work,” she stutters out.
“Yes, boss.” I leave her office, and Slade follows behind.
“Come to my place for dinner tonight?”
“You want me to come over? To your home?” I try keeping the shock from my voice, but it’s there.
“Yep.” He stands straight and tall, full of confidence.
“Oh, um, Eve told me there was some restaurant opening.”
“That’s tomorrow night.” He leans against the wall, legs crossed casually.
I nod. “Okay, I’ll come. Do you want to pick up any food from the supermarket? I can cook.”
“No. I’m cooking. I’ll pick you up from here. Seven thirty?”
“That sounds good.” He kisses the top of my head before leaving, strutting out like the self-assured man he is.
I’m shell-shocked. Slade just asked me to dinner. At his house!
After seven, Eve asks my plans for tonight. The work here is never-ending, but it is more fulfilling than anything I’ve ever done.
“Slade is picking me up.”
“Is that right?” She lifts a beautifully arched dark eyebrow.
“Yes.” I sigh. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to be careful. Enjoy yourself. And call me if you need me.”
Sometime later, I check the time on my phone. It’s almost seven thirty. It turns out that time flies when you
’re working on something you care about. I pull out a brush and a small mirror from my bag, checking myself out and redoing my hair when Eve reenters my room.
“Don’t go back to LA,” she begs.
I drop the brush back into my purse before straightening out my desk. “Can we not mention it?”
“Yes. One day at a time. But you’ve been so helpful, and I love having you with me,” she exclaims before defensively raising her arms and adding, “Just saying.”
I roll my eyes, not unhappily.
“And you look beautiful,” Eve adds.
“Thank you.” I smile. “And I love working here, too. The circumstances that brought me here are terrible, but I’m glad it led me back to you.”
We hug before I leave the Center. With my eyes on my phone while I delete junk e-mails, I walk through the exit. Pausing at the curb, I raise my head. Slade is here, casually leaning against his huge motorcycle with smirk meant just for me.
“Hey, you,” I call out, trying to stop myself from sprinting to him.
When I reach him, he presses a kiss on the top of my head before securing a black helmet beneath my chin. He gets on first and helps me on. I’m scared to death, but I trust he’ll get us to his home in one piece. Luckily, I’m wearing flat shoes. I make a mental note that pumps on a motorcycle would be a terrible idea.
We take off. The ride is exhilarating. The wind and the fresh air … oh, who am I kidding? Screw nature. I have Slade, the hottest man I’ve ever seen with a body to kill for, sitting in front of me. I’m squeezing his muscled midsection as the rumble of the bike shakes between my legs, and I have to do everything in my power not to moan out loud. He’s in an amazing mood and bringing me to his home, and I don’t have too much time left. I’m going to capitalize on the positive and ignore everything else.
We pull in front of his home. It’s small but freshly painted with a square yard in front and a driveway where his truck is parked. Helping me off the bike, we walk hand in hand inside, where I’m pleasantly surprised. Slade’s home is clean, tidy, and organized. It smells like a delicious dinner has been cooked. The living room has a nice, large gray couch in an L-shape with a big screen TV mounted on the wall. I poke my head into his kitchen on the left. At a quick glance, the appliances look brand-new.
“Left is the kitchen, here’s the living room, and on the right is my bedroom.” He points to the back of the house. “I’ve got a porch and grill out there.”
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”
He walks me into his bedroom. No clothes are strewed on the floor, and the bed is neatly made. “There’s one over here, on the right.”
I head inside, locking the door behind me. As I stare at myself in the mirror, my bliss is so extreme that it’s all I see. You hear about happiness shining through? Exhibit A: me. When Slade and I are good, we’re so, so good.
I reenter the kitchen to find Slade with black oven mitts, pulling food from the oven.
“Can I help?” My voice is cheery as he puts the hot glass dish over a hot plate.
He asks, “Red, white, or beer?”
“White.”
“In the fridge, and the opener is in that drawer.” He nods to where it is before pulling out extra virgin olive oil and white vinegar from a cabinet. “Would you mind grabbing me a beer?”
I open his refrigerator, shocked to see the detailed level of organization. Everything inside is fresh and organized in Tupperware containers marked: grilled chicken, grilled vegetables, meat, fried onion. On the lower level, there are larger containers filled with cut-up vegetables. Shredded cabbage and carrots. Spinach. Lots of hard-boiled eggs.
No wonder his body is so good.
Typically, in my fridge at home, I have hummus, condiments, and wine. My pantry is filled with rice crackers, chia seeds, fiber thins, and other shortcuts to skinny. My girlfriends and I always tote about health and fitness, but the truth is, all these diet fads are just ways to control calories.
“Did you get lost in there?” He laughs.
“I need to take notes on how you organize.” I pull out a bottle of Stella and a small bottle of pinot grigio before shutting the door.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes. I mean, you pre-make everything?”
“Sure do. Sunday nights, I take care of food for the workweek.”
I open the beer and hand it to him, noticing a few black mugs on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.
“Why don’t you mix the salad and grab some silverware from the drawer next to the oven? I’ll get the chicken and rice on the table outside. It’s pretty warm out still, so I figured we could eat there.”
“Sure.” I use the spoons already in the salad to mix it all up as he props open the door.
When we sit down, I notice how much food he’s prepared. Two whole chickens perfectly browned and surrounded by carrots, celery, and potatoes. A large plate of brown rice. And, of course, a salad filled with spinach, cabbage, celery, carrots, and cranberries. For all his gruffness, the man obviously has a way in the kitchen.
“How did you learn to cook all of this?”
“I hated eating out all the time. Learned some recipes and then figured it out from there.” He lifts my white ceramic plate, filling it with food. “My parents cooked a lot also. My mom had a huge book of her recipes I brought with me.”
After giving me back my plate, he takes care of his own. I dig in and smile. It tastes even better than it looks.
“So, how was work today?” he asks, all domestic-like.
“I actually loved it,” I exclaim, unable to stop the smile from filling my face. I tell Slade about all the work I accomplished for Eve and how I met with one of the abused women. “She wants a job at the Mile. I’ve got to talk to Vincent about that.”
“Sounds good. Nevada suits you.”
“Does it?”
He nods, seemingly pleased.
The rest of our dinner is full of laughter and jokes. He tells me a bit about his years overseas and the different trainings he’s done. I sit in utter awe of this amazing man in front of me.
“Lauren, I know we don’t have much time left together. But, while you’re here, I want to be with you. And, when you leave, I want you to know you can always call me.”
“Is that what you are? Mr. Dependable Friend?” I sit up and lean forward to get closer. I’m not expecting him to say we’re more, but right now, it feels like it.
“Yes. Everything good starts like this.” He puts his hands on the small wooden table as though getting ready to stand. “I’ve got some fruit for dessert. Interested?”
“Let me get it.” I rise.
“Grab me another beer, too, will you?”
With a polite nod, I head back inside.
Sixteen
Slade
She comes back to the patio and hands me my drink, already opened.
I look down at the beer before staring back at her, my chest expanding when I say, “Thank you.” It feels good to have her with me.
“So, when did you have your last girlfriend?” she asks quickly, words laced with curiosity.
I take a long pull, the need to be truthful rising above all else. “Not since high school. When I joined up with the Navy, I had someone. It felt good to think she was at NYU, studying and waiting for me, but it turned out, she wasn’t actually waiting. I learned from another friend that she was cheating on me with some New York City stockbroker. After we broke up, there were women who came and went during my time off. But nothing steady.”
“Was it lonely?” Her brows lower with worry for me.
“Sure.” I shrug, taking another pull from the bottle. “But, for my friends who had wives at home, it wasn’t too easy for them either. They were always worrying. Waiting by the phones. E-mailing. I was more comfortable being on my own. Helped me to focus. I think, if I had a family to worry about, it would have clouded my judgment.”
She takes a sip of her wine before I ask, “And what about you
? What’s the trail you’ve left behind?”
“There have been men in my past. But no one too serious. I think I always picked the wrong guys. They looked like the right ones, but then, somehow, they weren’t. The truth is …” Her voice trails off.
I sit closer, waiting for her to finish.
“There has been no one since you at the wedding.” She nervously looks up, waiting for my reply.
“Is that right?” For whatever reason, this sounds like good fucking news to me. The best news actually.
Lauren’s epic eye roll is followed by, “Yeah.”
“I knew I rocked your world,” I exclaim, my voice exaggerated.
She laughs out loud, throwing her napkin at me. It sails onto the table and falls back on her plate.
“Let’s clean up and go inside. Movie?”
“Sure.”
We clear the table together and head back into the kitchen. I take the serving platters, leaving them on the counter, while Lauren picks up the plates and silverware off the table. She moves to the sink, rinsing off the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. She moves so comfortably, as though she belongs here.
After I put the extra food back into the refrigerator, I grab a cigarette from the junk drawer.
“I’m going to step out to have a smoke. You make yourself comfortable on the couch over there. Remote should be on the side table by the couch.”
She looks over her shoulder, smiling at me while continuing to rinse. “Sure.”
Outside, I light up and listen to her movements in the house. It feels so good to have a woman with me. A spot in my chest that I never knew was empty seems to be filling, and I feel it. I know it in my fucking bones that having her with me is right. I know it can’t last, and I can’t let her in. But still, the truth is there, written clearly for me to see. In another life, she’d be my only.
I put out the cigarette and head back inside. I want another but don’t want her waiting too long.
“I’ll make us some popcorn,” I shout into the living room.
A minute later, I pour it into a large bowl and take it with me. Shoes off and barefoot, she sits with her hair piled high on top of her head. I pause and swallow.
