The Someday Jar

by Allison Morgan

  Kit’s right. We hate her.

  “Hi, Lanie.”

  Evan holds a picture frame in his hands. I know the picture. I’ve dusted it countless times. Evan poses knee deep in a river with waist-high yellow waders and a salmon in his hand during a recent fishing trip to Alaska. He hated the trip. Not much of an outdoorsman, he complained of mosquito bites and lack of quality bedding at the lodge. Who gets adequate rest on mere three-hundred-fifty thread count sheets? A client with a medical complex in escrow invited Evan and, with a pending commission, he couldn’t say no.

  “Anyway.” He returns to Paige. “I panicked.”

  “What did you do?” Her tone implies they’re discussing a bloody grizzly attack and not a defenseless salmon the length of a Subway sandwich.

  “Well, while this fish floundered inside my waders—” Evan points toward his pants. “It’s powerful—”

  Paige tilts her head. “I can imagine.”

  Oh, please.

  “I try to scramble out of my waders, but this fish thrashes so much it throws me off balance, I lose my footing on a slippery river rock, and I fall face-first into the river.”

  “You didn’t.” Paige covers her gaping mouth.

  “But I will not let this fish get away.”

  “No?”

  “No. The salmon swims up and out of my pants. I bear-hug it. It flails and twists, but I hold it steady, squeezing tight while I call for help. Finally, after what felt like hours, the boat captain rushes over with a net and I drop the fish into it. That”—he sets the frame on the shelf—“is my fish story.

  Paige rests her hands on Evan’s forearm and throws her head back in laughter. “Evan, that’s hilarious.”

  He notices me in the doorway. “There you are. Come join us.”

  “Oh, if I may.” Paige glances apologetically at Evan, then returns to me. “Lanie, be a doll and get me something to drink.” She taps her throat. “I’m parched.”

  “Uh, sure. Tea? Coffee? Lots and lots of cream?” I say the last word louder as if the mere sound alone will instantly glop cellulite onto her ridiculously toned thighs.

  “Never,” she says, stunned. “Water, please.”

  When I return a moment later with Paige’s drink, she stands across the desk from Evan and beside Wes, each bent over the unrolled set of plans. I step beside Evan, the plans upside down from our view, and hand Paige her water.

  “You’re an angel.” After taking a sip, she sets the glass on a coaster Evan provides, digs into her purse, and pulls out several five-by-five-inch stained samples of wood. She holds a couple in her hand and scatters the others on the plans. “We really should decide on the cabinets before selecting the granite or paint. This step is crucial as it sets everything in motion, not to mention the atmosphere of the entire home.”

  “I’ve narrowed between the cherry and the walnut.” Evan reaches for the two wood squares.

  “Cherry will look fantastic with that sandalwood granite we saw the other day,” she says to Evan.

  “What other day?” I ask.

  “You were showing that commercial lot on Thomas when Paige called. Good thing I didn’t bother you to come, as they wrote a solid offer. Remember?” Evan winks at me, then continues his discussion with Paige. “I do especially like the movement in that slab. It has an appealing seductive flow.”

  “I totally agree.” Paige smiles at Evan. “There’s a smooth sexiness to it.”

  They’re still talking about countertops, right? Neither one looks at me. Even Wes scribbles notes on the plan’s edge. It’s like I’m not even here. Isn’t this my house, too? Why isn’t anyone asking me about granite or cabinets? I have thoughts and suggestions.

  Here I am, sitting on the sidelines. As usual. Letting others control my life. This is raspberry filling again. No more. It’s a new me. I uncorked my Someday Jar, dammit!

  I grab a light, clean-looking wood sample propped against her purse. “I like this one. It’s very smart and contemporary with the straight lines and simple markings.”

  “Oh, Lanie, you’re precious,” Paige says.

  Evan grasps the sample and taps it a couple times with his index finger. “This is the backside.” He flips over the square and reveals the espresso-stained side. He drops it back into my hands.

  “I knew that.” Damn. Why didn’t I know that?

  “Anyway—” Paige waves her hand. “Moving on.”

  Before I strangle myself with Paige’s scarf, Hollis walks in the front door, saving me. Never have I been more excited to see the man, especially since there is color to his cheeks.

  “Lifeguard drowns at own pool party,” he says, and we embrace.

  I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “So awful.”

  He hands me a candy cane and says, “I need to discuss that market analysis you gave us, but can I trouble you for a tissue?”

  “No trouble at all. I’ll just be a second.” My body flutters with excitement. Hollis may be one step closer to listing his house.

  I poke my head into Evan’s office. “Mr. Murphy is here.”

  “Now? I didn’t know we had anything scheduled.”

  “We didn’t.”

  “Hollis Murphy? The Hollis Murphy?” Paige squeals.

  Evan nods and straightens his tie.

  When I return with a box of Kleenex, I find Evan and Paige hovering around Hollis like a vulture circling a dead rabbit on the roadside. Strange how people act around those with money. He’s a human being, not a bag of cash. Wes stands a few feet off to the side with hands clasped behind his back.

  Evan announces, “This is my architect, Wes Campbell, and Paige Davis, my interior decorator.”

  Paige snakes around Evan and sits on the arm of the chair, closest to Hollis. “It’s such an honor. I’ve read all your articles and seen your home in Phoenix Home and Garden. I’ve always admired your eclectic style of decorating. Such a lovely balance of old world charm with modern enhancements, and the array of colors really brings life and warmth to the structure. I also—”

  Mr. Murphy lifts his hand. “Thank you. My wife is the decorator. I’ll pass along your compliments.” Hollis takes a tissue and thanks me with a smile.

  “Mr. Murphy, if I may.” She rummages in her purse.

  Hollis blows his nose.

  “Where are they?” She flashes a nervous smile, then digs like a ferocious raccoon trying to bore a hole into a trash bag. “Found them.” She nearly shoves her business card into the old man’s hand. “If I may ever be of decorating service, please call.”

  “Lanie, I’m busy the next few days. How’s your schedule early next week?”

  “Wide open,” I say without checking. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

  He nods. “Turns out we’re ready to make a change in our life. You’re the gal to help us.”

  Yes! I can feel satisfaction spewing from Evan’s pores. “How’s ten o’clock on Monday?”

  “Perfect. I’ll tell Bevy.” With a shaky hand on the couch arm, he flounders to stand.

  Wes rushes over to help.

  “Thank you, son.” Hollis waves good-bye as he and I walk toward the door.

  I swing it open.

  “Bye, Mr. Murphy,” Paige calls. “Hope to hear from you someday. I’m always available. Anytime. Anytime at all.”

  He dips his head toward her in acknowledgment, then leans close to me and whispers, “Is there something wrong with her?”

  “Be nice.” I wag my finger, then say, “And yes, I think there is.”

  We laugh and step outside.

  “See you later.” I wave and watch him drive away.

  Back inside Evan practically prances toward me with a smile so wide that I notice a silver filling on a back molar I never realized he had. “I knew it. I knew we could nail this listi
ng.” He plants a hard kiss on my lips. “Damn good.”

  “Congratulations, Lanie,” Wes says.

  “Yes,” Paige adds.

  I nod at them all and try not to rocket my hopes too far in the sky. “Let’s not jump the gun. They still have to sign.”

  “This gets me thinking,” Evan says. “The past few days we’ve all worked so hard and I’m quite grateful for all the effort put forth. So, I say, let’s take a day and relax.” Evan squeezes me close. “Wes, Paige, we’d like to invite you both to a Cardinals game.”

  In shock, I stare at Evan. What?

  “That sounds like fun. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Paige asks Wes.

  “Yeah, a blast. Thanks.”

  “It’s settled then. Paige, come by the condo, next Sunday, around ten. We’ll go for lunch before the game.”

  “Perfect.” She gathers her bag. “I better run. Make a decision on the cabinets. It’ll give us a starting point.”

  “Sure thing. Thanks for your input today.”

  “My pleasure. Good-bye, everyone.” She tosses us air kisses, winks at Evan, then blows out the door.

  “Why did you invite her?”

  “Why not?”

  “Seriously? You don’t see it? She’s crazy about you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You never struck me as the jealous type.”

  Wes’s phone rings. “Excuse me.”

  I return to Evan. “I’m not jealous. These are my tickets.” At first I thought about inviting Kit and Rob or the Murphys, but since I’ve felt distanced from Evan and can’t shake these jitters that infect me like bacteria, I’d hoped we’d spend the day together, reconnect.

  I grasp his hands. “I hoped to spend the day with you. Just you. We’re not going to be able to focus on one another with Wes and Paige around.”

  “Babe, I just bought a house. I’m designing and remodeling it to perfection. I’m planning a wedding most girls dream of. Surely, you’re getting enough attention? And surely, you aren’t upset about sharing a couple of football tickets with those making our house a home?”

  When he says it like that . . .

  “Fine. Next time ask me first. Whether you’re buying a house, adding raspberry filling to our wedding cake, or inviting semistrangers to an all-day event with us, ask me first.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He pats me on the butt. “There’s that feisty attitude I like so much.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  fifteen

  I’ve been sitting in the parking lot of Rudy’s gym for ten minutes, painfully aware that the courage I felt on the drive here is gone. Vanished. Kit’s not coming. She texted me a few minutes ago that Dylan has a fever, and without her, I fear that once I’m inside, Rudy will seek revenge and have the women use me as their punching bag. I sucked last time and ruined class. Ruined it for everyone.

  But I should go inside. I want to go inside. I want to get better. I want to knock over the bag with one punch. The slip says Learn something new, not Half-ass a challenge. Regardless, I need to return his gloves.

  “Welcome, Howie,” Rudy says when I swing open the door. There’s a black, purple, and gold semicircle underlining his eye.

  “God, I’m so sorry.”

  “A job hazard.” He laughs, patting his swollen skin. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  My anxiety subsides with his gentle smile. “Check out my knuckles.” I fan them with a sense of pride.

  “Nice.”

  “How’s Kitty-litter feeling?”

  “Cursing your name every time she squats to pee. As am I.”

  He laughs. “Everyone starts off that way. Take it easy on those hands today.”

  “Will do.”

  “Howie, come join me.” Blue smacks a spot on the mat beside her.

  I grab my ball and sit close. “Hi. How are you today?”

  “Fine as frog hair. You?”

  “A little nervous to be here. I was afraid everyone would be mad at me.”

  “Think nothing of it.” She nudges my elbow. “Gonna do that again today? Shoot for the rib cage this time?”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Hi, Blue,” says a muscled fighter with railroad tracks tattooed across his chest. He and a group of guys walked in a few minutes after me, some already inside the fenced practice cage at the far end of the room.

  She taps her cheek.

  He places his gloved hand on her shoulder, leans over, and kisses Blue on the cheek.

  “Sweet boy.” She smiles. “Now go kick some ass.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He catches up with the other guys.

  “You sure have a way with people.”

  “I don’t know about that, Howie. Be good to them and they’ll be good to you. That’s my motto. Truly, there’s only one man that matters to me.”

  “Your husband?”

  “My husband,” she confirms with a sparkle in her eye. “What about you? A darling young woman like you must have someone special in your life.”

  “Yes, thank you. I’m engaged.”

  “Lovely. Tell me how you met. I always love hearing the story.”

  “Well, at a Starbucks of all places. I was having coffee with a friend.” My heart dances at the thought of three years ago when Hollis and I met to discuss the damage to his truck. He insisted the dent gave his old Chevy character and refused to let me repair it or pay for any more than a cup of coffee. “Anyway, my friend left, and when I went to the counter for another shot of whipped cream, this handsome man approached me.”

  “Ooh, I like this story already.”

  “I had an instant crush. Who wouldn’t, seeing a good-looking man expertly dressed in a dark suit and tie? Those broad shoulders . . .”

  “You didn’t stand a chance,” she says.

  “I know, right?” I laugh, reminded that Evan really is a catch. “We shared a slice of lemon cake and talked for hours. He took me out for dinner the following night and a couple weeks into dating, persuaded me to come work with him. We’ve been together since.”

  “So, you’re sleeping with your boss?” She winks.

  I laugh. “Yes, technically. But after I secure a certain business deal, he promises to make me a partner.” I don’t want to say any more; Evan wouldn’t approve of me sharing our business with a relative stranger.

  “Let’s get started,” Rudy calls.

  At the end of class, I sit on the bench and guzzle my water. I’m tired. Exhausted, actually. Rudy said my jab-jab sequence still sucks, and I’m nowhere near knocking over the bag, but he did compliment me on not punching his face and the women were nice, so all in all, a good day.

  “You go and get yourself that business deal,” Blue says on her way out the door.

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Later, when I walk through the front door of Evan’s condo, I find Wes on the couch, reading official-looking documents with fine print and scribbled notes in the margin, a pencil in his hand. He wears jeans and a faded black T-shirt, revealing a thick snakelike scar that starts at his elbow and disappears underneath the hem of his sleeve. A beer rests on the coffee table.

  “Hi,” I say, and head toward the fridge, setting my purse on the counter.

  “Hi.” He flicks his pencil on the stack of papers. “Evan’s upstairs.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I pour myself a glass of orange juice.

  “What’s with the sweaty look?”

  My soaked shirt clings against my chest, my soiled towel is thrown over my shoulder, and I can only imagine what my face looks like. Oddly enough, I don’t care. “Kickboxing class.”

  “I wondered how you got the scraped knuckles. That’s bad-ass.”

  “Thanks. I had no idea kickboxing could be so intoxicating. I love smacking the hel
l out of a bag.”

  “Pent-up aggression? Anger management issues? Violent tendencies?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.”

  “Was this a Someday Jar slip?”

  “It was.” I sip the juice, hiding my pleased reaction that he remembers the jar.

  “Cool. I can tell you’re excited.”

  “It’s only my second time and I did much better today. The first time, well, I gave my trainer a black eye.”

  “Seriously?”

  I chuckle and step toward the couch, surprised with my ease around him. “I felt really bad, but luckily he’s cool about it. And, I’ve made a new friend named Blue. She’s this saucy older woman wrapped up in pearls who’d embarrass a truck driver with her potty mouth.”

  “Good for you, Lanie Howard.”

  A tiny tickle wiggles up my spine.

  “Um . . . anyway.” I set the glass in the sink and grab my purse. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  “Yeah, okay.” With his hand clasped around the papers, he steps from the couch and heads toward his room, stopping at the threshold. He turns, meets my eyes, and says, “Lanie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should be proud of yourself.”

  “Thanks. I am.”

  We say no more, but neither of us moves.

  I silently count to five before looking away.

  “Hi, there.” Evan sits on the edge of our bed in a white polo shirt and navy twill pants, clasping his watch. A couple of water droplets dampen his shoulder. “Just got cleaned up from my run.”

  Guilt floods through me for the moment I felt with Wes—what was that about anyway? I drop my purse on the ground and practically lunge toward Evan. I kiss him with a passion as if he’s just returned home from war.

  “Whoa,” he says, almost immediately, pulling away. “What is this all about?”

  “Just trying to finish what we started last night.”

  We kiss again, this time, soft and slow. Comfortable. Rhythmic. Familiar. In our time as a couple, we’ve developed a pattern. Lips slightly open, then closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. It reminds me of a goldfish’s gaping mouth.