“Look, Carrie! It’s the princesses!”
Sure enough, one by one they float across the ice. Our favorite queen of all time is first in the line, her blue dress billowing out behind her as she sings about letting go of all her turmoil and being who she is. It’s impressive, to say the least. I could barely walk in the same costume without tripping over my feet. I have no idea how she doesn’t run the blade over her outfit.
For the next two hours plus, Calypso is transfixed into a magical world of rock people and kingdoms and the kind of sisterly love we all should be so lucky to experience. It’s engaging and exciting.
For a six-year-old.
Me? It lost its luster at about the forty-five-minute mark. I almost fist bump the two-year-old next to me when he starts shouting, “Mama! Go home!” I’m feeling the same way, kiddo. But then the most random thing happens—a storm blows in.
No, not on the ice, although that happens too. I’m hearing thunder over the magical booms of the show and only one kind of thunderstorm is powerful enough to do that.
A quick check of the weather on my phone confirms what I suspect—a super cell formed right over top of us. It’ll probably come in, dump a whole lot of rain, and leave just as quickly. But the thunder amplifying the intensity of the story line? That’s what fascinates me.
For a short time. And then I want to run for my life again.
Let’s face it, two hours is just too long for something like this. Not for the kids, necessarily, but for the parents. I think maybe Matthew should take her next year. The dress doesn’t drag on the ground when he wears it and the braid holds better in wig hair.
“Did you have fun, Calypso?” We swing our clasped hands back and forth, me hauling the loaded drawstring sack on my back as we move with the crowd toward our car. I was right about that super cell. There are huge puddles everywhere.
“Why do you call me that?” she asks, without any form of irritation, just inquisition. “Everyone else calls me Sprite.”
“I guess I never thought about it. Do you want me to call you Sprite?”
“Yes, please.” Even at this late hour, she still remembers her manners, which is more than I can say for some of the other kids around us. Of course, I’ve had to tug her to the side so she doesn’t jump into the puddles. You can’t win them all.
“Well then, Sprite it is. You didn’t answer my question. Did you have fun?”
“Yes! It was all so pretty. The princesses! The reindeer! Did you see when the nose fell off the snowman?” She continues to babble excitedly about every part of the show that caught her attention, which is basically all of it. I don’t mind. Benefit number three of having kids is experiencing everything through their eyes.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed parts of being here tonight, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun if it weren’t for her energy and joy. It’s almost like getting in touch with my inner child.
Popping the lock on my car, I help her climb in, still babbling, and make sure her booster seat is nice and secure. Taking my time between closing her car door and opening my own, I take a second to breathe in the smell of rain on the pavement. It’s one of my favorite scents. Probably because it reminds me that all the yuck on the pavement can be washed away—just like all the yuck in our lives.
I shake my head at myself. I have no idea where that philosophical thought came from. Maybe all the lights and noise damaged my brain.
I wait for the car next to us to pull out before climbing into the driver’s seat and immediately yelp.
“What the hell?”
“Can’t say that,” Calypso chides. “Grammy says h-e-double hockey sticks is a bad word.”
“Yeah, well so is what I’m about to say because my car is flooded!”
Sort of. A quick look around shows there is water all over the seat of my car and the floor around me, but nowhere else. Looking up, the drip is clearly coming from my sunroof and landing on my face. And it’s cold.
“Son of a bitch. That super cell jacked up my car!”
“Can’t say that either!”
I put my hand up to calm Ms. Sassypants down. “Okay, okay. I just need to figure out what to do.”
Fortunately, I have extra towels in my trunk in case of wildlife emergencies. Or sunroof explosions.
Quickly, I clean up the mess, even though my pants already soaked up most of the water. I was hoping the dress did the trick but I couldn’t be so lucky. That thing is already almost dry and I took it off approximately thirty-seven seconds ago.
“Carrrriiiiiieeee…” Calypso begins to whine. “I’m tired. Can we go home?”
Suddenly that sugar high she was on doesn’t seem like such a good idea.
“Yeah, hang on, sweetie. I’m almost ready.” Grabbing my car key, I put it in the ignition and say a quick prayer to the gods of ice that whatever exploded in my front seat, didn’t make its way to my engine. “Please turn on. Please turn on.”
I turn the ignition, the normal rumble indicating the car has come to life. “Eureka!” I yell and toss my hands in the air. As soon as I do, I push the ceiling the wrong way and drops of rain fall on my face again.
Note to self… touch nothing.
Backing out of the parking space takes no time at all, but getting out of the lot itself? That takes a while. I was prepared to wait in line, but I wasn’t prepared for my car to start doing weird shit.
Like all the lights on the dashboard coming to life at once and start beeping weird. I immediately throw my hands up in the air, like I’m touching something to make it go haywire. It all stops almost immediately so now I’m questioning what kind of magical hell this is.
No time to dwell on that. Instead, the windshield wipers start wiping at rapid speed even though I didn’t turn them on. I should know better than to grumble about it because Calypso starts screaming about the ghost in the wipers.
Hasn’t she crashed from the sugar yet?
All in all, it takes over an hour of weird shit and sweet talk to get my car to Matthew’s house. But she makes it… and promptly dies in the driveway.
Dropping my head to the steering wheel, I groan. Now what am I supposed to do?
“We made it!” Calypso yells and quickly scrambles out of her seat and out the car door, forgetting all her new things behind her. She must be the only kid on the planet that complains about being tired while in a moving vehicle and doesn’t fall asleep.
Taking my time, I gather everything up and drag myself to the front door where Matthew is waiting. This night has officially exhausted me. Or maybe I’m having my own sugar crash.
“She looks happy.” Matthew has a huge smile on his face before it drops. “What’s wrong? Why have you been crying?”
“Crying?” Confused, I wipe my face and find more drops. “Oh those aren’t tears. It’s been raining freezing rain in my car the whole way home.”
Now it’s his turn to look confused. “In your car?”
“Oh yeah. A super cell decided to form above the parking lot and apparently my sunroof has a leak.”
His eyes widen. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. And now my car is dead in your driveway, so I need to wait for my ride share to show up. Is that okay?”
“Why do you need a ride share?”
“Um… to get home?”
“Do you need to get home to the squirrels?”
I shrug not knowing what that has to do with anything. “Jamie has them tonight.”
“So spend the night here.”
I blink once. Blink twice. Blink a third time. He’s inviting me to spend the night? Doesn’t he remember he’s been accidentally friend-zoned.
Grinning at me, he chuckles lightly. “In the guest room, Carrie.” Oh that makes more sense. “You’re exhausted, your car is dead, and the news just reported another storm is on the way. You might as well stay here.”
“And we can have a slumber party!” Calypso shouts, scaring the crap out of me. Where did she come from? I don�
�t have a chance to ask her when she grabs the drawstring bag out of my hand and skips away. Her high is definitely lasting longer than mine.
Still, who can say no to an offer like that?
Chapter 21
Matthew
Whoever said “the early bird gets the worm” was obviously a bird and not a person. Sure, I’m the one that set my alarm for this ridiculous hour. What was I thinking?
It was made all the worse because I invited Carrie to spend the night which meant little sleep for me. But come on. She’d spent hours sitting in an uncomfortable seat with my sugar-amped daughter because I couldn’t, and from the looks of the haul Sprite was lugging around in that bag last night, she also spoiled her rotten with presents. All this brought the news reports I’ve seen about the dangers of ride shares to the forefront of my mind, and I wouldn’t have been a good friend letting her climb into one so late.
All valid reasons for inviting her to use the guest room. Of course, none of them are the truth. Standing on the stoop, mascara running down her face, her cute little nose the color of a ripened cherry, my heart dropped to my stomach. The idea of her in pain or upset was like a kick to the gut. I’m just going to skirt right past those feelings and stick with the fact that I like her, she’s my friend, and the idea of having our morning conversation in person makes me happy.
Yet, knowing she was only down the hall wearing my T-shirt while she slept made falling asleep difficult. I counted sheep. Recited the alphabet. In Latin. I even tried reading one of Donna’s books, assuming it would put me to sleep. It didn’t. If anything, it jump-started my libido while I cast the lead characters as Carrie and myself. A cold shower, more staring at the ceiling, and I finally fell asleep four hours before my alarm jarred me awake.
With my basketball shorts on and my teeth brushed, I make my way down the hall, peeking in on Sprite before heading to the kitchen. Quickly, I write a note to Carrie before flipping the brew button on the coffee maker so it’s ready for me when I’m done with my workout. With my minimal sleep, I need to wake up my muscles and my brain before facing the day. Or more accurately, my daughter’s retelling of her Friday night adventures.
“Hey buddy, it’s early for you,” I whisper to Olaf as I lean down to scratch the top of his head. He nuzzles into my hand before turning in a circle and lying back down onto his bed.
Stepping out into the garage, I press the button on the wall to roll up the large door, letting the cool air roll through the space while I do some quick stretches. The birds are chirping and the squirrels are clicking. I can’t believe I know that squirrels click. Or cluck. Whatever it is, they are doing it, and I laugh to myself. The storm cooled off the night but I can already feel how humid the day is going to be. Slipping in my ear buds, I step outside and punch the code into the garage door before I take off for my morning run.
The upside to being up and out this early is the lack of movement in the neighborhood. Most houses are quiet, only a few curtains open. Normally I wouldn’t take off for a run with Calypso at home, but knowing Carrie is there made it a no-brainer. And because the universe is clearly trying to tell me something, just thinking of her, the song playing comes to an end.
The slow beat of my favorite song by Blind Fury begins and unable to stop myself, a huge grin appears on my face. It’s the same song Carrie was dancing her ass off to at the concert. Not just dancing but grinding against me while she sang at the top of her lungs. Turns out, it’s her favorite song too.
As one song turns to another, my speed picks up. I follow my usual route and by the time I get back to the house, my muscles are warmed up and my mind is clearer. I know what I need to do. It’s time to break my self-imposed rules and take Carrie out on a real date. One where there’s no question about what we’re doing or its definition.
•••
“Eight.” Hold, two, three.
“Nine.” Hold, two—
“Oh, uh, oh, wow.”
Dropping from the pull-up bar my feet hit the ground with a thud and I turn to look at Carrie. She’s standing in the doorway from the house, her hair messier than it was when she closed the bedroom door last night and my T-shirt hitting her almost to her knees, while holding a cup that says, “My daughter is awesome.” Visions of the scenes from Donna’s book flash in my mind and I fold my body forward and touch my toes. A necessity as those thoughts send all the blood from my head to below my waistband.
“Morning,” I say as I release a long breath.
“Good morning.” The raspiness of her voice does nothing to help my situation, so I take a deeper breath before exhaling. I send a little prayer that I have this under control and slowly rise to face my house guest.
“Sleep good?” Taking a sip of water from my bottle, I take a chance and glance her way.
Nodding, she lifts the cup to her mouth and takes a sip. We stare at each other a few minutes, neither of us speaking a word when a lawn mower powers up across the street, breaking the silence.
“I did, thank you. I called for a tow truck. They said it would be about an hour.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know why I’m disappointed in that news. Of course she needs a tow truck. It isn’t like she can move in here with us. That’s insane. I obviously need food. Protein. Vegetables. Something to nourish my mind because with that random thought, my blood sugar must be low.
“What time did you get up? It looks like you’ve been out here a while.” Her eyes scan the floor where my various weights are sitting.
After my run, I did a circuit of weight work. While I keep a relatively clean house, my workout space leaves something to be desired. My mom hates it. Thankfully, she hasn’t had to deal with my poor gym housekeeping since I moved out of her house three years ago.
“About an hour. I went for a run first. I only have a few more sets and I’m done. Is Sprite up yet?”
“Nope. I think she’s sleeping off the sugar high. I probably should have cut her off at the cotton candy. It’s no excuse, but I am only used to caring for squirrel babies, not actual human children.”
Laughing, I chalk my hands again before I say, “Well, I think kids and sugar are like squirrels and pecans. I’ve seen Luke annihilate a pecan and have no doubt Sprite did the same with her treats. How about when I’m done here, I whip us up some breakfast?”
“Sounds goo—”
She stops mid-sentence as I jump to the pull-up bar. My hands gripping the metal before I suck air into my lungs and power my body up, chin over the bar. I can feel Carrie staring at me, her eyes like lasers on my skin. Then I hear it. Why now? Dammit, how am I going to explain this?
Giggles, whispers, and then, “Who’s that?”
While I try to come up with a story, I increase the speed on my movements, cranking out two more pull-ups before dropping to the ground. Hands on my hips, I breathe in and out, trying to regulate my heartrate. Turning my head slowly, I linger a little on Carrie, her eyes wide as she peers around the doorway to look at the owner of the question.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she whisper yells, amusement written all over her face.
“What?”
“You have a neighborhood fan club!”
“I do not.” I do. But it’s not my favorite part of the day so I will never admit it.
She laughs quietly, probably trying not to scare off the lurkers. “You so do. I’ll prove it. Do some more chin-ups?”
“What? No.” My words say I’m defying her request, but my body moving back into position says I want to see what she thinks is about to happen.
“Seriously. Just do like”—she waves her hand at me—“five. Just five. But do them slowly. And flex hard.”
Shaking my head at whatever this is, I comply and slowly pull myself up, straining with the movement of lifting my entire body several feet in the air.
Behind me, Carrie quietly gives a play-by-play of the women I’m now ignoring. “And here comes another one. Oh! She stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk. Get re
ady for the water bottle to drop in three… two… one…”
The sound of a water bottle hitting the pavement makes me huff out a laugh, which makes me drop to the ground in time to see its owner chasing after it. The other two women smile and wave before rushing behind their friend. When I turn back to Carrie, her eyes are wide in amusement.
“What?”
“I told you. You have the neighborhood cougars all a fluster. You know it too, don’t you?”
I furrow my brow a bit as I admit the truth. “I may have put it together before now.”
“That’s what I thought.” She looks out the garage door, trying to see if our little fan club is still within hearing distance. “I bet you perform for them too.”
Perform? Like dance? What is she talking about? I know the expression on my face is one of confusion while hers remains unchanged.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s in that mug? Did you find my whiskey?” I tease.
She bats my hand away as I grab for her drink. “Seriously? No, there’s no whiskey in here. But if you touch my caffeine, you will witness my wrath.” She steps down from the doorway and into my personal space. She smells like Sprite’s strawberry shampoo thanks to the shower she took last night. We’ve stood this close before, but something is different today. Not just that she’s standing before me, a scowl on her face, wearing my shirt.
“Okay, babe, you’re going to have to tell me what has you looking at me like you’re ready to poke my eye out.”
She props her hand on her hip, careful not to spill with her other hand, and purses her lips. I’ve seen this look. It’s the same one women have given Kevin when he uses one of his awful pickup lines. Crap.
“You just gave those women a show with your… your… tattoos and muscles all sweaty and… and… ugh. Then you charmed them with that damn smile of yours. It’s the same one you have on the cover of Unbound. I know because ninety percent of the online reviews are about that smile and not Donna’s amazing words. Not that your smile isn’t worth the recognition, but that story is so beautifully written—”
Model Behavior Page 16
