by Kim Deister
Something needed to change. Avoiding even the possibility of romance had become a habit, high on my list of priorities for a long time. But if it led me to conversing with frogs as if they were human, then it was time to do something different. Coming to the realization that I had a better relationship with a frog than with a member of the opposite sex was an eye-opening experience. It was also very disturbing. It might be time to seek relationships with actual human males.
Yet even realizing this didn’t stop me from talking to him. I once made the comment to Kyra that frogs weren’t known to be sparkling conversationalists and I hadn’t lied. But that didn’t stop me from unloading my every last thought to it. Every dark moment I had, the frog shared it with me. It watched me while I sobbed and even when I burst into maniacal laughter over some memory of Mac and I.
It was cheaper than therapy, but I thought his presence was going to send me there anyway in the end. It was one thing to talk at him, but when I started to wait for him to respond, I realized I had bigger issues than I thought. There was no way to be in denial about it. At some point, I had to accept that I had gone around the bend. In a last-ditch effort to save my sanity, I did what I always did. I threw myself into work.
This morning, I had an appointment with a new client who wanted me to design some one-of-a-kind pieces for her. If she chose to hire me, it was going to be a good deal for my bank account. So, I went all out and had a dessert stand waiting on the coffee table, piled high with sinfully yummy treats. I wasn’t above bribery to make the sale.
The teakettle was just starting to whistle when the doorbell rang. I shut it off and hurried to answer the door. Chloe MacAuliffe was tall, slim, and model-gorgeous and I hated her on sight because of it. She had long hair so dark that it looked like the chunks of jet I had upstairs in my studio stash. Her skin was like creamy porcelain, a smattering of freckles across her nose. A completely different kind of Irish than me with my copper hair and freckles everywhere. I didn’t even want to compare curves because I would lose. I tried very hard to stomp out the hate as I welcomed her inside. After all, she could be a high-paying client. It wouldn’t be good for business to alienate her from the moment she stepped inside.
“Hi! You must be Chloe,” I said with a smile on my face. “Come on in. I’m Cassidy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her voice was like a song, soft and lilting. Even her voice was perfect. Fabulous.
“You, too. I have my portfolios in the living room. I thought that we could sit down with them and you could give me some idea of what you’re looking for. I also have some samples laid out in my studio upstairs, if you would like to take a look at materials and such.”
“That sounds lovely. I’m looking forward to seeing your work in person, instead of in photographs. But from what I have seen, you do beautiful work.”
“That’s kind of you! Thank you. I do love what I do,” I admitted. “Would you like some coffee or tea before we get started?”
I showed Chloe to the living room and left her to look through my books. When I returned with tea, she was flipping through one of the portfolios with an odd look on her face. She almost looked angry and I couldn’t figure out what about my work could do that. But as soon as she realized she wasn’t alone anymore, she smiled. She looked anything but upset and I wondered if my high stress level had made me start hallucinating.
My hallucinations were soon forgotten as we got down to work. She turned out to be exactly the kind of client I loved to work with. She knew what she wanted, but she wasn’t so set in stone that I couldn’t have some artistic expression, too. As we talked, I sketched ideas in my sketchbook, tweaking the designs as she made suggestions.
Eventually, the designs met her approval and I led her upstairs to the studio. She wandered around and looked at the pictures on the walls as I put away my bulky portfolios. When I turned back around, she stood on the other side of the worktable, so still she looked as if she were carved from white marble. Finn’s small terrarium sat on the corner of the table and she stared into it. The expression on her face was unreadable, but it was obvious that something wasn’t right.
“Chloe? Are you okay?” Not even a flicker of an eye to indicate she’d heard me. “Chloe?” Nothing. I stood for a moment with my hands resting on the table. Awkward. I wasn’t sure what to do and it almost felt like I was intruding on a private moment, although it was my studio in my house. But I had no idea what was with the frozen ice maiden thing. Maybe she was afraid of frogs or maybe she was having some kind of psychotic break. But if I had an unexpected encounter with an arachnid, I would be outside screaming in the yard by now. I wouldn't be standing inches from it, frozen. So, that left psychotic break and I had never heard of a frog-induced psychosis before.
The frog saved the day and let out a loud croak. It was enough to break whatever spell held Chloe enthralled. She jumped and I looked away before she could catch me staring.
“So, where shall we start?” Her voice was bright, as if she hadn’t just had a staring contest with an amphibian. It occurred to me that I had no right to judge anyone else about their interactions with frogs. But as least I keep my insanity to myself.
The weirdness didn’t disappear as Chloe looked over my sample pieces and materials. From time to time, I looked up to find her watching me with a strange look on her face. And some of her questions seemed a little direct and pushy. She kept asking me about my love life, which was always a sore subject. But the questions about my family and friends were even more pushy. Maybe she was just trying to be friendly, but it was a little off-putting. And more than once, I caught her sneaking glances at the terrarium. The frog was hidden under a fall of moss in one corner, so I didn't understand her intense fascination with him. When we left the studio, she took one last, lingering look at the tank. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally shut the front door behind her after a promise to talk soon.
Back in my studio, I thought about the morning I’d spent with my new client. I should have been ecstatic about it. Chloe had hired me to make five unique pieces for her with top-of-the-line materials. It was a commission that was going to earn me in the high four figures. But even as nice as Chloe had been, there was an odd vibe about her. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was that bothered me.
“So, tell me, frog. Was she weird, or is it just me?” I didn’t expect him to answer, so I wasn’t disappointed when all I got in response was a lazy blink of the eyes. Maybe it was just me. As Taylor was fond of pointing out, I tended to have an unhealthy dose of cynicism in my world view.
“Okay, so maybe I’ve got some issues. I can admit that. But you can’t tell me you didn’t notice her staring at you. What was that all about, anyway? It was weird, even you have to admit that.” Which he didn’t. Because, after all, he was a damn frog.
God. I really am losing it. But rather than thinking about my obvious descent into madness, I threw myself into work. My first priority was to order the pricey materials I needed for my new commission. It was going to be a couple of weeks before they were delivered, so I turned my attention to other things.
Afternoon turned into evening and evening turned into night. And I still worked. But no matter what I did, nothing I worked on looked quite right. I spent a few hours making new pieces and most of them ended up tossed aside to be taken apart or remade. Finally, I gave up and pulled my laptop in front of me. Before I knew it, my website was redesigned and restocked. Insanity and stress had their plus sides. It allowed me to get all the boring administrative work I’d fallen behind on done. It had excellent escapism value, too.
I was exhausted, but despite that, I knew I needed to relax a little if I wanted to have any chance of sleeping. I still had a bottle of wine in the studio fridge with my name on it, compliments of Matt. I toasted the frog in his terrarium with my pink glass. “Congrats to me, frog!” He responded with a croak and a blink and I considered it an appropriate response.
As I sipped, my e
yes moved to my phone. It was lying on the table next to the terrarium, its screen dark. It had been dark all day long. And, like I had all day, I willed it to ring. I needed to know. Even if the news wasn’t good, I needed to know. We all did. It was the not knowing that was killing me.
Something soft brushed my cheek, dragging me out of sleep against my will. He nuzzled me and I snuggled back, keeping my eyes closed and enjoying the moment. I felt his warm breath in my ear and felt his tongue behind my ear lobe. I smiled and craned my neck for more attention. But when he licked my neck like it was an ice cream cone, my eyes shot open. My dream guy was gone. I had been getting hot and bothered… by Luna. And if the Irish step-dancing she was now performing by the door was any sign, she needed to pee immediately.
Reality sucks. I followed my dog to the back door and let her out to do her thing. Leaning against the doorway, I thought about the dream she'd ruined for me. The guy looked like a cover model from one of those motorcycle, bad boy romance novels I secretly loved. All rippling muscles and tattoos, but with a brain, kindness, and a sense of humor, too. And he didn’t live with his mother or steal my underwear or shoes. If only…
I felt a funk coming on and I refused to give into it. After checking my phone for another nonexistent message from Mac, I jumped in the shower to wash it away. By the time I got out, it was waiting for me. A message from my sister, telling me to meet her at our usual place for lunch. Not a single word about the results of her biopsies. So, I did what any concerned sister would do. I called and when she didn’t answer, I called again. And again and again and again. She refused to pick up every single time. But my stalking got results, even if they weren't what I hoped for. She sent me a text telling me to stop calling and just meet her. Bitch.
My sister had a flare for the dramatic when she wanted to, although I didn’t think this was the best time for it. I thought cancer scares were a big enough deal, with no added suspense necessary. But I knew better than to push my luck. It was Mac’s way or no way. Long years of sisterhood had taught me well.
So, I spent a couple of hours being completely unproductive before leaving my house to meet my sister. As usual, I got there first. I snagged a table in the windowed alcove of the bagel shop and nursed a cup of coffee as I waited for her. My fingers drummed on the table as I watched the people strolling along the street outside. Two older women sat at the table next to me, their repeated sniffing and intense glares making it obvious that either they suffered from late summer allergies or I was annoying the hell out of them with my nervous drumming. I apologized and got nothing but more sniffs and twin glares in response.
I turned my attention back outside and a woman across the street caught my eye. She stood on the sidewalk, staring in my direction. I couldn’t see her eyes, but somehow I knew it was me she was watching and I had no idea why. I turned back to my coffee and watched her from the corner of my eye. She didn’t move; she just stood there and watched me. I grew increasingly more uncomfortable under her scrutiny and my fingers began to drum once again. I was already nervous and scared and the strange woman across the street didn’t help.
Determined to ignore her, I checked my watch for the fortieth time since I’d sat down. I regretted getting here so early. Despite what my mother said, having an obsessive need to be early for everything wasn't always a good thing. I lamented it right now because it gave me way too much time to work myself into a stressed mess. And since my sister didn't share my compulsion, I had that much longer to wait. By the time she finally did show up, she was a half hour late and I was an emotional wreck. Mac saw me before I saw her and I jumped a mile when she rapped on the window right next to my head. She grinned evilly as she waggled her fingers at me. A quick glance across the street told me the stranger was finally gone. Weird.
Mac came through the door as I tried to force my heart back in its rightful place, giggling at me. Seeing her laugh made the nervousness lift just a little. She plopped down in the chair across from me and gave me a smile. “Hey, Cassidy.”
“About time you showed up. And don’t you ‘hey, Cassidy’ me. Did you get your results?”
“All in good time, little sister.”
“What the hell, Mac? This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny, I promise. C’mon, let’s get our food first and then we’ll talk, okay? I’m freakin’ starving!”
It wasn’t okay, but I went along with it anyway. I figured this whole thing had been harder on her than anyone else, so I needed to let her handle it however she wanted. Even if I was going slowly insane.
“You suck, Mac. You know that, right?” I grumbled, but she knew she’d won.
She smiled in that sickly sweet way she did when she got her way. I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed, not in the least ashamed of her manipulation. It was obvious where her daughter got her diva attitude. But I was a good little sister and I followed her to the counter to get in line.
“So, you looked a little spooked, even before I scared you. What was that about?”
“Before you finally managed to show up,” I said sarcastically, “some chick was standing across the street staring at me.”
“Nope, that’s not weird at all,” she answered with just as much sarcasm. “Are you sure it was you she was staring at?”
“Well, no, not a hundred percent. But I’m pretty damn sure. It was just bizarre.”
Our conversation was cut short when it was our turn to order. The bagel shop was our place. It was where we went to commiserate and where we went to celebrate, all over bagels. I still didn’t know which we were doing. Either way, I needed comfort food. Soon, my favorite sat in front of me in a black plastic basket, nestled on a layer of crisp white deli paper. A toasted everything bagel slathered in too much gooey nacho cheese to be healthy, piled high with jalapeños. Next to it was a huge peanut butter cookie that was the equivalent of at least another thirty minutes of cardio, but it was worth the extra workout. My mouth watered as I waited for my sister.
There was no point in trying to talk. Instead, we spent the next few minutes stuffing our faces. We were women who enjoyed our bagels and the noises that escaped us were of pure primal pleasure. We sounded like we belonged on the soundtrack to a really bad porn flick. A couple of college guys sat at the table behind Mac and they watched us with amusement and maybe a little bit of wishful thinking.
“What can I say? Jalapeños do it for me,” I said to them, deciding to own the food porn. My sister blushed and kicked me under the table. She might not have appreciated my humor, but the rather pretty boys did, saluting me with their coffees. After returning their salute, I turned back to my bagel and devoured the last of it, moaning with every bite. But not even comfort food could fill the empty dread in the pit of my stomach.
“So…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know what to say, but if she didn’t tell me the results soon, I was going to lose my mind. I only had so much patience and it was dwindling away rapidly.
Mac sat across from me, her hands wrapped around a sweating bottle of lemonade. Her face was a blank canvas as she looked at me. I searched her face for some clue, but there was nothing. I was on the verge of leaping across the table and shaking her when she decided to put me out of my misery.
“So,” she said, drawing the simple two-letter word for far too long. “As it turns out, I don’t need any extra fiber in my diet.”
I sat there for a moment in total confusion. Extra fiber? What did her diet have to do with cancer? “Okay. I’m confused. What the hell does that mean?”
Mac started to giggle and I glared at her. She took her sweet time before bothering to clarify her cryptic statement.
“It means that I have developed extremely fibrous breast tissue. It means that I don’t have cancer. I just have lumpy boobs from time to time.”
I broke sound barriers when I shrieked with joy. The women who had been just annoyed by me earlier were definitely mad now. One of them jumped and dropped her bagel ups
ide-down on the table in front of her. If looks could kill, I’d be long gone by now, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered in that moment except that my sister was going to be okay. It felt like not just one, but seventy-three tons of bricks had been lifted off my shoulders.
Once we calmed down again, and against my better judgment, I gave Mac a celebratory gift… the acknowledgment that she was right about something. I told her that I had been thinking about what she’d said to me. Begrudgingly, I admitted that I might have been wrong about a few things.
“So, what I’m getting here is that you’re telling me I’m right?” My sister could barely mask her glee, making me instantly regret my admission.
“I’m saying that you might be partially correct,” I retorted.
“The bottom line is that you’re finally admitting that you’re in danger of becoming a dried-up prune.”
The imagery was enough to make me gag, but before I could make a snappy comeback, something stole Mac’s attention. Her face went pale and then bright red as she stared at something, or someone, behind me. She began muttering a rather creative and impressive string of obscenities under her breath. Just as I was about to ask her what was wrong, I heard a deep voice behind me.
“Well, hello, ladies. It’s been a long time.”
What the effing hell? Not the most ladylike sentence ever thought, but it was all that came to mind as I froze. I hadn’t laid eyes on the man since the day before he dumped me. It was easy to hate him from afar, but dealing with him face-to-face was a whole other ball game and that made me nervous. But when he finally moved into my sight, I realized I felt nothing but vague anger. That made me happy. The anger grew a little less vague when I discovered that standing next to him was the ever plastic Avalon, hanging on to his arm like he was a life preserver.
