by Belle Brooks
“Yeah, so I’m not doing that anymore. Yesterday’s news. It turns out vampire books need lots of blood in them, and I am not a fan of blood. I seriously get queasy to the point where I think I’ll pass out, even writing it.” Chris pokes out his tongue. “It’s yuck.”
I laugh.
“I’m currently writing a romance about a fab and a drab guy who meet. The fab guy makes the drab guy completely fab. They fight for gay rights on a picket line, fall madly in love, and become the first gay couple to wed on the day marital equality passes through parliament. Perfection!”
“But gay rights have already passed through parliament.”
“I know, but this novel is set before that.”
“Oh.”
“So what do you think?”
“Bestseller right there, Chris. Soon, you won’t even have to be a personal shopper to the rich and snobby to earn your keep.”
“I know,” he chimes, so matter-of-factly. “One day I’m going to be a world-renowned author, and you’re going to be my busty sidekick-slash-PA-slash-manager-slash-bestie until the day we die. Oh, and don’t forget my drug-delivering doctor, because something tells me to be such an author, you have to reach a level of insanity which requires a lot of prescription drugs.” His lips part as he portrays an exaggerated expression of shock. “Did I say the drug thing out loud?” He presses his fingertips against his mouth. “Our little secret, right?”
“You’re a clown.”
“Whatevs, girl! You’re goin’ to wanna go everywhere I am. You know ya will.” And there’s his fake Southern accent coming out to play once more.
“I’ll be at your beck and call, don’t you worry.” I roam my vision across the restaurant. I take a rather ambitious mouthful of coffee while observing each new face popping up. I scan the service counter.
The moment my eyes connect with his, I choke out, “Oh shit!” before gulping heavily and sliding down the soft material of the chair until my butt cheeks connect with the carpet flooring. With one quick flick of my wrist, I pull the white linen tablecloth, the one hanging over the sides of the table, across my head and use it as a shield. “Son of a bitch,” I curse between clenched teeth.
“Mindy, what are you doing?” Chris’s large eyes suddenly appear upside down in front of me. “Get yourself off the ground and out from under there.”
“I can’t.” It’s a hushed deliverance. “Vamoose. I’ll explain later. Act normal.”
“Normal? Because what you’re doing is soooo normal.” I hear Chris say as he disappears, lowering my tablecloth hideaway.
“She’s under the table, isn’t she?” It’s a deep voice that causes my heart to thump wildly.
Oh, crap. He saw me. Not only did he see me, but he also came over here. What’s wrong with this guy? Why would he do such a thing?
“And you would be?” Chris says. I picture one of his eyebrows cocked high on his forehead as he pistol grips his chin.
“I would be Arlie. And you would be?”
“Chris, the under-table escapee’s best friend.”
Arlie—what an uncommon name. I’ve never met anyone called Arlie. It’s not like he gave me his name at the grocery store when he was making me squirm with embarrassment.
“So, she’s under the table, Chris?”
There’s silence.
“I’m guessing you know why she’s under the table, Arlie?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s behind. How have I not heard about you, Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”
Chris, now is not the time to be hitting on the poor man. Just tell him to go. I telepathically try to send Chris this critical message.
There’s a long pause.
“Would you like to join me? I’m sure Mindy would prefer you’d leave, considering she's hiding like an outlaw. But hon with the buns, I sure would like to get to know you better,” Chris says in his fake Southern drawl. “Take a seat. Relax your bulging muscles, or don’t—I’m good either way.”
Oh, not today, Chris. You’ll not take this man home, turn him gay, or do whatever it is you do to make men fall in love with you.
“I’m here,” I yell like a deranged woman while crawling out from my shelter, only to be stopped when I reach a pair of white sneakers. I tilt my chin up and stare into narrow eyes.
“So, it’s Mindy? Nice name.”
“Melinda.” My voice is barely audible.
“Sorry, what did you say?” Arlie asks.
“Melinda.” I speak louder.
“Melinda. Even prettier." He grins. "Arlie.” He reaches out his hand.
“I heard.” His warm fingers wrap around my wrist, and with one quick pull, I’m standing. His lips stretch across his face. “I’m guessing you dropped something under the table and you were down there looking for it?”
I rip my hand from his and nod. I don’t know what else to do.
“I’m going to use the gentlemen’s room and leave you two to get introduced, or whatever’s happening here. Mindy, you owe me one hell of a story later,” Chris says.
I swallow hard, not taking my eyes away from Arlie’s to look for Chris.
“Hi.” Arlie’s tone is soft.
“I-I-you know—” My tongue ties.
“I wouldn’t have come over if you hadn’t dropped to the floor so quickly.” He folds his top lip under his bottom as if stifling laughter. “So what were you looking for?”
“You know, just things.”
“Things?”
“Yeah, things.” I rock on my heels, pretending to place my hands into imaginary pockets at the front of my dress.
“Like a lost earring?”
I look at the floor.
“Did you lose an earring?”
“Well—” I turn my eyes back to his. “No! Not an earring.”
Arlie wears his smirk like some smirk-trained professional. I run my fingers over the hoops dangling from each of my earlobes.
“A fork maybe?”
“Possibly,” I mumble, knowing full well that no matter what I say, he’ll be able to tell I’m lying.
“Whatever you’ve lost, I hope you find it.”
I sigh a breath of relief. He’s letting this awkward situation die. “Oh, me too,” I say, way too enthusiastically. What am I doing? “Hi, bye. Have a good breakfast.”
“Hi,” he says as if we had just bumped into each other and the previous conversation hadn’t even taken place.
“I was just leaving.” It flies from my tongue like verbal diarrhoea.
“Okay. Hi. Bye. Have a good day then.”
“You too.” Without thinking, I grab my handbag and walk back out the glass doors of The Quarter as tense as I was when I entered through them.
Arlie, what’s your deal?
Five minutes later, Chris stands in front of the car outside the café with his bright multi-coloured laptop bag slung over his shoulder. A crowd forms behind him as he waves what I believe to be a receipt in front of his forehead. His nose crinkles. His mouth opens wide. His lips move. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I believe he’s shouting, “What gives?”
Chris’s stance becomes rigid. His eyes dip down until he’s scowling, and I know he’s pissed at me. I can always tell when Chris is not happy because he takes the same stance and demeanour every time.
Beeeep!
I hold my hand hard against the horn for a moment, hoping Chris will hop out of the way and take the train home today instead of relying on a lift back to his place from me. The engine of my car idles, and as it does, I sit, staring at Chris through the windshield. I take long, deep breaths to lessen a sense of stupidity currently steamrolling my guts. Not today, Chris. I would like to leave now. Let me go. Everybody from inside the café is looking at us, Arlie included.
“Move,” I shout.
Chris shakes his head.
“Move.”
Chris shakes his head again.
“Bloody move.”
Chris doesn’t move. Instead, he takes a step closer to the bonnet, which annoys me. I’m beyond tired. I want to go home. I wish Chris would piss off. I want Arlie, who is now standing on the footpath, and the other people outside the cafe to go away and stop staring at me in my car. I’m sick of the direction my life is taking. I’m sick of everything. I wanted a speedy getaway, and Chris is preventing such a getaway.
“What’s your problem?” I don’t hear Chris say this, but the sudden movement of his lips implies his words.
“Do you want to know what gives, Chris?” I flip both my arms into the air, knowing full well Chris can’t hear me. “I’ll tell you what gives. I’m not a functioning, mature twenty-nine, almost-thirty-year-old. I’m an immature, confused runaway with the invisible word ‘coward’ permanently inked to my forehead.” I drop my arms and tap two fingers above my eyebrow. “I’m tired of my low self-esteem. I’m wavering on the edge of a profound and deep sadness because I thought, in life, I wanted success, to help people, to make a difference, to contribute to society, to feel important, and to be looked up to and respected in my chosen career path by both my peers and my patients.” I inhale a needy breath. “But what I’ve come to realise is all I ever really wanted was to fall madly, deeply, insanely in love. To be held by a man who gets me and all my little quirks, and who cherishes me for who I am. He embraces my weaknesses and harnesses every one of my strengths. I’m his, he’s mine, and no matter what happens around our happy little life bubble, it won’t matter because we have each other, and life is outstanding. I’ve also realised while I've worked my bum off to get a medical degree only to stuff it up, all I wanted was to settle down and be someone’s mum. What I wouldn’t give to have a bunch of kids running around my ankles, almost tripping me over, demanding my help. How ironic. How very fucking ironic!”
I drop my head onto the steering wheel and moan before repositioning until I’m staring deep into Chris’s eyes. “I chose the wrong path. I followed my nattering brain over my needy heart, and now I’m struggling to find my way in life. Where’s the street sign, Chris, that leads me to the life I want?” I say, turning my palms upwards and holding my arms out to my sides in question. “What corner do I have to turn to find it? Do I take a left? Or would it be better to go right? Where is it, Chris?” I drop my arms and slump my shoulders. “WHERE IS IT?” I shout.
“I can’t understand what you’re saying. You look crazy, by the way. Open the door. Seriously, what are you doing?” This time, I faintly hear Chris.
I shrug.
He shakes his head.
I roll my eyes.
He flips me the bird.
I flip him the bird back.
Chris laughs.
I laugh …
And, as my shoulders shake from my laughter, I realise that wishing for a different life and losing my mind in a car in front of a café with a gay dude stopping me from leaving and a hot dude watching on won’t change my past.
What will? Finding a different way to direct my future.
But where do I start? What dotted line do I sign on to say today is the beginning of the new me? Because this life, the one I’m currently drowning in, isn't working.
“Mindy, can I get in the car?”
“Fine,” I yell flailing my arms about wildly while sitting in the seat.
Chris rushes to the passenger side and opens the door. “Mindy, you are losing your goddamn mind,” he says as he ducks his head and climbs in. “God, you’re one of a kind.”
I am one of a kind. One of a kind who’s going to work as damn hard as I did to become a doctor, only this time the work will be to find my Mr Perfect. I’ll get my dream home, and those needy kids I crave, and I’ll live happily ever after even if it kills me.
“He exists, Chris,” I mumble staring out the windshield.
“Who?”
“My Mr Perfect. He must exist. He’s out there somewhere, wandering lost. I need to locate him. I need to pull up the granny panties I slipped on last night and grow the hell up.”
“How about you drive, and I’ll look out the window for him as we go, because I’m not sure if you know this, but a bunch of people are looking at us, you crazy lady.”
Fuck!
Chapter Six
Four days have passed since I ran out of the café and found myself having a breakdown in my car. Perhaps blurting out all the crap I’ve been holding on to was all the medicine I needed, because since then things have seemed brighter … more positive.
In two hours, I’m going on the first and only date I’ve been on since I was sixteen years old. The horror of that evening, the one my teenage self had to endure, replays over and over in my mind as I pack away my make-up brushes.
My first date was a disaster. One I wish I could erase from my memory. One that if I could do all over again, I wouldn’t even show up for.
Walking into the bedroom has doubt strangling my airways.
“Don’t let him deter you or hurt you. Not now, not ever,” I breathe as I stop, still wrapped in a towel, smack bang in front of my closet. Fletcher grooms his thick grey locks. I catch it in the closet’s mirror. “I can do this dating thing, can’t I, Fletch?”
His ears point, his head lifts, and his narrow emerald eyes focus on me.
Meow, meow, meow.
Hmm. Not exactly encouraging. “Well, I can. I can do it, right?” I stare at Fletcher in the same way he’s staring at me—suddenly with big eyes. “No reply this time, huh?”
He cocks his head.
“Has a cat got your tongue, boy?” I stifle a snicker, because I find my question hilarious.
Fletcher’s eyes return to narrow slits. He drops his head, spreads his legs wide, and licks his family jewels.
“Yeah, that seems about right. Thanks, you little turd,” I mutter, amused by Fletcher’s junk-maintenance timing. I slide the closet door open, and with its opening, the vision of my spread-eagled cat disappears.
I’m quick to separate each item of clothing, shifting the coat hangers across the hanging bar, trying to locate the perfect dress to wear tonight. Boring, boring, boring. The colour-coordinated plastic hangers clack into one another. What does one choose to wear when possibly meeting the man they’re meant to spend the rest of their life with?
Closing my eyes, I try to picture a sublime outfit. One which is not too busty, busy, tight-fitting, bright, or outlandish.
What will help me catch the eye of my lifelong companion? What will make him all googly-eyed and ooh, la, la, over me?
My date tonight sent me lip-puckerings, kisses, and love emojis through a computer screen. Now, I need him to love me in real life. What dress says, Love me. Love me like you’d die without me?
Nothing. Nothing in my closet says anything apart from, I’m single, and I’m aging into a boring cat lady.
I drop my chin to my chest. My shoulders slump. I exhale for what seems like forever. Damn, I’m nervous. I haven’t felt like this since—Not since Alec. Alec, the douchebag, the popular boy, and clean-skinned teenager who started it all and ended it all in one night. You never forget your first crush, and your first date. I can’t forget even though I’d give everything I have to do precisely that: forget him. My stomach roils, and my hands shake. I need to think of anything but Alec, but no matter how hard I try, he’s right there, reminding me of the events which unfolded.
“You look beautiful, Melinda.” Alec smiled, squishing his plump cheeks under his dark brown eyes.
I blushed immediately. The warmth spreading across my face was stifling. “Thank you,” I replied shyly.
“I’m so glad you said you’d go out with me.”
“I couldn’t believe you’d even ask.”
Fletcher meows, causing me to snap out of my unbidden thoughts. I shift my attention to him, but he doesn’t give me a look in. Instead, he curls himself into a ball and purrs.
“For now, Fletcher, you’re my needy brat child. If tonight doesn’t go well, it won’t be the en
d of the world. I have you and Chris. I’m going to be okay,” I breathe before turning my eyes back to the wardrobe and resuming the search for something to match the smoky eyeshadow I applied.
I stand, staring, and as I do, I’m left wondering why I've always been so shy around the opposite sex. Was it because of my first date? Is it just who I am? With these questions, my mind again wanders back to the red and white booth at our high school hangout where I showed up eager and full of dreams about how the night would go. Alec would like me, I’d like him, and then he’d end the night with a life-changing kiss. We’d return to school on the Monday. I’d be popular, and my life would be perfect. But it wasn’t to be, and my mind is hell-bent on reminding me of this.
It was a humid summer night. The air-conditioning in the diner seemed to struggle with providing relief from the heatwave our town was experiencing.
Alec Kennar, the most popular boy in school, was on a date with me. These things never happened to me. My sister? Yes. Me? No. I’d wanted to pinch myself, but I didn’t. I grabbed my long locks and laid them over one shoulder to try to reduce the heat I was experiencing across the back of my neck.
“It’s hot in here tonight, don’t you think?” Alec’s voice was freshly deepened, having broken only the term before.
“It’s warm, yes.” I smiled.
A table was all that separated me from Alec. I tried not to gawk at how hot he was, but I was failing. Alec was a boy who could make you miss an entire algebra class just by ogling him.
“Are you liking your milkshake?”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what to say. I had not even taken a sip of the milkshake he'd ordered for me because I was too busy focusing on perfecting the pose my older sister, Bridey, had taught me the day prior.
“Elbow on the table. Head tilted. Cheek rested into your palm and flutter your eyelashes. Now, don’t forget to giggle at everything Alec says, even if you don’t find it funny.” Bridey knew how to keep guys interested. Every boy at school wanted to date Bridey.
I placed my elbow on the table even though condensation formed a water puddle from my milkshake around my limb. I was determined to follow my sister's wisdom to the letter of the law. I wanted Alec to be my guy. I wanted to be the popular girl if only for this one night.
