by H. M. Ward
I have no idea why I even agreed to come here. I'm not looking for a man and, now that I’m here, I'd much rather be at home, playing with my son. Instead, I'm sitting here wearing jeans and a t-shirt in a club where everyone else is dressed up. I stick out like a nun in a whorehouse. Every other woman here is glittering and showing off skin. Bare midriffs, shoulders, backs, and high-cut skirts leave little to the imagination. I tip my head sideways and check out some other girl’s ass. I think I can see the bottom of her butt. I blink twice and shake my head. I never dressed like that. Geeze, she might as well prance through the place naked.
Watching my friends shake their asses on the dance floor is actually pretty funny. All three of them have had about four times more alcohol than I have—and I've only had one cocktail. I'm such a lightweight that drinking doesn’t benefit me at all. I'm also not the happiest drunk, especially these days. I'd end up crying into my drink and gushing about Cade.
"Hi there, pretty lady." The voice comes from my left, and when I turn around, there's a random guy who looks to be at least five years older than me. He’s wearing a suit that doesn't fit him very well and his eyes are glazed with the amount of alcohol he's consumed. The smell of beer is coming off him in waves, making me want to gag. Don Juan, he is not.
Forcing a smile onto my face, I eek out a, "Hi," and turn back to my drink. I'm hoping against hope that he takes the hint, realizes I'm not into him and moves on to greener, or at least drunker, pastures.
"What's a pretty girl like you doing sitting here all by herself?" He's leering at me now, clearly thinking he's an amazing conversationalist.
I groan inwardly, glad I wore my wedding rings tonight. They may be the only things that save me from drunken idiots with awful pick up lines. "Sorry, waiting for my husband," I tell him, flashing my rings in his face.
Unfortunately, my wedding rings don't deter him at all. He sways drunkenly toward me, his beer breath is overpowering. "Well, I guess your husband's missing out tonight," he slurs, "because I just found the prettiest girl in the room."
‘Pretty’ seems to be his go-to word to make a girl swoon. It’s hard to believe this guy doesn’t have panties dropping all around the bar. But, what really pisses me off is that he has no respect for wedding vows. I sneak a glance at his left hand, relieved to see no ring or tan line suggesting that he usually wears one. Not that it proves anything, but hopefully he's not out cheating on a wife tonight.
"Okay," I say, trying to laugh about the situation. I don't want to hurt his feelings, not really, but I'm seriously not interested. "Uh, look. I'm sure you're a great guy—but I have a husband and I'm really not looking for anyone else. Have a good night, alright?" I move to step around him, but his hand closes tight around my upper arm. His grip is hard enough to leave a mark, and worry creeps into me.
Drunk Guy's eyes turn hard as he watches me. "Where do you think you're going? We were just getting to know each other." Maybe it's the amount of alcohol he's had tonight, but he isn't taking the hint. As much as I don't want to be mean to someone, anxiety is eating away at my ability to keep up social pleasantries. Honestly, I'm not even sure an outright, cold, rejection is going to work, but I have to try.
I open my mouth to tell him how much I'm not interested when a familiar deep voice says, "Hey, baby. I was wondering where you were." I sigh in relief, grateful I won’t have to make a scene. Daniel's arm goes around my shoulder and he uses his free hand to peel Drunk Guy's from my arm.
"Ow! What the fuck, man? We were just talking." The drunk seems extremely confused about this turn of events. He stares at his arm and then up at Daniel.
Eager to get away from him and not wanting the lawn boy to break my cover, I shout, "Remember that husband I mentioned?" Curling deeper into Daniel's embrace, I place a hand on his very hard stomach, "Well, this is him."
Drunk Guy looks dejected, and just stares at us without another word. Daniel steers me away and over to a hallway that's pretty empty and a whole lot quieter than the rest of the club.
"What was that about?" He's looking down at me, and once again I'm reminded of just how much he's grown up in the past few years. He had been a wiry kid when I first met him. Now he’s filled out, all muscle, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and blue eyes. Stubble lines the jaw of his tan face. He should wear sunscreen. I bet he doesn’t.
I shrug and look over my shoulder, glad to be rid of the guy. "Just some drunk who was looking to get lucky. Why he would try me out of all the women here is beyond me." I smirk. “He must have been drunker than he looked.”
"Why wouldn't he try with you?" Daniel cocks his head to the side, studying me intently.
I feel self-conscious under his appraisal and wave away his question. “Ha, yeah. I don’t think so.”
"No," he says firmly. "I really want to know. You're beautiful, Mrs. Prior, why wouldn't he be interested in you?"
Laughingly, I answer, "Are you serious?" He narrows his eyes at me, but doesn't reply. "Have you seen some of the women in here tonight? They're wearing dresses that don't leave anything to the imagination, complete with totally doable fuck-me heels.” My voice turns mocking as I present myself like a game-show prize. “Meanwhile, behind door B is Genevieve, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, complete with a stain over the left boob. Sexy, I know." I laugh.
But Daniel shakes his head and looks at his hands. After a moment, he looks up at me from under dark lashes. "You don't see yourself very clearly do you? It’s not your clothes that make you beautiful." I stare blankly at him, confused. "Mrs. Prior, uh, Genevieve, you're more beautiful than any other woman in here tonight. He'd be a fool to pick one of them over you."
I have no words.
When I heard his voice earlier, all I felt was relief. I never expected to hear anything like this come out of his mouth! He’s too nice, and it must be obvious how rough of a night I’ve been having. Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I confess, "You don't have to try to make me feel better, Daniel. I know exactly what I look like, and there are way prettier women in here than me. Besides, you're, what, twenty-one? Surely there's a girl here your age you’d prefer to me."
His eyes narrow and I know I crossed a line. I'm not sure what line I crossed, but his reaction is instant.
"I'm going to pretend you didn't say any of that,” he says angrily, “and, for the record, I'm twenty-two. I'd also pick spending time with you over a hook up with a woman my own age any night of the week and I’ll prove it to you." He takes my hand and drags me toward the dance floor.
I know he's spent a lot of time at my house, but he's obviously not spent enough time there to see what me dancing looks like. It's not pretty... not at all. I'm pretty sure I was born without the rhythm gene. Granted, I'm sure it will be great entertainment for spectators. I dig my feet in, trying to find traction on the floor, saying, “But, Daniel, I don't dance,” again and again isn't working. He doesn’t release my hand and, for some idiotic reason, I let him pull me toward the dance floor. I'm not sure if he's not hearing me or if he's just choosing not to listen. Either way, this isn’t a good thing.
Daniel takes us straight to the middle of the floor, where the women I thought he’d prefer close in around us. Regardless, he doesn't look at anyone but me, and my stomach flips as he smiles at me. He turns me around so that my back is against his front and puts his hands on my hips. The heat of his body burns me everywhere it touches and I forget why I didn't want to come out here.
The song that's playing is unfamiliar, but has a heavy baseline. Daniel's hands on my hips start moving me in time with the beat, keeping his hips against mine. Shocked that I'm actually moving to the music, even though I know it’s his talent not mine, I close my eyes and enjoy the ride. It's been a long time since I've been touched by someone that wasn't one of my parents, Lanie, Maggie or Erin - and it's been over two years since I was touched by a man I'm not related to in some way.
We stay out on the dance floor for two more songs. The second song we d
ance to is fast, with another bass beat, but the third song is slower. The girl singing the song is crooning about how much she adores a guy. It's something I've heard before, but I have no idea who's singing it.
Daniel turns me to face him, taking my hands and wrapping them around his neck so that I'm holding onto him. He pulls me close, wrapping his own arms around my waist and moving us to the music. Our eyes are locked together, unable to look away and I feel things that are definitely familiar, but that I haven't felt for a long time.
We stay like that for the rest of the song, barely moving back and forth although, every movement we make brushes our bodies together in very nice ways. By the time the song ends, I'm trembling, unable to look away from the heat in Daniel's eyes. I know this is dangerous and I need to go, but I'm drawn to him. We watch each other, lost in a trance. I’m hyperaware of his hands on my skin and the way my breath catches in my throat. I’m also aware that I don’t want this moment to end. The world around us fades away and we stay like that, close enough to kiss. His eyes drift over my face and dip to my lips before returning to my eyes.
The desire to trace my finger over his jaw shoots through me and, as I lift my hand to do so, a voice rings out. "Hey Chica!” Lanie's voice is extra loud in my ear and I jump, ripping myself right out of his arms and abandoning the plan to touch his cheek. I feel instantly bereft, missing his touch, which is beyond silly. I’ve known him for years, but not like this. This connection between us, whatever I just felt, can’t be there. He’s the kid next door, for crying out loud! I breathe in once, trying to blow off the crazy thoughts running through my imagination. He’s just being sweet. I’m sure he only wanted to make me feel better after my encounter with Drunk Guy. It was a pity dance, that’s all.
"Are you ready to go? Luke is here to get us." Lanie is smirking.
I can see Daniel's questioning gaze and I'm quick to explain, "Luke is Maggie's husband. He's our driver tonight." His face clears as he leans down to brush a kiss against my cheek.
"Thanks for the dances, Genevieve." He leans closer to whisper in my ear, "I wish we could have danced longer." My stomach flips when he speaks. He can’t be serious, can he? I glance back at him, astonished, as he inclines his head in polite goodbye to Lanie, Erin and Maggie, and then disappears in the crowd.
Lanie gives me a strange look, "What was that about, Genny?"
"Nothing," I say, quickly. "Daniel just saved me from a very hands-on drunk and we danced for a few songs to keep the guy away. No big deal." The lie rolls off my tongue quickly and falls to the ground with a thump. It shouldn’t be a big deal and I doubt it was to him. “He was just being sweet, that’s all.”
Erin snorts, "It sure looked like a big deal. I think that boy has a crush on you, Genny!" My face flames at her words.
"He does not!” I snap, defending him. “Come on, you guys. It was just harmless dancing. And, besides, didn't you say Luke is here? We shouldn't keep him waiting. He was nice enough to let Maggie out to play." Maggie sticks her tongue out at me and we all laugh.
This club thing seemed like a very bad idea when we got here. It’s funny how a couple of dances with Daniel completely changed my perspective. I felt more like the girl I had been, the formerly fun Genny, tonight than I have in a long, long time. He’s a sweet kid.
As we file out the door, I feel eyes on my back and look around. I see Daniel across the room, standing alone and watching me with eyes that are just as heated now, as they were when we were dancing earlier. A shiver snakes down my spine. I have to be imagining it, because there’s no way he’d be into me. Not like that. Confused, I smile and mouth thank you, at him, before walking out of the club with my friends. I wonder what's going to happen when he comes over to the house next time, if he’ll act the way he always does. My bet is that he’ll pretend this never happened. Alcohol does weird things to people. It’s only after I make that excuse for his behavior, that I realize I didn’t smell a drop of liquor on him.
Chapter 6
CJ has been sick for almost a week now, and I'm losing my mind. It’s breaking my heart because he won't stop crying, and I can’t find a way to comfort him. He spits out the medicine his doctor gave me and we're both miserable. I haven't slept in days. CJ is constantly unhappy and, the few times he’s dozed off from exhaustion, I’ve been too paranoid to sleep. What if he’s tangled in his blankets and can’t breathe? What if he has SIDs? What if a plastic bag floats into the room and lands on his head? Too many morbid thoughts flash through my mind. I’m not exactly stable when CJ isn’t sick. The stress of his high temperature has me beside myself.
I’m strong, I can do this. God won’t give me more than I can handle. I chant the phrase over and over, but it offers no comfort. I feel like God abandoned me years ago. We don’t talk anymore. I no longer believe in prayers or miracles. Nothing will change my mind, not after so many pleading prayers fell on deaf ears. God ignored me when I needed him most. I asked Him to spare my husband. I begged. I pleaded. I told Him that I’d do anything, but nothing changed. Cade is gone and I’m alone, and I really miss him at times like this.
I’ve taken my poor baby back and forth to the pediatrician three times in the past few days, trying to help him feel better. First, it was an ear infection, and not just an ear infection, but a double ear infection—his second one this month. The doctor said that if he keeps getting them, they'll have to put tubes in his ears. It’s completely routine, but putting my son to sleep for surgery at his age is not something I want to do. I don’t know how much of my fear is from the surgery, or from the thought of losing him in a freak complication. Either way, I know I couldn’t bear it. I’m not strong enough to lose anyone else.
The second time I took CJ to the doctor, the ear infection was doing better, but the antibiotics caused stomach problems. We went through diapers like they were nothing. Diapers are expensive, but that wasn’t the worst part—CJ was still crying. His stomach hurt and he didn’t want anything except milk, which wouldn’t stay in him. The doctor suggested giving him rice cereal. CJ disagreed and fervently let me know that he was not happy.
The third time, we were back because CJ stopped eating entirely. The crying was worse. I couldn’t tell what was wrong, but soon found out that the white spots in his mouth weren’t uneaten food. They were Thrush, which is apparently very painful—which was why he wouldn’t eat and continued to cry. I’d never seen thrush, or ever heard of it. If I’d known, I could have eased his pain sooner, but I didn’t know. I’m so scared that I’m going to make a horrible mistake, and I’m so tired. My body is screaming at me to stop, to lie down, but I can’t.
This week has rattled me to the core. It doesn't help that my mom keeps calling, every hour on the hour, to check on CJ. Rationally, I know she’s just as worried as I am. Emotionally, I feel as though I should be waiting for Child Protective Services to show up and take him away from me. What kind of mother can’t comfort her child?
CJ is tugging his ear and crying. His little face is scrunched up as he wails. I’m about to lose it. I can’t stand to hear him hurting. I try again with the medicine, but he fights me, smacking at the dropper and blocking it with his tongue.
“Come on, Baby. It’ll make you feel better. I promise. Mommy wouldn’t make you do it if it didn’t help. Come on Little Man, just a little bit.” I have him lying on the couch with his arms pinned. I manage to get the dropper between his teeth, which makes him wail. I squirt the medicine in and it goes straight down his throat, choking him. His big brown eyes look at me like I’m a monster as he gags. But, the medicine finally goes down his throat.
I scoop him up in my arms, even though he pushes me away, and start crying right along with him. I'd been so determined to prove to my parents, my friends, and everyone else that I could do this on my own. It seemed like the only way to get them off my back about remarrying. Now, I'm sitting on the couch, in the middle of a breakdown, clutching my baby and sobbing uncontrollably. When there's a knock on the doo
r, I simply ignore it.
"Genevieve?" a male voice comes from behind me and I jump, swiveling around to see who's there. Standing in the doorway, looking at me sheepishly, is Daniel. He looks around the room and I'm mortified. The house is a mess. The kitchen smells and I haven’t taken out the garbage in two days. Add in the stuff growing in the sink and I can’t hide my horror.
Standing, I try to block the worst of the damage with my body, but nothing hides the smell. "Uh, hi Daniel. Did you need something?" I'm self-conscious at the thought of someone seeing me this way. Instantly aware of the fact that I haven't showered in two days, I'm still wearing the clothes I put on yesterday and my unwashed hair is falling out of the ponytail holder. I’m as messy and smelly as the house. Running a hand over my head in an attempt to somewhat restore order to my dark hair, I know I'm blushing furiously as Daniel looks on, a concerned frown on his face.
He points back towards the door when he says, "I heard the baby crying earlier and wanted to make sure everything was alright. Is he okay?"
I sniffle and wipe away the tears, trying to act like it’s nothing. "CJ's been sick for a few days and I can’t seem to do anything to make him feel better.” My voice cracks on the last word and I start to suck in tiny, rapid breaths like I’m going to burst into tears again. I turn away, wondering why I'm telling him this, why I'm letting him know just how awful I am as a mother. I notice CJ has finally stopped bawling and lay my sweet boy down in his playpen. The weight of CJ’s absence feels too heavy, and my hands shoot up, nervously pulling on and smoothing my hair.
That’s when Daniel steps around me and catches my eye. His expression is sympathetic, not full of the judgment I expect. He gently catches my hands and holds them in his own.
"Genevieve,” he says softly, “is there someone you can call to watch him for a little while, so you can sleep?" The idea of sleep sounds so good. I think of my mother, but being as worried as I am, she'd spend the entire time she was here helping me by suggesting more things that could go wrong.
