These Days Series: After Tuesday | Forgotten Yesterday | Deciding Tomorrow

by Renee Ericson

  “Just ’cause.” He pulls me along. “C’mon, just for a minute.”

  Shaking my head, I relent and follow Brent into the shop filled with plush furniture, dishes, lamps, and other household knickknacks. Weaving through the mock setup of living rooms, we walk slowly through the store with my fingers trailing along the fabrics, the wooden tables, the bronze bases of the lamps, and the silk florals decorating many of the solid surfaces. We take a flight of stairs, only to find a large collection of seating—couches, love seats, overstuffed and regular chairs, and a variety of benches and barstools.

  I still have no idea what we’re doing here as we continue to stroll along with no purpose. Coming upon a leather-upholstered chair, Brent takes a seat and smooths his hands over the arms. I sit down across from him on a chenille taupe love seat. I unbutton my coat, so I don’t overheat.

  “Are you shopping?” I ask, removing my hat and taming some of the fly away strands of my hair.

  “Not really.” He leans back, getting comfortable. “Maybe a little. I don’t know.”

  “Well, that’s nice.” I gesture toward the chair he’s seated in. “Leather is always a good choice.”

  “Yeah, it is. Reminds me of the one my dad used to keep in his office. Do you remember that?”

  “I do.” Heat rises to my cheeks. “Didn’t we once…you know?”

  “I think we did,” he admits. That freaking dimple comes out.

  “So, maybe that’s why you like it?”

  “Could be.” He suggestively waggles his brows.

  “Is it comfortable?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Very.” He straightens, sitting properly. “What about that one?”

  “What one?”

  “The one you’re sitting on. Is it comfortable?”

  I slouch back, trying it out in a lazy way. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s okay. It’s a couch.”

  Brent steps out of the chair and joins me on the taupe love seat, touching his knee to mine. In an exaggerated motion, he mocks a yawn as he stretches out his arms, one coming to rest over my shoulder. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

  “Smooth, really slick.” I giggle as my hand finds his knee.

  “That’s because I’m so stealth.”

  “Yeah, your ninja-like prowess is unprecedented.”

  “Exactly. You never see it coming.”

  “Never.” I laugh. “I was totally shocked.”

  Together, we sit and watch a couple across the room. They’re checking out an oversized red chair while talking with a salesperson about fabric selections.

  “Did you know,” Brent starts, his focus still on the couple at the other end of the store, “that you own more furniture than me?”

  “Huh?” I adjust myself, leaning into the corner of the sofa. “That’s impossible. I only own a bed.”

  “It’s true. I don’t own anything. My entire apartment came furnished, right down to the silverware.” He places his palm over mine on his knee. “I don’t even own my car. It’s a lease.”

  “I don’t own a car either,” I say, like it’s not a big deal. “Haven’t since high school.”

  “You probably don’t need one in the city.”

  “That’s true. It’s easier to just rent one when you need it.”

  “Anyhow,” he continues, “I like to come to stores like this every once in a while.”

  “To window-shop for furniture?”

  “I guess you can call it that. When you live in a place filled with stuff that isn’t yours, you start to wonder what kind of things you like. I’ve had a transient lifestyle for so long, and it’s easy to lose track of things like that. You almost lose your identity in a way, never really having anything to call your own. Anyhow, I like to see what I do like to make sure I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Living like that must be hard. It sounds almost…empty.”

  “It can be, but I guess there are worse things.”

  “Yeah, there likely are.” I tilt my head toward the leather club chair across from us. “You seem to like that.”

  “I do. One of these days, I’ll probably actually break down and get one.” He stands up with his hand outstretched, and he pulls me to my feet. “What about you?”

  “What about me?” I ask as we walk through the showroom.

  “Do you like any of these?” he asks, gesturing to the furnishings.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I wasn’t really looking.”

  “Humor me.” He rubs my back. “I’m curious. If you could have anything, anything here, what would it be?”

  Squinting, I measure Brent’s motives. “Are you trying to play house with me?”

  “Yes, next stop, we’re picking out dishes, and then we’re going to the pet store, so you can get a cute Labrador. Oh, and then after that, we’re shopping for drapes.”

  I crack up. “Funny.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m just curious.”

  “Fine,” I huff, making my way through the maze of furniture.

  I pass by a lot of extravagant pieces upholstered in fine fabrics with an exorbitant amount of trim. None of them are even close to anything I would ever want to own. We enter a smaller room filled with more basic pieces. There aren’t many, but my eyes are drawn toward a two-seater cornflower-blue sofa in the corner. I head toward it.

  Brent cuts around me and takes a seat in the canvas-covered love seat I was drawn to, his arms spreading across the back. “This one?” he asks, brows raised. “I bet you like this one.”

  I plop down next to him, the soft cushion comfortably holding my weight. “I like it.” I bounce a little. “Yeah, I’d probably go with this. It’s comfy and not too gaudy. Could fit in any room.”

  He fingers the ends of my hair. “I’d probably pick something like this, too, if I were in the market.”

  “Ah, so you were testing me to see if we have similar taste?”

  “Something like that.” He kisses me on the nose. “More just wanted to see how well I know you.”

  “And?”

  “I think you’re an open book.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Sure is.”

  Brent’s index finger brushes my shoulder, back and forth, as I graze my hand along the length of his. We’re content, loving this normal, everyday moment. Some people might get bored while doing nothing of importance—sitting on a sofa in a store with no purpose other than to sit next to one another—but not me. Simplicity is often underrated.

  “This is nice,” I disclose, my fingers playing with his.

  “What’s that?”

  “You.” I shrug. “Me.”

  “And this couch,” he adds.

  “Yes, and this couch.” Leaning toward him, I brush my lips across his ear. “Nothing makes a girl feel sexy like a man on a cornflower-blue sofa.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It sure is.” I blow a heated breath across his neck.

  He shivers. “You need to stop that.” He stills.

  “Stop what?” My tongue lightly licks his ear. “That?”

  “Yes,” he whispers, unmoving. “I don’t want to frighten any women or children when I bend you over and rip off your clothes.”

  I kiss the place where his stubbled jawline meets his neck, and then I sit back, creating some needed space in order to calm the rising hormones. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

  He shakes his head. “You are going to be in so much trouble later.”

  “Oh.” In an overly excited fashion, I pounce and wrap my arms around the center of his body. “I hope so. I hope I’m in big trouble, gigantic.”

  “Get up.” He tickles my side. “Let’s go before you jump me and scare innocent bystanders.”

  Hopping off the sofa, I step aside, allowing Brent to rise as well. He takes my hand in his, and we descend the steps to the first floor before walking onto the street.

  The sun is just peeking through the clouds, causing the light falling snow to sparkle like fragmented g
lass. It’s beautiful. Heading toward my building, we travel three blocks down the street and then turn into a more residential part of the neighborhood. We’re the only ones on the sidewalk for a few blocks.

  “I have something I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Brent says out of nowhere.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s about Christmas.”

  “Is this the part where you ask me not to buy you anything?” I bump his hip with mine.

  “That’s not what I was going to say, but yeah, note that, too. I don’t want you to buy me anything.”

  I stick out my lower lip in a fake pout. “You’re no fun at all.”

  “Fine,” he sighs with humor. “You can buy me a present. Happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you aren’t allowed to spend more than twenty dollars on it.”

  “Wow, a whole twenty dollars.” I place my hand over my heart. “Brent, I’m in shock. That’s a lot of money.”

  “Well, you don’t have to spend it all.”

  I squint. “Same goes for you if we’re doing this gift thing. No more than twenty dollars, and I mean it.”

  “Evil.” He mock growls. “You are pure evil, but I agree.”

  “Perfect.”

  Plastering a fake and gloating smile, I continue our walk home with Brent by my side. He grabs the back of my arm.

  “I still need to ask you something,” he reminds me. “About Christmas.”

  “Oh yeah, right. Sorry. What’s up?”

  Brent licks his mouth and bites his lower lip as he blinks a few times. “I want you to come with me to my dad’s for Christmas.”

  Pausing, I step in front of him. “Brent, I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? I already talked to my dad about it. He’d love to see you again.”

  “I’d like to see him again, too.” I lower my gaze to the buttons of his coat. “But I already have plans.”

  “With Cody?”

  “No.” I toe the sidewalk with my foot and return my brown eyes to Brent’s waiting green ones. “With my dad. I visit him every Christmas. He’s expecting me.”

  “Oh.” Brent rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I should have mentioned it, but it just hadn’t come up yet.” I pat his chest. “Tell your dad thank you for the offer, and I really appreciate it. I just can’t leave my dad like that for the holiday. We do it every year.”

  “I understand.”

  Brent takes my hand, and we cross the street toward my apartment. About a block away, he rests his arm over my shoulder, and I lean into him.

  “Can I go with you?” he asks.

  “With me where?”

  “To visit your dad.”

  I peek at him through my falling dark brown hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Because you’re going.” He squeezes my shoulder. “And I don’t want you to go alone.”

  “I go alone every year.”

  “Why don’t you make this year different?”

  Stepping in front of him and slipping my hands into his jacket pockets, I kiss Brent full on the mouth. “Thank you, but you should go and be with your dad. It’s Christmas. You should see your family.”

  “I want to spend it with you.” He rests his head on mine. “Is that so bad?”

  “No, it’s not, but holidays are for families. You already spent Thanksgiving with me, and I don’t want to step on any more toes or make anyone angry or—”

  Brent locks his lips with mine, silencing my words. His hand skates up my back and through my hair as our mouths move together, sending messages to one another of heat, love, and sincerity. His kiss tells me more than words can express, and it’s an argument I’m willing to hear over and over. He’s telling me my words don’t matter, that we matter.

  Disconnecting his lips from mine, Brent cups my face in his palms and touches his mouth to mine once more. “I want to go with you.” He’s not asking, not leaving it up for debate. “Holidays are for family and people you love.”

  “They are.”

  “So, what’s the issue?”

  “I guess there isn’t one.”

  Twenty-Two

  It’s late on Christmas Eve, near eleven, and I’m working by choice.

  For the last four days, Brent was visiting his father in Michigan, so I picked up some holiday shifts that most people were willing to give up. I didn’t mind. Given the season, it’s usually a steady crowd of families in good spirits. Brent finally came back in town early this afternoon, and he has been waiting for me at my apartment since then. I’ve yet to see him because I took a double shift and have been here since noon.

  In the restaurant kitchen near one of the registers, Colin, the manager on duty, prints out my sales for the evening. Taking the paperwork aside, I go through the night’s till to confirm that everything is correct before handing it in and clocking out for the evening. Heading downstairs into the employee break area, I grab my jacket, scarf, hat, gloves, and bag, and then I scurry up the steps to leave. Rounding the chrome prep area, I see two bussers stacking away dishes as the night winds down.

  “Merry Christmas,” I say, walking past them and waving. “Hope you get to go home soon.”

  “Merry Christmas,” they reply in unison, one shifting the glassware while the other stacks the porcelain dishes.

  Through the galley, I make my way into the cook area.

  “Have a good night,” Brian, one of the cooks, calls to me over the shelving.

  “You, too, Brian.” I slip on my gloves. “And Merry Christmas.”

  “Same to you.” He leisurely plates a dish, likely one of the last ones for the evening. “Are you doing anything special?”

  “Just visiting with my dad tomorrow,” I say, not giving too many details. The topic of visiting a prison on the holidays usually dampens anyone’s mood. “How about you?”

  “Going to my sister’s house in Oak Park. Our family rotates every year, and it’s her turn to host. Plus, she and her husband just bought a house, and I think they want to show it off.”

  “I see.” I pull my blue hat over my ears, preparing for the inclement weather outside. “What about Lauren? You spending it with her, too?”

  Not too long ago, Brian and I were almost dating—that was, until Brent popped back into my life. Brian and I flirted with one another, hung out a few times with a group of people, and sort of went out once, but it never went any further. Shortly after our lame attempt at seeing one another, I went to L.A., and everything changed.

  My life was flipped upside down—or rather, my heart was when Brent and I decided to give us a second chance. When I returned from my trip to L.A., I told Brian that I was dating Brent, and then Brian started seeing someone else—actually, a few someone elses. He’s been seeing Lauren, a new hostess, for a few weeks. He and I still remain friends—or friendly work colleagues is probably the best way to put it. We always were before, and there was no reason for that to change.

  “She went back to Indiana yesterday to be with her family,” Brian replies to my question. “But we’ll get together for New Year’s Eve. I got tickets for a huge event up in Lakeview that’s supposed to be really great. Five bands are scheduled to play. My cousin hooked me up with VIP tickets and backstage passes.”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “Should be.” He adjusts the white hat on his head. “What about you? Is Brent part of your holiday plans with your dad?”

  I adjust the bag over my shoulder. “He is. He came back today, and we’ll be driving down tomorrow morning to visit him. Not sure about New Year’s yet.” I fasten the last button on my camel wool coat. “I gotta go. Have a good night.” I wave.

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Exiting the kitchen, I say farewell to a few more fellow employees, including Pat and his nephew, Carl, who are working the bar. A few of their relatives stopped by, and the atmosphere is much more festive than usual. With a fin
al good-bye to the staff at the host stand, I depart into the extremely chilly evening air of Chicago.

  My hand instinctually reaches for the phone in my pocket to call and let Brent know that I’m on my way.

  There’s a text from him. Of course there is.

  Brent: I have a surprise for you when you get home.

  Oh Lord, who knows what that could mean?

  His text might appear innocent, but it’s too vague. This so-called surprise could be something sweet, like dessert, or it could be something as simple as a friend in his pants that I need to go searching for.

  Not even bothering to text him back, I hit Send, calling his number. It takes a few rings for him to answer.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Brent says a little too smoothly. “Are you coming home soon?”

  “Yeah.” I wrap my free arm around my waist as a gust of wind whips through the streets. “I just got off, and I’m catching a cab, so I should be there in about fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “I can’t wait to see you either.” A stronger blast of air surges across my body, causing me to sidestep on the sidewalk. “The wind is getting crazy. I’d better get going. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks with a hint of sarcasm.

  “What?”

  “Um, hello?” he teases. “You love me?”

  I raise my hand to hail a vacant cab turning the corner. “Fine. You love me.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Totally.” The yellow car stops at the curb, and I open the back door, aided heavily by a cold blast of air. “But you love it.”

  “Yeah, I kind of do.”

  “Hang on.” I enter the cab, shut the door, and then tell the driver my address. “Who could blame you? I am kind of irresistible.”

  “Aren’t we confident?”

  “Nah, I’m talking out of my ass.” The car veers to the left, out of the main stream of traffic, using less common roads to head north. “I’ve missed you by the way.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “Well, I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

  “Okay, see you soon. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”