Multiple Listings

by Tracy McMillan

  “And he’s hot.”

  “Please don’t say that,” I say. “You’re not allowed to say that.”

  “I wasn’t going to, but you know how I like to keep it real,” she says. Then she gets a very grave look on her face. “I won’t touch him. I promise.”

  “I know, Peaches.”

  “I’m still sorry for what happened.”

  “I know you are,” I say. It’s true. I know she is. Everything’s cool. Ronnie apologized, and somehow it really did all just evaporate. There are bigger things to worry about in life than when people make the same dumb mistake they always make. I feel like both of them learned a big life lesson, and my life lesson is to just never bring it up again. So far, I’m doing great.

  “Shit. I’m so excited. We have a restaurant, girl!” Peaches jumps up and gives me a ginormous hug. We’re jumping up and down shouting, “We have a restaurant! We have a restaurant!” like it’s a playground song, when Miguel comes in.

  He looks at us like we’re crazy.

  But of course, Peaches pulls him in. “C’mon, Miguel! Say it with us!”

  We have a restaurant!

  We have a restaurant!

  We all jump up and down together.

  As Cody would say, it’s going to be so hype.

  * * *

  Later that day something amazing happens. My real estate agent calls me and tells me the seller on the Southeast Burnett house has decided to sign the cancellation of escrow. I’m out of the deal! I ask why, and she says she doesn’t know the details. Only that the seller’s agent called her and said they wanted to end it. They’re going to give me back my deposit money and I’ll be free and clear. Maybe they have another buyer? I have no idea—but I don’t need to know.

  There are no words for the level of relief I feel.

  I promise myself that I will never again override what my gut says in order to do what my mind says. Putting an offer on that house was not a decision that came from deep down. It came from my head, churning out solutions to my so-called problems: my kid, my relationship, my future. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to wait around for any sort of answer, so I just pulled the trigger and hoped for the best.

  Now that the whole ordeal is over, I can see that my gut was trying to tell me something was wrong. I had a sense about that house the moment we pulled up to it—even the orange door bothered me! But because I couldn’t understand it with my mind, I allowed myself to be bowled over by how perfect it was on the surface. How it seemed to be the answer to the question I had only just asked. It’s like a smoke alarm was going off and I was walking through the house saying, Will someone please turn that alarm off? I’m trying to buy a house here!

  Maybe I’m starting to understand what Ronnie means when he says the universe has three answers: 1) yes, 2) not now, and 3) I have something better in store for you. If I just relax and let go, everything that is mine will stay, and everything that is not mine will go. I’ve never trusted something bigger than me—God, or whatever—because my experience in life is that things only work out if you force them to. But maybe that was only my experience because I’ve never even tried another way.

  All I know is, I don’t think I need to look at houses anymore. Because the one I have already has everything I could ever want.

  * * *

  Opening day is only twelve hours away. So tonight we’re doing a whole evening of dinner service to try to get the kinks out before our first day of business tomorrow. Not really a “soft opening”—more of a practice run. Miguel, Peaches, and I each recruited five people to invite whomever they wanted and told them to show up anytime between 6 and 9 p.m. We figured that would approximate what a regular dinner rush would look like. It’s now 8:23 p.m. and the place is packed.

  Everyone came at once.

  Ronnie’s cooking, Cody’s the busboy, Miguel is playing host, and Peaches and I are waiting tables—something I haven’t done since high school. I’ll say this, I have a new respect for Peaches. I’ve been in a blind fury—screaming orders at Ronnie, throwing dishes onto tables like a blackjack dealer, and getting into a dysfunctional relationship with the fountain soda machine. We are going to be switching to canned and bottled sodas starting immediately and also, I quit—the waitressing, not the restaurant.

  Other than that, things have gone smashingly. We are finally wrapping up—I just dropped the last check on the last table—no thanks to the temperamental credit card machine—and all in all, it was pretty damn good. We made a profit on the menu items—organic free-range fried chicken, local heirloom mashed potatoes, and three different kinds of sautéed greens, plus an arugula salad with shaved fennel—and everyone said they’d definitely be back. Of course they said that, they’re all people we know. But still.

  Now the five of us are sitting around an empty table, going over the night.

  “One of my customers said she loved the truffled macaroni and cheese, but she’d like it better without the truffle oil,” Peaches says.

  “Let me guess who that was. Mrs. Finley,” I say.

  “Who’s Mrs. Finley?” Ronnie says.

  “Our next-door neighbor.”

  “She’s so weird,” Cody says. “I hear her, like, singing opera all the time.”

  Ronnie’s gnawing on a chicken wing, his favorite part of the chicken. “Mrs. Finley doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Ronnie says, pulling a bone out of his mouth. “The truffle oil is the best part.”

  “One night in and you’re already a diva? By next week you’re going to be throwing saucepans,” I say. “Or doing that chef thing where there’s no substitutions.”

  I have to admit he looks kind of adorable in his checked pants and white chef’s jacket. He said he got them because he wanted to go old school. His enthusiasm is infectious. He kept the kitchen staff rolling in laughter all night, sang most of Billboard’s Hot 100 from 1991, and got all the food out on time. As I’m watching him talk, I’m trying to figure out what this feeling is, and then I realize: I’m proud of him.

  “Ha! I can’t wait to throw a saucepan,” Ronnie says, clapping and laughing. “Everybody better watch out. I’ma go all Gordon Ramsay on your asses.”

  “Hey, Cody,” Peaches says. “Who was that girl at table four you were talking to? Hmmm? Who was she?”

  “No one.” Cody turns bright pink. He shakes his head back and forth ever so slightly, the way he does when he can’t believe the person talking to him is saying whatever they’re saying.

  “There was a girl who came to see you tonight?” Ronnie asks. Of course Ronnie wants to know all about it. If it turns out that Cody’s found some success with women, he’s going to want full credit for it, I’m sure. “Who was she?”

  “Just a girl from school,” Cody says.

  “That’s nice that friends from school came,” I say, trying to make it seem a little less dramatic. “Did you invite them or did they just happen to come?”

  “Mom,” Cody says. This is my cue to STFU. But I take it to mean he invited her.

  Peaches just keeps going. “She was sitting at my table with her mom, it looked like,” she says. “She was supercute. She had long hair, and a hat on. Sort of a young Elizabeth Taylor, but not goth. And I swear to God I saw her mouth the words text me.”

  Cody gives Peaches a dark look. “Peaches, you’re so annoying.”

  “I know I am. But that’s what you love about me!” Peaches laughs and throws her arms around Cody for an enthusiastic side hug.

  I give everyone glances as if to say, stop, you’re embarrassing him.

  “Sounds like Cody’s got himself a lady friend.” Ronnie claps his hands as a way to change the subject. “I’ll toast to that. And a kick-ass first night of business!”

  Miguel has returned with a bottle of champagne, which he gives to Cody to pop open. We all have a glass (everyo
ne except Ronnie, that is, who has mint tea, because he doesn’t drink), even Cody. We’re just finishing the toast when I see Peaches’s face fall. She looks over my shoulder, then looks at me, then looks back over my shoulder, then back at me.

  “What?” I shift my body in a hard right from the hip, trying to see what she’s seeing. “Oh shit.”

  It’s Jake. And from the look on his face, he’s drunk.

  “The place looks amazing,” he says. Right at me. “Hi, Nicki.”

  Everyone freezes. I take a very deep breath. My heart is beating fast, yes, and my stomach just flipped, but strangely, I wouldn’t say that I’m scared. Surprisingly, I’m more ready. I guess I’ve been waiting for this moment.

  “How did it go? Looks like it was everything I thought it could be,” he says. He has this wounded look in his eyes. Jake is an asshole, yes, and he’s lacking character, yes—but I do think he sincerely wanted to create a great restaurant. It pains him that we’ve gone and done it without him. He looks at everyone. “Miguel, how’s it going? Great job you did here. Place is rockin’.”

  Ronnie sits up, poised, getting ready to leave the table.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I got it.” I unfold my legs and slip my feet back into my gold clogs. Why I decided to wear these shoes, I have no idea. My feet are killing me, but I did get a million compliments. Jake waves me toward the back of the kitchen, near the walk-in refrigerator.

  “Jake, stop.” I stand where I am. I want to stay in full view of my people. My family. They’re my power now. “We don’t really need to have some big conversation.”

  “Please, Nicki. I’d like to talk,” he says. “Privately.”

  “I’m sure you would.” Of course he wants to separate me from them. I’m much more vulnerable to him alone. Having Ronnie and Peaches here—they’re like UN monitors, those people the United Nations sends to oversee elections in unstable countries. Having a third party in the midst of chaos forces people to act right—or more right than they would if no one was watching. Maybe this is why I’ve chosen the kind of men that I have—I’ve never had a group of people who loved me backing me up, keeping the guys in check. Or me in check. I address Jake: “You can say whatever you have to say right here. In front of everyone.”

  “Nicki.” His eyes are pleading with me. “I’m sorry. That’s the main thing, really. I’m just really sorry.”

  His face does look very twisted with guilt. He holds up a check. “I brought you some money. I know it’s not that much, but it’s a start on what I owe you. And it’s a check this time.” He lets out a very thin chuckle—like he knows there’s nothing funny about this, but he couldn’t help trying to make a joke. “I know when we talked before, um, the last time we talked, I said there was an explanation and I’d give it when I could, and now I’m here to give it.”

  “I don’t need your money,” I say. “And I don’t want your explanation.”

  No one’s moving an inch. I really want to turn around and see what is happening here reflected on everyone’s face—each of them would reveal something different about this situation to me. But then I realize that I already know what I would see. My dad is guilty because he knows that if he hadn’t gone to jail for my whole life I probably wouldn’t be dealing with losers like Jake; Peaches wants to 1) kick Jake’s face in, and 2) tell me off for getting involved with such a pretentious asshole in the first place; Miguel is ashamed for me and for himself that he put so much work into this and then Jake turned out to be so unreliable—but he’s grateful it’s looking like it’s going to work out okay; and last but not least, Cody is holding his breath and feeling worried that his mom is going to go down the tubes over a guy again.

  Well, I’m not.

  I also realize that I don’t need to be looking for the truth on other people’s faces. I need to be looking for the truth within. There’s no such thing as a “sign.” There’s only that small voice inside me, guiding me quietly, if I’m willing to listen. And what I’m hearing right now is that not a single bone in my body wants to take that check. Nor does any part of me want to go to Jake, hug him, or make him feel better. I’m not scared of him, or fearful for him, or wondering where he’s been. I don’t want to talk it out or understand what happened. I’m not even angry. I just see how lost he is. He wasn’t lying to me exactly when he promised me the world. It’s more that he really wanted the world—the house, the family, the business, me—and he was dreaming out loud that I would be in it with him. He wanted it all and he wasn’t ready for it.

  Was I that lost?

  Maybe. I wanted the world, too. But you can’t make yourself whole from getting the world. It can only happen from the inside. My dad is teaching me that.

  If you had asked me when I woke up this morning what I would do if Jake walked into the restaurant tonight, genuinely sorry and bearing money, I’ll be honest—I probably would have wanted him back. I might not have admitted it out loud, but deep down, I might have thought I wanted it. But now, at this moment, I see one thing more clearly than I’ve ever seen anything in my life.

  He’s not worthy of me.

  29

  * * *

  RONNIE

  They call Cody’s name first. He’s really nervous. We’re at the DMV, where we both have appointments, fifteen minutes apart. Last night, I took him out and together we did a whole course on city streets: right turn, left turn, backing up in a straight line. He’s got it, I know he does. Now if only he knew that. I give him a fist pound and a half hug, like rappers give. “Break a leg, man.”

  Cody has to pull the car around to a driveway where the guy who is going to administer the test gets in. Nicki and I stand under the overhang, trying not to get wet so we can watch. The test administrator is an Asian man who looks like he’s in his sixties, retired, probably doing this to keep busy. He checks a lot of things off on a clipboard, walks around the outside of the car as Cody shows that he knows how to work the turn signals and the windshield wipers. Then he gets in and they’re off. I have a good feeling about this.

  “He’s going to pass,” I say to Nicki as we walk back inside the DMV to get out of the rain. “He’s got it.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You gotta know so, baby,” I say. “Hoping will get you up to the door, but knowing, way deep down in your heart, that’s what opens it.”

  “Fine, I know so,” she says. “I’m not even going to roll my eyes at your sermon.”

  I know I drive Nicki a little bit crazy with the comments, observations, and spiritual lessons I’m always dropping all over the place. But I was gone for a lot of years, and I have a lot of catching up to do if I’m going to pass along what I’ve learned in this life. I’m about thirty-eight years behind.

  “How about you, do you think you’ll pass?” she says. “You nervous?”

  “Oh, I got this,” I say. “No worries there.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “All right, then,” she says. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Sure I believe you,” she says. “I’m just checking to see how you feel.”

  We pass the time sitting on our hard plastic chairs. Nicki jumps on her phone and starts texting. She’s always doing business. I excuse myself to the men’s room. I make small talk with a nice-looking lady at the drinking fountain. When I return to my chair, it’s time to go back outside and wait for Cody.

  He’s parked in one of the spots near the door, sitting in the car. I can see the test guy going over some stuff on his clipboard. They’re in there a full four or five minutes. It gets to the point where it’s not looking good.

  “What’s going on?” Nicki says. “This seems like a long time.”

  “Now, now,” I say. “Don’t look where you don’t want to go.”

  “What does that mea
n?”

  “It means don’t imagine things you don’t want to happen. Stay neutral.”

  Nicki closes her eyes like she’s trying hard to keep her mouth shut. A few seconds later, the car doors open and Cody and the tester get out at the same time. The tester doesn’t even smile. He just rips a form off the top of his clipboard and hands it to Cody.

  Cody looks down at the piece of paper. He has a sad look on his face.

  Nicki squeezes my arm. I can tell she’s controlling her facial expression so Cody doesn’t feel bad. She’s trying a little too hard. “Well, how’d it go?”

  Cody’s face is so straight. I pat his back. “It’s okay, bud.” I pull him toward me for a hug. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says. He’s hanging his head.

  “Awww, pumpkin . . .” Nicki’s frowning.

  I feel terrible for Cody. Failure sucks, but there’s always something to learn from it, too. “It’s okay, you can come back in two weeks and take it again.”

  That’s when Cody yanks his head up. “Ha!” He shouts and claps his hands together. Just like I do. “This is so dope, I have both of you totally going.” He smiles huge and throws his hands up in the air, fists pumping. “Woooooo-hooooooo! I passed, bitches!”

  “Cody, that word.” Nicki flinches slightly as she throws her arms around him. But she’s relieved. “Congratulations, honey! That’s wonderful!”

  “Are you serious, son?” I pile onto the group hug. “Hot dog! I knew it the first time I saw you. I said to myself, that boy’s a good driver, I bet you.”

  I’m so proud of this kid!

  “I got a ninety-six!” Cody says. “The guy said I did great on the turns and he’s never seen a teenager parallel park like I did!”

  “I am so damn happy for you,” I say. “We did it!”