Beer Goggles Anthology

by Anthology

  “Amelia?”

  “What? Darren bought me the DVD. He puts it on when he wants to get me in the mood.”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Besides the TMI.” Her laughter has me quickly adding, “Let’s get back on track.”

  “Fine. What happened next?”

  I give her the condensed version.

  “You told him your ovaries were old?”

  “Not in so many words,” I groan.

  “And you’re going to fix him up with someone else?”

  I nod, but remember she can’t see me. “Yes.”

  “You fucked up.”

  “I know,” I cry.

  “Okay. We’re going to sign you up for a dating site. Don’t worry about coming over tonight. The kids will eat your cake and love it. I’ll call Ella.”

  After we disconnect, I head for the kitchen to grab food and turn on cable to watch a movie and try not to feel like a total loser on my birthday.

  Chapter Six

  Waking, I feel empowered. After a night of watching the movie How To Be Single and eating the entire ice cream cake, though it had only been a tiny one made for two, I stretch.

  I shake off the gloominess from the night before, determined not to be depressed that my life is a solitary one. It had been my choice.

  After all the useless calories I’d consumed in the last two nights, I am itching for a run. But the coward that I am, I can’t seem to bear the idea of running into Joel at the gym. So I powerwalk my apartment living room with my earbuds in.

  When the afternoon rolls around, there’s a knock at my door. This time it’s not a shock to see who’s behind it. My carefree younger sister who takes after our mother strolls in with her bohemian style and former dancer grace. She practically floats across the floor with her silky hair breezing behind her. It’s another thing I could hate her for. My hair is a frizzy mess when not tamed by the beast known as a flat iron.

  “Are you ready?” She looks me over, giving Sable some attention when the cat worms her way around my sister’s legs.

  “Really? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I indicate my jeans and t-shirt.

  She comes over with her finger to her lips and taps it there. “Got it.”

  Before I know it, her hand is at the collar of my tee. She pulls, and the fabric gives under her tiny hands. She is a few inches shorter and several pounds lighter than I am. Standing next to her, I feel like a giant. Thank God for Amelia, or I would have thought I got the short end of the stick with our parents’ gene pool. Or should I say, giant-sized end?

  “Hey, wait, that’s my favorite shirt,” I complain.

  “Yeah, and that shirt makes you look like your tits are for milking.”

  She moves around to my back, missing my glaring stare.

  “Not funny.”

  “It isn’t meant to be. You want a man, you’ve at least got to look like you’re interested in one.”

  “Maybe I should just stay home and graze the pasture.” I slouch in my seat, feeling defeated. “Moo.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “I don’t. I think extra-large comes to a guy’s mind when he sees me.” Ella swats my butt before tugging my shirt tight at the bottom. “Hey, you’re going to give me muffin top if you keep doing that. Then a guy will think dessert, but not me.”

  “Rog happens to think you’re a babe.”

  Her current live-in boyfriend, Roger, prefers to be called Rog.

  “That’s not saying much when he likes men too. Is it my man hands he’s into?”

  Ella rolls her eyes. My baby sister fancies herself a former lesbian; I call her bisexual. She dated a woman for over two years and now is dating Rog.

  “He’s not gay. He’s sexually fluid.”

  I laugh. “You realize that sex and fluid…”

  She’s in her bag and pulls out makeup, urging me to take a seat. I do. She’s so much better at it than I am.

  “You old people try to fit everyone in a box. Love is love and shouldn’t be labeled in one category. Most people out there haven’t found their soulmate. They’re too busy constricting themselves to preconceived ideas about what love is and who it should be with. You should probably date a woman. It will do wonders for your self-esteem.”

  There’s no need to argue. I know she’s right on some level. The world would be a better place if love eclipsed hate.

  “How was the parade?”

  “It wasn’t a parade. It was a fair showcasing LGBT artists.”

  She couldn’t celebrate with me yesterday night. She and her fluid boyfriend went to New York for some gay pride event. Plus, she sells her art at fairs, and apparently the event was a fair.

  “Okay, so how’d it go?”

  “Great.” She smiles and eyes the work she’s done on my face. “Okay, let’s go. We have an appointment with Madame Zelda.”

  That stops me. “I did not agree to go see your psychic.”

  “Why?” Ella asks before putting everything back in her bag, which could double as carryon luggage. “I’ve told her all about you, and it’s part of your birthday gift.”

  “Fine.” I’m frugal like that. Plus, staying in the house another minute is depressing. With Ella as my shield, maybe I can survive an encounter with Joel.

  But we don’t run into him. “I was hoping to see this hot neighbor of yours. I should come over more often.”

  “Don’t make Rog jealous.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  She laughs. “We don’t get jealous.”

  I don’t bother to ask. I don’t want to know if they share or not.

  We walk a few blocks, but we finally find a cab.

  “Why didn’t you get an Uber?” I whisper in the back seat after she gives our destination to the driver.

  “Uber means planning. I wasn’t sure when we’d leave, and I hate to be confined to time.”

  I don’t bother to mention she told me we had an appointment, which contradicted her words. Sometimes saying nothing to Ella is best.

  We arrive at a place in Old Towne Alexandria. It’s across the water from where my sister’s loft is located in the revitalized Waterfront area in Southwest, Washington, D.C.

  We have to walk upstairs. Ella opens the glass front door, and we enter a room that has to be cliché of every stereotypical psychic’s workplace. The walls are a deep orange, and every surface is stacked with knickknacks of all things creepy. The place can easily be described as an organized hoarder’s mess.

  “Welcome, Ella.”

  My heart almost leaps from my chest. I’d been staring at a statue of a one-eyed monkey. Standing straight, I focus on the woman who looks like an older version of my mom. That should make me feel less weirded out, but it makes me feel more so.

  Her gray hair is streaked with white, and she wears a long maroon colored skirt that covers her feet. An Indian-styled orange shirt finishes the outfit.

  “This is your sister.”

  I try not to say duh. Ella already told me that she’d spoken to the woman about me. She extends a bony hand, which seems at odds at her rounded body. No judgement, but I didn’t expect it.

  “Call me Madame Zelda.”

  When I grasp her cold hand, Zelda’s whole body stiffens. At first, I wonder if the woman needs emergency assistance.

  Ella sees my distress. “Don’t worry. She’s having a vision.”

  I frown. Honestly, I don’t believe in this. When I pull my hand away, Zelda comes out of her trance.

  “We should go sit.” Ella points to an opening in the back wall.

  Zelda nods, and we follow her into a room past the beaded curtain which is so cliché I stop myself from saying “Come on.”

  The room we enter is so small, the three of us barely fit. There is a tiny table in the center, lots of stuff on the walls, and shelves all around. Thank goodness there isn’t a crystal ball on the table, or I might have said something rude. Instead, I sm
ile. This is all in good fun. Zelda seems nice. Though my sister is obviously getting taken for her money.

  “Give me your hand, child,” Zelda says.

  I give Ella the stink eye before extending my hand with a smile. I’m hit with a tiny jolt of static electricity and cry out in pain. Ella gives me a smug grin.

  “This is about a man.” Zelda’s eyes are closed as if she’s channeling something from beyond.

  Okay, seriously, I’m not sure how well my acting skills are going to hold up today.

  “Isn’t it always?”

  Ella kicks my shin under the table for my remark. In turn, I aim angry eyes at her. Thankfully, Zelda’s are closed as she divines—or rather guesses—at my romantic future.

  “This man is tall, with dark hair, and handsome.” The older woman speaks slowly, and it comes off like a bad horror movie in the making.

  Seriously, isn’t that what most women want with some version of hair color? I try to pull back, but Zelda is surprisingly strong.

  “He desires you and wants you in his bed.” The psychic’s voice has gone all creepy, and I wait for her to open her lids and reveal milky colored eyes.

  Her guesses are too generic to be anything but what she thinks I want to hear.

  “He’s an accountant.”

  “Strike one,” I say.

  “His name starts with P.”

  “Strike two,” I count.

  “A child will come between you.”

  “Strike three.” I yank my hand away. The idea of a child, knowing I’m barren, sears a hole in my heart. “I’m out.”

  “We still have time in our session,” Ella says.

  “Please wait, there’s more.”

  “Give Ella a reading. I’ll be outside. I need fresh air.” I speak as politely as I can muster.

  Storming isn’t necessarily the word, but I leave like a tornado, not caring what’s in my path. Taking the stairs two at a time, I pant from lack of exercise over the course of three days and lean my back on the wall.

  Of course, everyone gliding by on the sidewalk is a mother, father, child, or a pregnant woman. Feeling like less has never hit me so hard.

  When Ella finally joins me, I have no concept of how long I’ve been out there.

  “That was rude.” She glares at me.

  I shrug. “I didn’t mean to be. You know…”

  Ella’s expression immediately softens, and she wraps me in a hug. “I’m sorry for that.”

  I hold onto her a few seconds longer. When we pull apart, I break the tensions by saying, “Let’s face it. She didn’t hit the mark. Neither Joel or Corey fit those descriptions.”

  “Not completely, but Corey…” She’s thinking of the baby portion of Zelda’s premonition.

  “He’s blond.”

  She nods. “She’s usually right on the money.” I want to yell at my sister for being taken for her money. “Maybe she’s seeing a guy in your future.”

  Disagreeing with her, I shake my head. “When I came in, she asked if it was about a man. The only men in my life who are making me confused are Joel and Corey.”

  “Notice how you keep saying Joel’s name first,” Ella says triumphantly. “Do you want me to tell you the rest of what she said?

  “No way. Let’s just get out of here.”

  “Want to grab some food first? Rog is out with a friend.”

  As much as the words almost tumble out of my mouth, I still them. Ella lives a different life, but honestly a happy one. Whatever she and Rog do is her business.

  “Sure, and by the way, I’m going to get you back for that tattoo.”

  I’ve tried not to remember what it looks like and what it says.

  Ella laughs. “I thought for sure you were going to call me and curse me out.”

  I would have, but I’d been dealing with other truths.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you back. Mom and Dad might not recognize you when I do.”

  She snickers. “Speaking of our parents, have you talked to them?”

  “Yeah, they called on my birthday.”

  Luckily, we spoke while I’d been watching a comedy. My laughter ensured Mom didn’t worry about my emotional well-being.

  And just like that, we slip into easy conversation, which helps take my mind off a certain sexy inked-up guy who has utterly rocked my world.

  Chapter Seven

  Sitting at my desk, I seriously consider my job options. My title of office manager doesn’t make me one. I’m a glorified receptionist at a dental practice of one dentist and two part-time hygienists. Instead of finishing my degree, I went to work to put my cheating-ass husband through school, so my options for a job are limited. I gave up a job a few years back to focus on having a baby. So here I am, trying not to have a meltdown as the two young female hygienists bounce on their toes.

  Three days I haven’t seen Joel, if you count Sunday. I’ve come so far and haven’t had a daytime fantasy about him.

  “Olivia.”

  I glance up and seriously have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  “Joel?”

  His eyes rove over me, and I become totally self-conscious. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail. My white button-down blouse is so boring and probably screams middle-aged when I’m not there yet.

  “Oh, give me a minute.” I hold up a finger.

  Clearly, he’s here to meet the girl I told him I’d hook him up with. And I would prefer him not to say it. So I pick up my phone and call to the back. Our last patient before lunch just left.

  When she answers, I ask, “Cara, can you come to the front for a second?”

  “Sure.” Her reply is bright and cheery, while I feel as though a storm cloud has formed over my head.

  She’s a super sweet girl and the right person for Joel. I try and fail to convince myself. But it’s too late to back down now.

  “Olivia,” Joel says, but thankfully Cara doesn’t take her time and bounds around the corner.

  “Joel, this is Cara. Cara, this is Joel. I know this is weird, but I told Joel I thought you guys should meet.”

  Joel glances at me before his attention turns to Cara, whose interest is obvious.

  “Like Olivia says, she thinks we should go out. So why not? You have any plans tonight?”

  Cara’s grin couldn’t get any wider. She’d be perfect for a teeth-whitening commercial right about now. Maybe Orbitz gum. Mentally, I slap myself.

  “No, I’m all yours. How about six? I get off at five, and we can meet for dinner.” Her eyes never leave his when she speaks.

  They do the phone exchange thing, then Joel leaves with a hasty goodbye. Janet comes flying around the corner, having spied the whole thing.

  “Seriously, Olivia, that was so cool of you. He’s so hot.” Cara’s nearly bouncing off the wall with excitement.

  “He sure is.” Janet gives her a fist bump.

  Joel looks like the star of any current movie, so I don’t blame them for drooling. Though I have just eaten lunch, I do well by not hurling. Together they look like they could have stepped off the red carpet, despite her wearing scrubs.

  Nice girl as she is, she’s prettier than I am and weighs far less, wearing her younger skin like a runway model. Damn her.

  “And it’s hump day.” Janet winks.

  Food stirs in my stomach at the thought. Yes, it’s Wednesday, a day commonly called hump day, and not for the reasons Janet means as she eyes Cara conspiratorially. Yay, I say with false cheer in my head. I’ve hooked up my neighbor to spend hump day with someone else. Go, me.

  Thankfully, a mother comes in with her son, and it’s back to business. I do my best to not think about Joel and hump day together, but on the inside I want to cry.

  Close to the end of the day, I’ve replayed their conversation in my head for the millionth time and don’t hear my boss walk up. Dr. T, as he calls himself, clears his throat in front of my desk shortly before I’m scheduled to leave.

 
When I glance up, he says, “Olivia, you wouldn’t mind staying late, would you? Dale’s coming by to work on my quarterly taxes. I know it’s not your job, but I have plans with the missus tonight and can’t be late.”

  What he’s not saying is, “You’re a loser and have nothing better to do.” I nod. Besides, I don’t, and part of my job is bookkeeping. The good doctor has always been the one to meet with his guy at the tax firm, but I don’t mind.

  I lock the door after he leaves and sit at my desk to wait for the old guy to show up. When the knock comes, it’s not a guy in his late sixties; it’s an attractive thirty-something man.

  “Can I help you?”

  He holds out his hand. “I’m here to go over the books.”

  Dr. T’s tax man is an old-school guy who believes in coming to the client instead of the other way around.

  “You’re not Dale Burns.” I give him a quizzical look.

  He laughs. “I’m not. I’m Dale’s son, Paul.”

  My jaw opens. I don’t want to consider what he’s saying. He’s an accountant named Paul. I shake my head. It’s just coincidence. Though I find myself looking at his hand for a ring and find none.

  When I meet his eyes, I know I’ve been caught. I step back, and damn if I don’t trip over my own feet. His handsome face hidden behind black-framed glasses matches a superhero’s secret identity. He reaches out and scoops me around the waist before I fall.

  We stare at each other for longer than an average glance.

  “Your name?” He still hangs on like he’s dipping me in a dance.

  “Olivia.” It comes out breathy, and he grins.

  “Can I take you out?”

  And that’s how I end up with a date for the coming Friday night.

  Over the course of the evening, I learn Paul is older than I am by two years, and single. He’s divorced, but I’m headed there too. I take it to be positive; at least he’s not opposed to long-term relationships.

  These are the lies I tell myself on the way home, unable not to wonder how Joel is fairing on his date. Then I think about what Madame Zelda said to me. A child could come between us, an accountant with a name beginning with P. Is Paul my soulmate? Could we have a child together?