Must Love Sandwiches

by Janel Gradowski

  “Huh. Not what I was hoping to hear, but he must have said or done something good so you couldn’t sleep. Right?”

  “No.” Emma wrinkled her nose and frowned like she had caught a whiff of some disgusting odor. “I stayed up past midnight getting orders ready to ship today. Brad and I really only talked about business. Speaking of that, how are your baby blankets selling at that gift shop?”

  “I just got a nice, fat check from the owner and she ordered a dozen more.” She shook her head. Emma was hiding something under the generic descriptions of her evening. Changing the subject wouldn’t get her off the hook. “Okay. I’m still confused. You and I have stayed up past midnight many times and I’ve never seen you look so bad. What else happened?”

  Emma snatched the mug off the table. She tipped it up and chugged all of the coffee without taking a breather. The woman loved her coffee, but not that much. What was going on?

  “My mother called around 4 a.m.”

  Uh-oh. The only good calls in the middle of night were booty calls. A parent making contact at that time was trouble. “What happened? Is she alright?”

  “She’s fine.” Emma scratched her head. Then she picked balls of lint off the afghan and arranged them in a pile on the edge of the sheet. Finally she continued. “Some guy she picked up at a bar abandoned her at a hotel in Grantsburg. I had to go get her and take her back to her car in Flint.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say.” Wow, your mom really is trash. No wonder Emma was so messed up. “Did she even bother to explain how she got into the situation?”

  Emma rubbed her hands together. She stared at them as she spoke. “She didn’t go into details about how she ended up there.” She looked up. Tears cascaded down her face. “But she did tell me why she’s been with so many men. Apparently my father was a really great guy, but she screwed up. He left her before she knew she was pregnant with me. After all of these years and all of the men, she’s never found love again like she had with him. She said she was proud of me for not acting like her and to make sure I didn’t screw up when I found a good man.”

  Her mother was screwed up beyond belief, but somehow the woman had managed to say something useful. Maybe Emma would finally take her blindfold off and see what she could be missing with Brad. Daisy said, “I hate to say it, it just feels so wrong, but I agree with your mother. Don’t let a good man slip through your fingers. Not giving a relationship the chance to start is just as bad as screwing an established one up.”

  “Come on, let’s go have a few drinks. Order water or pop, instead of beer, if you want. I don’t care. You need to get out and have some fun. ” Daisy flung open the doors of Emma’s armoire and asked, “What did you do with that cute skirt you bought a few weeks ago? You know, the one with the metallic lace.”

  Emma put her hands on her hips and shook her head. She wasn’t going to go anywhere, except to bed, that evening. No matter how much Daisy begged. She was tired and cranky. Sitting in a noisy, crowded bar sounded as appealing as a root canal. “I don’t have time to go out. I don’t feel like dressing up either. I’m not trolling for men, remember?”

  Daisy found the skirt and tossed it, along with a tank top embellished with rhinestones, on the bed. “Give it up, girlfriend. I’m not leaving here until you go out with me. You’ve been working way too hard lately. All work and no play makes Emma a very, grumpy girl. You really need a break, Miss Workaholic. We can grab a drink at Sullivan’s and then head over to Bay Street. Marshall said a bunch of food trucks would be there tonight. I promise no trolling for losers will be involved.”

  “I don’t want to go.” She sounded like a whiny child trying to get out of going to the doctor, instead of a grown woman. Emma wound a strand of hair around her index finger. It had been a few days since she’d been able to get away long enough to visit Brad’s truck. “Yesterday I got an order from my website. I need to make necklaces for all of the bridesmaids in a woodland fairy-themed wedding. I was planning to work most of the night to catch up on the rest of my orders so I can start designing the necklaces. I don’t have time to go out tonight. Why don’t you just go over to Bay Street and hang out with Marshall for awhile?”

  “Why don’t you come with me and see Brad?” Daisy grabbed her shoulders and pushed her toward the bathroom. She said, “Stop making lame excuses. You know you want to see him. Now get dressed and let’s go.”

  Emma planted her feet and pushed backward trying to wiggle out of Daisy’s grasp. Being manhandled into going to a bar was not in the plans for the evening, but Daisy wasn’t giving up. It would be easier to go out with her for a little bit than to continue to resist, before she decided to pull out a pair of handcuffs and kidnap her for the evening. “Okay, one beer and then we’ll come home.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever. Just get ready so we can actually get to the bar before last call.”

  An hour later Emma raised her beer mug to salute Daisy. “Thank you for not taking no for an answer. I guess I really did need to get away from my workbench. Here’s to good times with best friends.” They were sitting at the corner of the bar, trying to ignore the men skulking behind them as they ordered drinks and checked out potential conquests. The laugh of a woman at a nearby table cut through the music and din of dozens of conversations. She sounded like a cackling witch in a cartoon.

  Daisy clinked her mug with Emma’s. “See. You need to trust me. Don’t let the funky hair fool you. I’m a smart cookie.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “I’d say you’re more like a smart ass than a cookie.”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark. I am definitely not perfect, that’s for sure.”

  “You’re right. You aren’t.” Emma flagged down the bartender and asked for their bills. It was nice to get out of the studio and think about something other than color combinations and shipping materials. “And I’m glad. Perfect people are so boring to be around. They think hair shouldn’t be as colorful as a box of crayons or that hiking boots aren’t a stylish fashion accessory.”

  “Don’t forget. Perfect people don’t wear polka dot socks or hats that look like giant squid.”

  “I wear your socks and hats. Are you saying I’m not perfect either?”

  “Yes, I am and I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Daisy leaned over until her shoulder was touching Emma’s. “Now let’s finish these beers and find the food trucks. I’m starving.”

  She and Daisy drained their glasses in unison. They wove through the maze of tables and people. The scent of nachos and french fries mingled with musky aftershave and flowery perfume. They finally made it to the door and walked out into the warm, night air. The sidewalk was crowded, too, but the fresh air was a welcome relief. People in various stages of drunkenness spilled out of the dozens of bars and clubs in the entertainment district. Several food trucks were wedged between the cars and SUVs parked along the edge of the street. Half a block away Brad’s truck sat in the red glow of a heart-shaped neon sign. Emma pointed at it and said, “Look, the awning’s down, so I might as well go home. Why don’t you just go find Marshall’s truck?”

  “Doesn’t matter. If the truck’s there, so is Brad.” Daisy turned to face Emma and shook her head. “I know you got the hot wings at Sullivan’s so you could tell me you aren’t hungry, so don’t even try pulling out that excuse. You can just say hello and not order food from him, you know.”

  Daisy walked backward. She held onto both of Emma’s hands and tugged her toward the truck. Emma planted her feet. A chunk of gravel popped under the sole of her shoe. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Daisy looked over her shoulder and whispered, “Shit.”

  Brad was pinned to the side of his truck by a curvy, dark-haired woman who was apparently trying to suck his face off. Daisy spun Emma around and yanked her through the door of the nearest bar. They made a beeline to the bathroom, pushing through a throng of sweaty men and women prancing around in stilettos. Once they were safely behind the bathroom doors Daisy said, “That w
as bad, but we don’t know what was going on.”

  “You could see as well as I could what was going on.” Emma’s voice was hoarse. The walls and stalls in the tiny bathroom were painted black. The acrid odor of vomit mixed with the sweet scent of a jar of potpourri and hung in the humid air like a poisonous cloud. She couldn’t catch her breath. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. “It’ll be even easier to resist him now that I know he has a girlfriend.”

  Daisy punched the towel dispenser. The metal buckled into a dimpled crater. “You don’t know if she is his girlfriend. What if she’s some random, drunk chick who decided to try to get it on with the cute guy who sold her a grilled cheese sandwich? Don’t assume you know what was going on. Please. Ask him about it the next time you see him. Promise me you will, Em.”

  “Why should I? It’s a sign from the universe. I need to stay away from all men.”

  “Don’t walk away from him, especially because of a misunderstanding, which I’m sure this is. You will regret it.” Daisy grabbed a paper towel and crumpled it into a ball. She whipped it at the door of a stall. It bounced off the metal, skittered across the floor and came to a stop next to the wastebasket. She shook her head. “I’m afraid you are going to end up like your mother, not by becoming the neighborhood whore, but by losing a wonderful man who you will never get over.”

  Emma kept her eyes shut and stayed still for a few minutes after the door clicked shut. Pretending to fall asleep was an underhanded trick, but she couldn’t stand talking about Brad another second. She just wanted to suffer alone for awhile, instead of listening to Daisy’s endless theories about why he was kissing that woman.

  The only sound in the apartment was the refrigerator motor quietly humming. Emma threw back the blanket Daisy had covered her with and sat up. A fresh headache hammered the top of her head. She slid her fingers into her hair, pressing on her scalp, trying to release the knotted muscles. The happy beer buzz she’d had before seeing Brad and his sexy counterpart had evaporated, leaving behind an aching heart and full bladder. She hurried into the bathroom. At least one of the problems was easy to take care of. As she washed her hands she looked to her left and right, debating whether a hot bath or cold beer would help the most. She decided to combine the two.

  Emma opened the refrigerator and groaned. The only beverage it contained was a bottle of raspberry iced tea. She looked at the clock on the microwave. It was almost 4 a.m. Residents often deposited spare bottles of beer in the refrigerator of the shared kitchen and dining room located at the end of the hall. It was late enough that no one would likely be lurking about. Nobody would see her and if they did, so what. She grabbed her keys and slipped out the door.

  The hallway between her and the kitchen was empty and silent. Even the devout night dwellers were in bed. A strange sound, similar to a wind chime, tinkled behind her. She whirled around. When sneaking around she’d have to remember to look both ways before slinking out of her door. Max was standing in front of his door, juggling beer bottles between his fingers while trying to fit his key into the lock. It looked like he had the same idea and had already raided the beer stash. What had happened to turn him into a drunken insomniac? He finally pushed the door open, but instead of walking in he leaned against the wall and turned his attention to Emma. He pointed at her with his key and then into his apartment, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. She had wanted to be alone, but seeing him on a middle of the night beer run piqued her curiosity. She shrugged. He had enough beer to share. As she squeezed past him in the doorway she whispered, “Misery loves company.”

  His studio looked the same as the last time she had been there. It still had the distinct bachelor pad look and smell, with the extra creepiness of Max’s zombie drawings. He attached the ink drawings with binder clips to long wires snaking across the walls. The wires were a cheap and easy way to display art, but considering all of the pieces contained rotting body parts and oozing wounds, how he could sleep at night? It was like being surrounded by clotheslines of terror. When she dated Max she had always insisted that their nights spent together were at her apartment.

  Max flopped into a huge, faux leather bean bag. Emma curled up on another one of the large poufs that were scattered around the floor. The first time she visited his apartment she thought his penchant for bean bags, instead of real furniture like sofas or easy chairs, was odd. Then she sunk into one and felt how ridiculously comfortable they were. A wave of heat swelled in her belly and swept through her like a hurricane. His lean body was sprawled over the black cushion, a beer bottle dangled from his fingers as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. She stared at the drawing of a severed hand hanging on the wall behind his head to quell the urge to drape herself over him, to absorb the darkness he emanated. She forced herself to keep looking at the morbid drawing and asked, “So what’s going on with you?”

  “Had a fight with Micah. Why are you roaming around this late?”

  “I can’t sleep. That’s all.”

  “You’re a horrible liar.”

  “So are you. Leaving me for a sexy performance artist is not focusing on your drawings.”

  “Yeah. And look where it got me. I went from the woman who was crazier about her art than me, to one that is just outright crazy. She thinks she is the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe.”

  Nice. It’s one thing to act like a famous person. Believing you were born with their soul is a whole other ball park of weirdness. That tidbit about his new girlfriend was interesting, but it didn’t soften the sting of his accusation. “What are you talking about? I focused on you. I never put my art before our relationship.”

  “For about two weeks. Then I just became a roadblock to your artistic success. What is up with that? Why are you so driven?”

  “I like to pay my rent and have enough money to buy decent food, instead of hot dogs and canned soup, once in awhile.”

  “It’s more than that. I bet you’ve sold enough of your work over the last few years that you can’t even remember the last time you had problems paying the rent.” He was right. She even had a nice, little sum piling up interest in a savings account at the bank two blocks away. “Why do you even bother dating if you aren’t willing to try?” he asked.

  “How much have you had to drink? You aren’t making any sense. I always try to make my relationships work. It’s not my fault if they fall apart.”

  “Canceling dates and ignoring your phone because you’re busy painting a stupid, fairy door isn’t exactly trying to make it work.”

  “I can’t ignore my work. If I have an order it needs to be done on time.”

  “No matter what the price, huh? Art rules. Boys drool.”

  “You’re acting like a child.”

  “I’m acting like a man who got tired of being ignored by what he thought was the woman of his dreams. Prove to me you don’t put your art before everything else. Let’s get back together. Give it another try.”

  Max wasn’t a man of words. He let his drawings do the talking, so the verbal ping-pong match was unusual. That’s what made it even more unsettling. The questions sliced into Emma’s heart. When you find a man who loves you as much as you love him, hold on tight. Her mother’s words snaked through her mind. Everything was turned upside down. The fabled knight was a cheating rat under the shiny armor. Now the rogue, bad boy was asking for a second chance. Her head spun even though she hadn’t even asked him for a beer.

  “I don’t know, Max. I can’t deal with this right now. When you and I were together I felt like a match doing some kind of twisted dance with a can of gasoline. We were always on the edge of an inferno. I’m afraid. If we get close again, we’ll both go up in flames.”

  Max sat up. He grabbed the side of Emma’s bean bag and pulled her closer. The alcohol on his breath mingled with the spicy scent of soap still lingering on his skin. “If we crash and burn we’ll be phoenixes and rise from the ashes, stronger than ever.” He ran his finger down the side of her face. “
Let’s try again.”

  He leaned in to kiss her. She rolled in the opposite direction. Her knees smacked the hardwood floor. The pain propelled the air out of her lungs. She scrambled to her feet when his fingers raked down her arm. “Please don’t touch me. I can’t do this right now.”

  His laugh was harsh and humorless. He untangled his long limbs and stood to face her. “It’s that guy from the food truck you always go to, isn’t it? I’ve seen him in the building a lot lately, heading to your studio.”

  “I can have visitors. You don’t need to approve of them.” She put her hands on her hips. “What I do with Brad is none of your business.”

  Max turned away and stalked to the drafting table in the corner of the room. He ripped a sheet of paper out of a storage tray and picked up one of the pens that were scattered over the desk. “You’re right.” He sat down on the desk chair and hunched over the paper, like a child protecting his test answers from a classmate’s prying eyes. “Have fun with your new man.”

  The scratching of the pen nib on the paper signaled Max’s descent into the morbid world of his mind. Emma backed toward the door. He was a venomous snake, coiled in the corner. Turning her back on him could be dangerous. She slammed into the doorknob. A jolt of sharp pain shot through her hip. She reached behind her to twist the knob. After she backed into the hallway she took a deep, shuddering breath. She returned to her apartment and crawled into bed with her clothes still on. On the other side of the window the sky was the smoky gray of early dawn. Was Brad waking up alone in his bed? Probably not.