Checked Out

by Hazel James

  “What? Are you okay?” Everyone froze around the table, their eyes landing on me.

  “I’m fine. It’s an overturned semi-truck.”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief and gave the others a thumbs-up.

  “Someone already called nine-one-one, and a few others are down by the truck with the driver. I’m waiting for the news director to call me back. I think he’s going to have me reporting live from the Channel 3 Facebook page until an actual reporter gets here!”

  I could feel her excitement through the phone. “That’s awesome. I’ll pull it up so we can all see it.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t worry about us. Be safe.”

  As soon as I hung up, I filled everyone in and had mom grab her laptop so we could watch from a bigger screen. Rather than talk about sports or Christmas plans or anything else we’d normally discuss during Thanksgiving dinner, we were all glued to the live video that popped up a few minutes later. Tuesday’s face filled the screen as she introduced herself and flipped the camera around to show the wreckage.

  Her voice was steady and oddly calming while she described the scene and the facts she knew. When the first responders arrived, she got footage of them loading the driver onto a stretcher while interviewing one of the good Samaritans who had pulled him out of the cab of the 18-wheeler. Once the ambulance drove away, she flipped the camera back to herself.

  “Reporting from Owens Highway, this is Tuesday Collins for Channel 3 Eyewitness News.”

  The live feed ended after that. Dad was the first one to speak. “Are you sure she hasn’t done that before? She looked like a natural.”

  “She did some reporting in college, but that’s about it.”

  From their conversation with her at trunk-or-treating, they already knew Tuesday was an associate producer at the news station but that she dreamed of being a reporter. Before she and Dad went home that night, Mom hugged me and gave her stamp of approval. I must’ve made a face because she just laughed and said, “Moms have a sixth sense about this stuff. You’ll see.”

  You’d think Diane Sawyer herself came to the house for as much attention as everyone gave Tuesday when she walked in two hours later. Mom gave exactly zero shits that she had to pause Miracle on 34th Street (the Dylan McDermott version) because we all wanted to hear every detail about the accident from the second it happened to the moment she knocked on the front door.

  The more she talked, the more positive I became that I’d made the right decision about encouraging her to cover the tournament. Tuesday Collins belonged in front of that camera, and as she filled everyone in on the details, I vowed to support whatever made her smile like she was tonight.

  Soon after she finished recounting the events of the afternoon, her adrenaline rush came to a screeching halt. Mom grabbed her fancy blankets out of the hall closet, and I tucked my yawning girlfriend into my childhood bed, as promised.

  I wanted to stay and watch her sleep, but that was as creepy as my mom’s mind-reading gym shoe/marriage thing, so I reluctantly pulled the door closed and headed back to the living room to finish watching Miracle on 34th Street. Christmas movies weren’t my favorite, but I loved my mom and she loves Christmas movies, so I could grin and bear it twice a year. Except right now, all I could think of was the woman in my bed and how I wanted nothing more than to crawl under those covers to nap with her.

  I just wish I knew how Tuesday felt. Did she see a future with me? Because if she didn’t… damn, that was going to be a kick to the balls. My last breakup sucked because no man likes hearing he’s not enough for the woman he was with, but I never truly envisioned settling down with her so that helped lessen the sting. After twenty minutes of Tuesday being at my family’s table, I’d say everyone had the same thought as me—she fit in as well as Mom’s famous turkey gravy. If she decided I wasn’t worth building a life with…

  A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Already restless, I hopped off the sofa to answer it, immediately regretting my decision when I saw Dicky Dick standing on the other side.

  “Hey Jack, can I speak with Tuesday?”

  My fingers damn near squeezed the doorknob off. “Why?”

  “Honey, who is it?” Mom called from the living room.

  “It’s nothing important. I’ll be right there.” I stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind me. “What do you need with Tuesday?”

  He held up a badge on a blue lanyard. “She must’ve dropped this when she was covering the accident. She mentioned that she was heading over to your parents’ house, so I figured I’d return it since I was going to be in the neighborhood too.”

  “I’ll give it to her.” I reached for the badge, but he jerked it away.

  “I’d prefer to give it to her personally to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. I’m sure you understand.”

  My fists tightened on instinct. “And I’d prefer you get the fuck off my parent’s property. I’m sure you understand.”

  Ricky stepped closer. I still had a few inches over him—and a lot more muscle—but he just stood there sneering like the flaming asshole he was. “Whatcha gonna do, J-J-Jack? Put another scar on my face? You think Tuesday’s gonna take your side when I tell her how violent you can be?”

  “You’re so full of shit. Give me the goddamn badge and get the fuck out of here.”

  “You’d better be careful who you’re talking to, Jackoff. I wouldn’t want the news director to get wind of any issues with our newest associate producer.”

  He shoved the badge into my chest and retreated down the sidewalk. On a basic level, I knew he was baiting me. On a primal level, I wanted to ram my fist down his throat and crush his soul. I had no doubt this was the hardest he’d ever fucked anyone.

  Tuesday

  Up until tonight, the only way my Saturday evenings involved scandal was if I was watching old episodes of Olivia Pope in action. After tonight, three truths were evident: Mrs. Fairchild was a dirty old woman, Aunt Alma had made a new best friend, and Selena couldn’t be trusted with my phone.

  For what it was worth, the evening started innocently enough.

  My dad, Uncle Alan, and Tag were off doing some male bonding with guns and camouflage, so Mom, Aunt Alma, Selena, and Olivia came over to decorate Christmas cookies. When Mrs. Fairchild knocked to see what the ruckus was about, I invited her in. We all listened intently as Olivia filled us in on the drama going on in Kindergarten (Robbie pooped in his pants, and Brayden said he wanted to marry Isabella but he already married Katie last week), and when eight o’clock rolled around, Mom offered to take her for a sleepover so Selena could have a night off.

  Things went downhill quickly after that.

  Mrs. Fairchild had the great idea to bring over her homemade eggnog. I couldn’t stand the stuff, but everyone else loved it. Do you know what happens when two old ladies and one kid-free mom get drunk on eggnog? X-rated cookie decorating, that’s what. Before I knew it, I was staring at a dozen cookies featuring Santa’s well-hung stocking, Mrs. Claus’ frosty nipples, penis-shaped reindeer, and a few variations of a dick in a box from Saturday Night Live. Selena even pulled up the music video to go with it. That dang song was going to be stuck in my head until New Year’s.

  Once we ran out of cookies and frosting, Mrs. Fairchild decided we needed to make more eggnog. That’s when my night turned into a real-life version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie:

  If you give a drunk old lady an eggnog recipe, she’ll realize she’s out of rum. She’ll steal your car keys long enough to unlock the doors. You will become the designated driver and everyone will go on an adventure to the liquor store.

  So yeah, that was how I ended up at the Liquor Locker at nine-thirty at night with three drunk women and one very sober me. “Mrs. Fairchild, you shouldn’t be driving,” I said, trying to guide her away from the motorized cart.

  “Why not? My arthritis is acting up.”

  “Because you’re under th
e influence. I don’t want you to get a ticket.” And because I didn’t want her crashing into the shelves of liquor bottles.

  “Psshh, I’m too old to get a ticket. And besides, you have to be driving outside to get a ticket.”

  “Tuesday, look!” Selena called from one aisle over.

  I tipped my head back and groaned quietly. “Fine. Just promise me you’ll be careful and not run into anything? I’m going to check on Selena.”

  “Honey, I’ve had my license longer than you’ve been alive.” She waved me off and steered down the aisle. After confirming that she could drive in a mostly straight line, I headed in the opposite direction to find Selena giggling while holding something metallic in the air.

  “It’s a wine exerciser!”

  “A what?”

  She rushed over to me with a corkscrew. “You just go like this.” She pinched the screw and started yanking. “And it starts exercising! And one and two, and one and two, and jumping jacks and oh! Speaking of Jack, how is Jack?”

  Oh my actual Lord. “We weren’t speaking of Jack, but he’s fine.”

  Selena’s face lit up. “You’re right. He is definitely fine. And sexy. Tag is sexy too, and he wants to have another baby. Do you want to have a baby with me? I mean, not with me, but with me? And Jack? Like, the four of us?” She was talking animatedly with her hands, which was a big problem given the corkscrew she was still holding.

  “Why don’t you let me take this while we go find the others?”

  Selena’s face lit up. “Let’s go tell them we can do jumping jacks with our wine!”

  “That’s a great idea.” I set the corkscrew on the shelf and steered her down the aisle to the vodka section, where Aunt Alma was talking with a guy around my age about how a liquor store was basically a distilled garden on account of the vegetables and grains that were used to make alcohol.

  “Oh! Do you think it’s like having a smoothie?” Selena asked with all the seriousness a drunk person could muster. “We should make strawberry daiquiris! If we’re gonna have babies, we need fruit. Do you think strawberry wine counts as a fruit?”

  I was about to remind them both that we were here for rum, not strawberries or babies, when my phone dinged with an incoming text.

  Jack: What kind of stuff does Taylor like to sit in or on?

  Jesus, just when I thought this night couldn’t get any weirder.

  Me: And the award for most random text message goes to… Jack Price! I added in a few clapping emojis.

  Jack: I promise there’s a reason, but I can’t tell you yet.

  The Three Stooges were now talking about food groups, so I tapped out a quick reply.

  Me: She loves stairs, cardboard boxes, bags, baskets, sinks, drawers, and anyplace else she’s not supposed to—

  “Hey! Stop!”

  Selena’s shouting interrupted my text. I glanced up in time to see the guy they were talking to dashing down the aisle with Aunt Alma’s purse. “Are you freaking kidding me?” I muttered, dropping everything to run after him because God knows Selena could hardly walk and Aunt Alma’s running days were long over.

  The thief made a quick right down the next aisle and knocked over a small display of pineapple juice that I hurdled like a track star. “It’s gonna take more than that to stop me, jerkface!”

  He looked back, presumably to see how close I was, and that one mistake cost him dearly. Mrs. Fairchild rode in like the cavalry while hollering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got him!” and took the guy down with the basket of her motorized cart. Aunt Alma made it to the scene just in time to watch the cart drive over his left foot with a satisfying (and gross) crunch. It was hard to hear the idiot’s howls over her victorious laughter. Selena arrived shortly after that and started smack-talking like she’d chased him down and ran him over herself.

  Still the only one with a lick of sense, I bent down to retrieve her purse… except the thief’s fingers were still firmly clenched around the strap. “Excuse me.” I stepped on his forearm, grinding my boot into his skin until he uncurled his fist. “That’s what I thought.” With the strap free, I yanked the purse away from him and returned it to its rightful owner.

  “Oh my God, that was so badass.” I looked up to see a woman by the cash register staring at us, mouth agape. “Did you see that, babe?” She pulled on the arm of the man standing next to her. He nodded as he spoke into his phone, giving the name and location of the liquor store and a brief summary of what’d happened while the wide-eyed cashier finished ringing them up.

  “An officer is about a mile down the road,” the man said when he ended the call. “He should be here in a couple of minutes.”

  While we waited, I tried coaxing Mrs. Fairchild off the cart, but she wasn’t having any of it. She pointed to the man sprawled out on the floor—who was still whining about crazy old ladies and being in pain—and said, “What if he tries to run away? My trusty steed and I are here to keep that from happening.” She slapped the arm rest and bobbed her head once.

  “Fair enough.” I coughed out a laugh and greeted the officer when he walked through the door a few seconds later. Bless him, he took statements from three tipsy women without batting an eye and even commended Mrs. Fairchild on her quick thinking to take down the perpetrator. For the record, the criminal was now complaining about Newcastle’s finest refusing help him out from underneath the cart.

  “The ambulance is on the way, sir,” the officer said, his monotone voice proving he gave exactly zero you-know-whats about the well-being of the thief as he finished jotting down notes.

  I was just about to ask if we were free to go when Jack yanked open the door, his eyes wild as he scanned the store. The second he spotted me, he raced over and ran his hands over my face and arms. “Holy shit, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but what are you doing here?”

  “Thank God.” He pulled me into a hug without answering my question. “I was so worried. You said something about being robbed and having a baby.”

  “What? No I didn’t.”

  His brows bumped together. “That wasn’t you texting me?”

  “I was, but then I…” My voice trailed off as I realized who the culprit was. “Dang it, Selena! What did you tell him?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and held out my purse and phone. “You dropped these. You were texting Jack so I told him what happened so he wouldn’t worry. Also he’s waaay sexier in person,” she added in a loud whisper.

  I pulled up my messages and didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her.

  Me: She loves stairs, cardboard boxes, bags, baskets, sinks, drawers, and anyplace else she’s not supposed to—thief! We were robbed! DO YOU WANT TO HAVE MY BABY?

  Jack: What? Where are you?

  Me: liquor locker

  Jack: Are you safe?

  Me: nooo you cant have a baby with a condom

  Oh my Lord, she added an eye roll emoji like he was the idiot in this exchange.

  Me: Have u had eggnog?

  Jack: Babe, what’s going on? Please tell me you’re okay

  Me: Of course, they have wine exercising things here! It’s a gaaarden!

  That was the last message.

  I immediately turned to Jack. “On behalf of my whackadoodle sister-in-law, I apologize. We came here to get rum. Selena thought corkscrews were hilarious because it looked like they were doing jumping jacks. Then Aunt Alma, Selena and that guy,”—I pointed at the thief, who was still whining on the floor—“were talking nonsense about alcohol coming from vegetables, hence the garden. Then he tried to steal Aunt Alma’s purse, so I chased after him. Mrs. Fairchild ran him over before I possibly broke his arm.”

  And now Selena was singing the theme song to Cops while Aunt Alma took pictures of Mrs. Fairchild holding her arms up like Rocky. This was going down as the weirdest night I’d ever had.

  “It’s about damn time,” the thief said when the police officer walked back in with the EMTs. I took that as our cue to head outs
ide ourselves—sans rum because God knows they didn’t need any more alcohol tonight.

  “I’m sorry about worrying you,” I said to Jack once my three passengers were safely tucked inside the car.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s actually pretty funny now that I have the whole story. Well, almost the whole story. Why does Selena want to have my baby?”

  “Oh, that.” I bit my lip. “My brother apparently wants to have another baby and she thought it would be a great idea if we got pregnant at the same time.”

  “I see.” The shadow from the light pole made it impossible to read his expression. He didn’t sound upset, but that didn’t stop the nervous laughter from bubbling out of my chest in little puffs against the cold air.

  “Don’t freak out. It was just more rambling from a drunk woman. I promise I’m not plotting crazy stuff with my sister-in-law. Your sperm are safe.” Your sperm are safe? Really, Tuesday? And I couldn’t even blame that little gem on alcohol. “So yeah… I’m gonna go before I say anything else stupid.”

  “Before you do that, I want to make a few things clear.” Jack pulled me into his chest and tipped my chin up. From this angle, I could see his face clearly. Despite all the ridiculousness I’d just spouted off, his expression was a hundred percent serious—no hint of a smile. “One, nothing you say is stupid. Ever.” He waited until I nodded to continue. “Two, the idea of having a baby with you doesn’t freak me out.”

  Holy smokes, it doesn’t?

  “Nope.” He chuckled at the face I pulled when I realized I’d said that out loud. “I don’t think either of us is ready for that step, but down the road? Hell yeah.”

  Now I was the one full of warm fuzzies and grinning like an idiot. Who needed eggnog when you could get drunk off a man like Jack Price? And let’s not forget the added bonus—no risk of a hangover in the morning. “Well I can officially say this is the second non-sucky thing that’s happened in my evening of unwanted shenanigans.”

  Jack’s lips quirked up at the corners. “What was the first non-sucky thing?”