My Coyote Ugly Life

by Jessica Spoon

  I immediately take back every negative thing I have ever said about half grins in my life. They are the sexiest fucking things God ever deemed necessary to give to man. My ‘gina agrees whole heartedly as it begins to (literally) quiver.

  After a few minutes in Swoonville, I decide that my night of ‘no sex’ was just a delusional thought, during a weak moment. I turn back to my friends, smile at them, pick up my drink and walk towards the bar. I don’t feel bad about not saying goodbye to them; they know how it is.

  I sidle up to the bar and take a seat next to him, surprised it isn’t already taken, and lift my bottle of beer up towards the bartender, like that was my purpose for coming over here in the first place. I can see his smile deepen through my peripheral vision. Well, at least he’s not dense and can figure out what I’m doing. Hopefully, he plays along…

  The bartender brings my beer and sets it down in front of me. I reach in my pocket to pull out money, but Mr. Sexy Half Grin places a five on the bar stating, “I’ve got it.” Thank God.

  I turn to him and smile, “Thanks.”

  He turns his body towards me and smiles, full on. No half smile. Just a full playful smile and I’m pretty sure my vagina has a seizure.

  “Well, that’s the way the game is played, right?” he asks me straight out. How rude!

  “You know, you shouldn’t point it out,” I inform him. “It’s rude and could wound my girlie pride.”

  He chuckles, annnd… another seizure for my ‘gina.

  “I have a feeling you can take it,” he says lifting his beer to his mouth.

  Yeah, I can take it. I could take it all.

  Wow. Those lips are fucking sexy. Like, sexy, sexy. World Peace could be made with those lips.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me.

  “Ree,” I reach out my hand to shake his.

  “Ree?” he asks grabbing my hand, not shaking it. Just holding it, making electricity shoot up my arm.

  “Yeah,” I sigh, exhausted from having to explain this to everyone I meet, “It’s short for Azaria.”

  “That’s a beautiful name,” he says in all seriousness and my eyes widen incredulously, “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s ridiculous. My parents must have been high when they named me,” I explain, what I think is, unnecessarily; my mind

  notices that he is still holding my hand and I don’t even care. “What’s your name?” I ask him.

  ***

  The rest of the night comes rushing back to me in a flash. I remember, I switched to vodka with a splash of lemon, which is never a good idea for me. I invited him back to my place and we got in a cab.

  That’s the last thing I remember.

  I look around the room, realizing it’s not my place. And it can’t be his place. Unless he lives in a hotel room. My eyes move back to look at this gorgeous man, and I’m a bit sad. Because, I can’t wake him for sex. He was nice enough to take care of me when I was so drunk that I passed out. And I’m still wearing my shorts and top from yesterday (yes, I just realized this. I was in a panic people!) so he must have been a gentleman.

  And so you see, why I have to sneak out.

  This is a good guy. With looks like that, and a gentleman to boot, this situation has disaster written all over it. I’ll want more than a month and I’ll rationalize that I won’t get attached and that he won’t break my heart. We’ll make plans for the future, I’ll be expecting a ring and then BAM! He’ll leave me for someone half my age.

  Okay. Maybe not half my age, since that is disgusting, but you know what I mean! This situation is Code Red and I have to evacuate immediately.

  I slowly do a repeat of yesterday and slide out of the bed (this time without falling on the floor). I pick up my shoes from the bench by the T.V. (see! Good guy!) and sneak out of the door after checking to make sure I have everything.

  I quietly close the door behind me and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly and leaning against the door. I stand there for a few minutes, until I hear the springs on the bed creak and beat feet down the hall to the elevator. I press the button repeatedly, hoping he doesn’t come out of the room and spot me.

  Hmm. Maybe this is why I live this coyote ugly life. The adrenaline in times like this is pretty kick ass. Just as I step into the elevator I hear a door open down the hall. I don’t look to see if it is the room I came out of, I just get in and push the button to take me to the ground floor. The doors close and the lift goes down. I pull my hair up in a messy bun, using the elastic band that I keep on my wrist and lean against the wall and let out a weary breath.

  I’m so tired of all of this. Is this really better than never having my heart broken? I shake off the thought, chalking it up to the fact that I must be hungry, and decide that I need a good cup of coffee.

  And a shower.

  ***

  A few hours later I’m pulling into Belton after making sure the movers got everything from my townhouse. I had a farewell drink on the patio with a small glass of wine, then hopped in the Edge and took off.

  The town square has been updated, I notice as I drive through town. Belton is just off of Highway 141. The town centers around the square. All businesses are located on the square with the exception of Bert’s (the gas station), Belton Inn (and now Spa, even if it is one day a month) and Belton automotive, which are all along the edge of the north side of town. And Belton Health Center (where Malia works), which is on the south side of town.

  Many different roads lead off the square and the highway, down bumpy crater covered roads, filled with homes. Just like any town or city there are good parts of town and not-so-good parts. Generally speaking, the south side is the ‘not-so-good’, the north side is the ‘ritzier’ part, and those in the middle are more ‘blue- collar’.

  I see some new businesses including the ones Kota and Malia told me about yesterday, and see the old ones that have been given an updated look.

  I feel almost giddy as I turn off the square, down 8th Street four blocks and see my new home. It’s a one and a half story ranch home, with covered front porch, an open (huge) back deck, and a three car garage (not that I would ever need a three car

  garage, but it’s a good place to store things). I have a descent sized back yard and a modest front yard.

  I pull into the driveway and hit the button to open the garage door, that the realtor gave me last week. I pull in and a few minutes later the moving truck pulls in behind me. I direct the movers so that they can get started, then call my family and friends, letting them know I’m here.

  About an hour later all of my family has arrived and we begin to unpack the boxes and put things away.

  ***

  “Can I please get some damn help!” my father screams at us.

  We’ve spent all afternoon and evening getting all of my things moved out of the moving truck and into my new two bedroom ranch house. I’m only renting, for now. But the owner is a friend of my mothers who is keeping it off the market in case I change my mind.

  Mom and Dad are hoping I change my mind.

  I didn’t want to commit to actually buying a home. I didn’t even commit to that with my townhouse. And if there were ever a place to get my commitment juices flowing, it was that townhouse.

  It is about eight o’clock in the evening and I have a lot of unpacking left to do. But instead of getting a jump on that, I’m sitting out on my covered front porch with my sister and my brother’s wives drinking wine (except for Abbey, of course). Kota and Malia left about an hour ago after helping for the whole afternoon.

  The kids have spent all day running around rampant asking for this and that, making my uterus cry out in protest of ever squeezing one of those little land mines out.

  My brothers and brother in law are all in my driveway talking about manly things, such as Wyatt’s new truck. My mother is in the house probably trying to help Dad, who won’t let her help. My father is standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips staring at everyone,
his eyes squinted and his nostrils flaring. I can almost guarantee that Mom is telling him how my house needs to be set up, so he is trying to do it all himself.

  “Dad, don’t worry about it,” I tell him, “All the furniture is in the right rooms and the heavy stuff is where it belongs. I can get anything else over the weekend.”

  “Then, please, for the love of God, tell your fucking mother that,” he says and comes to sit next to us. The guys make their way up to the porch and hand Dad a beer.

  “What’s up, Pop?” Chase asks. “I thought we had everything.”

  “I wanted to move some of the furniture around,” he explains as he twists the cap off of the bottle and takes a drink. “Correction, your mother wanted to move the furniture around.”

  “Mom!” I yell loudly, making all of my siblings wince, which makes me smile.

  “What?!” she yells back.

  “Leave it alone! I’ve got all weekend!”

  “Jesus, Ree. Maybe just get off your ass and go tell her that, rather than screaming?” Wyatt complains.

  “That would require me to, ‘A’ set my wine down and, ‘B’ to get off my ass. And I am just not prepared to make that kind of sacrifice,” I explain the obvious to him.

  “Honey,” my mother says coming out onto the porch, drying her hands on a towel (probably washing my dishes before putting them away, since it’s the only thing Dad will let her do), “I don’t want you to have to do that all by yourself.”

  “It’s fine,” I pat the empty chair next to me for her to sit down and hold out a glass for my sister, Kassie, to fill up for her, as she comes this way, throwing the towel over her shoulder. “I would rather do it myself anyway, but you are more than welcome to come back tomorrow and supervise,” I tell her, handing her the glass after she sits down.

  “Okay, if you say so…” she agrees, taking a sip of red wine.

  “Well, we better get on our way,” Chase says and looks at Kat.

  “Really?” she says, sounding like a pouting toddler, and holding her wine glass close to her as if it is the life-force of her sanity. And let’s face it, it totally is. “I love it here so much.”

  “Babe,” he deadpans with a hint of a smile. “Okay, okay,” she stands up after downing the rest of her wine. “Kids! Sydney! Colt! C’mon! Time to go,” she yells, bursting one of my ear drums, sounding like a sergeant major rallying the troops.

  Christ.

  Mom Lungs.

  And Wyatt thought I was bad.

  The kids all come running out from the back of the house and run up the porch.

  “Do we have to go?” Sydney whines, sounding just like her mother. “Maybe I could stay at Grandpa’s?” She perks up and looks to Dad, who is smiling back.

  “No, you have dance practice in the morning,” Kat answers her. “Give everyone hugs and tell them goodbye,” she instructs her kids, giving them the Evil Mom Eye.

  “Fine,” she pouts and makes her rounds with the whole family. “Love you, Aunt Ree,” she says to me when it’s my turn.

  “Love you, too,” I tell her.

  “Love you, Aunt Ree,” Colt tells me with my hug.

  “Love you, too.”

  “Are we going, too?” Lukas, Kassie and Hank’s oldest, asks.

  “Yeah, we probably should,” Hank answers, looking at Kassie.

  And…

  Three…

  Two…

  One…

  “Nooooooooooo!” Braydon, their middle child, begins to scream. “I don’t want to!”

  And…

  “Nooooo!” their youngest, Graham, begins to cry and throw himself onto the floor, clutching at the wood with his tiny two year old fingers, as if it holds the power to keep him here.

  “Oh dear God,” Hank breathes out while dropping his head back, looking up for some kind of divine intervention from above.

  “Graham! Get up!” Kassie scolds the little monster.

  I can’t help it, I find this shit entertaining. So I sit there with my glass of wine and just laugh.

  “Really, Ree?” Kassie looks at me. “Do you want them?”

  At this Graham immediately perks up and looks at me with tear filled, hopeful eyes. Ah, shit.

  I give my sister a dirty look and look back at the boys, “I’m sorry guys. My house isn’t ready for you yet.” They instantly pull out the Defcon One Pouty Face (meant only for extremely dire situations). “How about later this week? Once the house is ready?” I ask them, making sure to add excitement to my voice, hoping it will appease them.

  “Yay!” Graham jumps up and comes running over to me, giving me a hug.

  Kassie rolls her eyes at me and begins to gather hers and the kids’ things. “Okay guys, let’s go then,” she tells them and begins to coral them all into her and Hank’s SUV after they all say goodbye to us.

  Soon after Chase and Kat and their two kids take off back to Urbandale. Wyatt sits down next to Abbey, slides his arm around her shoulders and takes a drink of his beer.

  “It’s good to have you back home, sis,” my dad says to me after we sit in companionable silence for a few minutes.

  My dad always called me ‘sis’ growing up. I’m not sure why. I think it’s a Midwestern thing. Though, he never called Kassie that. At least not after I was born. I think it’s his way of saying ‘youngest daughter’.

  My dad is a ‘man’s man’, you could say. I always felt comfortable talking to either him or my mother about anything. He’s old fashioned in some ways, but also keeps up with current trends. He’s nearly six foot tall with light brown hair, peppered mostly with gray, making him look distinguished. (How is it men get to look better with gray hair and we have to color ours?) He stays in pretty good shape by working ten to twelve hour days.

  He has ran our family farm for years; recently handing over the ranch part of it over to Wyatt. He was Mayor of Belton for quite a few years, but stopped running just a couple years ago. He said it was just too stressful.

  I’m sure it is stressful, when you have people like Mrs. Dervis calling you every week because her neighbors keep going over the property line and cutting her lawn making it look uneven.

  No… Mrs. Dervis, don’t put up a fence or anything. That might be logical.

  See? Small town life. It’s just the way it is, and that’s why it’s not for me. There are bigger things in the world to worry about than the length of grass.

  “Maybe now you’ll settle down,” my mother says sweetly, while patting my knee (like that’s been the plan all along. Jeesh).

  I roll my eyes to Abbey and she smiles at me.

  “Yeah. We’ve got some good looking young guys on the police department now, too,” my dad throws in.

  I lean back in my chair, knowing this just needs to run its course. I haven’t seen anyone from Belton PD since I was in college, but I highly doubt they are about to qualify for those sexy policemen calendars.

  “About time I get some more grandbabies,” my dad continues.

  “Dad!” I scold him, sitting back up straight, “You’re gonna have one in like six months!” I point to Abbey and Wyatt.

  “Yeah, but we need to keep ‘em comin’ for years,” he tells me with a smile.

  “Oh, God…” I groan with irritation.

  “He is right, though,” Abbey looks at me, “Some of the guys are not too shabby looking now.”

  “Oh sure,” I scoff, “Who is it? Paul Stinky?”

  Paul Stiniski was in my glass in high school and he always tried to get in my pants. That was not going to happen, so to get him to back off, I finally had to give him a horrible nickname. I know that sounds horrible, but you don’t understand, this guy was determined.

  The first three years of high school he never gave up, so I finally had to flip out on him the beginning of senior year and ended up calling him stinky (because, well, he smelled like fish! He was always fishing and you could tell). I feel bad about it, because then everyone started to do it, but not too bad because he
didn’t completely stop harassing me. Just not while we were at school.

  “Nah, he moved to Utah,” Wyatt puts in with a smile on his face.

  “Well, that makes sense,” I say. And let’s face it, it totally does. I constantly here horror stories about Utah. I’m sure there are

  some really nice people there, but I never hear about them. Call it my naivety. “Although, West Virginia would probably make more sense,” I add. We have an aunt from West Virginia and she is awesome, but sometimes, it is just so obvious that she didn’t grow up here. If you know anyone from West Virginia you know what I mean.

  “Probably,” Wyatt agrees.

  “No, Ree, they really are good looking young men,” my mother picks up where Abbey left off, “I think you could find your future husband here… and then you would stay here with us.” Her face lights up in a dazzling smile.

  My mother really is a beautiful woman. She keeps her hair short (chin length) and it’s dark brown. She’s about the same height as me but thin like Kassie. Her blue eyes shine brightly and hopeful at me, making me not want to crush her hopes and dreams, but knowing I have to. It would be cruel to give her false hope.

  “Mom,” I say to her, “I’m not even sure if I want to stay here in Belton. You know that. And finding a man isn’t going to change things. Besides, I’m not exactly the commitment type.”

  “Sis,” my dad butts in, his deep voice strong, “I love you girl, but you were always more of a boy.”

  “What! I am not!” I protest.

  “You are,” his voice rings with finality. Hrmph! “And just like any man, you will settle down when you find the right one. We’re just hoping he’s here waiting for you. Keeping you close to your family.”

  “Dad…” I shake my head at him, “it’s not going to happen. Chase, Kassie, and Wyatt are giving you beautiful grandkids. You don’t need anymore,” I smile at him.

  “We’ll see…” he says.

  I look at Abbey and just roll my eyes (again).