Utterances

by Jo Michaels

  “That’s it?”

  She nodded. “That’s it.”

  “But, Mom, what are you going to do with any of these things? There’s no meat or vegetables…”

  “You’d be surprised what you can do with some flour, eggs, and butter. Anything else, I figure you’re smart enough to buy on your own.” With a wink, she patted Simone’s hand, downed the rest of the coffee, and went back to work.

  After scribbling a few more items on the list, and ignoring Tristan when he came back out to wipe off some tables, Simone threw a ten on the counter with the ice pack, picked up her bag, and left.

  It was too hot outside, so she left the door to their ’89 Toyota open while she started it. Pumping the gas pedal furiously, she turned the key and prayed. Finally, it caught and sputtered. She shook her head, blowing air out through pursed lips, and flipped the switch for the AC before pulling the door closed.

  Five minutes later, she hopped out and headed back into Buy-Right, her neck damp.

  When she reached her hand into her bag to pay for the thirty-five items she’d picked up, she felt a piece of paper crinkle against her hand that she knew hadn’t been there before. Her breathing hitched as her heart kicked up its pace a few notches.

  Once back in the car, she pulled the piece of notebook paper out and stared at the perfect print. Thrills shot through her, and her heart sent tingles roaring through her belly.

  Tristan Cardre – 555-892-5102 – Call me.

  Simone sang along with the radio the whole ten minutes home. When she drove past Tuck’s, she couldn’t help but smile. Then it occurred to her that Tristan might want her to call just so he could check on her sanity, and her grin slipped away. Not only had he referred to her as a cavewoman, he’d also wiped his hand clean after he’d touched her.

  She jerked the bags out of the backseat and slammed the car door. Once she’d stomped her way to the apartment and put everything away, she sat on the couch and pulled out the book. It was blank, as usual, but she flipped through the pages, running her fingers over the rough paper, wondering when—or if—words would ever appear there again. Somehow, she was sure she was connected to the book; she could feel the tug of something every time she touched it, but she couldn’t figure out why or how.

  When she’d found the item, it had been quite by accident. There it was, sitting alone, an inch of dust piled on the leather cover and infinity symbol, in the back of a used bookshop. As soon as her hand brushed the binding, the jolt of electricity told her it was something special. She bought it for twenty bucks—a splurge—and wrapped it up as a gift, intending to maybe use it to journal the last few weeks of Yvette’s life.

  “I’m home!” Mom’s voice startled Simone out of her thoughts, and she found it was late afternoon when she checked the clock on the DVD player.

  “Hey, Mom. How was work?” Trying not to draw attention to the book—and puzzling over how she’d lost two hours—she slid the tome under the couch cushion again, turned, and smiled, resting her chin on her bent arm. How long she’d craved having her mother back in the house, alive and vibrant, and there she stood.

  “Exhausting!” Yvette threw her hands up. “I forgot how much I hated waiting tables. People can be so rude.”

  Listening to the rant about this customer or that one, Simone suddenly perked up. “Why don’t you look for a job like the one you had before you got sick?”

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know. I’m so old now.” Moving around to sit on the couch, Yvette shrugged, her eyes soft and watery.

  “You’re only forty-eight! What do you mean, you’re so old?” Simone asked.

  “No one will hire me. I’m a has-been. I’ll bet no one will even remember my name. Two years is a lifetime in the design world.” Yvette’s tears escaped.

  “That settles it. For the next month, every spare dollar we have is going toward having a killer portfolio of your work printed. You still have all the files and stuff, right?” Excitement flooded Simone, and she was on fire with ideas. “Then we simply go to the library and you look up firms in Chattanooga that are hiring. I can catch a ride with Lilian to work. You can take the car for interviews!”

  “Simone, sweetheart, I don’t think you’re thinking this thr—”

  She held up her hand and stomped her foot. “No. You’re going to do this. You need to do this. When you get hired, you’ll see.”

  “But what if I don’t want to?”

  “Don’t want to? Mom, graphic design was your life, and you ate up every minute of working for that big, fancy firm in the city. You’ve helped several notable brands with logos and taglines. If your name still has clout, you’ll have no trouble landing something. It was your dream, and it was cut short by a disease you couldn’t have prevented no matter what you did.” Moving to the center of the couch, she took her mom’s hands and locked eyes with her. “Look, if you don’t want to do it, I mean realllly don’t want to do it, I won’t push the issue, but I know you can. You’re good at what you do. Maybe the best. And I’d hate to see you give up because you feel old.”

  Yvette nibbled her bottom lip and blinked rapidly. She inhaled, pulling her shoulders up high, and exhaled as she narrowed her eyes. “I was in the business for a long time. You really think I can go back to it?”

  “Nope. I know you can.”

  Pressing her lips together, she smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes! Okay! I’ll do it! I just hope the trends haven’t changed too much.”

  They squealed and hugged before leaping off the couch and running down the hall to Yvette’s room to dig out her files and portfolio carrier.

  Simone slipped the book out and carried it with her, careful to stash it under a stack of blankets by the door without being seen.

  It took a few weeks, but they managed to scrape enough money together to have a high-end printer do the work required, and Yvette’s eyes watered again when she saw the artwork. She hugged her daughter and thanked her, and they set off for Tuck’s to have a celebratory dinner.

  Simone slid into the booth and grabbed the menu. She was halfway down the front side when a familiar voice caused her to lift her head.

  “Fancy seeing you here outside of work.” Tristan had a wide grin on his face. “You ladies look happy. Are we celebrating something?”

  “Yes. My daughter worked extra hours so I could have a new portfolio printed. I’m treating her to dinner to thank her.” Yvette reached across the table and put her hand on Simone’s.

  Face scalding hot, Simone shook her head and averted her eyes. She’d nearly been sucked into a daze again, and she wasn’t good at compliments. “It was nothing,” she muttered.

  “That’s certainly something to celebrate! How about this: Dinner’s on the house tonight. Order anything you want, and dessert is included!” Tristan said.

  “Oh, Tristan! You don’t have to do that!” Yvette said. “I’m more than capable of paying for a nice dinner out with my daughter.”

  Shaking his head, he put up a hand. “I’m not saying you can’t. But my friends don’t celebrate in my restaurant and pay for their own dinners.”

  Holy crap! He owns this place? Simone was careful not to let her mouth fall open. How old is he?

  “Well, then thank you,” Yvette said. “We’ll have our order ready in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll leave you to it.” As he turned to walk away, he leaned down toward Simone’s ear and whispered, “You never called me.” Then he winked and left.

  Black fury rose in her. He had no idea what she’d been through, how hard she’d had to work to make her mother’s dream a reality, how many extra hours had been logged at the damned Buy-Right. Who does he think he is, anyway? The nerve…

  “Simone? Are you okay?”

  Startled, Simone blinked, seeing her mother across the table with her eyebrows nearly touching. “Sorry, Mom. I had a moment.”

  “Do you know what you want?”

  Simone’s
appetite had gone out the window, but she refused to ruin the evening. She even uncurled her fists. “Yep. I’m gonna have the BLT with turkey, I think.”

  “Oooooh, that’s a good choice.” Yvette’s eyes were still bright; it didn’t seem like her mood had been squashed. She turned back to her own menu and tugged at her lower lip. “I’m ordering the cheesesteak with a side of those big fries.”

  “How you can eat the way you do and still keep that figure is beyond me.” Simone laughed.

  They enjoyed small talk until Tristan returned to take their order. He didn’t mention the absent phone call again, and she found herself enjoying the evening immensely.

  When Yvette and Simone were walking toward the door, he managed to catch her elbow and tug just hard enough to get her attention without forcibly spinning her around.

  She turned to look over her shoulder, and he held one hand up near his head with the thumb by his ear and the pinky by his pouting mouth. It made her laugh, and she nodded before following her mother out the door and getting in the car.

  That evening, Simone lay in her bed with the book under her pillow and the piece of notebook paper with Tristan’s number on it in her hand. She traced the words with an index finger until she fell asleep, dreams of kissing him dancing through her head on feet as light as air.

  Bright, sunny skies, with puffy clouds and the songs of several birds were what greeted Simone when she opened her eyes the next morning. Thoughts of Tristan had her leaping out of bed and pacing. She wondered if he meant call him right away or sometime. He didn’t seem annoyed that she hadn’t called already, and that had soothed her irritation with him the day before. It appeared as though he was just stating a fact. She hadn’t called.

  And he’d noticed!

  Giggles rushed up and out of her mouth, and she clapped one hand over her lips and the other around her waist. But then she grew nervous. All kinds of questions about what to say or do during that next interaction—which was so much more private than saying hello in a diner—melded together and rolled over one another in her head.

  Screw it.

  Without overthinking it any more than she already had, she picked up the phone and punched in Tristan’s number. Her finger hovered over the call button, and she flipped the device closed. It took her three more times before she managed to get up the nerve to actually hit the little green phone icon.

  He picked up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Tristan? This is Simone.” She held her breath.

  “The Simone? Simone Bookhart? The one and only?” He chuckled. “About time you called me, girl. All this time I’ve waited, and all I wanted to know is if I could take you on a date sometime.”

  Air left her in a whoosh. “A date?” She squeaked.

  “Yeah, you know, boy and girl, movie, popcorn, maybe some hand holding…”

  “Oh!” Her palm collided with her forehead as she wondered if she could possibly be any lamer. Cavewoman.

  “So? Are you saying no, or should I take that ‘oh’ as a yes?” Infuriatingly, he was still laughing.

  “I’ll need to check my work schedule, see when I’m off, but yes! I’d love to.”

  “Great. Call me back when you have your schedule, and we’ll go from there.”

  “Okay,” she said. Lame.

  “I have to get back to work now. Talk to you soon, I hope.”

  “Okay. Uh, bye.” When she put the receiver back on the cradle, she fell into her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and screamed with delight.

  It didn’t take Simone long to realize she didn’t have anything to wear on her date with Tristan besides jeans and t-shirts, so she meandered down the hall into her mother’s room to poke through her closet.

  Everything was way too fancy or way too plain, and Simone wasn’t even sure what to wear on a movie date. She’d never been on one. Heck, she’d never been on any date. When the glistening realization hit her, she became paralyzed with fear. There she stood, staring at the few sparkly dresses, until her alarm clock blared, letting her know she only had an hour until work.

  It snapped her out of the shock, and she dashed back to her room to get ready, cussing at herself the whole way. Tristan was going to ask her questions about guys she’d dated before, she was positive, and she had no idea how she’d even begin to answer. If she told the truth, he was sure to leave the movie early, drop her off, and avoid her like the plague later.

  Two years tending a sick mother had done shitty things to Simone’s social life.

  Throwing on a tee and some jeans, she grabbed her bag and rushed out the door. All afternoon, she miscounted change, forgot PLUs for the fruits and vegetables, and smiled so much her face hurt. She was finally able to clock out around five and scan her schedule for the next week. As luck would have it, she had the following two days off.

  Fist pumping the air and biting her lower lip was how she was found by Lilian. “Oooh! Looks like we’re excited about something! You simply must tell me.” Swinging her curly blonde hair over one shoulder, she approached the time clock and put her number in.

  “Uh…”

  “Oh, come on, Simone! What is it? Did your dad’s new wife kick the bucket?” She winked.

  Simone sobered and blanched.

  “I’m kidding!”

  “That wasn’t funny.” She cocked an eyebrow.

  “But it got you talking.” Lilian grinned and leaned against the wall, grabbing Simone’s sleeve. “And now, I’m not letting go until you tell me.”

  Why she was nervous about saying anything, she didn’t know, but she didn’t want to admit she’d never been out with a boy before. No, Tristan is a man, not a boy. That thought made her face get even hotter.

  Lilian’s eyes went wide and round. “This is about a boy, isn’t it?”

  Lava flowed under Simone’s skin. She knew she was giving herself away, but she didn’t know how to stop it. Pressing her lips together and feeling the burn behind her eyelids, she nodded.

  Before she could recover, she found herself wrapped in Lilian’s arms. She was squealing and talking fast. “Oh, Simone! This is awesome! It’s about time you did something for yourself! I’m so happy for you.” Finally, she pulled back to arm’s length. “Who is it? Where are you going? What are you gonna wear?” Another squeak erupted. “You have to tell me everything!”

  Suddenly feeling silly for not wanting anyone to know about the date, Simone couldn’t help the smile that split her face. “His name is Tristan, he’s taking me to a movie, and I have no idea what I’m gonna wear.” She left out the part about not dating. Lilian had been around a while; if she hadn’t already figured it out, Simone wasn’t about to say anything.

  “You wanna go shopping at the mall?”

  “I don’t really have the money to—”

  Lilian put her hand up and shook her head. “It’s okay. You can borrow something of mine; we’re about the same size. When is this awesome date supposed to happen?”

  “Uh… I don’t really know.”

  She quirked an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, tilting her head to one side. “Huh?”

  “He, uh, asked me out this morning, and I’m supposed to call him to let him know which night I have off.”

  “So…” Lilian turned and gazed at the paper tacked to the wall. “Tomorrow?”

  “Or the next day. I guess.”

  “That’s plenty of time. Come on. You can ride with me to my house. I’ll bring you back here afterward.”

  Simone’s head was spinning with the speed at which everything was happening, but she let herself be tugged along by the hand.

  “You can call your boy toy on the way and let him know you’re free tomorrow.”

  “Okay, but don’t call him that.”

  “How come?” Hitting the button on the fob, Lilian yanked open the door of her spring-green VW Beetle and tossed her bag into the back seat.

  “Because I barely know him.” Waves of heat blasted Simone when she opened the
passenger’s door. She grimaced before climbing in and putting her seatbelt on.

  “You have to tell me everything. Right now.”

  Unable to deny the request due to captivity, she talked the entire half hour it took to get to Lilian’s house, telling her everything from the moment in the diner to the phone call that morning. Simone ticked her head to one side, trying to think if there was anything she was forgetting, but finally, she shrugged. “And that’s it.”

  “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!” Lilian swooned as she pressed the button to open the gates of her family’s estate. Once they were wide enough for her car to pass, she gunned the accelerator and zoomed up the driveway. “Okay, call him.” Her eyes sparkled, and she threw the car into park, leaving the engine running.

  “I don’t really need an audience.”

  “Pleeeeease?” She squeezed her hands together, rounded out her eyes, and stuck out her bottom lip. “I need to live vicariously through you.”

  “Lilian, come on. Look at your house. You don’t need to live vicariously through anyone. This is kinda the American dream.” A sprawling lawn framed a three-story, brick craftsman with red trim and a huge, three-quarter-wrap porch. In the back, a wrought-iron fence enclosed a giant gazebo and a swimming pool that was nearly as big as the house. The Padgetts weren’t hurting for cash, that was for sure. “I still have a hard time believing people actually live like this.”

  “My parents keep a tight rein on me. They won’t even let me move to campus. ‘Too many bad influences,’ they say. Do I need to tell you I haven’t had any juicy gossip or sordid dealings of my own in a realllllly long time for you to understand my pain right now?” After winking, she begged again.

  “Fine. If for no other reason than to get you to stop making that face.” Simone laughed, pulled out her phone, and hit redial. Tristan was lovely, as always, and he told her he’d pick her up the next night at six. When she clicked the end button, her heart thrummed against her breastbone.

  “You’re blushing! You really like him, huh?”