When I was younger, our life wasn’t miserable. My dad served as a colonel in the Marine Corp and was madly in love with my mom. He came from a long line of servicemen who later became politicians and businessmen. My parents vacationed in places like Martha’s Vineyard, and traveled all over Europe. As a child, everything seemed magical and filled with laughter. One afternoon in second grade, my Uncle Bob picked me up from school as we were coming in from recess. Later that night, I found out my dad had died in a training accident. That was the day the lights went out and darkness set in at my house.
My new-to-me house was built in the late nineties and is smack in the middle of the neighborhood on a cul-de-sac. The houses are all on acre lots and each house looks different than the other. The builder only allowed three of each floor-plan in the neighborhood, and they can’t be on the same street. Even though they are all different, they have a lot of the same characteristics. Most of the houses include a huge front porch, perfect for days of drinking sweet tea and gossiping. Ryan told me I was getting ready for my baby-making days. Kids, yeah, not for me, I’m screwed up enough; I don’t need to ruin anyone else’s world.
I pull into the double car garage and quickly close the garage door. I watched a scary movie a few years ago where a serial killer attacked its victim as they were in their garage. It freaked me out for the longest time, now I carry pepper spray on my key-chain.
My Pomeranian, Rusty comes running to the door, her nails click on the porcelain tiles as she prances into the mudroom. As always, she spins in three circles and barks until I pick her up like a little baby. “Did you give Casanova a hard time today?” Casanova is my ill tempered solid black Persian cat. Rusty barks in agreement that she did indeed annoy the cat all day.
After an epic game of fetch with a mini-tennis ball and Rusty, I call it a night. Casanova was right where I expected him to be, in the center of the bed resting after a long day of napping and grooming. He’ll move up closer to my head once I turn off the lights and start reading my Kindle. One of the girls from work convinced me to read The Vampire Academy books by Richelle Mead. She would carry on about how Dimitri is so hot and one day she is going to find her a Russian to marry.
Marriage is the one thing I can’t imagine myself doing, not after dating Kyle. We met in college at NC State and started dating exclusively after knowing each other for a week. I was mesmerized by his intellect and protective ways, until two of his ex-girlfriends contacted me about what happened to them. He’d never hit me, so I didn’t believe he hit them. We dated for five months and then the shit hit the fan. I was talking to a guy in the library; he asked me if I was related to a girl named Kim. Kyle stormed over, grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the guy. Like a wildfire he went from sweet and attentive, to mentally unstable.
It wasn’t as though I’d never been hit before, hell, live with a paranoid alcoholic long enough and they’re bound to hit you sooner or later. Kyle followed me to my dorm one night and beat the snot out of me. My roommate, Autumn, found me and called 911. I filed charges and put a restraining order against him. Since I’ve moved back to the coast, I haven’t heard from him. If I never hear from him again, it will be too soon.
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Thursday 5:00 pm
I pull up to my store Apple Sacks and notice the parking lot is full. That’s a great sign since the economy has been so bad. I haven’t suffered from the economy too bad, between my online store and beach season, I stay busy. I carry tons of lingerie as well as corsets. Our corsets sell out in less than a week. The craze about corset training has been phenomenal. Thanks to 50 Shades everyone is a nymph.
“Girls, make sure you take out the trash on your way out tonight. I’m meeting Gwen for dinner to go over everything for the fashion show next month. If that one high school girl comes in and tries to return anything, tell her to come back when I’m here. She’s always trying to return things when I’m not here.” My business degree didn’t go over how to handle habitual buyer’s remorse. I don’t think she is remorseful, I think she likes to wear a new outfit, tuck the tags away and bring it back for a refund.
“Is this your store?” A customer asks.
I smile at the petite blonde girl, no older than eighteen. “Yes, it’s all mine.”
She has a handful of hangers in her left hand and this year’s Gucci Jackie Flora canvas shoulder bag. The same purse I pinned on Pinterest the other night. It’s only a twelve-hundred dollar purse and a teenager is carrying it; the injustices in the world.
“I love everything. Look at everything I found today! I almost died seven times when I saw the pink and white candy striped nighty, so I’m buying two! You’re the only place who carries a 32D bra. I mean seriously, don’t designers get it? The black and white zebra striped curtains and frames around the mirrors are genius,” she gushed on about the décor.
“I’m so happy you found some things you like. If you’ve been coming here for a while, you’d know I just remodeled. The place really needed a sprucing up. I bought it last year but I just did the remodel.” I chat her up since she has at least four hundred dollars worth of clothes in her hands. Little rich girls who’ve never worked a day in their life are what typically come into my store.
She smiles at me showing off her perfectly white teeth. I’m sure she’s a model or daughter of someone famous. “Oh yeah, I like the circular platform and the dressing rooms in the middle, it’s so retro feeling.”
I reach for the clothes and walk her up to the white gloss checkout stand. “Thank you for shopping here, Sabrina can get you signed up for a royalty card. We are allowing our VIP’s to have exclusive sales and free admission to our fashion shows. I have to run, but thank you again.” I rush for the door bumping into it as I head to my car. I’ll probably get a bruise, but won’t remember how.
It’s still early, so I make a quick stop at the bakery to place an order for Ryan’s birthday. Driving to the restaurant I get lost in thought and my brain goes to Caide, wondering if he’ll be there tonight. No! Don’t think about him. Him, being Caide. After watching his YouTube videos a couple of years ago, I developed a mini-crush on him. On Monday, out of the blue I get a fax saying he’d be attending my session. I’ve never seen a judge order someone to Al Anon, I wonder what happened to order him to support sessions. It could be about his ex-girlfriend who died a few weeks ago.
I reach for my phone and call Ryan only to get sent to voicemail. “Call me love,” I say so fast it sounded like one word. I pull up to the steakhouse Gwen picked for our dinner meeting. The irony is it’s the place Caide’s parents own. I shake my head as if I could shake his name out of my brain.
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Gwen is dressed in a gorgeous light tan palazzo pants and vest with a ruffled white top. She bought the top at my store, but I have no idea where she got the rest of the outfit. Her hair is always so beautiful, long and naturally curly down her back. If I could be another person for a day, I’d pick Gwen. Men fall all over themselves to be near her. Tonight I pale in comparison to her stunning looks.
I stand up to give her a hug. “Gwen, you look so great! That new man of yours must be good for you.”
Gwen laughs her cute little laugh. “You’re looking pretty hot yourself. I’d ask you if a man is keeping you busy, but I bet it’s the same answer as always; you don’t have time for a man.” We take a seat and the waiter almost trips and falls on our table he was rushing so fast. That’s the effect she has on people.
No matter how bad I want to order a glass of wine, I don’t do it. After I jumped Caide’s ass for drinking, it is probably smart not to drink a cocktail. Gwen orders a wild drink from the list of house cocktails and I order water with lemon.
“It isn’t that, I don’t need a man right now. You know how hectic it is in this business. Most of the guys my age are still in college or still in party mode.” The waiter brings us our drinks but mistakenly gives me swee
t tea. Instead of correcting him, I let it go…not worth the aggravation. We both order, she sticks with salad but I pick a steak. If I’m going to eat at a steakhouse, I’m having steak. My mother was a stickler about only eating salads when out in public; my stomach tends to disagree with that idea. I’m a meat and potatoes girl and thankful for my fast metabolism.
Gwen puts a mouthful of lettuce in her mouth and looks at me with a silly grin.
“What have you done Gwen?”
She points at herself, “Who me?”
I purse my lips and shake my head. “Yes you. Go ahead, spill it.”
“Okay, I have a friend whose brother is back in North Carolina and looking to mingle. I’ve seen pictures of him, and girl, he’s beautiful, his name is Lance. Just think Sir Lancelot.”
There’s always a catch with guys she tries to set me up with. “Aaaaand?”
“Did I mention he’s going through a divorce? Well, not really going through it, he has to wait a year…you know the North Carolina law says you have to be separated for an entire year before you can file for divorce. So he’s in his year part of it. I think he has ten more months. I said he’s beautiful right?” She rambles quickly. Gwen and her beautiful men, sheesh.
I roll my eyes and shake my head at her. “Spit it out Gwen, there’s more you’re not telling me.”
“You’re so bossy. How about we go on a double date Saturday night, we can do dinner at The Eagles Nest and stay for the band and dancing. It isn’t a night club but they play great music and everyone is more mature.”
Not giving her another chance to speak I blurt out, “They’re old! That place is for old people….like thirty’s and forty somethings!”
“Come on, it will be fun. I’ll be there with you, and if you don’t like him, you never have to see him again.” She puts her hands together in prayer, “Please.”
“Okay, I’ll go, but he better not be a total freak.” I pull out my phone and type in a reminder to go on a date with an ape and meet Gwen at The Eagles Nest. “Let’s talk business; I have a meeting to get to.”
“You and your secret meetings, you going to AA or something?”
“Whatever, do you want my money or not? Show me some samples so I can decide if we’ll order from your vendor.”
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I walk down the stairs into the meeting room. John came early; he always does so he can set the chairs out. He also brings muffins and starts the coffee. John’s so broken on the inside; it makes me sad that he hurts so much.
Tonight we’re going to go by the Al Anon rules and not go straight into free talk. It isn’t much different, but we’ll talk about a specific subject. The directors of Al Anon will do surprise visits to a session in order to make sure we’re following protocol. I received a text message telling me one of the guys is in town and to watch my back. When it comes to my sessions, I allow everyone to say what they want and to hell with protocol. Rules, I hate them.
As usual, I pull out the papers from my bag and set them on the six foot table, they’re the ones I set out at every meeting. They are helpful tips for people who are dealing with an addictive person; but only helpful if you read the article. No one ever takes them, but I set them out in case they change their mind.
“Would you like help?” A voice behind me says and I jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. See, I showed up on time?” I turn towards the voice, the one from my dreams…Caide Palmer.
I look up at the clock, “You’re five minutes early.” I’m staring right into pools of blue water otherwise known as his eyes. My heart quivers for a split second as he holds my gaze.
“I brought cookies for the meeting,” Caide says and holds out a container of cookies. His cookies, the cookies I’ve mastered baking. John will realize I’m a fraud the moment he tastes one of Caide’s cookies. “They’re peanut butter with a Hershey’s Kiss in the middle.” My secret’s safe as I only bring his chocolate chip cookies.
“Oh, I bet they’re delicious. John may love you forever if they meet his cookie criteria.”
Caide gives me a genuine smile before saying, “I’ll go put them on the table. Would you like me to set yours out too?”
Who is this guy? He was totally different the other night, disgruntled and aloof. He probably got laid. Ewww, he probably really did. “Yeah, that would be great.” Suddenly, I’m aggravated at the thought of him getting laid before class. Stop! I yell at myself. I always expect the bad from people.
I’d like to puff on my e-cig, I’ll run to the bathroom and take a couple of puffs and come back. Like a heroin addict I hide in a bathroom stall and take a couple of drags on my fake cigarette. Why do I hide? Because you know men find it unattractive and you don’t want Caide to find out you smoke….because you like him. Ugh! I do not like him, he’s not my type! Yes he is. If anyone knew how I have these little arguments with myself, they’d call the loony bin and send me away!
“Good evening everyone. Tonight we’re going to discuss how we handle stressful situations. Remember, this is your place to be honest with yourself and no judgment will be cast. I’ll start the evening.” I take a sip of my water and clear my throat. “When I was about ten years old, I realized the meaning of the word stress. Up until that point, I had been a good student in school. That year was the first time I understood the word bully. No one had ever treated me the way one boy in my class did. He would walk by me and lean in and whisper mean things to me. Things like; what’s wrong little single parent kid? Mama not able to find another man? He would taunt me and tease me about the clothes I wore and being a straight A student. I began turning in my work late or not at all. I started wearing lip gloss and blue eye shadow to hide my face from the real me. By the end of the nine weeks, my grades had dropped to a C. It was that night my mother took a belt to me.” I hear a couple of people suck in their breath. “I didn’t know how to tell her about the boy, but I had to decide which was worse; a belt or teasing. Me and my sore butt decided teasing would be more tolerable. That belt taught me the meaning of someone taking their anger out on you. To deal with my tormentor, I learned to let his taunts roll off of me. I’m what many people call a peace keeper, and I am. The other way I deal with stress is to bake cookies. Thankfully, I have John to enjoy them.” I look over to John and he smiles back at me. Many people who come to the meetings use a fake name, not John; he’s okay with people knowing who he is. He attends the other meetings too, he says he finds peace when he’s around us. “Those are my coping mechanisms.”
Ellen is a heavy set black woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. One time she told me it’s frowned upon to seek help. The South has rules and she grew up old school, where you don’t share with white folks your problems. Ellen is from a town called Swansboro and drives all the way here to lessen the chance of running into anyone she knows. We’ve had coffee a few times and I offered to be her sponsor, but she says she feels like the meetings are all she needs. Tonight she walks over to me and pulls me in to one of her squashing-you-into-her-large-bosom hugs. She’s shorter than my five foot seven stature and her boobs are squished into my stomach. “Baby, you been through too much nonsense. You’re a strong woman, remember that,” Ellen whispers. “I’ll go next, you sit down and rest.” She’s always telling me to rest, which is funny since she’s the one with eight kids.
Almost everyone stood up and told a story about their stress release, and then surprising us all, Caide stood up. His muscular biceps are highlighted by the white Polo he’s wearing. His surfers tan and bright blue eyes are sad looking tonight. A hint of a tattoo on his bicep is peeking out from his sleeve; I can’t help but wonder what the tattoo is of. He walks to the front, his jeans are fitted and I get a quick glimpse at his ass….oh no.
“I’m uh…” He rocks from foot to foot. “Hey everyone, I’m Caide, and all of you made me examine my life as you’ve talked about yours. I started cooking when I was young. My parents own a restaurant and were alw
ays busy with the business. It might sound silly, but that’s why I started cooking. So now I’m a chef and when I’m stressed I come up with recipes. The way the knife feels in my hand as I cut up vegetables is therapeutic. Like River, I bake a lot too. I bake things like sweet breads and cookies. I won’t lie and say I don’t ever drink, because I do. There’s been times I’ve dealt with stress at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, but that doesn’t mean I do it often.” His hand goes to his hair and he runs it through his hair again. “Well uh, thank you for sharing; it makes me feel like I can be a little forthcoming with you.” He fidgets with his hands for a second before saying, “Thanks for your stories.” Caide looks up and we make eye contact. My heart stops for two whole beats. It’s as though his eyes were telling a story, I just couldn’t hear it. He went back to his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He’s on TV every week, and I’ve seen him around town, he’s never acted as if he was shy.
After everyone talked, we dismissed and ate cookies and coffee. Ellen brought me some collards she cooked for supper. I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t like collards, I’ll have to throw them out at home. I’d been putting off talking to Caide until the last minute. Most everyone has said good night and left.
Oh dear Lord what does he have in his hand? He has one of my cookies, oh for the love of heaven. What if he hates it?
“Hey River, I want to tell you I’m sorry about the other night. It was dumb of me to take this lightly. I hope you don’t hate me,” Caide breaks his cookie in half and shoves it in his mouth. His mouth is eating my cookie, SQUEE! His eyebrow goes up and a crooked grin on his face…. Shit, he knows I’m a fangirl. “Is this my recipe?”
Cry Me a River PG-13 Edition Page 5
