Wait For It

by Michele L. Rivera

  “I know you do, but are you in love with her?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess!” Elle gasps. “No, sweetie. You either are or you aren’t. There’s no guessing when it comes to being in love, there’s just knowing. So if you’re guessing, then you’re not in love. It’s like having an orgasm. You either have one or you don’t…you don’t think you had one. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  I mull over my dear friend’s wisdom for a moment and am left devastated by the idea that not only am I maybe not in love but that I’ve also never had an orgasm. Fuck my life. “Yes,” I say and glance over at Jake. “We’ll take the check,” I tell him but, really I’m telling Elle that I want this conversation to end. Jake gives me a nod and I meet my friend’s skeptical stare. “What?” I ask her.

  Elle pouts. “Nothing.”

  “Excuse me.” The unfamiliar voice materializes from my left. I turn my head and am immediately transfixed by the young woman standing inches from me. All I can see are her eyes. They are round and wide, inviting but mysterious. Her irises are a beautiful shade of hickory flecked with the lightness of almond hues. I cannot bring myself to look away.

  “Forgive her,” Elle says to the stranger while motioning to me. “She has no manners. What can we do you for?”

  The girl smiles shyly at me and that’s when I realize my mouth is partially open. When did I open my mouth? I close my mouth quickly and inwardly wince because now I’m just being awkward.

  Mystery girl reaches her arm out towards me, holding a folded piece of paper. “I think you dropped this.”

  That paper does not belong to me. What is she doing? What does she want from me?

  Elle clears her throat in the background and I narrow my eyes at the girl. “No, I didn’t, but thank you.”

  She presses her lips together and slightly cocks her head to the side. Her truffle colored hair is wavy and falls past her shoulders. I have the strangest urge to smell it. She’s still smiling. “Yes. I think you did.”

  I officially have no idea what’s happening. “No, I—”

  “Listen.” The girl starts. “I know this is probably the world’s most amateur pick-up line, but it’s all I’ve got.” She glances behind her at a table, where three other girls are sitting, watching us. Then she turns back to me, looking me dead in the eye and I am once again captivated. How does she do that? “And if you don’t take this paper from me, I’m going to lose a twenty-dollar bet.”

  I swallow back a laugh of disbelief as the heat rises to my cheeks. “You’re hitting on me?” I ask her.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s sort of what I said.”

  Elle smacks me upside the head. “Take the fucking paper, dude.”

  Now my face is on fire. I take the paper from her.

  “Thank you,” the girl says. “Do you have a name?”

  “Me?” Great, sound more like a dumbass.

  The girl chuckles and Elle mumbles something about me being a simpleton.

  “Yes, you,” she says.

  “Parker.”

  She nods approvingly. “Well, thank you again…Parker.”

  There is a flutter in my belly when she says my name. What was that? “Sure. You’re welcome…um…what’s your name?” Stop talking! Why did you ask her that?

  The girl takes a step backwards. “Read what’s on the paper.” She winks, turns, and walks over to her table of amused friends.

  “You’re gawking,” Elle says to me.

  “Did you see that? Did you see her?”

  My friend laughs at me. “Yeah. I had a front row seat.”

  “How does she even know I’m gay?”

  Elle surveys the dim establishment. “We are in a gay club so it’s safe to make an assumption.”

  “You’re not gay.” I tell her this as if she doesn’t already know her own sexuality.

  “I’m also not the one she was hitting on.” Elle drinks the last of her martini. “What’s it say on the paper?”

  “I don’t care. I’m in a relationship.”

  “You totally care.” She grins. “And you’re in an open relationship therefore you’re available according to the rules.”

  I give Elle the side eye and unfold the piece of paper. I stare at the black ink:

  Abby. 617-271-3381

  I involuntarily smile to myself. Abby.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, I stand in front of the coffee maker as if watching it will make it brew faster, but it doesn’t. I’m exhausted and caffeine is my savior. I didn’t get home last night until a little after midnight, and that’s late for me especially since it’s a weeknight. Then once I finally got into bed, I lay there for I am not sure how long, thinking about Abby’s smile. Yup. I passed out with that girl in the forefront of my mind. “Fuck me,” I mumble under my breath.

  Let it go, Parker. Let it go. I shake my head and exhale. I have to be at work in forty minutes. This gives me just enough time to finish eating my oatmeal, fill up my insulated to-go thermos with liquid motivation, and commute to The Community Aging Center, my place of employment. I have zero time for daydreaming about a pretty stranger, and yet here I am. With a pang of guilt, I peak into the bedroom at MY GIRLFRIEND. Reese is still asleep. She has another hour before she is expected to be in her cubicle downtown. Must be nice.

  Actually, I don’t mind waking up early. I enjoy the morning. It’s quiet. However, I also normally go to bed no later than 10 p.m. so I’m feeling a bit sleep deprived today, which means that my usual early riser enthusiasm is currently non-existent.

  The machine beeps to let me know that the coffee is ready. “Thank you,” I say aloud. I place my bowl in the sink and pick up the carafe. I top off my tumbler and screw the top on. It leaks. Of course. Ever the classy lady, I lick the side of the cup that I’m now holding. I grab my bag and jacket from the hook on the back of the door and slink out of the apartment. Alright, Thursday, bring it.

  Chapter Four

  I walk from table to table in the large, sunny kitchen, where the participants of The Community Aging Center are congregated. I greet them as I do every day and then I stand in the middle of the room and speak as loud as I can to inform them of the day’s events because that is what I do. I’m the center’s Activities Director. And what’s more badass than being the person who decides if and when Bingo is going to happen? Nothing, that’s what. Okay, so that’s not true, but a girl can pretend. Besides, I love what I do. I befriend elderly folk and we play games and make crafts together. The best part is that I get paid to do it. I don’t exactly make bank, but I’m not drowning in debt either…save for my college loans. Alright and that one credit card I have yet to pay off, but I’m working on it.

  I supervise three of the center’s attendants and two volunteers. Together, they make up my team, the people who execute the activities I have planned for the participants. They are all younger than I am, therefore, they are slightly intimidated by me, which makes it easier for me when I have to reprimand them for unprofessional behavior, such as texting during our sing-a-longs or taking pictures of themselves with the participants to post on social media. Unacceptable. Not happening on my watch. I glance down at my wrist, and the hands of my watch are not moving. The battery must be dead. Damn.

  I reach in right pocket of my wide-legged khaki pants for my cell phone to check the time. When I pull out the phone, a small, wrinkled piece of paper falls to the floor. I immediately know what the paper is. My stomach does some kind of acrobatic motion that hasn’t happened since Skye Anderson smiled at me during our humanities class freshman year of college…before she asked me if she could copy my notes. I let her. Our relationship never went further than that. I wonder for a millisecond what Skye is up to, but my head is flooded with images of Abby. Skye who? As nonchalantly as I can, I bend over and pick the paper off the floor. I want to look at the number again, but I fight the compulsion and bury it in my back pocket. I order myself to stop thinking about Abby and then I th
ink of her more. Fail. That’s when it occurs to me that I’m wearing the same pants today that I wore yesterday. Nice. Be more slovenly, Parker.

  I shake my head at myself and glance down at the clock on my cell just as it buzzes in my hand, startling me. It’s a text message from Elle.

  Did you call her?

  I survey the room. My team has all the participants engaged in an activity. I skitter into my office, located a few feet away to my left and close the door. I respond to Elle.

  No.

  I wait for my best friend to reply and I don’t have to wait long.

  Why the hell not? We both know you want to.

  My fingers hover over the keyboard on my phone. “No. I don’t,” I whisper and as I say the words, I can taste the lie. It’s sour. Not in a good, candy-sour way, but in a terrible, spoiled milk kind of way. I don’t text Elle back because she’s right.

  I do want to call Abby.

  Chapter Five

  After eight and a half hours of tiresome, underpaid, noble, non-profit work, I park my silver hatchback in the garage of the apartment complex that Reese and I live in. I turn the engine off and lean my head back. I shut my eyes and count to ten the way my therapist taught me and mentally prepare myself for whatever interaction with Reese I may or may not have. When I reach three, all I can see is Abby. My eyelids fling open. A matchless blend of panic and excitement fills my chest, constricting my airways. I inhale sharply. I try to remember if I ever had these kinds of feelings about Reese. Think! I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel. There has to be something. I search the recesses of my memory and frown. I’ve got nothing. I sigh, despondently and get out of the car.

  As I walk towards the entrance of the building, I glance up at the October night sky. It’s only 5 p.m. but it’s already dark outside, making the stars visible above me. I stop in my tracks and turn up the collar to my jacket to ward off autumn’s chilly breeze. I spot the most luminous star and make a wish that shall remain confidential between the celestial sphere overhead and me. I continue trudging along. I make my way inside and take the stairs to the fourth floor mostly to warm up my muscles for the evening jog I intend to go on shortly but also because I do not have any faith in the ancient elevators here.

  I reach my destination, but before I even unlock the door, Reese opens it for me. She smiles.

  “Hey,” Reese says.

  I smile back, half-heartedly. “Hey.”

  “I heard your keys jingle. Thought I’d get the door for you.”

  A random act of kindness. What does she want?

  “Um. Thanks.” I step through the entryway and into our kitchen, closing the door behind me without looking away from Reese. I plant a kiss on her cheek. “How was your day?”

  Reese shrugs. “Not bad. How was yours?”

  “Fine.” I hang up my coat and bag. “I’m going to change and get my cardio on.”

  “Er.” Reese’s nose crinkles. “Before you do that, I want to tell you that I won’t be home for dinner tonight.” She rubs her left forearm with her right hand. “Maybe you could order out? You mentioned that you were craving Chinese. I’ll leave you my credit card.”

  I press my lips together and examine my girlfriend more closely. Her naturally straight, platinum hair is curly. She’s wearing eye shadow. She never wears makeup. Her top is fitted so it’s easy for me to tell that she has on her push-up bra. I know her body. Her skinny jeans highlight her well-defined legs, and her special-occasion-only leather boots rise up over her calves, completing the outfit. She has a date. I grab onto the edge of the counter next to me and brace myself.

  “Oh. Where are you going?” My voice is weak.

  “I’m going to meet with someone.”

  “A woman?” I know this is a ridiculous question as it’s coming out of my mouth.

  “Yes. A woman.” Reese goes to put her hand on my shoulder, but I side step her touch.

  “Like on a date?”

  “Yeah,” Reese says.

  There it is. My girlfriend is going on a date…with another woman. A dull pain shoots through my skull. Is this really my life? My bottom lip trembles so I bite it. Stay composed. You agreed to this arrangement.

  “Okay,” I say. Good. That was good. You are expertly handling this. “What time will you be home by?”

  Reese eyes the ceiling, the clock on the oven, then me. “Eleven.” She nods. “Ish. Eleven-ish.”

  My brow furrows. “Right.”

  “Is that okay?”

  Are you joking? No, it’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay! “Yeah,” I lie.

  “Alright.” Reese pulls her wallet from of the back pocket of her pants, rifles through it and takes a credit card out. She puts it on the counter. “For dinner.”

  “Thanks.”

  Reese gives me a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll see you later?”

  I have no idea if she is waiting for me to kiss her goodbye or what, but I don’t move. “Yup.”

  We stare at each other in an uncomfortable silence for several seconds until she looks away. After all, I’m undefeated when it comes to staring contests. She raises her hand, as if to wave. I remain motionless. She leaves.

  I slow to a walk at the end of my three-mile run, pass through the building’s entrance, up the stairs and into the apartment that has been my home for four years now. Reese and I dated for a year before we moved in together to be sure. To be sure of what, I don’t know.

  I lock the door behind me. My skin is sticky from sweat. I wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my tee shirt as I start for the bathroom. I turn on the shower and while I wait for the water to warm up, I go back to the kitchen and pick up my phone from the table. I dial the number to the nearest Chinese take-out restaurant, which I’ve memorized. I place an order for a large Chow Mein and a side of steamed vegetables for good measure, and use Reese’s credit card to pay for the food. Afterwards, I return to the bathroom, peel off my clothes and stand under the stream of hot water. I lather myself with enough body wash to bathe a small village and scrub, but no matter how hard I scrub, I can’t seem to get clean.

  Why is it that Reese is the one out with another woman and yet I’m the one who feels dirty?

  Chapter Six

  I take another bite of Chow Mein and place the container on the table next to the sofa, where I’m sitting cross-legged in my over-sized sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal top that has a hole in the right cuff big enough to fit my thumb through. I lean forward and pick up the bottle of cabernet from the coffee table, and having decided once I popped the cork an hour ago, that glasses are overrated, take a generous swig. I burrow the wine bottle between my legs and reach to my left for the already open pint of triple chocolate ice cream. I dig the spoon deep into the carton and scoop out as much as much I can on the first try. I shovel the cold deliciousness in my mouth. “Mm.” I swallow and take another drink of wine. I turn my attention back to the television in front of me and watch the scene play out. I’ve seen this episode of Psychotic Intellect at least a dozen times, but I’m always astonished when the killer is revealed. Here it comes in five, four, three, two…I jolt in my seat. I drink more cabernet. I stretch my arm out for the Chinese food, but my eyes fall on my cell neighboring the white box. Under the phone lies the piece of paper with Abby’s number on it.

  “She’s out with someone. She’s out with someone who’s not me.” I’m aware that I’m talking to a mobile device about my girlfriend. “So if I call someone who isn’t her, what’s the big deal? Am I right?” I have a long sip of wine in an attempt to drown my jitters. I am unsuccessful. Nevertheless, I put the bottle back on the table and pick up my phone along with the paper. I exhale and begin to dial. I place the phone up to my ear and listen as it rings. “She’s not even going to answer,” I mumble after the fourth ring.

  “Hello?” Abby answers.

  My heart stops at the sound of her voice. Shit. Shit. Shit. I sit up straighter. “Um. Hi.” I wince. “Is Abby there?” My wince
intensifies. Oh my god, you did not just ask her that!

  “This is she,” Abby says.

  I can hear her smile into the receiver. The mere thought of her smile gives me butterflies.

  “May I ask who this is?” She asks.

  “Yeah. Uh. It’s Parker. From the bar.” I stutter. “From last night.” Oh, real smooth.

  Abby laughs a little. “Ash. Parker from the bar. Hello.”

  I can’t help it and grin like a fool. “Hello. How are you?”

  “I’m good.” She pauses. “How are you?”

  “I’m alright.”

  “I didn’t think you’d call,” Abby says in her soft-spoken voice.

  “No? Why not?”

  “You seemed uncomfortable when I was hitting on you.”

  I cough. “Oh. I did?”

  Abby chuckles. “Kind of like you’re uncomfortable now.”

  “What? No. I’m totally comfortable.” This is not true.

  “Are you though?” Abby asks. “You just coughed.”

  My eyes widen. “I had a tickle in my throat.” This is not true either.

  “Right.” Abby’s tone is full of disbelief.

  “Right,” I repeat.

  “Why are you nervous?”

  Because you’re gorgeous and there’s a chance that I might have a crush on you. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Wow. Really?” She laughs again. It is the best sound. “You’ve never talked on the phone before?”

  “No, I...what I’m trying to say is that I…” What am I trying to say? “I’m not that girl.”

  “Um. You’re not what girl?” Abby asks.

  I take a breath. “I’m not the girl who gets hit on at bars…or anywhere.”

  “Ohhh. That girl. I see.” She’s smiling into the phone again. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but last night, you became that girl because I’m certain I hit on you.”