Ceasefire

by Black, Scarlett

  I called them “The Lonely Hearts Club.” They always invited me to sit whenever I had time to stop in before work, and maybe now that I didn’t have anywhere to be for the next five months, I could finally take a seat and see what really happened in the lives of old men.

  But not right then. I wasn’t in the mood for company.

  I treated myself to a double cappuccino with extra cream and a shot of caramel.

  And I didn’t regret it. All those wasted calories, Dreama would’ve been horrified.

  I glanced around the room trying to find an open table, eyeballing a couple of women who seemed like they’d been camping out a while, taking up space. I tried to mentally will them to move so I could have a spot alone. I needed to sulk.

  They didn’t obey. Damn them.

  It was loud in there. The cacophony of chattering customers, hissing machines and shouting baristas put my nerves on edge.

  “Double half-caff latte with a shot of vanilla! Mandy? Mandy?” A young woman, about my age, got up from a table nearby and retrieved her prize.

  I was irritated already, and getting even more so at all the inconsiderate people hogging spots on a busy day. I thought about going out to my car and taking a drive down to the river, where I could mope in peace and enjoy my guilty pleasure in silence.

  Looking back on it, I still wonder how things would’ve turned out if I’d simply left the coffee shop that day.

  Instead, I took one last look and saw two tables, each with an empty chair. All I wanted to do was sit down, stare out the window, and think for a bit. Surely someone wouldn’t mind if I joined them. Sitting at the first table was an elderly woman, sipping from a mug and reading something on an iPad. I almost chose her. Almost.

  The second table was over by the far wall, underneath some knockoff painting by some art deco artiste whose name escaped me. Grisanty, maybe. The guy who sat there faced the rust-red bricks like he was in timeout. Dark hair, broad shoulders inside a crisp white collared shirt, with a suit jacket hung over his chair. I thought, why not? and walked over. As I approached, peeking over his shoulder, I could see his laptop open and assumed he was working. If he had his nose buried in job stuff, all the better. I could sit quietly, like I wanted to, and not interrupt him. And not be interrupted either.

  Score, right?

  It would’ve been, if he hadn’t been absolutely—well—absolutely delicious. (Is there a better word than that? Something less…I don’t know…less silly? I doubt it. The right words are there for the right reasons.)

  I tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me.”

  Oh my God.

  The most incredible blue eyes I’d ever seen. Unnatural, almost. The color of a cloudless sky, or better yet, like the blue water surrounding some tropical island. Wavy, dark brown locks of hair that I wanted to run my fingers through. Seriously, I had to fight the urge. Tanned skin, just the shade I liked, and a sculpted goatee surrounding a mouth made for—

  “Hi,” he said, snatching me away from where my mind was headed.

  He seemed to be in his early thirties. The tiny hint of crow’s feet only added to his older-than-me, refined look. Professional, I guess. Not yuppie, not suburban hip, just professional. I noticed that his tie matched the color of his eyes and wondered if he had a good enough fashion sense to do that on purpose.

  And what did I look for next?

  No wedding ring, of course.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but it’s so crowded in here and I was hoping you might share your table. Do you mind?”

  Maybe if I could just lick your neck, too. That would help my morning.

  He scrambled to move a stack of papers and his coffee mug, almost tipping it over in the process. Clumsy can be cute, at times. “Please, no. Sit. I’m about to finish up here anyway.”

  No, don’t go!

  I pulled the chair back and then remembered I wasn’t wearing panties. While I would’ve rather shown him everything I had instead of Ronnie, that thing about how you “never get a second chance to make a first impression,” flashed through my head. I pinched my knees together and sat down politely, like a good girl should.

  I introduced myself and stuck out a hand to shake, simply because I wanted to see what his skin felt like.

  “I’m Finn,” he said, taking my hand.

  And as expected, his palm was smooth and supple, and my thoughts went to imagining how his hands would feel as they gripped my waist while I bent over with my face buried in a pillow.

  “Finn. That’s a nice name.”

  The tingling came back and I shifted in my chair. I could feel the growing warmth between my legs. It’s amazing how something as simple as a welcome touch can make you forget about the day’s problems.

  It didn’t matter that I’d lost my job. It didn’t matter that I’d never meet my mother’s expectations. It didn’t matter that I had no prospects on the horizon.

  My mind went too far, too quickly, and I couldn’t help but think about how he would react to the fact that I was a young, single mother. Would the three of us be relaxing in the park six months from now, or would he lose interest the moment I said “I have a son,” and scamper away?

  Somehow, I managed to refrain from imagining what our wedding would be like, and instead, I took a sip of my cappuccino and stared at him over the mug’s rim. I’d never been that good at flirting, really, so I don’t know how my gesture came across.

  However it seemed to him, it worked, at least well enough for him to ask, “So, are you on your way into the office or…?”

  I set my mug down on the table. “No, actually. I just got laid off, like thirty minutes ago.” I said it with a smile, trying to not sound bitter, and in some small way, I wasn’t. I’d begun to accept how ridiculous the situation had been back in Ronnie’s office. Snarling with my mouth and taunting him with my legs spread wide. I don’t know where that girl came from, but she was daring and I liked her.

  Finn’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. He began shaking his head and stammered, “I—I’m, oh wow, I mean—yeah, uh, I’m sorry. Open mouth, insert foot, huh?”

  I played it off like it was no big deal. I smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it. I mean I knew it was coming, eventually, so I’m totally cool with it, you know? One door closes, another one opens.” I took another sip of cappuccino and watched as he tried to find the right words.

  “Still, man, I’m sorry about that.” He sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. I wished it were my hand.

  Normally, I didn’t get so, I don’t know, entranced around guys. I had too many responsibilities and too little time for such distractions. My girlfriends—all happily married with husbands who helped, maids who cleaned, and no jobs to stress over—had often tried to set me up on dates. I’d politely decline and say, “Maybe next time.”

  But, Finn... Wow. If they’d tried to set me up with him, my next question would’ve been, “Should we do calligraphy on the wedding invites, or not?”

  It would be ridiculous to say I was under some sort of spell, but goddamn it, that’s what it felt like. I wanted to wave his magic wand for him. Sprinkle some fairy dust over me, whatever, but I would’ve climbed up on his lap right there in the middle of the crowded coffee house if he’d asked.

  And where was it coming from, that pure, raw attraction? Was it because I hadn’t been with a man since the month before Marcus walked out? Was that it? Was I just…horny? It was such a foreign sensation that I barely remembered what it felt like. I’d been so busy with life and work, taking care of my son, my body had become nothing more than a vessel—something to carry me through each exhausting day. Had nature finally allowed the flower to blossom after it had lain dormant for so long?

  Whatever the case—all I knew was this: something had awoken within me, and I wasn’t about to let it go back to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Like I said, I wasn’t very good at flirting, but I figured that
a little dose of “hard to get” would be appropriate. If I’d learned anything from my sisters, it was the fact that men loved the chase. I’d never used the trick before, of course, but after seeing them in action throughout high school and college, it seemed foolproof. I said, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about it. I’ll be quiet and let you finish up. Silent Susie over here.”

  Ugh, Silent Susie? Where the hell did that come from? You’re playing hard to get, Kim, not hard to understand.

  I worried that he’d see me as childish. Unworthy of his time. I looked older than twenty-one, especially with my hair up in a bun and wearing work clothes, but for all I knew he was into cougars. Yeah, I could officially be a MILF to the right person—would Finn see it that way if he knew?

  “Are you kidding me?” he said, grinning. “No way. We can’t just sit here and let a perfectly ruined morning go to waste. Let me buy you a coff—oh, no, um, breakfast? How does breakfast sound? You deserve a treat for the day you’ve had already.”

  Do I have to tell you that the way he blushed and stumbled over his words was so innocent, so sweet, that it made me want him to melt in my mouth?

  “That’s so nice of you,” I said, still playing hard to get, “but I can’t let you do that.” Teasing him, I added, “What would my poor mother think, eating bagels with a man I’d just met?”

  He laughed and closed his laptop, held up his mug, offering a toast. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Oh, dangerous,” I said, winking, tapping my mug against his. “I like the way you think.”

  Was it sudden? Maybe. Did I care? No.

  Within a few minutes we went from “Hi, I’m Kim,” to sharing a blueberry bagel absolutely loaded with cream cheese. We were talking and laughing, telling war stories of horrible office life and how we’d both ended up where we were. I felt like I needed to get at least one minor detail out of the way, so it didn’t take me long to reveal that I was barely able to drink legally, but he was so impressed by my work ethic and education that it didn’t matter. He even said he’d known upper-level managers at previous jobs who weren’t as mature and accomplished as I was. Truly, it made me feel better about myself, even though I’d just gotten the boot from a job that I was far too overqualified for.

  I had to fight back against the guilt for not mentioning my little Joey—it’s not like I was ashamed—but that was a conversation for later, after I’d felt him out some more. You know, tested the waters.

  Did I say felt him out? I think what I really meant was felt him up.

  We talked for two hours.

  Two hours that sped by as quickly as two minutes.

  And in that time, I hadn’t learned a single thing about what he did now. Everything had been about his past. Where he’d gone to school, where he’d grown up, what pitiable office jobs he’d held while he was trying to make ends meet. You know, the usual chitchat that happens when you’re first learning about someone. Stuff like favorite TV shows, favorite books and favorite movies.

  His, by the way, was The Princess Bride, which immediately earned him some extra bonus points. I have to admit, it made me wonder what our children would look like.

  And get this, we never had a single instance of that uncomfortable silence that happens when you momentarily run out of things to talk about.

  Not a one.

  I don’t mean to sound shallow or full of myself, but most guys, they bored me. Back before Joey came into my life, I hadn’t dated much for that specific reason. Dreama had said it was because I was too smart—that I needed to find a man on my level. When I asked her what that meant and where I should look, she’d said, “Just check his knuckles. Make sure they haven’t been dragging on the ground.”

  Sage advice from the woman who married a reformed alcoholic wife-beater.

  But, Dreama’s issues are her own and I don’t plan to get into those. Much.

  Finn balled up a napkin and tossed it onto his plate. He smiled at me, again revealing those perfectly white teeth. I imagined him nibbling on the soft skin of my neck and had to look away so he wouldn’t see me blushing. Had it gotten warmer in the coffee shop, or was it me? Hard to say.

  He said, “I hate to do this, but I have a meeting to get to,” he checked his watch, “in like ten minutes. I’m so not prepared for this. Maybe we could pick this up tomorrow since you’re—well, you know, since you’re free.”

  “Free, huh? Is that what we’re calling ‘unemployed’ now?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Relax, Finn. I’m kidding.” I patted his arm. “I’d love to hang out tomorrow.”

  Ugh, hang out? Hang out? You’re not some teenager thumbing out a text, Kim.

  “Awesome,” he said. “My calendar is wide open.”

  While I had looked forward to spending a full day relaxing on the couch and playing with Joey, I was sure that my friend Michelle wouldn’t mind watching him for a couple of hours. Was it selfish? Yeah, I’d say so, but I justified it by thinking that it’d be wonderful for him to eventually have a father figure around. Fingers crossed.

  Finn asked for my number. I gave it to him, more eagerly than I would’ve liked—can’t seem too desperate, can we?—and he promised to call early so we could make plans.

  I didn’t see him again for over a year.

  Would things have turned out differently if he’d called when he said he would?

  I’m sure of it.

  All I can say is, my world changed during that time. A lot.

  Anyway, what came next started with a classified ad in the local paper.

  ***

  When Finn didn’t call I spent the next day, and the day after that, and then the next week staring at my phone, both begging him to call and dreading the conversation we would have if he did. I worried that he’d looked me up online and found pictures of me posing with Joey. But that wouldn’t have sent him completely running in the wrong direction, would it? If that were the case, he could’ve at least checked in to let me down gently.

  He had no social profile, at least not one that I could find. Then again, it’s hard to track someone down when all you have is a first name.

  How do you go from two—okay, yeah, I’ll say it—two magical hours to never calling someone like you’d promised? I mean, really, what the hell?

  I went through every possible scenario in my head. There hadn’t been a wedding ring, but maybe there was a girlfriend or a fiancé. He hadn’t written my number down, so what if he’d lost his phone? I decided that was the most logical explanation.

  I briefly considered that maybe he’d died in a car crash, rushing to get to his meeting. After all, it was partly my fault that he was late. I couldn’t find his name in the obituaries.

  Over the next five months, the idea of a Finn-filled future faded somewhat, but I didn’t forget about him.

  And by the time those five months were gone, my situation was honestly tougher than I’d expected or could’ve planned for. It started slowly and before I realized it, “I’ll get to it later” was no longer an option.

  I was still jobless, my severance pay stopped, I’d blown through my savings, and my unemployment benefits were barely enough to feed Joey and me, let alone pay bills or rent. It was hardly enough to afford gas money to drive to an interview for yet another job I wouldn’t get.

  Dreama offered to help, but I declined. I could do it—would do it—on my own. The absolute last thing I needed was to give her more reason to be disappointed in the only daughter that didn’t live up to her expectations.

  Sharon was a fashion designer in New York, rubbing elbows with celebrities.

  Samantha was something of a minor celebrity herself, starring in commercials along with a few bit parts in sitcoms down in L.A.

  And dear Sophie, the one sister that I actually connected with, she was living in Hong Kong with her stock broker husband, writing novels, prancing up the bestseller charts while chasing around my four nieces and nephews.

&nbs
p; All who were born in wedlock, as Dreama would emphasize.

  And then there was me. Poor little Kim. Unemployed…unemployable; brilliant, but not street smart enough to figure things out; surviving on store-brand noodles and rice, so that Joey could have healthier meals. Living in a deteriorating studio apartment, driving a decrepit Honda that would surely fall apart if you gave it an angry look.

  Yeah, you could say I was this close to rock bottom.

  On a rainy Monday morning in early August, I dropped Joey off at Dreama’s house so I could speed across town for another interview.

  Well, that’s what I told her. Her eyes lit up when I mentioned that I was under consideration for a low-level management position at a software company and that the first round of interviews had gone well.

  Total bullshit, by the way. It went awful and there was no chance in hell I’d be called back for another shot. I lied to her, because for some reason, Joey had decided he would keep me awake half the night and I was exhausted; all I wanted was a couple hours to nap. Yes, it felt like I was shirking my responsibilities as a parent—that I was cheating the system—but that’s what grandparents are for, right? To spoil their grandchildren and inadvertently make sure their own child stays sane?

  “Kim, that’s wonderful!” Dreama said, hefting Joey up higher on her hip. At a year and a half now, he was almost getting too big to carry. “But you don’t have any management experience—how’d you convince them? Are you sure you’re prepared for something like that?”

  Even though it was a lie, way to pop the bubble, Dreama.

  “They’re a new company, Mom. They have like, twelve employees total and what they really want is to build a team of young, hip go-getters.”

  “Go-getters?”

  “That’s what they said. Their words.”

  “Did you mention your MBA?”

  “It’s on my resume. I’m pretty sure they saw it.”

  “Okay, well, good luck. Make us proud.”

  Her tone suggested it was an order, not a simple platitude.