by Beck, Jamie
But a paycheck is a paycheck, so I dragged my butt here several days each week to tone women who didn’t have to work so they could fit into their designer clothes and sip wine at lunch without guilt. Making the emotional-spiritual connection would be up to them.
“See you tomorrow, Lex!” I waved goodbye before trotting across the street to Sugar Momma’s, the only truly awesome new shop on this side of town. I shouldn’t splurge, but Hannah’s chai was the best, and her love for color exceeded my own. If I ever got fired from the gym, maybe I could work here part-time.
“Good morning, Hannah.” I planted my hands on the counter and smiled.
“Woo-hoo, those pants say happy hour to me!” Hannah joked.
“Maybe we should wait until after lunch,” I teased. More people should be like us, laughing at the absurdity of life instead of freaking out like my mom and sister had when I’d recently shorn the left side of my head and cropped the hair on the other side in short, uneven chunks.
“I guess it is still early.” Hannah raised her index finger. “Hey, you just missed your sister. She left about ten minutes ago.”
“Really? That’s too bad.” I forced my facial expression to match those words. Amanda and my mom were already pissed at me for bailing on this afternoon’s baby shower shopping spree. If I’d run into my sister here, I’d be leaving with the chai and a major guilt trip.
Who needed that? I already felt bad about choosing Max’s dad’s birthday lunch instead. But the truth is, Amanda and my mom have similar tastes, and they don’t particularly like mine. At least Charlie laughs at my jokes and likes to play cards. Given the choice between hangin’ with people who want to change me versus those who don’t, why wouldn’t I choose the latter?
I didn’t even need to be with them to know everything they’d pick today would be white and pink, with lots of lace, ribbon, and ruffles. Sure, that stuff’s sweet, but not at all as unique as the little onesie I found on Etsy right after learning about the baby. It had a picture of a gaming remote and read “Player 3 has entered the game.” I’d been all grins until Amanda offered up the same awkward smile she’d worn after she’d unwrapped any birthday or Christmas gift I’d ever given her. There was no doubt in my mind that my niece would never wear that onesie except in case of a dire emergency.
Lyle was even pickier than my sister, and twice as certain. Mr. and Mrs. Do the Right This and Be the Right That, as if anything in life was ever actually wrong. Scratch that. Some things were definitely wrong, like murder and disloyalty. But not hairstyles, career choices, and a little experimentation with whatever the world had to offer. Lyle and I hadn’t liked each other from the start, so for the past three years I’d seen even less of my sister than before.
“Her belly’s getting big now,” Hannah said.
That made me smile. Amanda had always been a pretty woman, but now she glowed. I’d marked my niece’s due date on my calendar with a red heart. Not that Lyle would let me spend much time with her on my own, if any. That guy’s only positive trait was that he gave Amanda a lot of nice things. But if those two ever did let me babysit, I’d be given a list of instructions as long as my arm. Rules, rules, rules. I should’ve bought a sign like that as a housewarming gift. Then again, it’d be at the bottom of some drawer with that onesie, and I’d be that much closer to being homeless. “Only a few more months to go.”
Hannah nodded. “So you want your usual?”
“You know it.” I tossed three bucks on the counter and waited for the to-go cup of deliciousness. Totally worth it.
I raised the tea in salutation. “Have an awesome day, my friend.”
After running back across the street, I crouched to unlock my bike and then poured the chai into my insulated water bottle to take with me.
Nothing beats biking on spring mornings like this, when the cool breeze whips along the bay and rustles the budding leaves of the oak trees, although they also make me miss my dad even more. I remembered the day we’d transferred the American sycamore seedling from the nursery pot to our backyard. Early April . . . typical overcast skies threatening rain. A chilly breeze whipped across the yard, but I hadn’t minded because my dad was smiling at me and we were listening to Coldplay. I’d been ten years old, and it was the first time I’d introduced him to new music. We’d spent a lot of time outdoors, from snelling hooks on the water to tending to the vegetable garden in the yard, talking about life and laughing at most of it.
A massive heart attack that no one saw coming took him from us almost a year ago. His one vice—those damn cigarettes—had literally killed him. I’m the last person to criticize anyone for a vice, ’cause I’ve got plenty. But moderation, people. Moderation.
I’d spent the last year grasping at anything—including Max—to fill the void my dad left behind, but the fact that nothing was working was another sign that I needed to change the direction of my life.
As the gentrified part of town faded behind me, the familiar streets of my youth prompted a grin. I’d been biking these old roads since getting Kevin’s hand-me-down red trike twenty-odd years ago. My first kiss—Todd Brewer—had lived there on Orchard Drive. Haley Scott, a friend who’d moved to California in tenth grade, had lived there on Aspen Lane. And after I left home, my dad and I had met regularly at Lou’s Diner, our favorite spot for coffee and pie despite its broken tableside jukeboxes and desperate need of a new coat of paint. This side of town held its history and its generations-old families. Not the Audi-driving dandies.
I turned the bend onto Oak Court to reach my apartment building, locking my bike in the beat-up rack out front. I’ve toured interesting cities all over Europe, but nothing quite beats home.
Home sweet home.
Or not, as I was reminded when I passed by Mrs. Wagner’s apartment door on my way up to the third floor. I’d lost count of how many cats she kept in there, but the odor that leaked through the gap beneath her door gagged me worse than anything Max let rip after a big meal at Olé Mole.
When I reached into my backpack for my keys, my yoga bag fell off my shoulder. It’d been that kind of morning. Mo barked at the door from inside. My sister’s fancy security system had nothing on my fifteen-pound Zuchon.
When I opened the door, I knelt so he could lick me.
“Fluffy McFlufferson. So many kisses!” I squealed, rolling onto my back to play with him for a few seconds. He might be overdue for a grooming appointment, but the retreat registration fee meant I’d need to teach a few more classes to pay for a grooming and my phone bill. On the upside, when Mo’s hair got this long, he looked like a puffball, thus the nickname.
“Hey,” Max called from his spot on the sofa.
He was still sprawled there in his boxer briefs, remote in hand, exactly like when I’d left two hours earlier. Coming home to the sight of those carved abs and thighs and then dive-bombing the couch with him in a tangle of arms and legs used to excite me. Now I wanted to throw my yoga mat at his head and bellow, “Get a job!”
I gave Mo one last hug before I stood. “I thought you’d be showered by now. We should hit the road if you want to get to Philly in time to take your dad to lunch and not have to dine and dash.”
“We’re not going.” Max didn’t even look at me.
I glanced at the TV to see what was so captivating that he couldn’t tear himself away to have a conversation about the sudden change in plans. Old School again. One Will Ferrell movie was more than enough for me, but Max could spend hours on end rewatching them.
“Why not?” I leaned the mat against the wall between the entertainment unit and the corner cluttered with Max’s old notebooks, charcoals and art pads, and other abandoned hobby supplies. The same corner I’d been meaning to get around to cleaning because none of my attempts to help him get his mojo back had succeeded. I mean, if a little rejection defeated him, he needed to find a nonartistic career. “Is your dad sick?”
Charlie could be a bit loud, but he’d always been kind to me in a wa
y I’d particularly missed this past year without my dad.
“In the head, maybe.” Max snickered at his unfunny joke.
God, he could use a haircut, too. Who doesn’t appreciate a small man bun? But his had become a knotted mess.
He still hadn’t done more than toss me a glance at that point, so my temper started tapping on my chest the way Principal Kentworth used to tap on his desk whenever I’d gotten in trouble at school.
I crossed my arms. “Hey, Max. Get your hand out of your pants long enough to tell me what’s going on. I’d like to know why you’ve unilaterally changed our plans.”
Max heaved a sigh the likes of which should be performed only in truly trying circumstances. “We had an argument, and now I don’t feel like celebrating his stupid birthday.”
“But I made a cake, and earned another black mark in my mom’s scorebook for bailing on her and Amanda today so we could celebrate with him.”
Max shrugged. “Sorry, babe.”
That endearment used to make my heart sing and my panties wet. Now the only thing my heart wanted to sing when it came to Max was the blues. As for the panties? Dry as Nevada.
“At least tell me why you argued. What was so bad that we can’t go wish him a happy birthday?”
He closed his eyes like he needed the patience required to deal with one of my sister’s students who’d peed his pants. “Can’t we chill and watch the movie, Erin? For chrissakes, it’s my dad, not yours. If I don’t want to go, why do you?”
I blinked, wise to the deflection. Whatever Charlie had said had probably echoed my sentiments. “I’m not leaving this room until you fess up.”
“You’re being a pill. And don’t act like you weren’t happy for an excuse to skip out on Amanda’s shopping spree.” He glowered.
I couldn’t deny that last part. I didn’t enjoy shopping much even when I had money, and most time spent with the dynamic duo otherwise known as Mom and Sis usually makes me feel a little worse about myself—which fact perplexes me because I fundamentally disagree with most of their philosophies. Still, all that well-intentioned advice can make me feel less-than.
“Turn down that movie. You could recite it by heart, so you won’t miss anything.” I marched across the room and sat on the coffee table.
“He got on my case about getting a ‘real’ job, okay?” Max blushed.
A touchy subject. Max had dabbled in poetry and short stories but never made much money. To supplement that dream, he’d taken odd jobs at the local hardware store or coffee shops, but eventually he’d argue with his boss and get fired. Resilience wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but he’d had such cool goals—or had pretended to until he had a roof over his head at little to no cost to him. Two years ago his good looks, affection, and romantic dreams had drawn me in. I was still grateful for all his tenderness in the wake of my dad’s death. But, Jesus, his laziness had been on my nerves for at least two months.
“Well, you know I’m not the corporate type, but there is something to be said for going out every day and doing something to get paid.”
“Teaching yoga classes isn’t exactly backbreaking work, Erin.”
Said the man who’d never taken one of my classes. “I also have my Etsy business.”
He rolled his eyes before his gaze landed on the milk crates filled with glass jars, various bottles of coconut and grapeseed oils, scented essential oils, bags of sugar, and soap molds. “Selling soaps and scrubs isn’t making you millions, either.”
“It makes more than you bring in.” I could take a lot of shit from him, but not a slam to Shakti Suds. I loved working with essential oils, packaging the little jars and ribbons, writing notes to customers, which I wouldn’t have discovered if I hadn’t been sinking into an abyss of grief.
It’d been Max, actually, who’d suggested aromatherapy to help me climb out of that hole. I’d then googled essential oil mixtures that could help with the various stages of grief. Instead of using the diffuser Max had borrowed from a friend, I had taught myself to make soaps and other products to help soothe me while I cried alone in the bathtub.
Whenever I’d given extra product to friends, they’d raved. I figured that since my dad was good at sales and I’m so much like him, maybe I could start a business selling my stuff. In less than a year, I’d built a small but loyal repeat clientele. Pretty good considering I’d been in mourning nearly that whole time.
Mo ran to the door right before someone knocked, barking his head off as if Jason from Friday the 13th were on the other side.
“Mo!” I yelled, looking over my shoulder at Max. “Who’s this?”
“Uber Eats.”
“What the hell?” I hissed. Now it was my turn to heave a big sigh. With a fake smile on my face, I picked Mo up to keep him from jumping all over the delivery person, and answered the door. A young guy handed me a brown bag from Markham’s Deli. “Thank you.”
I closed the door, set Mo back on the floor, and then peered into the bag. If I had to bet, it contained two bacon, egg, and cheese bagels. With delivery and tip, it probably cost twenty bucks or more. “Who’s paying for this, Max?”
“You’re the only one with an account.” He winked and made grabby hands for the bag.
“Because I’m the only one with a credit card.” I flung the bag right at his chest.
“Hey!” He scowled, then ripped open the bag on the coffee table to turn it into a makeshift plate.
“You know what?” I put my hands on my hips. “It’s a good thing I’m leaving tomorrow for the retreat.”
With a full mouth, he asked, “What’s that mean?”
In the beginning I’d actually thought that beard was cute, but now it bothered me as much as everything else about him, especially when food got caught in it.
“You’re on thin ice, that’s what it means. When I asked you to move in last year, I didn’t sign up to be your mom.”
He got that twinkle in his eye that usually weakened me. In a sultry voice, he said, “Come on, babe. I hardly treat you like my mom.”
The fact that his sexy voice didn’t melt me proved how bad our chi was out of whack. “We were supposed to split the cost of living to protect the time we needed to pursue our other goals. Yet I’ve been footing all the bills, and now I’m in credit card debt while you’re doing nothing to help. I’ve got less time for my business, and you’re wasting all yours.”
“If money’s so tight, why’d you sign up for the retreat?” His entitled tone—his gall to suggest I shouldn’t spend my hard-earned money on myself—snapped something deep inside.
“Max, this isn’t working for me.”
“What isn’t?”
“This!” I gestured between us. “You and me. It’s probably best if you move out this weekend while I’m away.”
At least he put down the sandwich for a second. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“I am.” I was done. Done, done, done.
“Babe! Don’t overreact. I’ll pay you back for the sandwich.” He rested his elbows on his knees and looked up at me with those big blue eyes, his expression all soft and sad. For a second I almost caved. That adorable man I’d met two years, two months, and fifteen days ago shone through all the ick, and my heart hesitated.
“It’s not about the sandwich. It’s about having to pay for nearly everything we do because I have two jobs and you have none. It’s the way you lie around in your underwear and watch reruns instead of working on a story or poem, or at least doing some housework so I don’t have to. It’s that beard and the hair that’s so overgrown you look like Mo.”
His brows rose. “But we have fun, and the sex is still great.”
He had me there. The man knew his way around my body like nobody ever had before, and he was still a thing of beauty. If he’d cut his hair and shave, he could probably get work as a local model or something. “I’m turning thirty soon and I need a real partner, not a boy toy.”
I didn’t know a lot, but I did kno
w that a relationship should make you grow. My dad had once mused that he’d had one old love who’d lit him up like a firecracker yet also left him burned out. Then my mom had come along—steady and assured—to dust him off and help him become his best self. Max and I hadn’t done that for each other in quite some time.
“Ouch. You can be harsh, you know.” He picked up his sandwich and took another bite, brow creased. “You really want me out? That’s it? You’re done and I get no say?”
I rose above a petty quip about it being a lot like how I’d had no say in the plans he’d changed today. It wouldn’t have been a fair comparison. We’d enjoyed a lengthy, intimate relationship and shared some memorable times together. Yet when I searched my heart for even the smallest ache, I couldn’t find it. The past few months had proven that together we would never evolve. “I’m sorry for being harsh. I think maybe this has been coming for a while, and my going away for the weekend gives us the perfect time for a clean break.”
He slouched against the cushions and locked his hands behind his head. “You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.”
I wouldn’t deny there might be some nights when I’d miss him, but I wouldn’t miss all the little things that bugged me, and I literally couldn’t afford to stay in this relationship. I didn’t need a man to define me, and everything about this conversation reinforced that giving Max the boot was step one in changing my life. “Maybe.”
“Who gets Mo?”
The air left my lungs. “Mo is mine.”
“Why’s he yours? We got him together.” He crossed his arms now, like he might actually fight me about this, of all things.
His sudden love for Mo only made me angrier. “I bought him. I’ve paid all his vet bills, walk him every day, and feed him. All you do is lie around with him on that couch. Mo is my dog.”
“He’ll miss me, though.” Max cast a soulful gaze Mo’s way.
That stopped me. In a way it would be like a divorce, except unlike with a kid, we couldn’t explain to Mo why Max wouldn’t be around anymore.
Mo was curled up on his little dog bed, watching us both. “Well, I guess you can visit him and take him for walks now and then if you want.”
