by Lex Martin
Jason is single. He’s hot. And he wants commitment.
I don’t look up again until Diane sticks her head over my cubicle, just before five twenty.
“Time to go! I was thinking that you should leave your car here, and I’ll drive. I think I have something for you to wear, if it’ll fit…” I cringe at Diane, realizing I never told her. Shit. I feel like an ass.
“Actually, I had a change of plans.” I draw out the sentence to soften the blow then smile hopefully, “I’m going on a date tonight.” My smile is wide, hoping she’ll be happy for me. After all she’s always talking about how I need to hookup and get laid.
Happy isn’t exactly her response though. She looks a little shocked at first, and I feel awful. With the smile on my face vanished, I apologize “I should have told you when I got the message, but I was hung up on that a-hole client.”
I always keep my plans with her and everyone else, chicks before dicks and all that, but one on one with Diane is hard to take. With Ann it’s way easier. And I really do need to find someone serious… and/or freeze my eggs. I’m on borrowed time, and suddenly finding a husband is at the top of my to-do list.
“Fine,” she snaps. “I expect the Kleinpeters ad on my desk tomorrow, though.”
I would flinch at her sharp demeanor, but I’m used to it. She’s also not my boss, she’s just another designer on the job. “Already done. I cc’d you in the email.”
“You sent an ad to the client without my approval?” she asks, her fury evident.
I grind my teeth slightly, wanting very much to remind her that she’s not my fucking boss. “Correct. I don’t have to get your approval. I was just doing it to be polite.”
Her gaze narrows. “I don’t know about that.”
“Well, I do,” I reply cheerfully, deciding I don’t need this shit. “If you have a problem with it, I think HR is a good place to start.”
She’s practically shooting lasers out of her eyes now; it’s almost comical. Diane has a long history of complaints filed against her in HR, mostly dress code violations. HR is the last place she would go for help.
“Have a great date,” she says through clenched teeth and an expression that’s reminiscent of sucking on a lemon.
“See you tomorrow!” I call out, feeling vindicated, but still uneasy. She can really be a bitch. I don’t know why I put up with her as much as I do. Well other than the fact that I have no choice since I can’t fire her.
Diane disappears, and I relax a little but that doesn’t last long. I have a to do list that keeps growing, and more importantly, a date.
Charlie
Stretching my arms over my head I crack my back, feeling the exhaustion from working all last night until 5 am get to me. Damn the stretch feels good though. I couldn’t sleep more than four hours with all the work that needed to be done before opening this afternoon for Mags. I need to hire someone new. Someone with experience who already knows what to do because I sure as hell don’t have the time to train someone. Needle, meet haystack.
“Pass the gravy,” Pops tells me. He’s to my left, expecting me to pay attention when I can barely keep my eyes open.
After stifling a yawn, I reach across the table for the white ceramic rooster that holds the gravy. I’m fairly sure it’s supposed to be for milk or creamer, but before I can take it my sister Cheryl bats my hand away.
“I’m not done with it,” she tells me. I raise both my hands in surrender.
“Then pour it on your damn plate,” Pops says, staring at the gravy. He’s got a full plate of carved turkey, mashed potatoes and corn, with a fork in his right hand. He’s acting like he’s going to starve this minute if he doesn’t get that gravy on, more than likely, every inch of his dinner.
“Language!” Ma snaps at him and I chuckle. She passes him the gravy though, and makes my sister gasp. That’s what she gets for taking forever spooning out the potatoes I guess.
It’s just the six of us tonight. Ali is at my left like usual, Ma's across from me and Pops is seated at the head of the table on my right. Ali’s fiancé Michael sits on the end next to her while Cheryl sits across from her.
“I need the gravy, Ma,” Cheryl says with a pout.
It’s hard to imagine that Cheryl is a grown ass woman with a child from the way she just whined.
Cutting into my turkey and taking a bite, I don’t wait for the gravy that’s become such a commodity. I’m starving and I didn’t realize it until I smelled dinner. Shit, I don’t even remember the last time I ate. We were slammed today with both orders, and customers. Business is good, but I’m dog tired. Cheryl stifles a yawn as well as she looks over her shoulder at the rocker holding her sleeping baby. Rocker or swing, I don’t know. Apparently there’s a difference and Evie won’t sleep in one of the contraptions. From what my brother-in-law says, the baby doesn’t sleep at all.
“I need to eat fast,” Cheryl says beneath her breath; maybe we were sharing the same thought. She rubs the sleep from her eyes with one hand, while spooning in corn with the other.
Ma places her elbows on the table, folding her hands for grace.
“Oh,” Ali chirps up. “Can I say grace?”
I set my fork down although it clinks on the plate, drawing the attention of my entire family as I try to pretend I’m not chewing.
Family dinner. Every Sunday. No exception.
Except for the fact that today is Tuesday. Cheryl needed to get out of the house with Evie and Ma decided this dinner was mandatory.
Cheryl doesn’t like being alone all day, every day, and I can’t blame her. She’s a social creature and being alone in the house with a newborn all day has got to be rough. Especially with the no sleeping part. Ma said it’s family dinner tonight, so that’s all there is to it.
“Wait for grace,” my mother scolds me under her breath, giving Cheryl a pass which my widened eyes and darting glance points out.
“Can I say it?” Ali repeats, with even more desperation this time around.
I never wait for grace. Ma shakes her head at me and nods in response to Ali.
My youngest sister’s excitement makes my lips kick up into a smirk. She grabs her napkin off of the table and smooths it out on her lap over her pale blue dress, all the while waiting for everyone to bow their heads.
“As long as it has nothing to do with the wedding,” Michael says under his breath next to her. My grin widens as Alison’s mouth opens in disbelief.
Pops chuckles to my right, and I can’t help doing the same. Both Ma and Ali are obsessed over this wedding; it’s all the women in this family ever talk about lately.
“Hush.” Ma waves Michael away and bows her head. We all follow suit, the room quieting down as we wait.
“Bless us, Lord. Thank you for these gifts, which we are about to receive... Including my wedding,” Ali says. She lifts her head to peek at Michael. He huffs a small laugh and shakes his head while resting his forehead on his hands. She pauses a minute, waiting for him to do or say anything, but he’s quiet. “May you stay with us through our journey and bless us along the way. Amen.”
The second she’s done, the forks are lifted and the conversation continues. Michael and Pops are talking about the game last night. I’m half listening, half trying to eat as fast as I can so I can get back home.
“I can’t believe Joseph had to work,” Ma says… again.
She’s brought it up about half a dozen times since I’ve been here. Ma has one wish, and it’s for everyone to be home on Sunday. Joseph’s a mechanic and owns his own shop. Usually it’s not a problem, but he’s been working more since little Evelyn came along.
“We need the extra money,” Cheryl says softly. There are bags under her eyes, and I can tell she’s just as tired as I am, maybe even more so. Pops motions for me to pass her the gravy, but Michael leans over the table and snatches it before I can. He’s quick with it and then hands it off to Cheryl.
That white ceramic rooster brightens her spirits as Che
ryl sits straighter in the chair and pours it all over the turkey and mashed potatoes. She's practically smothering her entire plate with the gravy.
Just before she sets it down, little Miss Evie starts crying for the first time since she’s been here. Cheryl’s head whips around, and her face falls.
“No, no, no,” she says quietly. She walks over and shushes Evie softly while rocking the bassinet. She’s fucking exhausted.
“She’s still not sleeping well?” Ali asks while craning her neck to see the baby.
Cheryl presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. Her expression has completely fallen.
“I’ll take her,” I speak without thinking and scoot my chair out some, the legs scraping on the wooden floor and hold my hands out. Cheryl doesn’t waste a second to round the table with the little two-month-old all bundled up in her arms.
“Thank you,” she says quickly, ready to eat her dinner like it’s a race.
I’ve got a soft spot for Evie. She’s the first baby I’ve ever held and to be honest I didn’t know if I was doing it right. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are balled into little fists as Cheryl settles her on my chest. She’s so small, such a tiny little thing with hardly any weight to her. She knows how to scream though, that’s for certain.
I shush her and pat her bottom rhythmically as Cheryl takes off back to her seat and doesn’t even scoot in before grabbing her fork.
My entire body moves slightly as I bounce little Evie, trying to get her to calm down. Her cry isn’t loud like it was a moment ago and it doesn’t affect me in the least, but I know it’ll calm Cheryl down again if Evie is happy. It only takes a moment before Evie lays her head on my chest and lets out a long yawn. I watch her face as she falls back asleep and I slowly stop bouncing her.
“Oh, that’s so cute,” Ali squeals before shoveling a mouthful of potatoes in.
“Aw, it is. My oldest boy.” Ma sounds so proud, but I completely avoid her gaze. I know what’s coming next, and it’s only when she says the words that I regret offering to hold Evie.
“You need one of your own, I think,” Ma says matter-of-factly. She grabs the gravy and puts a modest amount over her turkey. I believe the rooster has made its way to everyone but me.
I have to readjust Evie slightly so I can hold her against my chest with only my left arm.
I ignore Ma and say, “It’s 'cause I’m a heater. Puts her right to sleep.”
With my right hand free, I cut the turkey with my fork and take another bite.
“You do need one,” Cheryl says. I practically choke on the turkey. I stare at her down the table, feeling like she just stabbed me in the back.
“Babies are so wonderful,” she says softly. I don’t even know how to respond she’s obviously deranged from lack of sleep.
“I’d need a wife for that. And I’m fine with the current state when it comes to that.” I grip my glass on the table and take a quick swig, feeling my body tense up before I set the glass down.
I keep my eyes on my plate, ignoring everyone else. We’ve had this conversation so many times. Over and over, for five long years. Both my sisters are younger, both moving on with their lives the way they should according to this small town.
My plans got fucked over. Literally. And Ma never fails to remind me that I need to get back on track.
“You know I saw Susanne’s mother the other day--”
I cut my mother off, feeling the frustration of just wanting to eat a damn meal in this house without talking about that woman.
“I’d rather not talk about it or her.” I look her square in the eyes when I say it, and I know Ma immediately regrets bringing her up. I set my fork down and start rocking Evie again as her tummy grumbles.
It’s not that she wants us to get back together. I know that. It’s that my mother wants me to be happy again, like I was with Susanne. Or the way she thinks I was with her.
Ma has no idea.
This town has a good memory. Susanne and I were supposed to be just like Cheryl and Joseph. High school sweethearts, together through college, married by twenty-five and a baby not long after.
At thirty years old, with no plans of marriage, I’m failing those expectations.
But that’s what happens when your fiancée and your best friend decide they should have a drunken weekend fling at the beach.
Everyone knows what they did, but no one talks about it. Not my family, and not most of the town. It’s why I moved to the outskirts and bought the damn bar. Five years later, and the pain of her cheating on me is mostly gone. I’m numb. But I’m not fucking stupid. Both of them can go to hell.
Not all women cheat. I know that, and I’m over it. I don’t feel like having my heart ripped out again. No fucking thank you. It’s been five years since I took that ring back and showed Susanne the door… and kicked Adam’s ass.
For a second, just a split second, I see Grace in my mind. I picture her absently checking her phone with that sad look on her face. She would never cheat. She knows what she wants. Suzanne wasn’t sure. That’s what she told me. I was all she ever had and so she needed to be sure.
I close my eyes as I shush Evie, forcing that conversation out of my head, my lips close to her head and my right hand patting her back. I know Grace has gotta be hurting about not being able to have kids. She’s talked about it more than once to me. I don’t like seeing that sadness behind those beautiful doe eyes of hers. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d cheat. A woman like her isn’t interested in a man like me though. She wants a commitment and a man with stability, and there’s no way I’m getting her without promising her just that in return.
I’ve made too many mistakes, been burned too many times. The bar does great some weeks, not so great the next. She doesn’t want me. She’d make cute little babies though.
Evie starts crying a little harder the second my bouncing stops. Crap. Cheryl hops up from her seat with her arms out ready to take her. I don’t fight her in the least and pass Evie back to her.
I’m not ready for a relationship, let alone to be a father.
Grace
I’ve realized my nervous habit is tapping my foot, mainly because I keep catching myself doing it in between sips of white wine as I sit at the bar of The Brick Store Pub, waiting for my date to arrive. All around me, there are people in motion; waiters carrying trays of beer and food out to the tables, customers heading to the bathroom or upstairs to the Belgian beer bar with the chefs peeking their heads out of the back to check out the crowd.
With stylish deep-red sailor pants and a cream-colored blouse, I really tried to look cute. I debated on keeping the third button undone to add a little bit of sexy but opted to keep it modest. After another sip of Zinfandel, I suck my teeth, a habit that reappears when I feel like I’m at a disadvantage. I haven’t dated in how long?
At least I made it on time.
It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous now and I keep checking my phone to see if he’s messaged. I’m sure it’s just traffic. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe and stop myself from tapping my foot again. The red stilettos are too pretty to ding up over a date that never happened. I contemplate ordering a second glass after finishing the wine… or maybe a drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes. Not that I’m counting.
Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.
He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.
He’s still cute though. I remind myself and force any hint of my thoughts off my face. Those pictures did not prepare me though.
Deep breaths. We’re doing this!
I swallow a
nd extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.
“Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry. Oh my goodness my heart is racing with nerves out of nowhere.
“Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. Oh, he’s a hugger. My inner voice sounds as shocked as I feel. The nervous laugh that leaves me probably gives that away. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.
He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that my mouth is even hanging open a little, but I honestly can’t help it.
Alarm bells are going off in my head, telling me to get out, right now. He is nothing like the person I’ve been talking to.
“How about a drink?” Jason suggests. I could use about a dozen right now to settle down, but my legs feel like Jell-O.
I picture Charlie, my stool, a cool glass of something he whipped up for me.
Oh, my gosh, I blink away my crazy. Pining after Charlie is literally insane.
“Um, okay,” I say, reaching for the menu so I can order the special I wanted and pretend like I’m not hung up on someone so unavailable.
“No no,” he says playfully. “I’ll pick something you’ll love. I’m kind of a craft beer aficionado.” He grabs the menu, taking a seat at the bar before turning back to me with a charming smile and saying, “And I’m really good at guessing what people like.”
“Oh. Well okay.”
I try to talk myself out of the obnoxious first impression I got, after all, Charlie makes me surprise drinks all the time. And there I go again… what is wrong with me?
The drink I was eyeing up was something called a Burial Shadow Clock, but maybe he'll know that. Or maybe he’ll introduce me to something I didn’t know I liked. That thought eases me and I find myself smiling. I take another peek at Jason but find myself comparing his smooth jaw to Charlie’s stubbled one and suddenly I need that drink right this second.
