Win for Love

by Isabelle Peterson

  “The electric bill came in the mail yesterday, and I already wrote the check. It’s all ready to be mailed on Wednesday. I went grocery shopping. I can’t believe how expensive milk is these days.”

  “Wow,” I say, completely impressed, real tears pricking my eyes. I also note that she sounds completely sober and not at all hungover. “That’s great, Mom.”

  “And thanks for setting up the mortgage payment. Are you able to afford it? I mean, with living in the big city and all? I know you say you had some savings and this grant thing, but…”

  “Yeah, I’m good, Mom,” I assure her. “Don’t worry about me. I know your money is tighter than mine. I’ve got the payment covered. It’s okay.”

  “I’ve been going to the AA meetings,” she confesses quietly. “I went to my first one Sunday afternoon, and I’ve been to one every day since. I’m gonna get better, Crystal-baby. I promise.” My heart swells with this bit of news. “I got a new job myself this week, too. It ain’t much, but it keeps me focused. You remember Carla Schmidt?” she asks, bringing up my old classmate. Before I can reply, she continues, “Well, her mother, Candy, has agreed to be my sponsor. Someone who’s been through the twelve steps and can help me through. Did you know she runs a cleaning business? Well, she’s in the AA group, and she gave me a job. I’m going to help her clean houses and a few small businesses in town. It’s honest work. I started Tuesday. She picks me up in the morning, we clean all day, then she drives me home.”

  “Mom, I’m so proud of you,” I say, all choked up when I recover from her barrage of information. I don’t think she’s ever strung so many thoughts together when talking to me before. So many salient thoughts.

  “Thanks, baby. I feel good.” She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Jude comes home in two weeks. Nick from the group says that his brother might hire Jude to work his lawn business. You know, cuttin’ grass for them rich people up on Vine and stuff. And then leaf cleanin’ in the fall. He says that the company hangs Christmas lights and shit—erm, I mean stuff, too, in the winter,” Um, did Mom just sensor a curse from her speech? “and that if Jude can prove himself, then maybe he’ll be kept on through the season to hang lights then take ‘em down after the holidays.”

  “Wow. I… I’m so… proud,” I repeat, feeling like a broken record as I try to process all of this, once again feeling like Alice down the rabbit hole. My mother is actually turning her life around! And she’s helping Jude.

  “Me, too, baby. An’ maybe you can come home one day? An' we can be a family again.” My heart aches. As lovely as her dream is, I know that I’m an adult, and this past couple of weeks, even though it’s only been two weeks, has shown me that I like being out on my own. I’ve enjoyed my independence and being self-sufficient. “Or maybe Jude and I can take a vacation and come visit you.”

  “That sounds nice. We’ll see, Mom. Hey, I gotta go, but it was great talking to you. I’ll call you next week?” I offer.

  “I’d like that a lot,” she says quietly. “And really, baby. I’m so sorry. You had to put up with a lot with me. This is step eight of the recovery process, and I’m still kinda working on steps one through seven, but I heard someone talking about how they apologized, and well, yeah, I am sorry.”

  “Mom, we’re fine,” I interrupt, my stomach growing uneasy with her apology. I don’t want her to get down on herself and then turn to her crutch.

  “Okay, baby, but still, I wasn’t a very good mother. I didn’t make a good family.” She’s quiet, and so am I. What can I say? “We will be. I promise. I’m going to work hard. You’ll see,” she adds and falls quiet for another moment. “So, this program… AA… It’s God based. We talk a lot about God. Candy says she goes to a non-dominant church.” Dominant? “Where they’re not really Catholic or Methodist or anything, but they teach the Bible and lessons and stuff. I was thinking I would go with her this weekend. What do you think?”

  Oh, non-denominational.

  “I think it sounds like a really positive direction, Mom. It’s all up and up from here, right?” I say, trying to sound encouraging. It’s a lot to take in. My mom acting like an adult, and a parent, and finding God…

  “That’s right, baby doll. Up and up.”

  We say our goodbyes, and I make a silent prayer to a God I’ve never really known saying thank you and asking Him to continue to watch over my mom.

  10

  An Invitation

  DAVID

  “Hi,” says a buxom blonde as I step onto the sidewalk in front of the library.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, my eyes scanning the sidewalks looking for my auburn beauty.

  “You’re David Waterston, right?” the blonde asks trying to duck into my view.

  “Um, yes. I am,” I say, forcing a smile, and do my best to be ‘present’ for the next five seconds while I politely let this girl down. I know that any poor press is not good for the family. It’s been drilled into me since I was old enough to notice that I’m noticed.

  “So, I’m an eligible single, too,” she says confidently like that makes us an instant match.

  Eager to find the girl who had captured my interest, someone the complete opposite of this fake creature in front of me, I say, “Well, I wish you luck on that,” flash her a smile and make a hasty escape by crossing the street. Okay, maybe that wasn’t politely letting her down. I’m pretty sure I hear her scoff behind me, but she can’t be serious that her ‘I’m an eligible single’ line would work… really?

  I turn and instantly spot the girl I do want to talk to. She’s still on her cell phone. I watch her, how her mouth moves when she talks, and how she plays with her hair. She must like what she’s hearing on the other end of the line because she is smiling. I cautiously walk over near to where she’s standing. Is she talking to a friend? A guy friend? Or, please no, a boyfriend?

  While I’m trying to figure out who she’s talking to, I think about ways I can meet this girl. Normally, I don’t have to even work at asking a girl out, they just seem to throw themselves at me like the blonde from about fifteen seconds ago… since the seventh grade. And this past month, after being voted one of Chicago’s 20 Most Eligible Singles, I seem to attract women like white on rice.

  I hear the object of my recent obsession say, “Goodbye, Mom… I love you, too.”

  Well! You can’t go wrong with a woman who loves her mother. My ex certainly didn’t. Those two were like oil and water.

  I watch as my redhead tucks her phone into her back pocket, and the devil in me is a little jealous of that phone being so close to her perfectly shaped behind. She stands and looks a little lost in thought.

  I shake off the high school kid in me and take a breath. I need to ask this girl out.

  “Hello again,” I begin as I walk up next to her. “Twice in one day. I’d say it’s fate,” I say, trying to be my most charming self, but instead, I think I sound like an idiot. “May I take you out to dinner?”

  She turns and looks at me, startled. “Sorry?” she says, her gentle eyes widen with alarm.

  “Forgive me,” I say graciously, kicking myself for already messing this up. “This is the second time I’m seeing you today, well, the third, actually, and think that maybe it’s the stars in alignment or something. Like I’m supposed to ask you out. So, I thought dinner would be nice. Maybe tomorrow?” I sound funny even to myself. My voice sounds high-pitched and rushed.

  “Um,” she says like a scared kitten. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say ‘yes,’” I suggest, aiming for charm. “Unless you’re… there’s someone else?” I say and then hold my breath.

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “Good,” I say and give her my best smile again. “So, dinner?”

  She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, and I see her run the pads of her thumb and forefinger of her right hand in circles.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she says timidly as she looks me over. I notice, though, that a
s she’s looking at me, and it’s not with any recognition. Just like at the aquarium. Like she truly doesn’t know who I am. Or maybe she’s not sure I’m David Waterston.

  “My apologies.” I extend my hand to shake hers. “I’m David Wat—” I start, and cut myself off before giving her my last name. If she doesn’t know who I am, should I tip my hat? Embarrassingly, I find the idea laughable that she doesn’t know who I am. I’ve been in so many papers, especially the tabloids, and appeared on so many talk shows about my ‘Most Eligible’ status over the past month. Furthermore, somehow, I feel as though telling her my full name and what I’m most known for, would scare her off. Or it would make me look like a douche. Hi, I’m David Waterston. You know… of the Chicago Waterstons. And one of Chicago’s 20 Most Eligible Singles. Instead, I give her my mother’s maiden name. “Redding. David Redding.”

  We lock eyes as she hesitates for a couple of moments before daintily accepting my outstretched hand. I’m enchanted as her cheeks grow pink again like she’s embarrassed. Why she would be embarrassed, I have no idea. I’m the one who appears to have screwed up his own name, but I’m astounded that it appears she doesn’t know who I am. There’s no hint that she is questioning my ‘name.’ I can’t recall the last time I was anonymous. I am hopeful that I can get to know her on a basic level—no big bank accounts or famous families and no cheesy ‘titles.’ Just a guy and a girl…

  CRYSTAL

  He’s looking at me with his disarmingly dark eyes. I feel like I’m lost in his gaze. And his size. He’s tall, a good few inches taller than Austin’s five feet eleven. At five feet nine, I often feel awkward and gawky around men as we’re often nearly eye to eye. I always envied the petite girls who were tucked into the crook of their man’s arm. I feel like I’d fit into this man’s embrace much that way.

  My eyes trail from one shoulder to the other. He’s broad. I can’t help but notice how his suit fits him perfectly, and it’s very clear that under the fabric is a very fit body.

  I practically jump when I realize that he’s holding out his hand to me. Waiting. What? Why? Oh, right! He’s just told me that his name is David.

  I carefully place my hand in his and almost jump at how good his large hand feels as it curls around mine. I’m taken aback by how soft his hand is. Not like any man I’d known. All of the men I knew had rough, calloused hands. I guess I just thought all men had hands like that, but not David’s. Furthermore, his touch feels safe, yet there’s almost an electrical charge where our skin is touching. Then I tell him, “I’m Talia. Talia Jameson.” I smile inwardly, still secretly enjoying the sound of my ‘new’ name.

  He doesn’t let go of my hand, and my heart races.

  “Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I apologize if that sounds cheesy, but…” He lifts my hand to his lips and right here—on State Street in Chicago, Illinois— he kisses the back of my hand like some old-time movie. And what? A beautiful woman? Did he just call me a beautiful woman?

  “So, dinner?”

  “I… I… um…” I stammer. I curse myself and wish I had the confidence of Heather, Lainey, or even Millie.

  “Forgive me. Dinner is rather presumptuous,” he says. My stomach drops. Had I lost the invitation because I took too long to figure out if I should say ‘yes?’ “How about something with less commitment? Drinks?” he suggests.

  “Drinks? Yeah. Sounds great,” I say, trying to look more relaxed when I feel anything but. I don’t get asked out by random men. Especially men who look like David.

  But David smiles, and he motions for us to start walking on the street toward the lake.

  We head down State Street, and I’m walking alongside this stranger in a haze as we talk about the unbelievably gorgeous weather the city’s had over the past few days. Thankfully, the conversation was an easy one because I’m hard-pressed to think clearly. I’ve just been asked out by the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Can you call a man beautiful? I would think yes, but if asked, I’ll say he’s handsome, but to me, he will always be beautiful. A beautiful voice… Beautiful eyes… I just hope that the rest is as beautiful, specifically his heart. I hope that I’m not being taken for a naïve fool.

  As we make our way through the throngs of people, I can’t help but notice several women eye the incredibly handsome man walking with me. With me!

  David stops at a nice-looking restaurant and opens the door for me like a true gentleman.

  “Welcome to Zs. Table for two?” the perky hostess asks, grinning like a fool aside from her judgmental glance my way. Yes, she seems more David’s speed with her perfect, sleek, long and gleaming blonde hair, her glowing skin, and perfect makeup. Her clothes are trendy, and it looks like she goes to those fancy fitness classes. Again, I’m bewildered that he’s with me. Plain, little ‘ole me.

  “No, thank you,” David says and looks at me and smiles, and my heart skips a beat. David places his hand at the small of my back which sends a thrill through my body, and I forget that I’m comparing myself to anyone. “We’re just getting a quick drink.”

  He guides us confidently toward the bar filled with a mix of people dressed in suits and business clothes as well as tourists. Finding us a tall table in the bar, he pulls a chair out for me to sit. I wiggle into the chair and then watch David as he swiftly slides into his seat.

  “So, how did you like the fish?” he asks.

  “The fish?” I echo, not sure what he’s talking about.

  “The aquarium. I saw you studying the tanks. I know the dolphins got you wet, but you seem to have recovered from that.”

  “Oh. The fish! Yes. They’re fascinating. That big tank, the reef, in the middle with the eel and the sea turtle and the shark. I have to go back one day and see what the feeding time looks like. The anglerfish,” I shudder. “Creepy. And the jellyfish, they’re so hypnotic to watch. I like the clownfish as it worked its way through the anemone. Like the movie Finding Nemo.” I don’t know what is happening to me. I’m just blathering like a fool! How embarrassing.

  “Ah, the clownfish. Yes, a clever little fella. As much as I enjoy the fish in the tanks, nothing compares to snorkeling in their natural warm waters.”

  “Thank you,” I say, relaxing a little.

  “For what?”

  “For not making me feel silly.”

  “Nonsense. The aquarium has been a favorite place of mine for a long, long time.”

  Thankfully, we are interrupted by the waitress. Although not so thankfully, the waitress ignores me, and I’m suddenly a little irked. “Hi, my name’s Genevieve,” she says to David. “I’ll be taking care of you. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I’m instantly envious of her name. What a glamorous name. Foreign and soft. I say the name to myself with a French accent. And she’s beautiful to boot. Curves in all the right places. Skin that glows. Tall. But David doesn’t seem to notice. He turns his sultry brown eyes to me and asks, “Talia, hon, what would you like?”

  ‘Hon?’ What the…? Did he just call me ‘hon?’ Was it a way to diss the waitress?

  Genevieve turns toward me, a slight scowl on her lips, and I feel a little vindicated that David didn’t let her forward flirting affect him.

  “Just a Diet Coke, please,” I say.

  Genevieve practically rolls her eyes before returning her attention, and her smile, back to David.

  “And what can I get for you?” she asks David coyly placing the end of her pen on her lower lip.

  David picks up a drink menu off the table and quickly peruses the offerings. “I’ll have a glass of the Frog’s Leap. The cabernet.”

  “Nice choice,” she says and is off, swishing her hips as she goes.

  “Talk about no class,” he mutters under his breath. “So, where were we?” he asks, focusing his brown eyes on me with his smile that his quickly becoming my favorite thing to see.

  “Oh yes, museums. So, is it just fish, or do other museums hold similar interests?”

  “Oh no.
I like them all. The Art Institute is amazing. I was just there the other day,” I tell him. He smiles. “I have yet to get to the planetarium. And there’s the Science and Industry Museum,” I prattle on, the nerd in me in full bloom.

  “The Adler is incredible. I’d love to take you if you would like the company. I know some people enjoy museums on their own.”

  “Um, no. I like museums with a friend. That would be nice. But don’t you work? Or do you just go to museums all day? Or were you talking about this weekend?” God help me. Why is my mouth doing this? Saying crazy things? But I can’t seem to stop. “Do you work at the Shedd?”

  “The Shedd? No,” he answers with a laugh, and I instantly feel stupid. Why did I ask such a lame question? Why didn’t I just ask where he worked?

  “I’m sorry,” he says kindly, reaching out and taking hold of my hands that are now curling the beverage napkin Genevieve had set on the table in front of me. “I didn’t mean to laugh,” David explains. “I’d love to work in a museum, but I manage money, investment funds and so on. For a… a private group.”

  I feel better. I’m not sure if it’s his explanation or if it’s that he’s holding my hands.

  “Nice that you have time to go to museums in the middle of the day,” I say.

  Our waitress returns and silently sets our drinks on the table. I can’t help but notice that she gracefully serves David first delicately setting his wine glass in front of him and then plops my heavy glass of Diet Coke in front of me, missing the napkin entirely.

  “I have some wiggle room in my schedule,” David answers, not giving one bit of attention to the flirty yet rude waitress. “My boss likes me,” he says. “How about you? Where do you work?”

  “Well, I don’t have a job here yet. I’ve only been in Chicago a couple of weeks,” I explain. “I used to live in southern Illinois, but I wanted a change. Something exciting. Chicago seemed to fit the bill. I recently thought about going…” I stop talking, and I can feel my cheeks grow pink again. I can’t possibly tell him what I was just about to say.