by SE Reynolds
She doesn't seem to be a dweller; she mentions her ex, but it's only a point of reference; before my divorce, I went to England, or after my divorce, I bought a townhouse. It doesn't seem significant to her. I tell her my wife died. I don't expand; I just say it.
"I'm sorry, Joshua."
"It's fine, thank you. It's getting late. I'll walk you to your car."
"I ubered," she says.
"That's smart. I should do that more often. I can give you a ride home if you like. I only had two beers."
"Okay, as long as you aren't a serial killer."
"I'm a corrupt politician, not a serial killer. I thought we established that?"
Virginia lives five miles outside of Old Town and on the other side of Fairview from me. I turn on the radio and tune to an eighties alternative station, hoping to keep what's left of our conversation meaningless. Another Echo and the Bunnymen song, The Killing Moon, seeps through the speakers. Its haunting lyrics flow through the speakers as my mind drifts to her. On starlit nights, I saw you. So cruelly, you kissed me. Your lips, a magic world…Rose is lying on my bed and only wearing a red lace bra and matching panties. Red belongs on her white skin; it matches her strawberry lips perfectly.
"Do you like the way I taste, Frat Boy?"
"Yes, I like the way your lip gloss tastes like strawberries."
"Not up here, down there," she whispers, pointing to her panties.
"Yes, yes, it's delicious. I've never tasted anything like it. I crave it, Rose…I crave you, Rose."
"That's kinda gross, Joshua. But it turns me on too," she says as she spreads her legs.
"Do you want a taste now, Joshua?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay, but make sure you are gentle at first, then you know…you know how I like it."
"Yes, I know exactly how you like it."
"Joshua, turn here. My house is the one on the end. Joshua!"
"Sorry, got lost in the song."
"More like lost in a memory?"
I ignore Virginia and pull into her driveway.
"Thanks. I had fun. I didn't know what to expect from a corrupt politician, but I had fun."
"Thank you for meeting me tonight, Virginia. It was fun."
Virginia leans over towards me, her face softens as it gets closer to mine. I think she will kiss me, but instead, she takes my hand, turns it over, and gently kisses my palm. I've never had a woman kiss me there before; it was odd but arousing.
"Would you like to have another date?" I ask.
Suddenly, Virginia's eyes widen as if I offended her.
"I would; yes, I would," she says and jumps out of the car, quickly climbs her steps, and disappears into her house.
Chapter 13 – Virginia
I shut the door, lock it, and walk to the back of the living room. I don't turn on any lights; I just stare out my front window and watch Joshua drive away. I pour a glass of red and sit on the couch in the dark with only the streetlamps shining in. I laugh as I catch myself sniffing my wine and replay the night in my head. Joshua looked out of place at the bar when I walked in. Seeing him that way, awkward and unsure, gave me this overwhelming urge to just finish him off, emasculate him, and then leave, but I couldn't. There is something about him: innocent but guilty; aware but clueless, a walking juxtaposition. It must have been over a year since I saw his pretty wife on the float waving to the crowd while Doreen commented in the background about her cancer and untimely death. He is just trying to get back out there, to have a life outside his daily routine. Just like me, and yet I resented him, but it didn't last long; he knew how to adapt and survive the evening. I respect that, and now I’m the one sitting in the dark thinking about every second of our date. He turned the table on me, whether on purpose or not. He affected me a little. Joshua Steadman is a mayor, he is respected, he is decent, and he wants to see me again. I can go to bed tonight knowing I will sleep well and wake up in the morning with something to look forward to.
∞∞∞
It has been three days since Joshua and I had our date. I find myself checking my phone more than usual over these past three days than I have in the past three years. Joshua has rented a tiny spot in the core of my brain. I'm disappointed by every text I get that isn't his. Is he ghosting me? I read the term when I thought about joining an online dating app.
Ghosting – the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.
I guess he's not ghosting me; there is no relationship he needs to ghost from. It was just one date, a meeting of two lonely people. I text Misty. I need some reassurance or a reality check. Either way, I know Misty will provide me with useful, honest advice.
Day three...crickets!
Cut your losses and have a glass of wine, V.
I take her advice, except I have more than a glass.
The next day, I wake up, and, as the fog lifts, an avalanche comes rushing through my head and crashes at the pit of my stomach. I don't sit up; I just roll over and grab the phone off my nightstand.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god."
I open my messages, and there it is, the message I sent Joshua last night. There is no reply. I throw the phone across my bed and pull the covers over my head. My chest breaks out in sweat beads, and I so desperately want a re-do.
Chapter 14 – Stacie
I walk Janice Shively out of my office and to the reception desk.
"I will call you once I serve the papers, Janice. They probably won't arrive until Thursday at the earliest. If you have any questions until then, please call me."
I am sad Janice is divorcing her husband; he seems like a good guy by all accounts. She just seems bored with him. It's a shame to throw away a marriage; husbands are so hard to come by. I need to say my piece before Janet leaves.
"You can still change your mind. I'm not a marriage counselor by any means, but your husband hasn't committed adultery, hasn't harmed you or your children, seems like a nice man. Divorce isn't always the answer. I can refer you—"
Janice holds her hand up with her palm facing me.
"Have you ever been married, Stacie?"
"No, I haven't."
"Exactly!" Janice says as she abruptly turns and walks out.
I forgot Alice is sitting behind the desk. I turn towards Alice; she shakes her head and continues typing on her computer. I shouldn't have said anything to Janice. I’m just the facilitator of a divorce. I have to stay out of the why's and focus on the how's. I don't even take cases where there is a real cause for divorce, like abuse or adultery. Those go to emotionless Ellie, the senior partner. She has seen the battered of the battered. Ellie intimidates me, and I'm sure she can intimidate an abusive spouse. She is one of the tallest women I have ever seen; she must be six feet. She is skinny with very high cheekbones, squinty gray eyes, and thin lips, and her hair is dark with streaks of gray. She wears her hair in a very tight bun that sits on top of her head, pulled so tight it makes her face look permanently startled. Ellie has scolded me on several occasions about giving unsolicited advice to my clients. If she finds out I crossed the line with Janice, she will demote me to drafting wills or DOA's or some other type of death paperwork no one wants to touch. I was thinking of transitioning into adoption, helping to unite a child with their forever home. The result is happiness, building families, not tearing them apart. When I approached Ellie about it, she fired questions at me.
"How would you tell a family longing for a child that the adoption fell through? How would you handle a situation where the birth mother changes her mind six months later after a child has bonded with their new family? How would you feel if the adopted parents ended up killing the child that you helped them adopt?"
Ellie never let me answer her questions. She knew I didn't have the answers nor the stomach for it. She put me back in my box where I belong.
I leave Alice and shut my office door. I open my Match app; I have two likes but no messages. I
open the "like" profiles. "Sam, aka Sally" is forty, has never been married, and enjoys wearing women's 1960's couture. He is 6'4" and describes his body type as a few extra pounds, which I can plainly see through his tight red mini dress, but I do love his black sling-back pumps. Is he gay or straight? Maybe he is bi and likes what he likes. I continue to read what he is looking for in a match. He doesn't care about my religion, race, or whether I smoke or drink. But he is decisive about one thing: He is looking for a woman with a few extra pounds. I quickly delete his profile before my thoughts take me into another self-doubting monologue. The second profile is John, a forty-five-year-old man looking for a discreet playmate who likes to be tickled and spanked. His profile picture only shows his thin but nicely defined, hairless chest. I stop myself from admiring it and delete it before I accidentally like him back.
I open my profile and re-examine it, trying to understand why I am attracting what I am attracting. I've lost ten pounds, deleted all my fat pictures, and posted only the new me pictures: me at my sister's cookout, leaning against her oak tree, holding a glass of wine, wearing a long, pink sundress, looking fresh and whimsical; me at my mom's birthday party, holding a bottle of water, wearing a Washington National's t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, looking sporty and fun; me in my office sitting behind my desk wearing a blue pinstripe jacket with a white crisply starched blouse and a thin strand of pearls, looking professional and accomplished. I'm so glad my firm decided to have a new flyer made with new pictures of all the partners. My face has thinned out some, and I no longer look like a chubby schoolgirl posing for her senior portrait.
I close my Match app. I can't do this anymore; dating sites are not meant for women like me. They are meant for people with pretty bodies and big egos. They are meant for the players, not the chasers. I am a chaser trying to catch that happily ever after. My time is running out; I know that, and my mom knows that. I'll never complete my stupid bear collection. I should call Misty and see if there are any cancellations this evening. Still, I don't have the energy for one of her butt-kicking workouts. I feel like I've been kicked enough for one day, so instead, I venture two blocks down to Benny's Soft Serve. The shop's ice cream cone hologram flashes, beckoning me to come inside and seek comfort.
When I approach the counter, a tall skinny kid with blond curls and the most twinkly blue eyes I've ever seen greets me. If I were sixteen, I'm sure I'd be crushing on him from afar. I'd come here every day to get a cone and to sneak as many peeks at him as I could. I'd sit in the corner and pretend to read a book while daydreaming I was his girlfriend waiting for him to get off work.
"Lady, Lady, can I take your order?"
"Oh, sorry," I say as I read his name tag. "Sorry, JJ. I'll have a banana split with vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, and whip cream. Oh, and nuts."
I've never seen JJ before. He must be a new summer hire.
"What kind of ice cream? I didn't get that," he asks.
He is agitated, so I slowly and softly repeat my order.
"Vanilla with whip cream and chocolate syrup and—" before I can finish, Benny, the owner, approaches the counter.
"Hi, Stacie, this is JJ, and it's his first day on the job."
Poor kid. He must be having first-day jitters.
"He's doing just fine, Benny."
Benny shakes his head apologetically and nudges JJ to the side.
"JJ, why don't you get—"
JJ immediately picks up an ice cream boat and fills it up with the vanilla soft serve.
"Kid, kid, you didn't let me finish! You need to peel a banana first. It's a banana split!" Benny yells.
Poor JJ. Benny needs to ease up. Other customers are noticing the scene developing behind the counter. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain over my left eye, followed by a blast of wet, cold mush exploding in my eye.
"Ouch, what the—"
"Stacie, I am so sorry," Benny says as he rushes around the counter and hands me a towel. I wipe the ice cream goop from my eye.
"Leave the counter, JJ. Go!" Benny yells.
"I'm fine, Benny, I'm fine," I reassure him. "What happened?"
"The kid. He lost his cool. He must be on something. Please sit. I'll get you some ice."
"I've had plenty of that, Benny. I'm okay. But a glass of water would be fine and maybe that banana split."
"Free ice cream for life, Stacie," Benny says as he rushes towards the back of the store. I sit down at a corner table for one. Just another humiliating moment in the life of spinster Stacie, I think as I wait for my ice cream alone.
Chapter 15 – Joshua
What the hell? What's she talking about? I don't know what to think of Virginia's text; I'm too old for this. I stare at my phone, studying it, trying to think of a way to respond when I get a call from Benny.
"Hey, Benny, everything okay?"
"You need to come and get your boy. There's been an incident. He is okay, but you need to pick him up."
It's JJ's first day and probably his last at Benny's Soft Serve. When I get to the store, Benny is waiting for me outside. Benny said he was training JJ on the register, and JJ was having trouble taking orders. He got so frustrated he launched a glass dish full of ice cream at a customer's head. I hang up and head straight for Benny's. JJ is in the back of the store pacing when I get there, and I tell him to get in the car. I have no intention of telling Benny about JJ's condition. I blame his temper on JJ's struggle in coping with Melissa's death and not on the fact that I forgot to give JJ his meds.
"Okay, Josh, I get it. A boy needs his mother. But he can't be injuring the customers. I'll end up getting sued, and JJ could get arrested. You better apologize to that lady who almost lost an eye from a flying ice cream boat served up by your kid."
Benny points to a woman sitting alone in the store's back corner, consuming what is left of a banana split. I approach her cautiously.
"Excuse me, ma'am, my name is Joshua Steadman; I'm JJ's dad."
She pulls her face away from her dessert and looks up at me. I see a red mark over her left eye. She has speckles of vanilla soft serve in her brown hair. It looks like a bird shit on her head.
"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. My son, he's having a tough time. This is his first job—"
"It's okay," she interrupts as she touches her eye. "I'm fine. Besides, this little ding got me free ice cream for life."
She smiles and offers me her hand.
"I'm Stacie Shewster."
"You look familiar, Stacie. Are you from around here?"
"Kind of; my office is just two blocks down," she says as she points towards the door. I know all the businesses, including each location in town.
"Okay across the street, two blocks down, there is Delia's Book Shop, then next to that is—"
"My office."
"Two blocks down. Shewster, yes! Your name is on the sign!"
"Yes, I am the last name on the sign."
She is still shaking my hand, so I loosen my grip, and she finally lets go. I collapse in the seat across from her and put my hands together like I'm saying a prayer. I close my eyes and dramatically plead.
"Please, Miss Shewster, please don't sue me; I'm a single parent of a hormonal teenager; please show pity on me?"
Her giggles let me know JJ, and I are out of the doghouse. I open my eyes.
"No suing necessary, and please call me Stacie. I hope JJ feels better. You just take care of your son and don't worry about anything else."
"Thank you, Stacie. You are very kind. The world needs more Stacie Shewster's. It definitely would be a better place with more of you in the world. Well, I better get him home."
I stop by the counter on my way out.
"Crisis averted," I whisper to Benny. "Thanks for not making a big stink about this."
"You just keep those small business tax breaks coming, Joshua!"
"You know I will, Benny. I got your back. Hey, don't forget about free-ice-cream day. I'll be here around four o'clock. I'm bringing a camera crew this time."<
br />
"Great, I'll take the free publicity all day long, Mr. Mayor."
Next week is my annual Joshua Steadman pep rally. I've had it at Benny's every year since my first campaign. He lures in the crowd by offering free cones, and then, when the time is right, I make my grand entrance. I work the room meeting and greeting my potential voters. And, as the crowd enjoys their free ice cream, reminiscing with each other about the good ole days, I make my scare-you-speech. Last year's topic was gun control versus the Second Amendment. Folks are so afraid of losing their means to defend and protect themselves. I find it ironic. Last year I didn't hear much news about parents using their guns to protect their kids. But I listened to a lot of news about kids stealing their parent's guns to kill other kids. It's what they were scared about then, so I validated their fears and told them that they could keep their guns to protect what's theirs as long as I'm around. I always begin my speech with a corny little joke that gets everyone feeling warm and comfy and then, I scare them.
"Did you hear they passed a law banning ice cream? Don't worry. It was ruled un-cone-stitutional! But seriously, folks banning ice cream is just as unconstitutional as banning the right to bear arms. Your Second Amendment is in danger, but I am here to help…."
This year will be no different, just a new topic to put a little helpless fear in them.
JJ is waiting for me in the car when I leave Benny's. He is slumped over and looks so defeated. I messed this up for him. I should have known better.
"I feel like I set you up for failure, JJ. Next time, I'll give you your meds. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Dad; I wouldn't have taken them anyway. I wanted to eat ice cream on my break. Those meds make me sick to my stomach. I wouldn't have wanted to eat it, let alone serve it."
"Right, I didn't think about that. Maybe we should get you a job that doesn't involve food."
"Maybe we can get me a job that doesn't involve people."
