“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 Cheryl 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 and 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.
I let out a bit of the tension in my body and take a seat next to him. Staying positive is my main goal. Jason’s not quite how I thought he’d be, but I’m sure the same is true for him.
He skims the menu, then calls the bartender over, ordering two stouts. The bartender asks him whether it’ll be cash or card, and Jason looks to me.
“What’ll it be?” he asks.
“Oh! Uhh… Visa, please.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
I turn and get my wallet from my purse, fumbling to get my credit card to start a tab. I already paid for the first glass and stare at the empty glass, wishing it was full again. The tight smile stays on my face as I hand it to the same bartender as before. It’s only when the man side-eyes Jason that I realize he’s not reaching for his card. Jason taps his hands on the bar top and looks past the bartender to the television screens behind him.
The bartender gives me a dubious look, then goes to run the card. Shake off the unease. It’s fine. I’ll get the drinks and I bet he’ll get dinner. Maybe that’s the way it works normally? Or maybe… maybe he’s thinking something else, I don’t know.
Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, I try to shake it off. I’m a little more than put out that Jason assumed I could pay for his beer as I watch the bartender pour it, but unsure how to say so. I glance at him, biting down on my lip, and he smirks.
“I like to let the woman pick up the first tab,” he says. “Not that I can’t buy a drink. It’s just, you know, figure out if they’re gold diggers, you know?”
Gold digger? One drink. No dinner with this guy unless things change around tremendously. Making myself that promise I glance between the second pint the bartender is filling and my date.
Jason stares at me expectantly, like he really wants a response to his comment. My lips curl down into a partial frown as I offer, “We could have split the check.”
“Yeah, but I want a woman who earns, you know what I mean? A woman who knows how to be aggressive about what she wants.”
I’m a little flabbergasted at that, and I know it shows on my face. Luckily the bartender shows up at that moment, setting two dark beers down in front of us.
This has got to be new-date-jitters. I couldn’t have been so wrong about this guy.
“Oh,” I say, looking at the beer’s dark chocolate color. It reminds me a bit of chocolate milk for some reason. I don’t normally drink beer, but when I do, I’m a pale ale kind of girl. Feeling my stress level climb higher and higher, I purse my lips a little and wonder what I’m doing here.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asks, drawing my attention to him.
Oh so much is wrong, but I stick with the polite answer, “I don’t usually care for dark beer much, but I’m excited to give it a try.” A small smile slips onto my face when he grins at my statement.
“You will,” he nods, picking up his pint glass for a toast. “What should we toast to?”
“How about to new experiences?”
“No, no,” he corrects me. “To us.”
He clinks his glass against mine, and it spills a tiny bit of the beer over my hand onto the bar top. I can practically hear him guzzling still after I take a sip of the beer, ignoring the spilled beer and simply laughing it off. Two small square napkins is enough to clean it up anyway. The bitter taste in my mouth sits on my tongue. Yup, nope, I don’t like dark beer.
Sitting easily on the stool as I take another sip of the beer. It’s indeed like chocolate milk… if chocolate milk is rancid and bitter.
I take yet another sip, thinking that maybe I just need to cl
ose my eyes and let it wash over my tongue…
Nope. I sit my beer down and push it away, relegating it to the far edge of the bar.
“Not to your liking?” Jason asks.
“Not so much,” I say, reaching for the menu. “You can have it if you want?”
Jason grabs the menu again before I can get to it. “Let me choose again.”
Railroaded isn’t something I’m used to feeling, but that’s exactly how I feel now and I can’t help the frown that I know is revealed in my expression.
I stare at this man and I don’t know what to do. I’m not used to being such a shrew on dates, not that I’ve really been on many, but that’s exactly how I feel. Then again I’ve never been treated like this. My lips part to say as much, but he’s already waving the bartender down and ordering another beer.
“I like Belgian wheat beers, if that helps,” I say to the bartender, as soon as Jason’s done talking. I didn't even listen to what he said.
“Just bring her what I asked for,” Jason says pointedly.
The bartender senses the tension between me and Jason, so he just backs off and pours another beer. On my tab, I presume.
“So, first date formalities,” Jason says, as though none of that ever happened.
I have been on so many shitty dates in college. They didn’t really matter though as I wasn’t actually looking for a forever Mr. Right. Just a Mr. Right now. I watch Jason as he talks and realize this one is probably the worst start to any interaction with any individual I’ve ever had. Including some of my worst clients. Probably.
“Let’s see… I’m in finance, but I won’t even begin to explain it. It’s nothing you would understand. I’m from Atlanta, but left for college and then came back.” Jason doesn’t look at me as he recites what’s probably a rehearsed introduction, motioning with his hands in between drinking the beer. “I went to Westminster, of course. Followed by Columbia and Yale, for business school. Came back to help my father run his firm. I’ve been everywhere. You name it, I’ve been there. I spend my weekends on my boat. And you?”
Knocking Boots Page 4
