by B. E. Baker
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Sure, email me the stuff.”
“Or if you'd prefer I can print it off and we can look over it at dinner. We should touch base on some last minute Sub-for-Santa details, too.”
Absolutely no way I'm going to sit through a dinner with Foster. I'd rather die slowly of . . . leprosy. Plus, he's only asking me because Luke's here. I've never met someone more inclined to pee all over anything he perceives as his. Which makes Foster a dog. I'm still okay with the analogy.
I shake my head. “I can't. Luke and I already have plans.”
Luke sucks air noisily through his teeth. “Sorry man. Dibs.”
“Dibs?” Foster asks, every aspect of his face reflecting his total disgust. “What is Mary in this scenario? The last blueberry muffin?”
Luke grins. “If I lick her, will you go away and leave us alone?”
I chortle in a very un-lady-like way.
Luke's smiling, but Foster's unimpressed. “You two are perfect for each other.” He storms back down the hall, but for the first time, someone else got the upper hand with Foster.
My smile can't be contained.
“Where did you want to go for lunch?” Luke asks. “I hear Georgia Brown's has great ham. I bet they'd be willing to dye it green.”
“There's no Georgia Brown's here. It's only in Washington D.C.”
His eyes glance skyward. “Hazard of moving so often.”
“Sit down, Luke.”
He sits.
“I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle of that, but I appreciate you were willing to roll with it for me. Things got a little nasty with Foster and I after we broke up, and he just told me he's getting married.”
Luke shrugs. “I'm happy to be your fake boyfriend. In fact, I might even make a decent real boyfriend, if you'd ever answer my calls, or you know, agree to let me buy you food. Green or otherwise.”
“The thing about that.” I moan. “There's no way to say this without sounding like a troll. But I can't date you because you have kids. Adorable kids, but kids. I don't date anyone who has children, or who wants children.”
“Wait.” He glances pointedly at a photo of me with Troy on my desk, both of us sticking our tongues out. He raises his eyebrows. “You don't like kids?”
I shake my head. “It's not that. I like them; actually, usually I love them. But I adore my career, and I can't be a mediocre mom. So I'd either hate myself for failing them if I ever had any, or I'd resent them for costing me my career.”
Luke scratches his head. “I could swear I heard once or twice that women can actually do both. But maybe I'm just making that one up.”
“Try to understand what I'm saying, Luke. I'm sure your children are absolutely lovely, but this isn't a new thing for me. My parents were beyond awful and I won't ever allow myself to follow in their footsteps. Can you understand?”
He shrugs. “Not really, but maybe this'll make you feel better. I'm only here until January. So even if we hit it off big time, my Citibank work will be done and I'll be moving to the next big job.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You're saying any relationship between us was doomed from the start? Why bother dating me at all, then?”
Luke leans back in his chair. “Have you ever been single at the holidays?”
I have. Parties, gatherings, cheer. And you're alone for all of it while couple after couple smiles and leans on each other and smooches.
It sucks.
He shrugs. “Look, you don't wanna date someone with kids, and I get it. It's pretty common actually. For all their big talk, most women don't love other people's children. That's fine. But mine aren't monsters, and it might be nice to have a date to your office party. I'd like a hot date to mine.” He winks.
I sigh. “Fine, so we go out for a few weeks, have a fun time, and then you take your kids and leave. That's what you're proposing?”
He nods. “And I don't feel bad that you'll be devastated and you don't worry you'll get attached to me and be stuck raising my demon spawn.”
“I don't think they're spawn.” I tap my lip with my pen. The problem is that I get too attached, but if I know they're leaving. . . “What if I like you too much? I might be depressed when you move.”
He laughs. “If someone told you that the container of ice cream at the store was the last one that would ever be made, like your president has banned this particular kind of ice cream for being too good. Would you eat it? Or walk away because you knew you'd be sad to never have it again?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I'd eat it.”
He points at me. “I'd love to spend the next few weeks with you, and since you won't ever be a parent to my kids you don't need to worry. We can just enjoy our last bites of ice cream together.”
The corners of my mouth tug upward. “Dinner later, then?”
He grins so big I can almost see his molars. “Lunch today, dinner tonight. The sky's the limit, baby.”
My heart flutters again and this time, I don't shut it down.
“I can't do lunch right now. I've cut it too close and I need to rush over to my real job. But dinner I can do.”
“You pick the place,” he says, “but you let me pay. Deal?”
“Sure, but only as long as you promise me one thing.”
He stands up. “What's that?”
“No green eggs or ham.”
He barks a laugh. “I promise. Text me your address and I'll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
I should have told him no. I should have been smart. I shouldn't eat a vat of ice cream, no matter how good it is. But the thought of eating it has me smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day.
Chapter 8
I want to talk to Shauna as soon as I reach my office, but she's out for several days, apparently, probably preparing for her big move. I think about calling or texting her, because I need to tell her I'll take the job before they find another, probably better option. I need that money. Or, more accurately, Troy does.
I knock off work early, which is no big deal because technically I don't even have to work the last few weeks of the year, at least, until I take the big promotion. I send Paisley home on my way out the door, and she beams at the news.
“I have so much holiday shopping to do. I better get started.”
I groan. “Don't mention shopping to me.”
She grins. “Lots of families?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I'm only doing one this year.” I don't add that it's because I'm spending all my money and then some on Troy.
“Wow, that's unlike you. Didn't you do five last year?”
“I might end up taking more if we don't get enough sponsors, but for now we have more sponsors than nominations by three.”
“That's good. It means word is getting out.”
I nod my head. “My shopping woes are because I haven't even started on my friends and family yet.”
“I like Nordstrom's,” Paisley says. “Or Christmas cookies.”
I roll my eyes. “I may as well just hand you a fistful of cash.”
“Yes!” She tosses her hands up in the air. “Why didn't I think of that?”
“You're shameless.”
“Hey, what are you getting for your soon-to-be-fiancé?” She shimmies.
“Cute, but Pais.” I lower my voice. “He has two kids.”
Her face falls. “You're kidding.”
My lips compress and I cross my arms. “Nope, and get this. He's Lucas Manning.”
Her jaw drops. “Wait, the guy who's poor and rich?”
I laugh. “He's neither. But he does live in a trailer since he travels a lot for work, and so the women from church—”
Paisley jumps up. “They didn't.”
I nod. “They assumed he was poor.”
“Oh em gee. Well. So he's hot. He has kids, and he's charitable minded.” She holds her hands out and lifts them up and down like scales. “What are you going to do?”
I blush. “I t
old him I couldn't date him, obviously.”
“Then why are your cheeks the magenta of humiliation that brings out that nearly Easter egg green color in your eyes?” Paisley leans toward me and puts her hands on her desk. “I think you're waffling on this stupid no kids rule.”
“It's not stupid,” I say. “It's sensible, and it keeps me from becoming my mother.”
“So you're not seeing him again?” Paisley asks.
I look down. “We're going to dinner tonight.”
“What?!”
I shush her. “Keep your voice down. Geez. He's leaving in a few weeks, okay? For a new job. So, I figured, what's the harm in having someone to date for the holiday season?”
Paisley's smile can only be described as sly.
“Stop it.” I frown. “That smile is annoying.”
Her smile grows. “This one is much smarter than Foster ever was.”
“Foster went to Yale,” I say automatically. “He's very smart.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Paisley waves her hand around. “So smart he can't tell his nose from his elbow. But, sure. Foster's smart. I'm just saying, Lucas Manning is smarter.”
“Duly noted.” I grab my purse and walk toward the door.
Paisley follows me out, a spring in her step and a glint in her eye. When I climb into my car, my phone buzzes.
I STILL NEED A PHOTO.
I copy the one Luke sent me and forward it to her.
OMG. YES. MARY, YOU SHOULD SEND OUT HOLIDAY CARDS WITH THIS GUY.
I send her an eye roll emoji.
FINE IF YOU AREN'T, THEN CAN I BORROW HIM?
Paisley is absurd.
ARE YOU TAKING HIM TO FOSTER'S WEDDING? PLEASE SAY YES. I WANT FOSTER TO MEET HIM SO BAD.
I sigh. She's never going to give up. I'M NOT GOING TO FOSTER'S WEDDING. NO WAY I'LL GET AN INVITE. BUT THEY'VE MET.
Paisley sends me the screaming blue and yellow person emoji. DID FOSTER'S HEAD EXPLODE? TELL ME HIS HEAD EXPLODED.
I CAN'T SPEND ALL DAY TEXTING YOU, YOU KNOW. I'M GOING TO SEE TROY, AND I HAVE A DATE WITH LUKE TONIGHT.
Paisley sends me a gif of a baby throwing a tantrum. I swear, she is ridiculous. FINE. WEAR THE BLACK STRAPPY HEELS AND I'LL LEAVE YOU ALONE.
I shake my head, and start my drive to the hospital. Thankfully, I've left early enough to avoid traffic, and I slide my car into a spot outside the hospital by four-thirty. I make a quick stop in the gift shop to buy a stuffed animal. To my delight, they have a fluffy green frog with dots on its back. I hope Troy still loves frogs. Kids can be more fickle than men, their obsessions changing in the blink of an eye.
When the elevator doors open on Troy's floor, the sounds of a happy toddler fill the hallway. Troy and Trudy are both singing a ridiculous song, his favorite, about five speckled frogs. It probably began as ten frogs, but it's hard to handle any more repetitions than are strictly necessary.
I push the door open and shake the green frog at Troy.
The squeals reassure me that he can see it.
“Aunt May May! Is that for me?”
I walk around the door so he can see me, too. “How'd you know it was me?”
He shrugs. “No one else brings me presents. And I love frogs.”
He's such a smart little guy. “You're going to be an accountant one day, aren't you. Just like me?”
His green eyes widen. “You count things, right? I'm learning. One, two, fwee, foh, five, six.”
“How'd you learn that?” I ask.
He frowns. “They poke me with a needle and it hurts. They do it a lot. So I'm counting each time they do it. Six times today.”
“I'm lucky to have such a brave nephew,” I say. “I'm glad you're learning to count so well, but I'm sorry they're poking you.”
He bobs his head, and I hand him the frog. “This frog isn't just any frog. He begged me to buy him at the gift shop. I told him no at first, but then he said that if I bought him, he'd tell me his name.”
“What is it?” Troy asks, eyes as round as an owl's.
I whisper. “He said his name's Hoppy.”
Troy nods and repeats the word.
“He also needs a kiss every day. If you'll do that, and remember his name, he'll be there for you to hug every time you're scared, or sad or lonely. And hugging him will also help you feel better when they poke you.”
Troy hugs Hoppy to his chest.
“Trudy, have you given any thought to the timeframe on my offer?” I ask. “Because I have. You're going to be so much better off getting things settled sooner, rather than later.”
She folds her arms. “I'm not going to uproot anything before Christmas.”
“But my house is much bigger, and nicer, and I'd help you with it. It's always better to do things now, than to wait.”
She shakes her head. “I'll think about it in January.”
“By which point you'll have paid another month's rent!”
“I won't have to pay the rent, because Chris is paying that.”
Finally, the thing that's been bugging me all day has been answered. She won't leave because she's still hoping the functioning alcoholic who left her will come back. He's very unlikely to do that with a scowly older sister on the scene making him feel like the loser he really is. I want to scream at her, but I can't do it in front of Troy, and it probably wouldn't help anyway.
“I just wanted to come see how you were doing, Troy. And tell your mom that I think the thing we discussed will be just fine. So you can move ahead with the clinical trial.”
She nods her head, and a tear slides down her cheek. “I know you want what's best for me, but I'm not sure you're right about what that is.”
“Your happiness is all I ever want,” I say. “But you get to choose for yourself. My support has no strings attached. When you decide you need me, I'm here.”
She crosses the room and pulls me close for a tight hug, which warms my heart. But the little arms that wrap around the backs of my knees are almost too much to take. I reach over and pick up Troy, still clutching Hoppy. I kiss him on the forehead. “I'm very proud of you for being super duper brave.”
“Thanks Aunt May May. You come tomorrow?” he asks.
“I've got a big meeting tomorrow night with volunteers, but I'll come before that if I can.”
It's a fifteen-minute drive from the hospital to my house. I pull over four times and start a text to Luke begging off each time. After all, we aren't ice cream and that analogy makes no sense. What we're doing is stupid. He's leaving, and I'm never going to have kids of my own, much less marry someone who has them. Ironically, if he was divorced, I might be fine with it, because I would never be their mom. That burden would fall on someone else's shoulders. But it's not like I can tell him that if his wife hadn't died, and he'd just left her, I'd be okay with it.
The hot water of the shower eases some of my anxiety over the work drama, Troy being sick, and the upcoming date. Even though I stand under the boiling stream for too long, I'm still ready for my date with half an hour to spare. I decide to sit in the formal living room of my house and read until he arrives. Of course, I'd read a lot faster if I wasn't glancing up every single time a car drove past.
I wonder what Luke drives. It can't be the Mustang that's up on blocks, and I didn't see anything else. I hope it's not a motorcycle. That would be a complete nightmare. I've seen the numbers on motorcycle accidents, and no matter how you skew them, they're bad news.
I glance at my watch. Luke's six minutes late. Which isn't a big deal to most people, I remind myself. Plenty of people I know operate under the assumption that they're on time for any specified event as long as they arrive within the fifteen minutes following the stated time. My dad and my sister both feel like anything under half an hour should be commended.
I still hate it.
I'm probably more wound up than usual, thinking about little Troy and whether he's adjusting to his new circumstances, and whether my sister's okay. How can I convince her to let go of
the Chris shaped anvil around her neck so she can move on?
A red Ford Raptor drives past my house, stops and reverses, and backs into the driveway. Where in the world was he hiding that? I glance at my watch. Eleven minutes late, which means it's likely he's one of those fifteen minute grace period, inconsiderate, selfish jerks.
Or maybe he had some issues with the tiny people I've been trying to pretend he doesn't have.
I slide my hands down my sweater to smooth it, and glance in the mirror quickly to make sure my makeup hasn't smudged. I almost never wear red lipstick, but with this particular moss green sweater, the combination turns my eyes a unique olive color. Or that's what Foster used to tell me. Not that his opinions matter anymore.
He jogs up the steps in nice slacks and a cream-colored polo shirt, covered with a brown leather jacket. Before he even has a chance to knock, I open the door.
“Whoa,” he jumps. “That scared me.”
“Sorry about that,” I say. “I saw you coming, and figured I'd spare your knuckles.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Your last pansy boyfriend may have had porcelain knuckles.” He holds up his hands and slaps his right hand with his left. “But these babies are tough.”
After I lock the front door, he takes my hand in his, and I follow him to his car, grinning like an idiot. I'm glad it's dark enough he probably can't see.
He opens the passenger side door for me. “So. You were acting like you didn't even want to go, but you were watching for me by the window?”
I blush.
He walks around to the driver side, and when he slides in, he glances at my face. “Hey, I was only teasing. I didn't mean to upset you.”
“It's been a rough few days.” I buckle my seatbelt. “I'm fine, though.”
“Me and my knuckles can handle rough. What's going on?”
“Everything.” I'm embarrassed when my voice wobbles. “After lunch with you the other day, I decided to turn down the promotion.”
“Actually,” Luke says, “tell me where we're going and then keep going.”
“Oh, right. I pick the place. Do you still want Indian?”
“I haven't been living here for very long, and I'm not used to your neighborhood. Maybe you've got a restaurant suggestion?”
