by A E Gamrat
“Well, then, why don’t you get out of here and let me finish my day alone?” I raise my eyebrow at him. He should be elated to leave me here all by myself. “But promise me one thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t treat him that way again. No matter what happens, he’s always been a good guy.”
“Yeah, lost my head. Won't happen again.” Finally, some shame is in his eyes. All moms say this about their boys, but one day a girl will be lucky to have his heart in her hands.
Lou gives me a kiss on the cheek, and off into the evening he goes. When I told everyone I was divorcing Louis, I didn't worry about Lou too much. He was out of the house and on his way to earning his chair at his dream job. Neither Louis nor I were divorcing the kids, but in the end, divorce at any age messes the kids up and their views of love.
I've never asked Lou what he knew before I found the two idiots together, and I never will. I highly doubt he knew his father was cheating on me, but I would hate for him to feel bad for suspecting something and never whispering a word my way. No child deserves the weight of their parents’ faults on their conscious. All they need to know is we are happier apart.
MaryAnn flat out told me she knew nothing and thought dad was awful for doing that to me. She was most worried that I would be mad if they stayed close, which broke my heart, but I told her she was lucky to have Louis for a dad. Unless he did something to one of them, I would never get in the middle of my kids’ relationship with their father. She’s a feisty one, takes after my mother, and has no filter when it comes to her feelings. You always know what MaryAnn is thinking and feeling.
“Shit.” A noise has gone off on my phone, and when I check it, I see the time. Being one with nature, time doesn’t exist. Another evening wasted away to Mother Nature. Mother Nature and thoughts of my family can kill evenings in a blink of an eye. Out of nowhere it’s bedtime, and I haven’t even had dinner yet. I love every second of my new-found freedom.
Claire wants to hit up an estate sale in the morning and is demanding my company. Or it actually will be more grilling on Silver with a side of estate sale. I do want to look for an off-the-wall end table for my living room, and our DVD section at the store is dwindling down.
Throwing some eggs on the stove for a quick dinner, I give Claire a big thumbs up and a promise of some kind of muffin for our breakfast. While I’m rummaging through my cupboards for ingredients, I can hear my phone pinging and vibrating on the counter somewhere.
Claire, Anne, and whoever else I bake for always worry that I'm doing it for their attention. When I was new to the area and having my family name, I was a little worried how people would treat me. I did bake for some niceness, but baking is in our blood. The women in our family bake for good times, bad times, a surprise get together, and even for the help of fixing something.
Outsiders think baking is a taxing job. Lots of ingredients to buy and hours of prepping before the actual baking part begins. To the women in my family, our cupboards always full of these ingredients, and there is no effort putting the baked goods together from start to finish.
Take now for instance, the only thought I had was what fruit I was going to put in the muffin. Without even thinking, the batter was put together and ready for baking while I’ve been eating my eggs.
I'll make two trays and take one down to Lou’s shop. I know he’ll be worrying over this afternoon and if I’m really mad at him or not. Baked goods are always a good way to ease the tension and say, “I’m sorry,” or “I accept your apology.”
Once I down my eggs and put the strawberry muffins in the oven, I grab my phone to end her agony. To my surprise Claire is not the one blowing up my phone. There are a few texts from her, but most are from a number I don’t have in my contacts.
The newest one highlighted on my home screen says, “I hope this is alright with you?” My stomach bottoms out before my brain can even grasp who is behind this number.
My hands are shaking when I tap the screen to pull up all the messages from the unknown number. Silver…Silver sent these messages and has confessed to calling Claire for my number, since he couldn’t ask me in front of Lou. One text talks about a note he left me in my living room.
I haven’t been in my living room since this morning. Now I'm rushing toward it like it’s on fire, searching for this message. I stop in front of the coffee table where a lone piece of paper sits prettily on top, waiting for me to read.
My neurotic self has notepads lying around all over the house for the unexpected thought or task I don’t want to forget about. After kids and their crazy schedules, having paper at the ready was the only way I kept my life and theirs on track. How else are you supposed to live?
Over the years my scratch paper went from blank notepads to decorative with holiday themes and funny sayings. The pad in the living room says Things To Never Forget, which he added many exclamation marks to and put his number underneath it in big numbers. Underneath his number he wrote Please use as often as you like.
Reading the rest of his text I can feel his confidence start to fade as more of his messages were left unopened and unanswered. Now I'm a nervous wreck, debating on whether to call him now or tomorrow, or should I text him now or tomorrow?
Dating thirty years ago, there were no smartphones, no texting, and no social media. When you liked someone, you had to tell them or get their home phone number, call and possibly talk to a parent. Ask them out on a date to get to know one another.
In the high society world, the guy and girl were put together or assumed they would get together from birth. Bringing families and money together, forming a stronger name, and creating more money. Dad wasn’t into all of that, but I knew going to college meant finding a husband.
Placing the piping hot muffins on the cooling rack, I keep glancing at my phone. Hoping another ping will go off, and he’ll decide for me how this night will play out. I wonder if Claire knew about this estate sale before or after Silver asked for my number. My money is on the after.
Since leaving my marriage in the dust, my moto has been to make every day worthwhile. A virgin teenage girl would have these insecurities and nervous belly, but a seasoned woman would take Silver by the balls and head off toward the sunset.
Covering the muffins, I march up to my bedroom, go through my nightly routine, and snuggle down into my bed with my fort of pillows. No one can see me hiding down low between the masses of pillows stacked on either side of me.
The TV is on low to provide some light distraction, and the lights are dimmed to help set the calming mood. It's been one helluva day for the books. A simple walk to a friend's house turned into an afternoon with my dream guy. That only happens in the books, and though Lou acted like an ass, I’m glad the meeting has already happened. MaryAnn will love him because MaryAnn loves everyone, especially the people who make me happy.
Very slowly I tap each number out like something might explode if I do it too quickly. With every tap my stomach tightens a notch more and my breathing becomes a little shallower. By the time I hit the phone icon my belly is in full blown knots, and I sound like I finished a marathon seconds ago.
The phone finally connects, and before I hear one ring. Silver’s voice is there saying “Hi.” Returning his “hi” is on the tip of my tongue when he continues to talk about not being able to pick up the phone, and if you are friend or family to leave a message.
I leave a quick, very generic, and rushed message, stabbing the end button like it did me dirty. Exasperated by the whole situation I throw the blankets over my head and close my eyes. Him not answering was never a thought on my mind. He’s probably working or talking to a friend—or talking to another woman.
No, no I will not be the insecure woman who assumes the guy has girls on call, and when I’m not available or paying attention to him, he would go to another. I am over forty with stretch marks, glasses, and like to wear mom jeans. These other girls might be young, tight, and wear barely-there clothes.
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I'm going to close my eyes and forget about these stupid fake girls and think about his hand on my back this afternoon. His hand holding my hand while we walked. The almost soul-bursting kiss we had right here on my deck. Nothing about the almost kiss was fake and didn’t feel like either one of us was going through the motions.
A big part of me feels this is all too soon and too good to be true. I need some of my free-spirited best friend’s advice. She'll make me feel better no matter the outcome, and I deserve what will make me the happiest in the world.
I refuse to toss and turn. I called back, and he didn’t answer. I left a message, and when he listens to it, I'll see what happens. This is my new destiny.
Chapter Eight
Rummaging through someone else’s home really brings the scavenger out in me. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure doesn’t even cover how much fun I have on one of these outings. The shock of what you find tickles my fancy every single time. Then the audacity of how much they are trying to sell the old, worthless item for could have me bitching for hours.
After my first experience, I started watching American Pickers and taught myself how to wheel and deal. I sound professional, don’t I? In actuality, I know nothing about aged furniture and what is really a deal or not.
I swear anymore that the sellers can see Claire and me coming from a mile away. Customers know Claire gets most of her off-the-wall decor for the store from these kinds of sales. When they have one, they will come in and personally invite her.
We have an older woman who had to sell everything after her husband died. She moved in with her daughter’s family right down the road. Claire bought a set of armchairs from her that sit in the store’s corner, and at least once a week, the daughter brings her down so she can sit in her chairs and be close with her late husband.
This routine started before I even knew Claire, so when I asked and found out the lady and about the chairs, I wrote a little story, with her consent, telling about their love and hoping others find love while occupying them. Brings a tear to my eye every time I think of those chairs. There's a legacy there, and all the older lady wants is the chairs to be put to good use and not left to fade away. Long after she is passed, people will still be reading her story and enjoying the chairs.
“Will you, for the love of the day, quit thinking about those damn chairs? Mrs. Abernathy received another good bill of health the other day. She isn't going anywhere for a long time.”
“Shut it; you don’t know what I was thinking about.” I throw a hand on my hip to emphasize she doesn’t know everything.
“You’ve been staring at those god awful ugly folding chairs for like five minutes now. Not even a desperate person would buy those damn things. I know where your mind goes with old chairs and how you want to find a story like Mrs. Abernathy’s.”
Rolling my eyes, I move on. She always thinks she knows everything. I am jealous of how she found those chairs and has this awesome story. One day I'm going to find my own Mrs. Abernathy and her chairs, I just know it. “I’m waiting for my turn to find a piece with an amazing story.”
We've been here over an hour, and truthfully, we haven’t spied anything. Whoever lived here liked filing cabinets, which means there’s a lot of papers and folders. The furniture is sparse; probably someone snagged it up already to resell. There is a business for this, and if you have the drive and space, I've seen people make crazy money.
“Thinking this place might be a dud. Did find a few comics for the store, but that’s about it.” Claire sidles up next to me with a few comics tucked underneath her arm. “They probably could’ve just had a garage sale,” she whispers out of the side of her mouth so no one can hear her.
“I know, hopefully we missed the big stuff.” I shrug and head toward the door. There's no point in being here any longer.
“Always positive, you are, but do I detect a hint of annoyance…or maybe,” she taps her finger to her lips, “aggravation over someone or something.” She gives me the I know I'm annoying you look, saying I'm not letting this go.
In bed last night talking to him seemed like the best idea ever. This morning, waking up to no text or missed phone call soured my mood more than I liked. No way am I letting him into my head this early in the game. Affecting my mood as soon as I wake up, souring my day, no way.
“I’m fine.”
“Hmmmm.”
I glare over at her when she makes that god awful, annoying as hell, humming noise. Reminds me of a mother mocking her child. Acting like they know all and know you are a big fat liar. We’re not talking about it right now. I'm feeling like a dummy as it is; I don’t need her reaffirming my dummy ways.
Silver probably has a good reason for not getting back to me, or even if he doesn’t, I shouldn’t care this much. Ugh, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m turning into a fifteen-year-old in a forty-year-old body.
“Why don’t we go head over to The Diner and grab lunch?”
“Yeah, this place is picked over, and I could eat lunch.”
“And talk about your now very active love life.”
Parking along the street I don’t spy Silver’s car anywhere. Now the stalking begins, my nerves going from one extreme to the other: relief that I didn’t see his car, sadness over his car being nowhere, anxiety over what he is doing right now. It's like since he ate here yesterday, he should be here every day in the afternoon. I might need to be evaluated very soon.
If you want a good home-cooked meal without doing the cooking, The Diner is where it’s at. The teenage waitress seats us by a window looking out toward the street, lets us know the specials, and takes our drink order.
The day is on the chilly side, so smothered meatloaf sounds amazing and comforting. I'll make sure to eat my salad and vegetable to make up for all the smothered meatloaf.
I should start back into my workout videos on YouTube. Once the weather changes, I’ll have to cut back on walking, so I need to be prepared. My pants have been feeling a little snug, and I definitely can’t lose control now.
“Ginny, sweetie, if you keep looking from the menu to outside, you are going to give yourself whiplash. What is going on? I expected more pep out of you today, but it seems you’re the opposite.”
I wanted this, needed this, didn’t I?
She's sitting across from me very patiently waiting for words to come out of my mouth. Claire is so all over the place but such a good friend, I can feel tears coming on.
“Hey, hey now.” She leans forward and grabs my one hand, patting it lightly when she sees my glassy eyes. “Tell me, it can’t be that bad. He called me for your number yesterday. He sounded so happy and shy about it.” Her smile is so genuine; the tears are fighting hard to crest my lids. “Did you guys try phone sex, and there were no happy endings?” She leans even closer to whisper out this last part, and though a few tears get past the gate, I snort out a ridiculous laugh. “Or did you make that noise on the phone?”
“Shut up.” I push her away from me with her ridiculous remarks. “It’s nothing like that, but now I'll be worried about making that sound around him.”
The waitress breaks up the rest of the tension to get our orders and drink refills. The service is the best. I love a restaurant with a good, attentive wait staff. Your food could be so-so, but if your staff is on the ball, personable, and accommodating, I'll be a returning customer.
“So, you’re planning to be around him? Since you do know him, I don’t have to talk him up, but he really is the best guy around.”
“I know, it was like he was in my subconscious, waiting for his time to shine, and when I saw him, all of my memories of him came flooding back. Like no time was lost at all.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” She’s trying to study me now, to figure out how we all fit together.
“Yes, but being honest…”
“You better be honest.”
I shoot her a sassy smile and let out a shallow breath. “It makes me kind
of sad. I missed a few texts from him last night, then I tried to call back, and it went straight to voicemail. I couldn’t even tell you what I said on it, and that’s the last I heard from him. Maybe I was putting all my eggs in one basket too soon. Dating hasn’t been going the way I thought and…”
“Stop,” Claire gets out during my slight pause. “You need to calm down and take some deep breaths. It was one phone call. You weren’t stood up at the altar.”
“I know…but I…don’t know how to handle any of…this.” Even my own ears can hear how dramatic those words sounded. Claire has now moved on to an I'm not even going to respond to that nonsense stare. What's a girl to do to get some sympathy from someone? Or even some understanding of what I'm going through?
Our food arrives and allows me another moment to collect my thoughts. The meatloaf is extra smothered today; the cook must have known I would need extra smothered today.
“Listen…” I shove a big hunk of meat in my mouth. Sounds kind of dirty, doesn’t it? “Growing up, I didn’t date, wasn’t around men a lot.”
“So, you weren’t allowed to date? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about your childhood.”
“No, probably not, because it contradicts everything I am today.”
Claire’s usual playful demeanor turns toward the serious side. She sits up straight on her side of the booth, palms down on the table like she’s ready for a shocking blow.
“You don’t have to look like that; it’s nothing bad. I had a great childhood, but it was sheltered. We are high society, so I was with my mom and aunties almost every day. The girls my age were mean, and the boys were out for blood and money at an early age.”
“Sounds intense. We grew up here and played outside almost every day until our mothers screamed that if we didn’t come home there would be hell to pay.” She chuckles at the fond memories. “We all played together, even the older kids with the younger ones.”
“My parents didn’t like a lot of the other families but had to deal with them because we were told to. Most dads worked together or for each other, and the women were at the country club drinking the day away.”