“Gimme a kiss, first,” she says, looking up to me and wetting her lips. Her hands reach out and clutch my hips. “I missed you today.”
“No,” I say.
Her eyes widen in shock, then she huffs and storms off into the house. I follow her in and shut the door before heading in the opposite direction. She wants me to follow her, but I’m not playing stupid games. Instead, I head to my room to shower and change out of my work clothes.
I’m rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when Jess comes into the bathroom, clutching a glass of wine. I wipe my hand across the glass to see her better, and take in the fact that she’s fuming.
“I know you’re mad I wouldn’t kiss you,” I say, rubbing soap between my hands and along my chest, then pointing a finger at her. “But kissing me isn’t going to change the fact I’m pissed at you for treating Annie like shit this morning.”
Jess looks down at her wine, refusing to meet my eye through the glass of the shower, which is starting to steam up again.
I swipe my hand across it and look at her. “You were rude and dismissive and I don’t find that attractive.”
“I know, okay?” she says, setting her wine glass down on the counter with a little too much oomph. I’m surprised she didn’t crack the base right off. “That’s why I went over to talk to her earlier. I figured I could try to break the ice. You know, let her know I’m not a bitch.” She pauses and then looks at me. “Or at least not a big bitch.”
My shoulders, which I hadn’t realized were hunched in frustration, ease just slightly. I let out a small laugh, pleased that she took the initiative herself to handle things with Annie. Jess’ expression changes dramatically, the bitchy turn of her brows lifting and smoothing over. It’s so obvious when she finally lets down the defenses that she throws up around herself so quickly.
“There’s the Jess I know,” I say, finishing up and turning off the water.
“I told her I was really tired from my drive yesterday and that I was sorry if I came off cranky.”
I open the door and step out on the mat, grabbing a towel from the rack.
“Do you think she actually bought that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and giving her a teasing look.
She shrugs and lets a little smirk play on her face. “Well I can’t control that. What am I supposed to say? I was trying to find a way to make her feel like the way I treated her wasn’t my normal behavior.”
I give a little smile at that.
“And I told her that I wanted her and Jones to come over for dinner next weekend when I’m back in town.”
My hands, which are busy using the towel to dry off my body, freeze for just a second.
“You know, so we can get to know each other better.”
I look at her, and even though her expression is genuine, I can’t help but sense a tiny bit of sneakiness from her. But I decide to let it go. Even though Jess might try to be a little bit crafty in the way she handles things, I’ve never seen something go south when she tries to make amends.
“Do you know what you want to do for dinner tonight?” I ask instead, attempting to focus on today instead of a dinner that might not even happen next weekend. I drop the towel in the hamper and walk back into my bedroom to put on some clothes.
“I was thinking we could go to Maurice’s.”
I groan internally as I tug on a pair of boxers. Almost every weekend, she wants to go to the same Italian restaurant. It would be nice to mix in some Indian or Mexican every once in a while, but most of the time its just easier to let things be easy.
“That sounds good.”
She steps over to me, her hand tracing the skin above my boxers before sliding just inside the rim. My muscles flex and ripple, her touch doing exactly what she’s hoping or.
“We have a little time, you know.” Her voice has that seductive quality that I find hard to resist. Her eyes are hooded, and she bites her lip as her mouth moves closer to mine. “At least an hour before we should head out to dinner. I still want that kiss, baby.”
I smirk at her. “Oh. Is that right?”
She nods once and then presses her lips to mine.
Looks like I’ll be taking another shower before dinner.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANNIE
“Jones, I told you we need to go soon. Are you putting your shoes on?”
I hear nothing but silence and I roll my eyes. That boy has the most selective hearing. He’s just like his father.
I walk towards his bedroom and peek in, seeing him sitting at the foot of his bed playing with a dinosaur and a toy soldier.
“Dude,” I say.
Jones gasps a little and his head whips around to look at me, his eyes large, a guilty expression on his face.
“Did I ask you to get your shoes on?”
“Maybe.”
I squint my eyes.
He sighs and stands. “Okay,” he adds on a long drawn out sigh. He walks over to his closet and grabs a pair of shoes for me to help him put on.
“Alright, so how do we do it?”
“Over, under, around and through. Meet Mr. Rabbit, in my shoe.”
“Great job, mister!”
He smiles and then jumps up, then sprints out of the room and towards the door.
I slowly push my heavy body up to standing, my hands coming to rest on the little monster in my tum. I’m looking forward to this little lady, but man does she like to just sit on my bladder. All. The. Time.
I get to the front of the house and see the door is open a crack. That boy. We need to work on his safety skills.
“Jones!” I shout, pulling the door open and stepping outside. “We talked about this. You can’t just…”
But my words trail off when I spot Jones at the edge of the yard, talking to Cole. I let out a sigh. I don’t know what to do with this kid sometimes. Like, lets not be obnoxious neighbors that are in his face every time he comes outside.
I know I have to swallow my pride and go talk to him. As much as I would rather pretend he doesn’t exist, he’s still nice to my son, and my kid needs all the nice people in his life he can get. So I’ll just have to push past his pity and be friendly. Distant, but friendly.
“Hey,” I say as I approach my little dude and his new idol.
“Morning,” Cole says, his eyes searching my face.
“Jones, go wait by the car,” I say, resulting in a whine and a very unhappy Jones trudging over to where my horrible car awaits a trip to the auto shop. “Thanks for always chit chatting with him when he comes out here. He seems to worship the ground you walk on all of a sudden.”
He gives me a tight smile and a nod. Then his eyes glance back at his house.
“Jess mentioned she came over to chat with you yesterday?”
Yeaaaaaaah. That wasn’t awkward or anything. Nothing like having your neighbor’s girlfriend come over and pretend to apologize for making you feel inferior.
“She did.”
Silence.
“Listen, Annie…”
“I gotta go, Cole. I’m so sorry. But we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.” I take a step back, putting some much needed space between us. “I’ll just… I’ll see you.”
I turn and walk over to my car, parked on the driveway in front of my carport. I jump when I hear his motorcycle rev up. Jones runs back towards me and bounces around, giggly at the loud noise, watching Cole back slowly out of his driveway and onto our street. Jones waves, which Cole returns, and then he revs up and speeds down the road.
I let myself stand there for just a moment. Cole elicits a number of emotions inside of me that I don’t know how to place. Or maybe I do know how to, but there are just so many that it gets confusing.
When I see him I swoon a little bit but also feel trepidation and anxiousness about annoying him or being a burden. When he smiles I get a warm fuzzy inside but then feel guilty because he has a girlfriend. When he treats my kid like he matters, I feel like bursting into tears from both happiness and s
adness.
And that doesn’t even take into consideration feeling like he pities me, or how his girlfriend makes me feel, or how indebted I feel in his presence even though all he has done is just be nice. That shouldn’t hit me on such a deep emotional level – a man treating me like I deserve kindness – but it does.
So, being on every level of the emotional spectrum at one time whenever he comes around is incredibly exhausting.
With a light tug to my hand, Jones pulls me back from my musings. Alright, time to get on with the day.
I buckle Jones into his car seat and then make my way over to the auto shop. It is finally, finally Sunday, which means it is time to get my sweet little piece of shit car worked on. I have no idea how I’m going to pay for it, but as long as the owner still allows me to do a payment plan, I should be able to sort it out as long as I can get a job soon.
When we pull in, the same guy that helped me the first time greets me with a smile and directions to drive the car straight into the bay.
“Thank you so much,” I say. “Lemme get my kiddo and we’ll be out of your hair.”
“No problem,” he says, checking his clipboard. “Lots of work today but you’re the only car on the docket. With me and the boss man, shouldn’t take more than five hours.”
I nod as I heave Jones out of his seat. “Sounds good. You have my number on your sheet, right?” He gives me a nod. “I’ll wait for your call.”
With a last wave from Jones, we both head out the door and down the street a little ways to the coffee shop. The plan is to grab some decaf coffee, maybe drop off an employment application, and then head to the park.
The Steam Room is a tiny little hipster place that would have absolutely been a favorite for me in high school. It’s pretty new age-y with lots of dream catchers and quilts hanging around, and a warm vibe that boasts comfy couches and brick walls.
“Can I help you?” A blonde teen greets me with a huge smile from behind the counter.
“Yeah, can I get a grande decaf coffee please?”
“Oooooh, we have three sizes. Small, medium and large. Nothing fancy like Starbucks,” she says, the smile still on her face. “But I can definitely make you a medium decaf. Do you want room for cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please.”
While she busies herself with putting my order together, Jones plops himself down on one of the couches, and I let my eyes wander the space. Yeah, this is a pretty great place. I should come back here and do some graphic design work at that gorgeous spot near the window once Jones starts at Sunshine on Wednesday.
“Here you go!”
I turn back and pay for my drink. “And do you have an employment application?” I ask. “I’m new to the area and looking for something part-time.”
“Well, we aren’t really hiring, but you’re welcome to drop off your info and a resume with us,” she says.
I give her a smile and a nod, accepting the paper she provides me. I thank her and then plop myself down next to Jones on the couch.
“Alright dude, play with your Legos while I fill this out, okay?”
He nods and starts putting together some sort of Batman Cave or something. I can never tell. All I know is that the pieces hurt like hell when I step on them in the dark.
I begin the tedious work of filling out the employment application, entering in the sparse history of jobs I’ve had. I shake my head. Every time I fill one of these out, I feel embarrassed that I don’t have really any experience doing anything. But I also know I’m doing my best, and that being young, dumb and in love can thwart even the smartest people.
As I mindlessly fill out an application nearly identical to one I’ve filled out for at least 20 other jobs, I let my mind do what it shouldn’t. I let it think about why I have no experience doing anything. Why I’m facing this shitty situation in the first place.
Andrew and I met mid-way through my freshman year of high school at a school not too far from here, and I fell madly in love, incredibly fast. He was a junior and super popular, and I was this little bookworm and member of the yearbook committee that struggled to speak more than two words to anyone.
Man, did he woo me when he set his sights my way. He came to my plays and stopped by the classroom where we made the yearbook. He found excuses to come by my small job as a checker at the craft store, and dropped off flowers at my house. I was completely taken by him.
We dated for almost two full years before he graduated. And then, we surprised everyone by continuing to date even when he moved away to attend Northwestern in Illinois. My mom never liked him, and we fought constantly about our relationship. He was too much older, too wealthy, too far away. I only got to see him when he came home for holidays, but we texted a lot.
Finally, I graduated from high school and followed him to Illinois. Things were kind of a mess at first. At the time, I was pretty naïve, and wasn’t any the wiser that my sudden presence in a world he had created for himself at an elite university might hamper his ability to continue partying, drinking, and fooling around with the smart, rich women in his classes unbeknownst to his clueless high school girlfriend. But I was barely 18 and in love with a man who had wrapped rose-colored glasses around my eyes and drilled them in place.
I moved in with him in a house his parents rented for him to live in, and started attending classes full-time at the community college, as I wasn’t able to afford going to a university, especially one out-of-state. It was a really hard year for me. I struggled to make friends, and Andrew was gone a lot and didn’t pay me a lot of attention. But I started to get interested in graphic design, and plugged along with my coursework, working a few hours here and there at the student newspaper, drawing comics, and handling some of the marketing.
But at the start of my second year, when I was barely 19, I found out I was pregnant with Jones. Andrew was so angry at first, saying it ruined his plans for the future. We had a huge argument where I couldn’t stop crying, and I finally told him I’d move home to live with my mom if he didn’t want us.
I guess that was the only time in the 8 years we were together that I actually put my foot down about something. That I threatened to leave. And it worked.
He did a complete 180, promising he didn’t mean what he’d said. He became an ideal father-to-be, and treated me more like he did when we were in high school. It was a dream.
I was 8 months pregnant when he purchased the little house on Maple Street. We went shopping for things for the house together and focused so much on becoming a family. And then Jones came along, and I felt like my world was complete.
Except this new Andrew that treated me like a queen? Completely disappeared. At the time, I thought it was my fault. I mean, I had followed him across the country, lived rent-free in his house, got pregnant and ruined his future. And when I had the baby, I tried to take him away from his schoolwork by asking for help or needing attention. And he was so focused on trying to graduate a year early so he could start working sooner.
So I started submitting applications at coffee shops and restaurants in the area. I figured Andrew could go to school and do homework during the day, and take care of Jones at night while I worked to bring in more money. He was so angry when I told him about the job I got working at a restaurant nearby. I didn’t understand, but now, looking back, I know he was upset at the idea he’d have to stay home and miss out on his life, as well as at the idea that I’d be out in the world interacting with others while he took care of a baby he didn’t really want in the first place.
The abusive, controlling nature he’d been slowly developing and exerting over me become more and more apparent. He was gone all the time, but threw money at me that he was getting from somewhere even though he didn’t have a job. Turns out you can make a lot of money under the table when you’re selling pills to college kids.
But I didn’t find out about that until he started his job after graduation. Some swanky thing that he didn’t tell me a lot about that was in Dow
ntown Chicago with a big office and a view. I visited him there once and walked into his office when he was pressed up against someone he worked with, his mouth on her neck and his hand under her skirt.
I just knew, in the pit of my stomach, he and I were going to fall apart. But I forgave him when he begged me. I forgave him when I found pills in his pocket, and when he’d get drunk after work and stay in the city, then come home with hickeys on his neck and scratch marks on his back.
I felt so isolated. I had nothing. I had no one. And I hated myself, when I really should have hated him. For treating me like I was expendable. For making me an afterthought. But I stayed, because I didn’t know how to value what he treated like trash. He was always apologizing and then resenting me because he felt like he shouldn’t have to apologize.
In July, we woke up on the morning of the 4th and he had clear eyes for the first time in months. He hadn’t been partying or drugging himself up the night before. He looked at me across our sheets as we lay snuggled in bed, next to each other, but not together. He reached across the space between us on the king and pulled me close, wrapping one arm around me and placing his other hand on my stomach, which was just barely starting to show, and he said to me lets stay home, just us, and watch the fireworks together. I could have bawled my eyes out.
We spent the day playing with Jones in our backyard, swimming in the pool, and barbecuing like a normal, loving family. It is probably my absolute best memory of my life with Andrew. And I remember wondering why it couldn’t always be like that. It made sense that every couple would fight and have hard times, but as I sat under Andrew’s arm that night in our backyard, Jones snuggled between us, watching the fireworks blasting off from the huge park a few blocks away, I’d cried quietly, feeling like I was going to get robbed. I felt like I was getting teased with a day or two of the life and love I wanted but would never be able to really have.
And then, just three days later, I got a visit from a police officer. Andrew had gone out on Lake Michigan on a boat with some work colleagues and a bunch of strippers. There was alcohol and drugs aplenty, and everyone was so high and fucked up, that no one noticed when he passed out and fell overboard.
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