Like You Mean It

by Jillian Liota

  “Oh, man, it took a turn after you and the kid left. This puto gigante shows up and picks a fight with Lucia’s boyfriend.” Rod flexes his neck left and right, his fist gripping his beer until he’s white knuckled. “We handled it.”

  I let out a chuckle. “Well. Glad I got Jones out of there, then.”

  “Who’s Jones?”

  Marcus’ question isn’t unwelcome. I’m happy to talk about Jones and what an awesome kid he is. It’s not the question I don’t like. It’s Marcus. Because I know no matter what I say to him in the next few minutes, he’s going to make me want to clock him in the fucking face.

  “Jones is my neighbor’s kid,” I answer, tossing a few buns onto the grill to toast.

  There’s a pause and I know he expects me to go on, but I don’t. Short and simple. It’s the best way for me to go about talking to Marcus now. Don’t give him too much information, or he’ll shit all over you.

  I look at Rod, ready to ask him if he caught the Kings game last night, when Marcus pipes in again.

  “Why did you take him to the bike show? He’s not your kid.”

  And that, right there, is just another example of what is wrong with Marcus. It doesn’t matter that he’s not my kid. It matters that he gets time spent with people who love and care about him, whether those people are parents, friends, neighbors, or whoever.

  I shrug, trying to downplay it. The last thing I want is to draw too much attention to how much I care about Jones. Or Annie, for that matter.

  “He doesn’t have a dad and he’s been digging on my bike.” I shrug again as I pull the finished burgers off the grill. “He’s a good kid and I thought he’d have fun.”

  But Marcus gives me some sort of sick look and wiggles his eyebrows. “You’re trying to fuck his mom.”

  I swear, every single person goes silent. Even the music playing out of my portable speaker goes into a lull, likely switching to a new song. I clench my fists, not sure how to respond to Marcus.

  If I say I’m not, that I have a girlfriend – which Marcus knows – and that Annie’s just a friend, he’s going to say she’s probably a dog. That will end with a fist to the face. His, not mine.

  I eye the beers in his hands. He’s double fisting again. At a house party. I’ve seen him get new beers three times already. That means he’s on beers 7 and 8 right now. And he’s swaying slightly. So I stay silent, knowing nothing good will come from engaging him right now. He wants an argument because it makes him feel good to take out his anger on someone, since his ex is absolutely demolishing him in the divorce. So I let out a slow breath and turn away from him.

  “Burgers are ready, guys.” I set the plate on my patio table. “Rod, will you pull the buns off once they’re done toasting? I’m gonna grab the condiments. Anyone want pickles?” I scan the group and see a few hands, then turn to head inside, hopefully to cool down for a second as well as grab what we need.

  But as I turn to go in, I see Annie standing at the patio door, her eyes a little wide, Alex standing behind her.

  “Annie.” Her voice comes out of my mouth in some kind of breathless way that makes me feel like a tool. “What are you doing here?”

  She gives me a tight smile, and it’s then I see the helmet clutched in her hands, snug against her chest.

  “I am so sorry, Cole. I would have waited if I’d been actually paying attention and realized you had… friends over.” Her eyes scan my yard and take in the group of guys half chatting, half watching the very pregnant lady.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I take her by the arm and turn. “Hey guys, this is my neighbor Annie. Annie, these are my friends.”

  Then I go through and introduce her one-by-one. She gives a brief hello to Rod, who she met once at The Garage. Patrick and Derek, who are sitting at the patio table, stand and shake her hand. Keegan, who is making a rare appearance at one of these nights, steps away from where he’s been glaring at my pool like it hurt him in some way to say hello.

  “I’m not assuming anything by asking if you’re pregnant, right?” he says, a bit of charm I’ve never seen from him popping out. Annie laughs. “I’ve heard you’re never supposed to assume.”

  She smiles and places her hands on her stomach. “Not assuming. Yes, I am very pregnant. 34 weeks.”

  He shakes his head. “And what’s that in months?”

  “Oh, sorry,” she says. “I’m so used to only talking to people who are obsessed with all things pregnancy. 34 weeks is nearing the end of month 8.”

  “Wow. So you’re going to give birth any time, then, right?”

  His eyes are focused on her. And he looks so interested in what she has to say. And I don’t exactly know how to handle it. Or why I’m feeling a little bit uncomfortable.

  “Actually, you have to go 9 full months. So I still have a little over a month to go.”

  He nods, then flashes a charming smile at her. “And Cole said you have another son?”

  Annie’s face lights up at the mention of Jones, and I feel a little jealous. Normally, she’s talking to me about Jones. I know that smile is about her son, but I don’t like that she’s sharing it with other men.

  I nearly choke on my thoughts. Other men? What does that have to do with anything?

  First of all, Keegan’s just being… nice. I think. I’ve never seen him be nice to people before. Not that he’s normally mean or anything. But this is definitely a new level of smooth and interested I’ve not seen from him before.

  And also? It would be good for Annie to have… someone… in her life. Like a man.

  I feel my body temperature rise and I can’t even let myself finish that thought. The idea of Annie and some other guy painting her house or some other man working on a bike with Jones.

  It ignites something inside of me that I didn’t know was there. Because – and this is the thought that makes me want to punch something – because what I actually want is for me to be happy. I want me to be that person and…

  Before I can even finish the full thought and try to process what I’m feeling, I hear something to my right.

  A fucking demon whispering shit in my ear. Only he’s not whispering it. He’s drunkenly slurring it for everyone to hear.

  “…can’t see why you’d ever wanna pound that pussy. It’s gonna be all fucking torn up after shoving that baby out.”

  I whirl around and see Marcus standing a few feet away, swaying slightly, two beers still in his hands.

  “I bet she’s draining the dad for all he’s worth and now coming after you,” he tacks on, then looks right at Annie. “He left you huh? I know why. Because you’re a fucking whore who can’t keep him happy. I hope you’re left with nothing.”

  The last words are barely out of his mouth before I’m sending my fist through his face and he drops to the ground in one pop. Everything in me wants to punch him over and over and over again.

  But instead, I bend over and grab the collar of his shirt, lifting him just enough off the ground so his face is inches from mine.

  “Get the fuck out of my house. You are never welcome here again.”

  And then I shove him back into the ground.

  I spin around and look for Annie, and when I find her, I feel like my head just keeps on spinning.

  Keegan has an arm around her, like he’s holding her up. She’s bent slightly like she’s in pain, and tears are tracking down her face.

  “Annie,” I say, rushing towards her. But when I get close, she shrinks away slightly. “Annie. I’m so sorry. He’s going through a bitter divorce right now, and every woman is a target. That wasn’t about you. At all. I promise. Okay?”

  Her hurt eyes finally look to me, and I feel like something lances through my heart. Because the way she’s looking at me makes me feel like this is my fault. And maybe it is. I should have done better at keeping her away during Second Sunday, or at keeping Marcus out of my fucking house. But I didn’t. I let this happen.

  “I’m gonna go home,” she whi
spers, pressing Jones’ helmet into my hands.

  “I’ll walk you,” Keegan says, squeezing her shoulder and giving her an affectionate look.

  “I got it,” I say, glaring at Keegan, who backs off slightly with his hands raised. “Lets get you home,” I say to Annie, taking her hand in mine and leading her through the side gate and straight to her front door.

  She looks at me at the bottom of her stairs and gives me this watery smile. “Thanks Cole.”

  And then she turns and walks into her house with no other words exchanged.

  I turn and glare at my front yard, wishing there was a trash can to kick or something to punch. But there’s nothing.

  I don’t understand what I’m feeling right now. But it’s making me angry. It’s making me want to fight for the first time since I was in my mid twenties.

  My lungs feel like they’ve just finished running a marathon, and I can hear the blood pumping violently in my ears.

  All I know is, whatever this feeling is… it’s suffocating.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ANNIE

  Over a week goes by and I don’t see Cole one time. I stopped by last week, a few days after his friend ripped me apart in less than 10 seconds. But he wasn’t home. I haven’t even heard his motorcycle.

  When a few more days pass and there’s still nothing, I shoot him a text, hoping he’s okay.

  Me: Hey. Haven’t seen you around in a while. Everything okay?

  Almost a full day went by before he finally responded.

  Cole: Yeah. I’m fine thanks.

  That’s it?

  After the bike show, Jones couldn’t stop babbling about Cole. About what he’d said. He could barely even explain himself he was so through the roof. And when I saw the helmet on the counter, I didn’t think anything of heading over right then to give it back. To head over and say thank you again. Because what I’d said in the yard hadn’t been enough.

  I knew I wasn’t going to explain myself right. How do you tell a man that isn’t your partner thank you for loving my son so much that he finally thinks he’s worth loving?

  But everything moved so fast and I didn’t mean to show up while he had friends over. I must have been so distracted with what I was planning to say that I didn’t hear the music or the chatter until Alex was answering the door and ushering me into the backyard.

  Before I knew it, I was talking with the Keenan guy. Or maybe it was Keegan? He seemed so sweet and I was trying to focus on what he was saying but I was so distracted by Cole’s consistent presence at my side that I’m sure I sounded like an idiot.

  And then, there was the drunk one. I don’t even know his name. I just know that he despised me on sight. It helped rub out the burn a little bit for Cole to explain that he’s going through a divorce. I heard divorcing men talk bitterly about women in the few instances I was dragged to business functions with Andrew. It gets nasty real quick.

  But this felt so targeted. So aimed at exactly where it would hurt.

  There’s this scene in Pretty Woman when Jason Alexander’s character smacks Julia Roberts in the face. And when Richard Gere is icing the bruise, she says something like, “Why is it that men know exactly where to hit you to make you think your eye is exploding.”

  That’s what I feel like. Like this guy knew exactly where to hit me, even if the punches weren’t physical. He hit on my struggles with my changing body. My nerves that I’ll never be a desirable woman again. My fear that I’ll always be alone. He hit on Andrew being gone and how I couldn’t make him happy. On being left with nothing.

  I let out a sigh, then shake my arms and my head, trying to jolt myself out of this self-deprecating mood.

  I don’t have nothing.

  I have Jones. I have my mom. I have my ability to work hard and push forward for the sake of my family.

  And I have Cole. Even if I don’t want to admit it, I have Cole. Even if it’s not in the way I would wish, I still have Cole as a friend.

  Well, maybe I do. After his radio silence for the past – I look at my phone to check the date – ten days, maybe I don’t anymore.

  I glance around the coffee shop. It’s a quiet day today, although that’s likely due to most of the neighboring businesses being closed for the Thanksgiving holiday. The customer numbers have actually been steadily increasing over the past few weeks that I’ve been here, which was quite the adjustment for Carly and Lonnie. So a quiet day was a nice little break for them.

  My meetings with the principal at the local high school and the marketing director at the community college around the corner went well, and we’ll be implementing some student discounts with the start of the spring semester in January.

  I’ve popped into neighboring businesses to drop off coupons for employees, as well as to gauge interest in potential catering.

  I’ve even come up with holiday inspired events that will be happening each week in December, although the idea of those makes me nervous with the baby on the way.

  I look back at my to do list and feel my mind begging to melt out of my head. But I give myself another shake. It might be the day before Thanksgiving, but I only work part-time. I can focus for the next hour before mentally checking out.

  A little while later, just as I’m packing up from the spot I normally sit at in the corner – since there isn’t really an office space for me – I hear my name.

  I look up and see Cole’s parents giving me a big smile from where they stand near the front counter. My mood instantly brightens and I give them a big wave, leaving my stuff behind and crossing the shop to give them hugs.

  “Hey sweetie, how are you?” his mom asks me, pulling back to look at my stomach, her hands holding my upper arms. “And how are you?” she asks Diana.

  I laugh. “It’s so good to see you, Sammy. We’re doing well.” Then I look to Gary and give him a hug too. “What are you doing here?”

  “We were across the street visiting Cole and decided to pop over and grab a coffee before heading off to do our Thanksgiving shopping.”

  I nod, trying not to be bothered by the fact that Cole’s at work. Across the street. And he’s still not talking to me. I assumed since I wasn’t hearing his motorcycle that he’d gone out of town. Maybe to visit Jess or something.

  Then, the nosey part of me can’t help but pry.

  “Did he go on vacation or something?” I ask, trying to maintain nonchalance. “I haven’t seen him in like, two weeks.”

  Sammy and Gary glance at each other quickly then back at me. “No. I don’t think so. Or at least, if he did, he didn’t tell us.”

  I nod and push a big smile. “No worries. I was just curious.” I turn quickly and look at Jet, who stands behind the counter with that neutral face of his. “Can you add my employee discount to their bill please?” Then I look back at them. “I have to get back to work, but it was so good to see you.”

  They both give me a smile and I head back over to my stuff, planning to continue “working” until they leave. A few minutes later, Gary gives me a wave, but Sammy walks over to where I’m seated.

  “I just wanted to invite you and Jones. Cole is hosting Thanksgiving. It’ll be a big group this year. Us, Cole’s sister and her husband, some of Cole’s friends. You’re welcome to join us.”

  I smile, touched that she’d think of me. “Thank you so, so much. But I also have my mom, and to be honest, I don’t know what our plans are.”

  Sammy shrugs. “No pressure. We eat buffet style and sit scattered around the living room and kitchen, so even if you decide to come last minute, none of you will be imposing. Including your mom, okay?”

  She leans over and gives me another hug. “Think about it.” Then she heads out the door. I stand and walk over to the window to watch them head the block and a half down to The Garage. Back to Cole.

  If I’m totally honest, it sounds amazing to go over to Cole’s for Thanksgiving. I could stick with just making a dessert. My mom wouldn’t have to stress about a ma
in course. None of us would end up eating a frozen dinner and crying because it’s the first holiday without Andrew.

  Not that our holidays were ever that great.

  But I have this feeling that Cole doesn’t want me around right now, and I cant seem to shake it.

  I wrap up for the day, drive to pick up Jones – who looks positively dead on his feet after another fun-filled day at Sunshine – and head over to my mom’s. Whatever ends up happening tomorrow, we need to decide today. And if my mom has already gone shopping for Thanksgiving food, I won’t even bring it up.

  “Yo, mama!” I shout once we walk into the house.

  “In the back!”

  I follow the direction of her voice to the backyard, where she’s swinging in a hammock that hangs between two posts on her back porch, reading a book.

  “Hey mamasita. How’s it hanging?”

  She laughs.

  Jones wanders over to her and without even asking, just starts crawling up onto the hammock.

  “I guess someone wants Mimi snuggle time, huh?” she says, giving him a boost and cradling him in against her. Less than thirty seconds later, he closes his eyes.

  She looks up at me. “I love when he does this shit,” she says.

  Jones’ eyes pop open, albeit slightly bleary. “I heard Mimi say shit,” he says. And then closes his eyes again.

  I take a seat at her patio table and, after adjusting then readjusting a few times, finally get comfortable.

  “I’m gonna get in trouble if he keeps mimicking what you say around him,” I tell her.

  She winks.

  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” I ask, kicking my feet up on another chair and resting my hands on the princess. “Did you get a turkey?”

  “Hell no,” she says. “I hate cooking. You know that. I only ever did it when you were younger because we did that big dinner with the church every year.”

  I roll my eyes. We went a grand total of twice when my mom was going through a religious phase.

  “Well, I have an alternative option.”