by M. E. Carter
“I have a question for you.” I lick the ketchup off my finger and dip another fry. “Why do you bring Peyton to this class if you’re the program director at another place? Wouldn’t you get the class for free if you did it at your gym?”
“We don’t have a class for her age that fits my schedule. But it works out better this way anyway.” He takes a sip of his drink before continuing. “I don’t want to bring my personal life into work. I wouldn’t put it past my ex to show up on a Thursday simply to cause me problems at work. It’s better that she not have any reason to go there.”
“She sounds like a psycho,” Callie states, sitting back in her chair and getting more comfortable. We may be here a while. The kids still have a lot of energy to burn since we left early.
“I don’t really know for sure,” he admits. “I just don’t want to find out. I’d rather not lose my job because she gets a bee in her britches.”
“A bee in her britches?” I giggle. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
He looks at me and smiles, and I find myself smiling back at him. If no one was here, I’d lean over and kiss him. But they are, so I won’t.
“Ick. Get a room,” Callie says, screwing up her face and breaking the moment.
“We’re not even touching each other,” I respond with a roll of my eyes.
“Well you might as well be with all that googly-eye shit going on.” She leans forward on her arms and looks back and forth at us. “Will you at least tell me if you had sex? I need a little excitement in my life.”
Greg looks like a fish out of water trying to figure out how to respond. I shake my head and drop my napkin on the table, leaning in mimicking her pose.
“Ok, since you won’t let it go, let’s do this. What do you want to know?”
She begins rapid firing questions at me, and I rapid fire back.
“Did you kiss him?”
“He kissed me. Next.”
“Did you kiss him back?”
“Yes. Next.”
“Did you have sex with him?”
“No. Next.”
“Are you going to?’”
I pause and slowly look over at Greg who has one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t look at me,” he mutters. “Answer the woman.”
I purse my lips to suppress a smile and look back at Callie. “I’m invoking my right to my one free pass.”
“You can’t do that!” she complains.
“I sure as hell can. You made up the rules to this stupid game, two years ago when you didn’t want to tell me where sand really ended up after your romp on the beach, remember?”
Her mouth drops open in indignation. “You promised we’d never speak of that again.” She points her finger in my face. “No one should have to spend part of their honeymoon in the ER getting sand flushed out of their crack.”
“You started it.”
She stomps her foot under the table. “I wanna know if you’re gonna get naked with the only hot guy we know,” she whines.
“Then you should have been more patient and not asked in front of him.” I gesture my head Greg’s direction.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “I’ll wait until he’s gone.”
“How come I can’t be a part of the conversation? I was there, too. Maybe I’ll have extra information you can’t get from Elena.” Greg has a shit-eating grin on his face that makes me all gooey inside. I love how laidback he is and how he can have fun no matter where we are.
It also strikes me as interesting that we’re all very nonchalant about this whole dating thing. In college and in my twenties, people didn’t seem to be this matter of fact. There was more playing hard to get. Less openness. Maybe more mind games. It feels very freeing to be so open like this the day after a first date.
“Ok,” Callie bites first. “How was your date, Greg?”
“Great.” He leans back in his chair. “She ate all her dinner so I think she liked my cooking. And she’s a really good kisser. I call that a success.”
“Did you get some boob action, too?”
“Callie!” I throw my napkin at her and her lack of boundaries.
She throws it right back. “What? It’s fair game until he invokes his own free pass.” She turns back to him. “Well?”
“No boob action.”
“Did you try?”
He looks at me, and I throw my hands up in the air. “Whatever. I’m sure it’ll come up later anyway. Might as well tell her now.”
Decision made, he turns back to her. “Yes, I tried. Yes, she shut me down. No, it didn’t bother me. I’d rather wait until we’re on the same page.”
Callie whips her head around. “You shut him down? Why?”
I glare at her and this turn of questioning. I expected the third degree from her eventually, but I was hoping she’d miss it during his rapid-fire round and we wouldn’t have to discuss it right now. Not in front of an audience.
“Elena. I’m serious.”
She’s not giving up, and it’s starting to piss me off. This is my private struggle and she knows it. “I’m invoking a free pass,” I say with a glare.
“You don’t have another free pass.” When I still don’t answer, she huffs. “Please tell me it’s not because of what he said?”
“Callie…” I warn.
“What who said?” Greg looks confused as he tries to follow our conversation. I sit quietly, not sure how to respond. I’m working on not letting James’ words affect me anymore, but it’s not always easy.
Callie continues to look at me, her eyes basically begging me to fill Greg in. Finally, I drop my head and nod. I guess he’s going to find out how insecure I am eventually. It might as well be now so he can decide how much he wants to get involved with another hot mess and we can all move on with our lives.
“Her ex is a real dick,” Callie starts, Greg nodding along. “Used to tell her all the time that if she wanted one, he’d find the money for her to get a boob job. Brought it up all the time and really put pressure on her to do it.”
Greg gets a strange look on his face. “Besides being insulting, it’s weird. Why was it important to him? Who cares?”
“That’s what I said,” Callie continues. “But it’s worse than that. When he finally left her for Child Bride Barbie, he threw it in her face on his way out the door. Said if she’d had that boob job, he wouldn’t have had to go out and find someone with a nice rack to turn him on. Oh, and that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life pretending he enjoyed nuzzling a couple of stretched out socks.”
I close my eyes and will away his stare, but I can feel it. I can feel Greg staring at me.
“Elena.” I don’t look at him. I’m embarrassed by my own embarrassment. I shouldn’t still feel hurt over words that were said by a man who continues to prove that he’s completely out of touch with what women really need… including his own daughters. I hate that I’m ashamed of my body. I should be proud of it and everything it’s carried me through. But I’m not. And now Greg knows it’s going to take a lot of effort to get in these pants. “Elena,” he tries again, “you know he only said those things to try and alleviate his own guilt, right?”
I sigh and open my eyes, looking back and forth between my two friends. “I know. And I’m working on it, I really am. It’s going to take time to retrain my brain, or whatever. It’s no big deal.” I take a sip of my drink and stand up, gathering trash. “Come on, Max. It’s time to go.”
“Elena, we don’t have to leave now. We can talk about something else,” Callie says, suddenly deciding the conversation I didn’t want to have but was basically forced into was a bad idea. I can see the realization hit her that she went too far. Yes, we’re three friends sitting around shooting the shit.
But we’re not just three friends sitting around shooting the shit. This is one of those times when her mouth started talking before her brain caught up. I love her, but sometimes she forgets that even though it’s not at all a hot-button issue for her, doesn’t mean it’s
not one for me. And just because she’s a complete open book with her private thoughts doesn’t mean I am, too.
Looks like she’s all caught up now.
“No, it’s ok.” And it is. Yes, I’m embarrassed, but seeing the regret on her face, I know she is, too. Of course she’s forgiven without even asking for it. “I need to get her down for a nap anyway.” Gathering all our stuff, I turn to leave the play area when a hand grabs me and turns me around.
“Everyone has something they don’t like about themselves, Elena. Even me.” Greg moves his hand from my arm to pull my body flush with his, his eyes locked with mine. He moves his mouth to my ear so no one can hear him speak except me. “I don’t care if I never see or touch your boobs. I like spending time with you. And if we do end up having sex, remember one thing…” he moves his hand down and squeezes my butt cheek quickly. “… I’m an ass man.”
He quickly grabs the wrappers out of my hands, walks around me and into the restaurant to throw our trash away. I, on the other hand, am completely stunned and am having a hard time breathing.
I look up at Callie who looks like the cat that ate the canary. She looks around quickly then lifts both hands, one of them making an “ok” sign, the other taking a finger and putting it into that hole. And then she winks, the perv.
All I can do is smile back as I try to stay upright, despite my swoon. She’s right.
I’m absolutely going to have sex with him.
Chapter Thirteen
I swing my front door open and immediately reach to catch the box that’s falling in front of me.
“Sorry.” It’s Callie’s muffled voice from behind another box. “I got them all the way to the front door, but knocking proved to be a real bitch.”
We drop the boxes—that I now see are full of colorful clothes—on the couch with an “umph”.
“What is all this?”
A bright smile crosses her face. “Congratulate me. I am officially a RowRow Apparel consultant!” She squeals and covers her mouth with her fingers. “Can you believe it?”
“I honestly can’t believe it because I’ve never heard you talk about this before. What’s going on?”
We pull bright dresses and skirts and tops out of the boxes and fold them absent-mindedly.
“Well, you know how Ben always thinks he gets to make the decisions around the house because he’s the sole bread winner now?”
“Yep. And you know how I always call him a dick for it?” It’s a continual argument with them. Because he makes the money, he gets to make the big decisions about what they do with that money. Sure, she can do whatever she wants within reason, but things like appliances and vacations… he always plays that card. “Well, I’ve decided we’re going to be a two-income household again,” she says with delight.
“How are you going to do that?” I’m really confused. “Christopher got kicked out of three different daycares and a church Mother’s Day Out program. Where are you going to find someone to watch him?”
“That’s the brilliance of RowRow Apparel.” She has her finger held up like she’s making an important point. “I do it out of my home on my own schedule. I can coordinate it around Ben being home.”
“Oh, he’s going to love that,” I say sarcastically.
“That’s part of what I love about it. I’m with Christopher while he works. He’s with Christopher while I work. Sounds like an even split to me. He’s got no room to complain.”
She makes a valid point. But I’m still not convinced. “I don’t know, Callie. You really want to spend all your free time doing this?”
“Think about it. I love to shop. I love to help other people shop. I love to tell them what to wear. This is the perfect job for me.”
She’s right. If anyone can be successful peddling clothing out of the back room of her house, it’s Callie. Plus, these clothes are really nice. I already see a few things I might like to try on myself.
“You’re right. This might be really good for you. But where are you going to keep everything.” I make a mental note to try on a flowy sundress with daisies printed all over it. “Don’t you have to keep several racks of inventory?”
She puts her hands on her hips, a strange look crosses her face and I swear there’s an evil gleam in her eye.
“I’m keeping it all in the office.”
“Wait. The office?”
She nods.
“The sanctuary no one goes into because it is a mecca of business and finances?” Ben’s words. Not mine.
She nods again.
“Does your husband know this yet?”
“Oh yeah. And he’s not happy.” She smiles. “But what can he do? This is a business, right? That’s the whole point of keeping an office. It keeps everything separate and out of Christopher’s path. Hasn’t that always been Ben’s argument?”
“You’re enjoying this a little too much.” I’m such a hypocrite. I love it a little too much, too.
She shrugs. “Then he needs to stop being holier-than-thou when it comes to money. Once I’m making as much as him, he won’t have an argument, and I’ll finally get my new dishwasher.”
“You planning on buying that dishwasher yourself? Because you know he’s never going to pay for it.”
“With my first paycheck. And…” she pauses for effect. “I’m going to pay the retail price.”
I gasp and cover my heart, pretending to be shocked. Callie hates waiting for things to go on sale. She’d much rather get what she wants, when she wants it, and if that means paying full-price, so be it. Ben, on the other hand, refuses to buy anything until it’s on sale. Yet another thing they argue about. I’m starting to wonder if they ever get along.
We continue pulling out clothes and sort it all by style and size. A few pieces get tossed my way to try on, which I comply with. It’s purely for Callie’s benefit. She needs to know how the clothes are going to look on all body shapes.
Of course, once the girls see what we’re doing, they haul all their dresses into the living room and soon enough, we have a full-on fashion show happening. Complete with all my shoes, some up-do’s and quite a few snapshots of the girls all dressed up and having fun. My mother is going to get a kick out of these later.
When it’s my turn to walk the catwalk, the girls (with the help of Callie) choose that black flowy sundress with the daisies I’d been eyeing earlier. I don’t usually wear dresses this form-fitting on top, for obvious post-baby reasons. But the girls are enjoying this, so what’s the harm?
As I round the corner from our dressing room, also known as the downstairs bathroom, I strike a pose. The girls clap and cheer as I put a little extra strut in my steps and spin for effect.
If I had only been six inches taller and forty pounds lighter, I could have been a professional model. Obviously, I missed my calling.
“Elena that looks fantastic on you,” Callie remarks. “You need to keep that.”
“I might. I’ll have to see how my budget looks.” I plop down on the couch next to her and kick my feet up on the coffee table as the girls run off, more dresses in hand to try on. “I haven’t balanced my checkbook yet. I keep putting it off. It’s my least favorite chore.”
“No, I don’t want you to pay for it. I want you to have it.”
I look over at her and see sincerity.
Wait.
Nope. That’s not sincerity. She has something up her sleeve.
Cocking my eyebrow at her, I don’t beat around the bush. “What do you want?”
“You know me so well.” She turns her whole body so she’s facing me. “I know people do a lot of these sales online and everything, but I want to do more parties. I want to give people a chance to try things on and feel the fabric. I want to be more like… like a personal shopper. I think that’s where I really shine.”
I nod my agreement. She’s really good at eyeing a piece of clothing and knowing whether or not it will fit me before I even try it on. That is, when I let her drag me out shopp
ing. Or when I’m desperate for something new.
“But it’s a lot of work to drag all these clothes to someone’s house, set it all up, do the party, tear it all down… I need help.”
Sounds simple enough. “Ok. So you want me to come help you sometimes.”
“Well yeah. I think it’ll be fun. But instead of paying you in money, I propose you let me pick an outfit for you to wear out of my inventory. You’ll be like my human mannequin.”
“Oh yeah. That sounds amazing,” I deadpan.
“Come on.” She gently smacks my arm. “If we’re both wearing the clothes, and wearing a completely different style, we’ll be like walking advertisements. People will get to see what the clothes look like on real women, not just in pictures.”
“Callie, I don’t mind helping you. And I can pay for my own clothes. I just don’t think you and I have the same style.”
“But that’s kind of the point. We have different styles. We have different builds. It’ll really show how if you wear the right size and cut, they look fantastic on any woman. I bet I sell so much more because of that. And…” I knew there was an ‘and’. “… it’ll help beef up your wardrobe.”
I groan.
“You’ve gotten a makeover. And a new hair style. Let me help you with your transformation. Please? You know I’m dying to get ahold of your closet.”
“Ok, fine.” I hold my hands up. “Fine! You can rebuild my wardrobe.”
“Yay!” She begins bouncing up and down.
“Don’t get excited yet.” She stops bouncing up and down. “I have to approve every piece you pick out for me, and if I veto it, it’s out, got it?” She nods. “And you don’t get to step foot into my closet with a trash can like on that reality make over show. You only get to help me add to my wardrobe.”
“I don’t get to go into your closet yet.” I start to interrupt but she talks faster. “Once you have a solid beginning with some really good pieces, we’ll go through it together. If you still need it.”