by Emilia Finn
“Are you sure?” I almost have to shout over the wind. “It’s just there.”
“I’m sure. Run to your car now, Ally. Get in and go where you’re going. Then hunker down for the night and enjoy the time with your boyfriend.” She smiles when she says ‘boyfriend’. Teasing and playful. Then with a final squeeze of my hand, she releases me and dashes toward her car.
I stay put while she moves, I watch her every step, and I don’t look away until she slides inside, then when Calla comes out of the office door and locks up, I watch her do the same.
Everyone else was smart enough to park out front today, but I’m the doofus who parked further away, under trees that may kill me if this wind gets worse and fells a few branches.
When Calla slides into her car and backs away from the curb, I take my phone in hand, my bag on my arm, and tucking my hair behind my ear, I start toward the corner of the building.
“Agh!” I jump back with a screech when Jason’s sparkling green eyes meet mine, and I clap a hand to my mouth and laugh – an involuntary nervous reaction. “Jesus! You scared me.”
“Allyson.” Jason wears a thick coat, dark jeans, a dark beanie pushed down over his hair, and because of the shadows the beanie creates, it makes his eyes seem that much bigger, that much brighter. “Why are you outside in this weather?” He speaks loud enough to be heard over the wind. “You’re here all alone?”
“No. The girls just left.” I poke a thumb over my shoulder to point toward the street, then I narrow my brows. “Why are you here? You don’t have a session today.”
“Oh, I know.” He grabs my arm like we’re off for a stroll, and leads me around the building to where I left my car. “I was hoping to catch you after work. However, this storm has certainly added a doomsday flair I wasn’t anticipating.”
“Well, yeah,” I concede and laugh. “It’s a little creepy.”
I let him wind my arm around his to hook us in tight, or risk the storm blowing me away. There’s something about the guy, something that burns just beneath the surface, and the more I write about him, the more whatever is hiding shouts to be discovered.
It’s like the thudding noise the Jumanji boardgame gives off to ensure discovery. Come find me, come sit down, and discover my secrets.
“I was just heading home for the night.” I look around. “Where are you parked?”
“Just over there.” He points toward a truck on the street. “Listen,” as soon as we stop by my car, he releases my arm, but turns toward me so we stand toe to toe. My hair whips around my face, my heart gallops – Jumanji – and my phone buzzes in my hand. And yet, I don’t run away. “You’re writing that paper about me,” he starts. “I know you are. I’ve heard you talking about it, and the way you ask questions during my sessions implies you’re trying to dig into my psyche.”
“Oh… um…” Thud thud, thud thud. “I mean, I don’t have to if you don’t want me to. Sonia and I made every single client aware during their first session that I would be observing, and there was potential I would write about them for school, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can throw it away and start again.”
“No. Actually…” His eyes flicker between mine, back and forth, like he’s searching for something. “The opposite. I think it’s really cool you’re trying to understand me. In fact, I come with an offer.”
“An offer?”
He smiles. “Come to dinner with me. Now, tonight. We can go somewhere warm, settle in, get some good food, and wait out this storm, and while we’re there, you can ask me anything you want.”
“Oh…” My eyes flare wide, and in the forefront of my mind, Luke swings his club and demands to own all of me. “I… um…” I swallow down the lump of nerves balled up in my throat. “Your offer is kind, but I have a boyfriend, Mr. Donnerson. I don’t—”
Chuckling, he gives a small shake of his head. “You’ve called me Jason every single time we’ve talked, but now I’m Mr. Donnerson? I see you trying to put up those boundaries. But…” He takes a single step back to give me space, a subconscious way of showing me I’m safe. “I do not want to date you, Allyson. My intentions are pure.” He lifts his hand and makes a Cub-Scout-type gesture. “I swear.”
“So… uh… why would you…” I clear my throat. “Why?”
“Because I want to help you with your paper. I want to let you understand me, and while I’m with you, I can visit with my Maria.” He looks around and gestures toward the tumultuous sky. “Tonight is going to be miserable, so why not spend it with a beer and pizza while we speak of the love of my life?”
“That’s just…” I frown and press a hand to my heart to ease the sting his words create. “Honestly? It’s all so sad. It’s been so long, and you’re still in love, and—”
“Talking about her makes me happy,” he interrupts. “And so, I’d like to tell you more about her. If you want more material for your paper, I’m right here. But if not, that’s okay too. I’ll let you go, and we won’t have to mention this again. Although,” he adds and lifts both hands again, “full disclosure, it’s likely I’ll follow you to where you’re going, just to make sure you get there safe. But after that, I’ll go, I promise.”
“I mean…” I look down at my phone, at the screen full of texts from my mom, but void of any from Luke. He’s busy at the gym today, working hard on getting fit for the tournament. And since he hasn’t yet texted, I guess he’s not done. “Um…” I glance up and meet Jason’s eye. “Okay. Sure. Somewhere in town. Somewhere public.”
“Witnesses?” He opens my car door, and chuckles. “Smart move. Climb in and lead me somewhere you’d like to eat. I’ll follow in my truck, that way you have your car, and I’m not taking you anywhere and scaring you. I swear, this isn’t like that. I’m not going to turn crazy tonight and try to hack you to pieces.”
“Comforting… I guess.” I force a smile and slide into my car, and just a second after I’m seated, Jason slams the door and locks out most of the raging noise from the wind.
Immediately, I grab my phone and call Mom.
“Hey, honey!” It’s noisy on her end too, howling wind, but she seems to have heavy rain too. “It’s storming there as well?”
“Yeah, crazy wind. Listen, I’m going to dinner with this guy. His name is Jason, he’s… like…” I start my car and shake my head when I realize I have no clue how to profile someone. “Something like two hundred pounds, but he’s not fat. He’s just… solid. Green eyes, sandy-blond-brownish hair. Late thirties, and he’s a client.”
“Um…” She lets her voice trail off. “Okay… You and Luke have a fight?”
“No! Jason is a client, Mom. I decided to use him as my subject for my final paper, I guess he found out, and now he wants to get dinner so we can chat some more.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because if this was a horror movie, this is the part where the white chick is too stupid to live. It’s storming, and I ran into him where I never expected to, then he invited me out, and Luke basically can’t stand him. So really, this is the part where I die, and the audience is screaming ‘Bitch, don’t go into the basement’!”
“Such a way with words, darling. So if this is the bit where you die, why are you going?”
I push my car into gear when I remember Jason is waiting. His truck idles on the side of the street, headlights on, so I amble forward, exit the parking lot, and slowly drive toward Pinocchio’s. It fits all the criteria: it’s warm, the food is good, it’s public, and Luke and I have been often enough that the hostess will recognize me.
“Ally?” Mom repeats. “Why are you heading into the basement?”
“Because I don’t think this is like that. He’s not gonna hurt me. He’s just a regular guy, with a regular job, a regular, albeit tragic story. And I really want to hear more of it. So I’m going to dinner, I’m calling you to let you know who, what, where, and when I expect to make it home, and if something goes wrong, you can call th
e cops and tell them what’s up. You can also tell them he’s a client, so they can get those records and speed up the process of avenging my death.”
“So… you are dying tonight, or no? Should I move my hair appointment next week so it’s fresh and pretty for your funeral, or…?”
“You ass,” I laugh and slow at the intersection leading in to Main Street. “I’m not going to die. I’m just doing all the right things, crossing my Ts, dotting my Is so that no one can say I was being reckless.”
“I think the fact you’re going out in a storm is reckless in itself.”
“Yeah? Where are you right now?”
She snorts. “In my car. I’m heading to that Thai place for dinner.”
“Exactly.” I roll my eyes – and my car forward – and slow at the driveway that leads into the restaurant parking lot. “Like mother like daughter, huh? Except I’m not going out only for food, I’m going for work.”
“Gee, what a surprise,” she drawls. “Is he hot?”
I take my car out of gear, hit the button for the brake, and when her words register in my mind, I frown. “Huh?”
“Your not-a-date,” she clarifies. “Is he hot?”
“Um…” I pick up my phone again, take the call off speaker, and place the device to my ear. Then, looking over my shoulder, I watch as Jason pulls in beside me and cuts the engine. “That’s a hard question to answer.”
“So he is?”
“No! It’s not… he’s not ugly. In the traditional sense, he’s very handsome – tall, dark, charming. But I’m not, like, sexually attracted to him.”
“Take a picture and text it to me.”
“Absolutely not!” I snatch up my keys and bag, then push my door open, but the wind fights me and tries to shove it back. “I have to go, Mom. But you know where I am, with whom, and if I don’t survive tonight, you’ll know why.”
I swallow when Jason comes around to my side of the car, and when he looks at my phone by my ear – smiling, like he heard everything I just said – he only takes my arm and chuckles.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, sweetie. Stay safe, have fun, and don’t accept any drinks from anyone but the bartender.”
“Thank you, Mother.” I pull my phone away from my ear, end the call, and slide the phone into my bag with a snicker. “My mom,” I explain. “She’s a little crazy.”
“Yeah?”
Jason leads me toward the restaurant door, then inside. The second the door closes at our backs, the roaring wind is shut out, and in its place are the sounds and scents of a good restaurant: garlic, herbs, pastas and pizzas, and the soft clinking of silverware on plates, the glimmer of candlelight on wine glasses.
As we step up to the hostess desk, I hurriedly fix what I’m certain is Medusa-style hair from that raging wind.
“A table for two?” Jason asks the hostess with his charming smile.
“No candles,” I add, and grit my teeth when the hostess and Jason both look at me. I shrug. “Just keeping it professional.”
Jason chuckles, seemingly unoffended, and looks back to the hostess. “No candlelight, no sharing of desserts, and no corner table hidden away for privacy.”
“Perfect.” My stomach unclenches just a little bit more.
I’ll give Jason an hour, I’ll eat a nice meal, have a glass of wine, wait for Luke’s text to say he’s done for the day, and then I’ll go home and spend the night with the man I want to spend it with, curled up under a blanket, eating something sinful, and letting Luke do sinful things to my body.
Because why the hell not?
“This way.” Grabbing a couple menus from her little podium desk, the hostess leads us to a table in the middle of the restaurant – in full view of everyone in here, and anyone outside who cared to look through the windows.
A candle stands in the middle of the table, glowing and casting soft light over the white tablecloth, but without missing a single beat, the hostess pinches the flame out with her bare fingers, places the candle on the next table, then sets the menus down and smiles as Jason steps up behind me to help me with my chair.
“I’ve got it.” I smile for him and try to lessen the blow, but I fix my own chair, I push myself in. I don’t need a man for that, and if I’m letting anyone do it, it’s my boyfriend, who might be inclined to bite my neck while he’s going.
“Of course.” Jason raises both hands in surrender and comes around to his chair.
I order a glass of wine – one single glass of house white – and Jason does the same, but red, and then the hostess leaves, and the only sound coming from our table is the incessant buzzing from my phone.
“I’m sorry.” I grab the device and snort at my dozen texts. “It’s Mom.”
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Does the basement smell of mold?
Worse, does it smell of bleach? Because that means he cleans away the stench of death.
“She’s funny, huh?” Jason watches me with a kind smile as I hurriedly reply my whereabouts and general safety.
I hit send, set the phone face-down on the table, and cross my legs to get comfortable. “She’s my best friend,” I answer. “She’s like an annoying little sister who thinks I’m always ready to party, and that I’m rich and can waste money on frivolities, and she also has a penchant for exotic underwear.”
Jason’s cheeks warm as he leans forward. “Wait, are we still speaking about your mom?”
“Yeah.” I glance up and accept the glass of wine the hostess sets before me. “Thank you. And yes,” I repeat for Jason. “My mom is a loose cannon. She’s silly and flirty, and daring and wild. Who she is as a woman, who she is as a mom, and who she is at work, are three entirely different women. And don’t even get me started on who she is behind the wheel in bad traffic. Her inner demon comes out in those moments.”
“She sounds like a lot of fun.” He sits back, relaxed and comfortable, and picks up his glass of wine. “Fun childhood?”
“The best. My mom was young when she had me… like, really young. So I still have memories of being four or five, my mom still not legally allowed to drink, and so when people typically her age were out partying on the weekends or whatever, she and I would go nuts on milkshakes and music. We’d dance around our shitty living room, and Mom was so crazy that she’d never get mad about milk being spilled on the carpet.”
“No?” Jason seems to relax into his chair. His chest is broad, his shoulders wide, and when he folds his arms, his biceps fire up and stretch the button-up shirt he must’ve worn to work today. “Something tells me you got mad about the spilled milk.”
“Yeah, well.” I laugh. “One of us had to be serious.” I bring a hand up and circle the rim of my wineglass with the tip of my finger. “Mom says I was born with an old soul. ‘Four going on eighty,’ she’d say. I was the one enforcing bedtime routines, I was the one demanding we read before bed, because if she was left to her own devices, she’d stay up half the night watching murder documentaries or presidential debates.”
He snorts. “Not at all weird.”
“Right. Mom’s a night owl, a partier, but because she got pregnant so young and never truly got to experience that life, she was, like… I don’t know…” I take a moment and consider. “Well, a partier on mute. The music and craziness was flowing through her veins, but she was a mom, she had responsibilities, so she had to shut it all down and ignore the freedoms she so wanted to pursue.” I stop, and smile when I think of my childhood. “Friday night dance parties in the living room were her way of dancing away the sillies, and experiencing the crazy she needed.”
“And during the week?” he asks.
“She was grinding, working, studying, momming. She did what she had to do so we could survive, and she did an amazing job.” My heart throbs so I feel it on the outside of my chest. “And I realized just now that I was such a drag at those dance parties. I was more concerned about messes and keeping the music to a resp
ectable volume so we didn’t disturb the neighbors.” I look up and meet his eyes. “She worked so hard during the week, and when she was able to take a minute to breathe, I was the annoying nag who constantly told her to keep the noise down.” I grit my teeth and reach out for my phone. “I should apologize.”
Lightning-fast, Jason reaches across the table and lays his hand on mine. My eyes snap back to his, and my temper jumps, because he touches when he isn’t allowed.
“I’m certain she understands who you are.” He removes his hand, apology blazing in his eyes. “Just as you understand who she is. You needed each other, you needed what you each brought to that home. You shouldn’t beat yourself up because you were a grumpy five-year-old who wouldn’t dance.”
“I wasn’t grumpy,” I, well, grumble. “And I did dance. I just… I think I’m the original inventor of the silent disco.”
“An outside-the-box thinker,” he sniggers. “That’s commendable in itself.” He picks up his wine and takes a contemplative sip. “So, it was just you and your mom? No siblings?”
“It was just us, for a while at least. But,” I shake all that off. “We’re here to talk about you. Let’s order, then you can tell me more.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jason looks around the restaurant in search of our server, then picking up his menu, he lets his eyes glide along the list with seeming disinterest. “What’s good?”
“The pasta is good. The chicken.”
“That’s what you’re getting?”
“Yup, and garlic bread, because I’m physically unable to say no to carbs.”
He chuckles and sets his menu down. “Then that’s what I’ll get too. Now let me tell you about this one time Maria and I were planning to disassemble prom.”
“Prom?” I burst out laughing. His words are so unexpected, so jarring. “What?”
“True story.” His lips wrinkle in a way that indicates embarrassment, but with a side of impatience. “Maria and I loved to party, and we loved to dance, but the idea of prom – kings, queens, humiliation if you weren’t asked out by the cool kids, worse if you weren’t asked out at all – we thought it was terrible. So we set out to have it dismantled and discontinued.”