by R.S. Grey
My Sunday passes in a vaguely miserable state. I scrounge through my pantry and refrigerator and come up with the ingredients for blueberry muffins for Mr. Hall. I owe him rent again soon, but the muffins will fill his belly until I can make that happen.
After I finish baking and deliver the goods, I tidy up my apartment and rearrange the furniture, convincing myself the space looks bigger and brighter with the sofa facing the window. Unfortunately, my new feng shui technique reveals a pile of dirt and dog hair lurking beneath the old sofa spot. It’s a metaphor for my life, no doubt, but I refuse to read into it. I sweep it up, toss out the trash, and then exercise Mouse.
Only when I’m back home in my clean apartment, sweaty from a healthy grown-up workout, do I allow myself to entertain the idea of calling Adam. If we were dating, I wouldn’t dare. After yesterday, we both need a cooling off period—but we aren’t dating, and I need him desperately. As such, I don’t get to play the role of the cool, aloof woman. I get to play myself: desperate, awkward Madeleine. It’s a slightly less glamorous role, but one I feel confident that I can nail.
Too bad he doesn’t answer.
Not the first call I make at 2:00 PM or the second call I reluctantly dial at 7:20 PM.
I leave a voicemail both times, aware of how tight and strange my sing-songy voice sounds.
“Hey Adam, it’s Madeleine. I was just calling to touch base with you concerning your end of the bargain. Also, do you do oil changes? Ha-ha-ha give me a call when you can. Bye.”
Then—because, as my mom has told me since I was five years old, I enjoy fixating on things—I spend every minute for the next five hours breaking down my first message and deciding it was too vague. I could have been talking about anything, and my stupid joke was distracting. So, in the second message, I clarify.
“Hey, it’s Madeleine calling again. Just in case you weren’t sure what I was talking about, I would still love to take you around Hamilton and show you some real estate. It’s a buyer’s market right now and there are quite a few properties that would be worth your time. We can take your car this time! Give me a call. Okay. Bye!”
There can be no confusion over why I’ve called or what my intentions are, and yet he doesn’t bother getting back to me, not Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. I even have Daisy call me from her office phone and her cell phone to confirm it’s not a problem on my end.
“Are you waiting on a call from a client or something?” she asks because she’s nosy and doesn’t seem to have enough patients at her clinic to take up her time. Sad.
“It’s nothing. Thanks for your help.”
She keeps rambling on before I can hang up, even as I tell her I’m about to be late for a company meeting.
“Hey, tomorrow night—do you want to hang out? It’ll be you, me, Lucas—”
“Oh, sorry, I’m busy.”
There’s no point in letting her finish. Do I want to be the third wheel on another one of my brother and Daisy’s dates? Yeah, that’s going to be a hard pass.
“Doing what?” she asks, not quite believing me.
Too bad for her, I’m not lying—for once.
“I signed up for another Hamilton Singles thing. It’s at the bowling alley.”
“Romantic.”
“Yeah, well, I always thought I’d meet my husband while dressed in clown shoes, so it looks like I’ll finally get my chance.”
Whatever Daisy’s response is, I can’t hear it because Lori leans into my cubicle on the way from the kitchen, a fresh cup of coffee in hand.
“Hey Madeleine, just wanted to remind you that the meeting starts in ten minutes.”
Her constant droning could give the boss from Office Space a run for his money.
“Is that Lori?!” Daisy asks through the phone. “What is she wearing today? Describe her outfit in excruciating detail!”
My hand muffles her voice enough that Lori can’t overhear. Meanwhile, I smile with every ounce of false congeniality I can muster. Honey is positively dripping from the sides of my mouth.
“Yes, I can’t wait for it. I’m about to head over.”
She doesn’t relent. “Hmm, okay, it’s just that you’ve already been late for multiple meetings this quarter, and I heard that you’re on parole.” She says the word like it’s a slur, even glancing over her shoulder to confirm no one else has heard her. “Or was it probation? Either way, it’s just probably best if you aren’t late again.”
I want to take a pair of scissors to her loud highlights, but I misplaced the scissors I usually keep in my top drawer a few months ago. Instead, I’m forced to stand, hang up on Daisy, and follow Lori over to the conference room with pen and paper in hand. We’re the first two to arrive.
She takes her usual spot beside Helen’s chair, and I pick a spot on the opposite end of the table. Her perfume is strong. Chanel number five, she told me once, bragging. Oh really? On you it smells like a number two.
“I think I’ll be closing on two properties today,” she announces to the mostly empty conference room. Gloating is her way of making small talk.
“Wow. Congrats,” I say, trying to wring out just a few more ounces of artificial sweetness. I’m aware that my reserves are running low, and I need to ration if I’m going to have to endure alone time with Lori for the next few minutes.
“Yeah. One of the properties is downtown, in the historical district. It should bring in quite the commish.”
I hum as though I’m interested, but really I’m texting Daisy S.O.S. under the table.
“What about you? Do you have any new clients? Helen mentioned something about you working with Adam Foxe last week, but I didn’t believe it. When I approached him, he said he wasn’t in the market for a house.”
I should tell her the truth. I should explain that I probably won’t be selling him anything—a house, a condo, a shoe. I should confirm that he isn’t in the market, but then I’d have to endure her pitying gaze, and I just can’t do it. Not after my weekend from hell. Not after Mr. Hall cornered me this morning and demanded I pay last month’s rent before he logs on to LegalZoom and figures out how to serve an eviction notice.
“Yes, well.” I shrug, not meeting her eyes. “It happened really naturally.”
Nice and vague. Good, Madeleine.
“Has he signed anything yet? A contract to work with you?”
She’s fishing, trying to pick apart my lies and force me to admit the truth.
“I sent it over to him today.”
She nods as if impressed. “Right, well…we’ll see if he actually signs them.”
And then because I have nothing productive to add to the conversation, I look down at my phone and busy myself by adding a pair of scissors to my Amazon cart. Snip snip.
…
I’ve been to a few Hamilton Singles events in my day. The organization has hosted them at buffets, bars, and parks, but this is the first one I’ve seen at a bowling alley. It’s a massive space, and the coordinators have cordoned off half of the lanes specifically for the event. There are balloons and a bright purple banner hanging on the wall that says, Get the Ball Rolling for Love!
I’m half inclined to back up slowly and bolt, but my principles won’t allow it. I’ve paid for the event—only $5, but still. For five bucks, I refuse to not at least get my fill of greasy nachos and stale beer.
When I check in, I’m handed a pair of size 8 bowling shoes (which of course look like size 13s) and a pin that is supposed to differentiate us from the normal Wednesday night bowling alley crowd. The pin is a two-inch hot pink circle that announces to everyone in big, bold letters that I’M SINGLE AND READY TO MINGEL! I think they meant mingle, but it appears no one caught the typo before the pins went to print, and I feel too bad pointing it out at this stage in the game.
“All right, so pin that onto your shirt and then head over to lane six to join your team!”
“Oh, we’ve already been assigned teams?”
The coordinator’s smile falt
ers slightly. “We thought it would be easier that way.”
Easier for them, sure, but I’ve been stuck with Allen, Mitch, and Judith—my gym teacher from middle school who was painfully old even back then, a forty-year-old widower, and a woman who looks to have ten years on my mom, respectively. Allen pretends he doesn’t remember teaching me middle school kickball, and Mitch is too busy downing his fourth beer of the night to be much of a conversationalist. Judith and I decide we’ll be partners, and I try really hard not to let my disappointment show. These events are rarely worth my time, but I’ve met one or two guys over the years. At the very least, it feels like I’m being proactive about my love life. I’m throwing myself at fate and giving love a chance, but tonight, this team of mine is almost a slap in the face. When did my situation become so hopeless? When did my old gym teacher become an eligible bachelor for me?
“You okay, sweetie?” Judith asks when I don’t respond to her question.
I try to shake myself out of my funk. “Oh, yeah. Fine. Just thinking.”
“About love?”
Mostly wondering if I should run and slide headfirst down the lane, hoping that the pin-setting machinery will take me out of my misery. But I also think about packing my belongings, grabbing Mouse, and moving away from Hamilton. There have got to be better prospects outside of this tiny town—job-wise, love-wise, life-wise. Hamilton is slowly suffocating me and I worry if I don’t get out soon, I never will. I’ll be Judith—swinging five pound balls at fifty, “mingel-ing” with other single retirees. I glance down at my pin and am about to rip it out of my shirt when I hear a voice that makes my situation one hundred million times worse.
Adam is here.
Adam is here, close by, laughing and having a jolly ol’ time.
I scan through the rest of the event attendees and then turn around to inspect the other lanes. I should never have looked, because four people I’d rather not have witness this fiasco are setting up their own bowling night at the lane right next to the one I’m assigned to. It’s Daisy, Lucas, Adam, and a woman I recognize as one of the medical assistants from Hamilton Family Practice, the clinic Lucas and Daisy own. They set this up, this double date thing, and suddenly I’m furious.
“Sweetie, you’re up,” Judith says, trying to nudge me.
I push to my feet and tell her to skip my turn.
“You’ll take a penalty if you do that!”
I couldn’t care less.
Her name is Tori, the medical assistant. She looks young, maybe 22 at the most, which means I have about five years on her. Is that a lot? Too much? Does Adam want some fair, fresh-faced girl right out of college?
Why the hell do I care?
I stalk over to their group and Daisy spots me right away. This is her fault. She knew I would be here.
“Madeleine!” she exclaims, seemingly innocent and happy to see me. “What a co-inky-dink!”
When she comes over to hug me, I pinch her on the back of the arm as hard as I can.
“Why are you here?” I hiss as she jerks away and rubs her arm.
“OW! We wanted to do a bowling night. Lucas hasn’t been in a while.”
I don’t even look at my brother. I know him, and this doesn’t have his fingerprints anywhere near it. No, it’s my best friend’s handiwork all right.
Adam is watching me from behind Daisy, a curious little smile playing on his lips. His gaze takes me in and then it stops pointedly on the hot pink eyesore pinned to my top. He spots the typo, grins, and my cheeks turn another shade darker.
“Hey Madeleine,” he says, meeting my gaze.
Even in this hazy bowling alley, his eyes twinkle.
“Oh, hello Adam. I’d assumed you’d died. I was about to write your obituary.”
I don’t include the second part, though I really want to. I want to call him out for ignoring all my voicemails, but it’s too embarrassing to admit in front of all these people. Instead I smile and keep my lips zipped.
It’s right then that Tori comes into view from stage left. She steps closer to Adam, like he belongs to her or something. Her skin is shiny and I don’t see any pores on first glance. “Sorry, Madeleine, I just keyed in the names and I don’t think it will let me add another.”
I smile, but it feels more like a sneer. “No problem, I already have a partner anyway.”
As if on cue, Judith yoo-hoos for me to come back and join their game.
“Do you play in a league or something?” Adam asks, furrowing his brow to take in the scene behind me.
Tori bursts out laughing. “Oh, it’s the singles thing!” Then she drops her voice a little bit. “My grandma used to go to those after she retired.”
Lucas and Daisy both throw Tori scolding glares, but it’s Adam who speaks up first. “Oh, that sounds fun, and it’s probably a good way to meet people.”
My shoulders straighten a little more at his defense. “Yeah, it’s okay. I mostly do it for the cheap food and drinks.”
He grins, and for a second it feels like just the two of us standing here, smiling in our clunky bowling shoes…except while I probably look like a dweeb in my off-the-shoulder dress, Adam looks just as sexy as ever in his jeans and black Henley shirt.
“Adam,” Tori says, her voice slicing through what would have been a perfect moment. “I really need something to drink.”
“Oh, okay.” He points to the left, still smiling at me. “The concession stand is right over there.”
Tori huffs and walks off, and I’m left wondering why I can’t move, why I’m hovering here, staring at a man who has proved time and time again that he wants nothing to do with me.
“Madeleine, you should join our game,” Lucas says. “I’m sure we can reset the game.”
It’s tempting to take him up on the offer, but I don’t want to leave Judith hanging even more than I already have. I wave away his invitation and promise to meet up with them later.
It’s impossible to concentrate on my own bowling game with theirs taking place so close by. Tori’s high-pitched baby voice seems to carry over to lane six no matter how hard I try to block it out.
“Oh my God, Adam!” she squeals just as I stand to take a turn. “You’re so good!”
I slip my fingers into the holes, wind up, and then dispatch my third gutter ball of the night.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Bowling is definitely not my thing, but I didn’t think I’d be this bad.
“It’s okay, Madeleine! We can still catch the boys,” Judith says cheerfully. As depressed as I am, I laugh at the notion of calling the geezers across from us “boys”.
I turn to head back to my seat and notice Adam watching me. He’s been doing it for the last thirty minutes, and each time I feel his attention on me, I look up and we do the awkward-eye-contact, look-away-quick thing. This time I don’t give in to the urge to look his way. There’s a chance he still has some semblance of respect for me, but after that third gutter ball, who knows.
I’ve barely reached my seat when loud salsa music starts to filter out of the speakers overhead. One of the coordinators of the singles event grabs the mic and after a sharp screech of microphone feedback announces, “It’s time to switch things up!”
Then, before my eyes, my little group of four is scrambled. One of the coordinators grabs Allen and Mitch and replaces them with two new men, one of whom makes Judith blush like a schoolgirl. The other is actually within my age range, and better yet, I don’t recognize him. He’s wearing worn Wrangler jeans and a white button-down with pearl snaps. He’s a little more cowboy-esque than I usually go for, but after my earlier prospects, he might as well be an oasis in the middle of the desert.
He introduces himself as Dan and doesn’t seem to be much of a talker, but he does bring me a fresh beer from the concession stand, so that’s a win.
“Have you lived in Hamilton long?” I ask, trying to strike up conversation while Judith takes her turn. Dan and I are sitting beside each other and when h
is thigh brushes mine, I don’t move away.
He swallows his sip of beer and shakes his head. “Nah, just moved here last year. I work over at Longhorn Ranch.”
My interest in piqued. “What do you do over there?”
He shrugs and glances down, like he’s not used to being asked direct questions like that. “Ranch hand, nothing fancy. I tend to the horses and help out where they need me.”
It makes sense. His chin is sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, and his skin has a healthy glow from being outdoors. I can see it now: him taming wild mustangs with patience and masculinity. I bet he knows how to use a lasso for other, more nefarious reasons too. I’m imagining just that when he reaches forward, grabs an empty cup, and spits black crud into it. Chewing tobacco. I try not to cringe as my dream of riding him off into the sunset is shattered. I have very few deal breakers, but mouth cancer is definitely one of them.
When he’s done, he sets the empty cup back down and turns to me, and then I notice the lump in his mouth where he’s left a bit more of the disgusting substance. It’s not my thing, especially when he leans closer to ask what I do for a living and I catch the scent on his breath. Call me crazy, but I prefer minty fresh to stale tobacco.
“Oh, um, I’m a real estate agent,” I mutter, right before I hop up to take my turn again.
I don’t even bother lining up my feet before letting the ball loose and turning back for my seat. I know the ball is going to end up in the gutter anyway, but then I hear the telltale sound of bowling pins getting knocked down and I whip around. I hit them! Not all—I’m not suddenly an Olympic bowler—but I’ve knocked down four of the pins. FOUR.
Judith is jumping up and down with glee. “You did it! You did it, Madeleine!”
I chance a glance over at Adam to see if he’s witnessed my athletic prowess. He hasn’t, because Tori is regaling him with a story and he seems to have turned his attention solely to her. It takes the wind right out of my sails. Suddenly four pins seem just as bad as zero pins.
“You get one more turn to knock down the rest,” Judith says as I walk past my seat and continue on.