Make Me Yours

by Louise, Tia

  My mother stands behind his right shoulder, and a steaming fresh plate is in front of him.

  “It’s nothing, really.” I hold out the brown folder.

  He takes it, and my breath stills.

  My stomach is sick.

  What will my father see when he looks at my representation of his face? Will he see the anger and disapproval always looking back at me? Or will it do something to his heart, break the stone wall around it? Or will he only see what he sees every day in the mirror? Are disappointment and frustration how he views the world?

  The heavy brown cover opens, and his expression doesn’t change as he studies the lines and shading, the positive and negative space.

  My clasped hands squeeze tighter. I don’t want him digging deeper, turning the page and seeing my attempts at copying Klimt or Degas.

  The truth is, I agree with Ms. Hughes. I’m so proud of my art. The portrait of my father is an amazing likeness, even if it is distant and cold. When I’m drawing, I feel like I’m alive, and the harder I work, the more it turns out exactly as I’d hoped.

  It’s exciting and fulfilling…

  I don’t want him to take what I love and kill it.

  He closes the cover and tosses it aside. “A useless degree.”

  “I told her I wasn’t interested.” I speak quietly, submissively.

  He hates that.

  His eyes don’t leave his plate. I watch as he slices a sticky dumpling with a knife and fork and puts the piece in his mouth. My father refuses to use chopsticks.

  “That is all.”

  I’m dismissed, and my artistic dreams fall away, like the portrait inside that folder.

  Like the letter, which is never returned.

  1

  Ruby

  Twelve years later…

  “I’ve hit rock bottom.” I flop on the couch in Drew’s office at the Friends Care clinic where we both work.

  Yep, I’m a licensed therapist… with two clients, both shared with Drew, who has like twenty.

  So I’m not the resounding success I’d expected, but Drew keeps telling me it takes time to build my practice, especially in a town the size of Oakville…

  Trust me, based on the dating scene alone, I get it.

  “What’s wrong now?” She stands and walks to the closet at the back of the room.

  “HookUp4Luv matched me with Ralph Stern.”

  “The Almond King!” My best friend laughs for the first time in a week. “Did you know he has a plan for revolutionizing Oakville’s economy?”

  Clutching my forehead, I groan. “Gah—yes! He’s told me his plan five hundred times.”

  “Almonds are the fruit of the future.” She pauses. “Are they fruits or nuts?”

  “Who knows? They grow on trees…”

  “I’ll tell you who knows.”

  “Don’t say his name.”

  “The future king of your little almond patch.”

  “If you’re referring to my vagina, that’s just gross.” She laughs more, and I feel a twinge of guilt. “Am I being a bitch?”

  “Umm… No.”

  “Good. Because Ralph is a hard no.”

  It’s not that he’s a bad guy. He’s just so… so… Sheldon Cooper. Still, my mom is in my head giving me a disapproving look. Be kind to everyone, Ruby Banks.

  “I’ve dated every match in the tri-county area, and this is it. Ralph Stern is the last man on Earth.”

  Drew laughs even more, and I have an inspiration. “Screw the dating apps. We’re going out tonight—just you and me.”

  Her laugh disappears, and she’s shaking her head before the words even start. “Nope. Not interested. No.”

  “Yes.” I’m off the couch and catching her by the arms. “You’ve been cooped up alone in that big old house since your dad went in the nursing home. You’re going out with me.” I pull her trench coat on her shoulders. “Anyway, I’m your ride, so you can’t argue.”

  “You’re kidnapping me?”

  “If that’s what it takes.” I lead her out the glass entrance, waiting as she locks the doors, then she follows me to my lime-green Subaru.

  “Do you think it’s responsible to blow your paycheck on a night out?”

  “Yes, my sad little paycheck only covers one night out. Thanks for reminding me.” We’re in the car, and I drive us to my mom’s house. “Kenneth Banks was so adamant about a useful degree. I’m a licensed therapist, and I can’t pay my bills.”

  “Stop it. You’re building your practice.” Drew looks out the window, adding under her breath. “Kenneth Banks was a royal ass.”

  “It’s okay. You can say it out loud.” Five turns, and we’re at Ma’s. “I’m confronting my daddy issues.” Her eyebrows shoot up, but I hold up a hand. “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

  “Drew!” Mom meets us inside the door, giving my friend a long hug. She pretty much adopted Drew after her mother died when we were eight. “We prayed for your father this morning at church, and I burned incense to the Buddha when I got home.”

  “All the bases covered!” I lean to let Ma kiss my cheek, before swinging through the kitchen for a plate of dumplings.

  “Eat in the kitchen, Ruby Banks!” Mom yells, but I keep going to my bedroom.

  “We’re going out for a little while, Ma. We have to get ready.”

  “Church tomorrow!”

  “That woman, I swear…” Rolling my eyes, I close my bedroom door. Drew flops on my single bed with the plate, and I take a dumpling while inspecting my wardrobe.

  “Here, you can wear this.” I pull out a super-short, high-waisted mini with a cute long-sleeved crop top. “You’ll look hot and totally on point.”

  She takes it and frowns. “I don’t know why I’m dressing up. I’m not looking for a date.”

  “You’re dressing up because it’s Saturday night, you just got paid, and you’re going out with your best friend!”

  “You’re feeling good tonight. What are you not telling me? Did you get into your mom’s herbs?”

  “Ha ha, very funny.” I laugh, but her question makes me pause. “You’re right, though, I do feel good… like something’s coming. Maybe the planets shifted.”

  “I’ll take that forecast.” She goes into the bathroom to change. “Lord knows I could use a shift.”

  Nibbling on the dumpling, I study my wardrobe, finally settling on a velvet sheath with a sheer black top and built-in bustier. “Velvet is supposedly out… now it’s lamé. And track suits.”

  “I am not wearing a track suit.” Drew’s back looking like a hot tamale, and we freshen our makeup, pushing each other side to side with our hips in front of the mirror and laughing.

  Next, I sit as she uses the curling iron to touch up the waves to my long, brown hair. “Maybe I should mix it up. Wear a wig?”

  “No.” Our eyes meet briefly before she returns to checking my head for curl-holes.

  With a sigh, I take another dumpling. “I’ve got to get a better job, D. I can’t live in this house anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

  “Be patient. The clients will come.” She releases a smooth spiral across my eye, and I push it behind my ear. “Anyway, your mom likes having you here, especially since your dad died.”

  “I’ll be twenty-three next year, and still living with my mother.”

  “At least you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”

  She shakes her long, naturally wavy blonde hair—which I do not hate her for having—and we head for the door. “Just don’t completely lose it and go out with Ralph Stern.”

  “If you’re truly my best friend, you will never let that happen.”

  “I am your best friend.”

  “Thank God.”

  Patrons spill out the door of The Red Cat as we walk up. It’s the only bar in our tiny town-square, and the interior hasn’t been updated since Frank Sinatra was alive. Lava lamps dot around the inside, and blood-red shag carpet covers the floors, running all the way up the ba
r. The scent of cigarettes permeates the room, even though smoking in bars has been banned for years, and an ancient jukebox playing real records is blasting “That’s Amoré.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Drew recoils. “The Red Cat is where old men hide out when they don’t want to go home.”

  “It’s the hot new place!” I grab her hand and drag her through the door. “Strong drinks served cheap.”

  We make our way slowly through the crowd when a loud male voice makes me cringe. “Ruby Roo!”

  I spin around fast, pissed as hell at Dagwood Magee. He’s been calling me that Scooby Doo nickname since we were in high school.

  “Stop yelling that! You’re messing with my hustle.” He only laughs and gives me a hug, leaving sweat on my face. I growl, wiping it off. “Gross.”

  Drew is weirdly pleased to see him. “At least we know a big guy here… just in case.”

  I order us two tequila sunrises while we wait at the bar, and even though it’s pretty packed, I’m not seeing anyone I know besides Dag. “How is it possible I don’t know anybody here?”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  Our drinks are in front of us, and I lift mine, taking a long sip. “So you’re not even looking for a man now?”

  “You know how I feel.”

  Drew has been pining after Grayson Cole since we were in high school. She waited for him all through college while he was overseas with the military, and then when he came back, he didn’t stay.

  I can’t help being protective of my bestie. “He ghosted you, Drew.”

  “He didn’t.” Her eyes are fixed on the drink she’s not drinking. “He’s doing what he has to do. Getting help.”

  “You know I love you, and I think you’re a great therapist.” She nods, stabbing her drink with the skinny straw. “I just worry sometimes all your understanding and empathy ends up making you a doormat.”

  “I’m not a doormat. I love Gray. I’ll love him forever.”

  We’re quiet a few minutes. My chest hurts at her confession, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. “He’s a lucky guy. I wish I felt that way about someone.”

  As I say it, I realize it’s true.

  She puts her head on my shoulder. “What will you do if you’re not a therapist?”

  “No idea.” I shake off the sudden melancholy mood and take another, longer sip of my sweet drink. “Search for my insanely rich Asian husband?”

  “Not in Oakville,” she straightens, looking around the room.

  She can say that again. It’s a fantasy football sausage fest in here. The guys are all big and boisterous, and when the juke box starts blasting “Fly Me to the Moon,” they all start singing loudly.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter, when my eyes land on a guy sitting alone at the other end of the bar.

  Lava lamps don’t provide much light, but I can see he’s wearing a tailored gray blazer over a white shirt, and he’s nursing what looks like a scotch. His brown hair is just long enough to be messy, and it has a sexy little wave across his forehead, which he pushes aside with an elegant hand.

  He glances up, and when our eyes meet, he gives me a brief smile. Heat shoots all the way to my core. Holy shit, he has a dimple in his left cheek!

  I give him a shy smile and turn slowly to face my friend. “Holy shit, I’m in lust.” I hiss, grabbing her arm fast. “Who is that?”

  “Who?” Drew is talking way too loud, and now she’s looking all around the bar dramatically.

  My jaw clenches. “Stop it. He’ll know we’re talking about him.”

  “How am I supposed to know who you mean if you won’t let me look?”

  “The Jamie Dornan clone in the corner.” The music is blasting, and we have to shout.

  “You think every hot guy looks like Jamie Dornan.”

  “I do not.” Her eyes slant, and I defend my position. “Jamie Dornan has a very standard, hot-Anglo guy look.”

  “Are you saying all hot white guys look alike?”

  “I am not saying that. It’s racist. You’re saying that.”

  “Good thing I’m white.”

  Rolling my eyes, I shake her arm. “Whatever. He’s hot as fuck. Who is he?”

  She finally looks, then she starts bouncing up and down. “Oh! That’s Remington Key! I tried to introduce you to him at church, and you couldn’t be bothered.”

  My fingers clutch her arm tighter, and I pull her to me. “Please stop jumping and screaming his name. He’s not in BTS.”

  “You with the K-pop.” Her expression turns excited. “Just think, Mr. Right was waiting for you in a bar all along. It’s like the olden days!”

  “Ma says Mr. Right is waiting in church.” I’m still not sure if she meant Jesus…

  Drew’s eyes go even rounder if that’s possible. “You met Remi in church and now at a bar—that’s got to be a sign!”

  I steal a glance over my shoulder again, and he’s reaching into his back pocket for his wallet, giving me a glimpse of his cute butt.

  “I’ll tell you what’s a sign—that ass. You did not introduce me to him. I’d remember it.” Drew starts to argue, but I cut her off. “I’m going to investigate. Stay out of trouble.”

  She yells after me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I never follow that rule.”

  She laughs, and I shake my head.

  Come to mamma, cute butt…

  2

  Remington

  I’m alone in a bar on a Friday night.

  Okay, technically, I was invited here by Dagwood Magee to join his fantasy football league. The only problem is I’ve been so buried in getting my investment business off the ground, researching new applications, studying industry trends, the market, rising stars, I can’t remember the last time I even saw a football game.

  I don’t have a team, I only know one person here, and I’m in an ancient, smoke-scented, crowded bar with a bunch of sweaty jocks. No joke—it’s a fucking sausage fest.

  At the same time, I’d rather be here than home right now.

  After another ridiculous fight with Eleanor, my increasingly overbearing mother-in-law, about spending time with my daughter Lillie, I’ve decided something has to give.

  Hell, all I’d wanted to do was watch Guardians of the Galaxy with Lillie, but no, Eleanor insisted it was too violent for a four-year-old.

  Lillie ended up crying, and I ended up furious.

  Sitting here now, I concede Eleanor was probably right.

  Still, I just wanted a fun daddy-daughter date, something we could both enjoy. Now I feel like a heel, and I’m alone in a bar. Dammit.

  Four years ago, after Sandy died, I didn’t mind if her mother moved in and took over the childcare. Lillie was her granddaughter, and I had no idea how to be a single dad to a newborn baby. I didn’t even know if I was going to survive losing my wife…

  I’d left the Navy, invented a series of apps to organize intelligence data then locate enemy combatants based on that data, sold it, made a billion, married Sandy, we got pregnant, and when the pregnancy turned high-risk, she wanted to move here to be closer to her mother.

  I thought my life was so perfect, so planned out… then it all fell apart. I was alone, and I didn’t know how to keep moving forward. I didn’t want to keep moving forward.

  I pulled away from everybody, burying myself in work, until a year ago. My daughter was walking, talking, needing a father, and I realized I had to make a change.

  Polishing off my whiskey, I think about the past year. The haze of grief had slowly lifted, and I saw my home life was a mess.

  My mother-in-law drives me crazy, and I need to regain control of the situation.

  I’ve considered returning to Seattle, but as much as I want to strangle her sometimes, I know being that far from Lillie would kill Eleanor.

  The old jukebox starts playing “Fly Me to the Moon,” and the bar erupts into drunk males singing loudly. I signal to the
bartender to bring me another drink.

  Getting drunk is not a responsible solution to any problem.

  Which is why I’ll worry about this one tomorrow.

  I push my hair off my forehead and look around the room. If I’d known it was going to be all guys…

  My throat goes dry when I see her.

  She’s standing at the bar looking at me, and it’s like everything stops.

  Dark hair flows around her shoulders in silky waves, her eyes flash, and her body… Jesus. Soft shoulders, perfect tits, narrow waist, shapely legs… Our eyes meet again, and heat filters through my pelvis.

  I smile. She blinks and gives me a shy smile in return. When she turns away, I fish out my wallet to settle my tab. I want to go over and say hi. Maybe offer to buy her a drink.

  I’m just putting my wallet in my pocket when a sassy voice catches my attention. “Hey, sailor, new in town?”

  She’s standing right in front of me, and I lower slowly to sit on the barstool. She’s even prettier up close. Her eyes are so deep, and when she smiles, she has a little dimple right below the corner of her mouth. I want to kiss it. Then I want to make my way lower, biting her chin, tracing my tongue down her neck to those perfect little tits.

  Jesus. I don’t know if it’s the whiskey or the testosterone in the air, but I’m feeling thirsty for the first time in years.

  A year ago, when my therapist released me from grief counseling, she said I should try dating again. She said I should be open to moving forward with my life. She said I was ready. I disagreed with her… I didn’t think I could feel this way about another person ever again. Now, all I feel is it’s been so long.

  Clearing my throat, I grab the reins. “Sorry. I’ve lived here about four years.”

  Her slim brow furrows, and her voice changes. “Four years? You’re kidding me. What’s your name?”

  “Remi… Remington Key. I live in Eagleside Manor.” As the words come out, I wince a little. I don’t want her to think I’m bragging about living in Oakville’s only gated community.