by Sarah Adams
A soft smile tugs the corner of her mouth, and the next thing I know, Lucy is running her finger across my eyebrows. “You have pretty eyes,” she tells me in a dreamy voice.
I’m trying not to laugh at her, but it’s difficult. “Thank you. So do you.”
“But yours make me want to go to Tahiti. I have a screensaver that looks like your eyes.” I think she’s trying to tell me she has a screensaver with a body of water from Tahiti on it, not that she has an up-close photo of my eyeball, but I’ve been wrong in life before. “Jackie is stupid for giving your Tahiti eyes up.” She places the warm palm of her hand on my now scruffy jaw and looks deep in my eyes. “I wouldn’t have given them up. I would have said yes.”
My mouth opens, but I’m not sure why, because it’s not as if I have any words to let out. I don’t know what to say, what I should say…what she’ll remember in the morning of her own words or of my reply. Luckily, she doesn’t even seem to want an answer.
Instead, she smiles and shuts her eyes, letting her hand slowly sink down my shoulder and then arm, stopping to land on my bicep. I notice her dark lashes fanning across her cheekbones, her delicate nose and soft silky skin, thinking how sweet and innocent she looks.
That is, right until she squeezes my bicep and says, “You know what I think about sometimes?” Her eyes pop open and meet mine, looking a little wild all of a sudden. “S-E-X.” She spells it like that somehow makes it more innocent.
I expel a breath like someone just punched me in the lungs. “What?” I ask on a jarred laugh.
She jolts upright and adjusts her glasses, swaying a little to the side. “Ya know…intercourse.” She whispers the word this time.
“Yeah, no, I can spell. I knew what you meant the first time. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re talking about it right now, out of nowhere.”
“Because,” she says in a dramatic tone that could rival the greatest stars on Broadway, “did you know it’s been over four”—she holds up three fingers—“years since I’ve been with anyone?”
I’m sure my eyes are sixteen inches around. I didn’t see this coming (although, I really should have). “No, I didn’t realize that. But there’s nothing wrong with it.” I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit it makes me slightly happy to know she and Grim Tim didn’t sleep together. Which is a double standard and completely unfair of me, I realize.
She makes an exaggerated pshhhhhh sound, and her lips flap a little in the process. “It’s for the birds!”
My Spidey senses begin to tingle. I know where this conversation is headed, and I’ve got to slow this thing down before she steamrolls right over the point of no return.
Gently slipping out from under Lucy’s legs, I stand and pick up our half-empty wine glasses then carry them into the kitchen. “I think we’re good on the wine for tonight, yeah? I better be headed home.” I’m not actually leaving here tonight, but I don’t think telling her I plan to sleep on her couch would be such a good idea.
Lucy is up now too, a woman on a mission as she blocks the kitchen doorway. That wine has fully soaked into her bloodstream and emboldened her in a way she will not look back on fondly tomorrow. I want to stop her before she can embarrass herself, because I know what it feels like to make decisions under a warm fuzzy wine blanket, and believe me, it does not feel so warm and fuzzy when the sun comes up.
“Orrrrrrr,” she says with her attempt at a seductive smile. I love that she’s not good at it. “You could stay here tonight. With me. In my bed.”
Oh, someone make it stop. Not because I don’t want to do what she’s suggesting. Believe me, on any other night, with a fully sober Lucy, I’d be so down for it. But I can’t let her say these things tonight, because I know for a fact that if she were sober, she would not be saying them. It’s clear that Lucy values intimacy as more than just an act, and I will absolutely honor that.
“You know, Lucy…” I walk closer and put my hands on both of her shoulders to gently turn her around and walk her toward her bedroom (so I can make sure she safely makes it there and no other reason). “I’ve got a really early morning at work tomorrow. I better go back—”
She hits the brakes and whirls around to face me. Her finger suddenly runs a trail down the side of my neck. “But you know what I’m suggesting, right?” She tips her head almost aggressively toward her room.
“Yeah. I think I get the gist.”
“Nothing serious. No commitments or anything, of course.” I know she’s not meaning to cut me with her words, but she is. Each word is razor sharp and tears right through me. Does she really think she’s suggesting something I would want, or would find enticing? “You think I’m too sweet for it, but I’m not.” Her words are growing more and more impassioned.
I turn Lucy back around and start pushing her the rest of the way to her room.
She misinterprets. “OH! Did it work? Are we going to do it now?”
I shake my head as I spin her around and sit her down on her bed. “No. You’re going to go to sleep in this bed alone. That’s what’s happening tonight.”
Her shoulders sink, and she pouts. “Whyyyyy? You don’t like me?”
I sink down to my knees and look her directly in the eyes, brushing her hair behind her ear and noting how fragile and vulnerable she looks right now. “We’re not doing this tonight because, one, you’re drunk and I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. Two, I refuse to be your booty call, Lucy. Not now, not ever.”
She giggles, and I can practically see wine bubbling out of her pores. “Booty.”
“Uh huh,” I say, coaxing her to lie down while I pull her covers up over her. “Yep, booty is a hilarious word. Thaaaaat’s it, let’s get you to sleep there, killer.”
“Cooper?” Lucy peeks one eye open, comforter pulled up around her head like a cocoon, and I wonder if this is how she sleeps every night. She wiggles one finger out of the face hole she’s created and wiggles it, gesturing for me to get closer.
I lean in, unable to keep the grin off my face.
When I get close enough, she whispers, “I’m drunk.”
I nod and lean forward to kiss her forehead. “You’re a cute drunk, though.”
She passes out immediately and is snoring before I can close her bedroom door behind me.
I go back into the living room and turn off the TV, put the empty bottle of wine in the trash, and then curl up on the couch, tugging the blanket over me. Lucy overindulged tonight and deserves to have someone here to look after her and keep her safe while she lets loose (and sleeps it off). I set my alarm for 5:30 AM, planning to be out of here before she wakes up.
“Morning, pumpkin! Levi is watching cartoons upstairs, and—oh, you look rough,” says Mom after she opens the front door for me.
I grunt as I step into her house, feeling my brain knock against my skull with every slight movement. I deserve it, though. I deserve every punishment the world wants to throw at me today because I, Lucy Marshall, got drunk last night and made a complete fool of myself.
Yes, I remember it all in crystal-clear, humiliating technicolor. The moment I groped Cooper’s bicep. The moment I tried to cage him into the kitchen. And last, but definitely not least, the moment I tried to get him to sleep with me.
I cringe every time I remember the worlds falling out of my mouth. So sure. So confident. SO STUPID. Thank the stars above nothing happened and Cooper is a good guy, but I think we can all safely say he’s going to stay as far away from me as he can now. Any ambiguity or mystery I might have had concerning my feelings for him are gone. Last night, I might as well have been dancing around, holding a glittery poster board above my head that read I LOVE YOU, COOPER! LET’S GET MARRIED AND I’LL HAVE ALL YOUR BABIES!
I turn around and face my mom. “I’ve never asked too much of you, Mom, but today, I need you to run me over with your car.”
She curls her lips inward, making a cooky smile, and pats the side of my arm. “Did someone make a bad decision last nig
ht on her date?”
I cover my face with my hands. “No. Someone tried to, but the man wouldn’t let her because she was sloppy drunk.” I spread my fingers just enough to peek out.
She looks like she wants to burst out laughing but is composing herself for my benefit. “Well…that…sounds like you got your first date out of the way with a bang.” I wait for her to finish because I know what’s coming. “Or…I guess without one.”
She can’t contain her laughter anymore, and I shake my head. “Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“Oh please. I’ve been this way since long before you were even born. I just waited to use my foul language until you were tucked into your Minnie Mouse sheets at night. Now, come on, I’ll pour you a cup of coffee and you can lament.”
I trail behind my mom, slowly processing her words. There is a magical time in life where your parent shifts to being your friend, and I’ve entered it. I love that my mom doesn’t filter her language around me anymore. I love that she makes inappropriate jokes. If you had told me in high school that my mother even knew what the word bang meant, I would have laughed in your face. But here she is, pouring me coffee for my hangover and proving you don’t have to stop being yourself in life just because you have a kid—you just have to edit things for a bit.
“Okay, ma’am,”—that’s our longtime nickname for each other—“Levi is busy upstairs being a TV zombie, and your father is cleaning out the garage, so spill your guts.”
“Okay, prepare yourself. It’s not a pretty story.”
“If I wanted a pretty story, I’d go read a fairy tale. Now quit stalling.”
After making her promise not to tell Drew, I tell my mom everything from beginning to end, leaving out no details and laying my shame out on the table for her to stare at and judge. She doesn’t, though. She pats my hand and smiles softly. “Oh, hun.”
“Terrible, huh?”
“No.” Her dark navy eyes look deep into mine. “Sounds beautiful to me.”
I gape at her. “Which part? When I threw myself at a man, or when he rejected me?”
She shakes her head lightly. “You know what you’re doing, right?” I give her a dumbfounded look because I truly don’t know what she’s talking about. “You’re keeping yourself blindfolded on purpose. We both know that boy likes you, the clear evidence being that he followed you to the restaurant and flirted with you the whole time you were on a date. And we know he’s a good man because he put your sorry butt in bed last night and didn’t let you make a bigger fool out of yourself—both signs he cares about you.”
I pull my hand from hers and lean back in my chair. “Any good guy would have done that.”
“Rip that blindfold off, honey! No man is going to crash your date, sexy-text you all night to make you laugh, and then show up at your house with a bottle of wine after. Now, if you don’t admit to me right now that he likes you, I’m going to slap you upside the head.”
“You’re kinda violent in the mornings.”
She turns her head and eyes me from the side, a grin hovering on her mouth. “Don’t sidestep me, ma’am. Admit he has feelings for you.”
“Quit being so domineering, ma’am.”
“Admit it.”
I sigh and drop my forehead onto the table. “I don’t want to get my hopes up. I’ve aimed too high before. What if I do it again and he’s only being sweet to me because I’m Drew’s sister?”
“No, baby. Your inflection is all wrong—he’s only being sweet to you because you’re Drew’s sister. I think he’d like to be a lot less sweet with you, if you know what I mean, but your brother has probably put the fear of God in him.”
I pop my head up and whisper like it’s a revelation: “The bro code.”
“Yep. Exactly.” She sits back in her seat, a smug smile blooming.
Maybe she’s right. Actually, no, I know she’s right. There’s something there between Cooper and me, and it’s time to uncover what it is. And even if not, what’s a little more humiliation?
In the next moment, Levi barrels into the room and throws his arms around my neck. “Hi, buddy! I missed you!” I smash my lips into his chubby cheeks before he can wiggle away.
“Mom! Grammy got me a new kite!” He’s jumping up and down and doing one of those toddler dances that’s more wiggle and fist pumping than actual dancing. “Can we take it to the park?”
For us, Mondays are like a weekend. Saturday is one of the busiest days at the salon, so I’m always working, but Mondays are for me and Levi. “Yes! Let’s do it. And we can stop for donuts on the way.” His jaw drops. I am a superhero in his eyes now. “But I need Grammy to come too and sit with you in the car while I make a quick pit stop.”
I look at my mom and smirk, because Operation Rip the Blindfold Off is about to go down.
I’m in Cooper’s office building, and I’m completely freaking out. One quick Google search of Hampton Creative and Cooper James, and I easily found the address, helpful parking directions, and what floor he works on. Now, standing in the elevator as it carries me up to the third floor, I feel like I’m going to faint. You’d think I was on one of those hellevator rides that suddenly drops out from under you by the way my stomach is twisting and contorting.
My mom is hanging out in the car with Levi, both sugaring themselves up on donuts, and I’m about to deliver myself on a silver platter to a man who very possibly doesn’t want the meal I’m offering. Right before the elevator dings its arrival, I consider mashing the emergency button and bringing this whole bad idea to a halt.
The doors open, and I swallow, adjusting the box of donuts I brought for Cooper under my arm. These aren’t a kind offering, if that’s what you’re thinking. My plan if he rejects me is to open the box and rain donuts down on his head as a distraction tactic while I make a break for the exit.
Oh my gosh, this office is gorgeous. I feel like I accidentally went up too many floors and rose all the way into heaven. Everything is white and sparkly and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and a gorgeous, expansive view of the city.
“Can I help you?” asks a kind-looking young woman, who I think looks like her name would be Olivia or Heather, from behind the reception desk, and suddenly it’s too real. What am I doing here?
I step forward. “Any chance I’m in the wrong building and Cooper James doesn’t actually work here?”
She beams too brightly for my anxious state. “No, you have the right place!” She’s reaching for her phone. “I’ll call him and tell him you’re here to see him. What’s your—” She pauses with wide eyes when I reach across the counter, grab the phone, and slam it down on the hook. She is just as frightened by my actions as I am.
“I am so sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t plan to do that. It just happened. Please don’t call security. Truth is, I’m about to go declare my feelings for Cooper, and my nerves are just a tiny bit on edge.”
Her mouth opens in sort of an awestruck way, and she shakes her head. I think she’s about to push a secret button under her desk to call the police when her hand juts out and takes hold of mine. “That man is so gorgeous.” She presses her lips together and gives me a head nod of solidarity. “I wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, like we’re two soldiers in opposing armies who just formed a friendship on the battlefield and declared a private truce. I set the donut box on the counter and lift the lid. “You get a donut because you’re the most understanding human I’ve ever met.”
She wiggles her fingers over the sugary selection and finally plucks a chocolate sprinkle. It’s a solid choice and only confirms my suspicion that we would be great friends.
“Are you ready?” She asks it like she’s about to undo the latch on an aircraft and push me out.
I take in a slow, deep breath and nod. “Let’s do this, Olivia.”
“My name is Ashley.”
Have you ever had one of those experiences where your life flashes before your eyes and
you see all the exact moments you would do over and the ones you’d never change? That’s happening to me now as Ashley lays a brief knock on Cooper’s office door. We hear “Come in” then the montage starts rolling in my mind.
I see myself in my earlier twenties, feeling lonely, watching all my friends coupling up and getting married, and me, still working my butt off in a salon and spending my days off reading. Then, I get invited to a pretty crazy birthday party at a friend’s house. Brent catches my eye from across the room, and I feel a spark. He’s the cool guy, should probably be wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, but instead, he’s in a t-shirt and jeans. He raises his glass to me, and I look behind me because I’m not sure it’s directed at me. He comes over and flirts like I’ve never experienced firsthand. I’m completely swept up in him and his dark mysterious eyes and feel ready to dash off to Vegas. He doesn’t want to go to Vegas; he wants to go back to my place. We do. We sleep together, and there’s no cuddling. He zips up and takes off without leaving his number, completely over me. Done.
Six weeks later, I’m holding a little stick that says Congrats, you’re a mom! and I don’t even know the phone number of my future child’s father. I search his name on Facebook and message him. He doesn’t reply for several days, so I panic and send him the words I’M FREAKING PREGNANT. CALL ME.
He does. Makes it clear that he’ll help with the child but doesn’t want a relationship with me. I have false hopes, though. Over the next nine months, they get crushed, and reality sets in as Brent goes out with woman after woman, and I’m stuck getting fat and swollen alone on my couch.
The next memory is me crying on the bathroom floor while my brother holds me. I’m sure I’ve ruined my life and I’ll never be happy again, but he quietly reassures me I will.
And then, my mom is holding my hand while the nurse puts a baby in the crook of my arm, and I sigh a breath of relief because everything the books on parenting say is true. I love this little squishball more than anything. He’s worth it all.