Me: Whatever.
*~*~*
After lunch, I sat at my desk, working on cases and resisting the urge to go on Facebook every two minutes. Not long after being back from lunch, I sneezed hard. Yes, of all things, I sneezed. The motion of me snapping my head forward tugged on the muscles in my shoulder blade. It felt like fire tore through my back on the right side, and it took everything I had not scream or cry.
Holy mother of fuck!
After a minute, the pain went from a shooting, burning feeling to a feeling like I had just torn something in my shoulder. How could a simple sneeze hurt so much? I told Lucy (because Ian ended up “working from home”) what had happened and went home for the day. The pain wasn’t going away, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the pain radiating around my shoulder blade. On my way home, I called the doctor and made an appointment for the following morning.
I arrived home and jumped right into the shower. The warm water was helping the pain to subside. I changed into my pajamas, texted Lucy that I would be late to work in the morning and crawled into bed with an icepack. This was why I should have had a bowling party at ten; my body was falling apart at thirty.
*~*~*
I woke the next morning, my shoulder feeling a little better, but not one hundred percent. After having my morning cup of Joe, I got dressed and made my way to my doctor’s office. Even though my shoulder felt a little better, I was still concerned about the burning situation that happened the afternoon before. My body was not supposed to feel that way. I literally thought my back was on fire. Okay, not literally, but that is what it felt like.
“You probably just pulled a muscle. Let me give you a prescription for muscle relaxers. Also, take it easy at the gym. You should stick to cardio for a few weeks until your shoulder is feeling better.”
That was my doctor talking to me. I arrived at her office, and she never once touched my body. She didn’t have me move around my shoulder while she felt around. She didn’t even get within two feet of me. She sat at her computer charting system, talking to me, and then just told me she would order my prescriptions so I could pick them up from the pharmacy when I left. She never once tried to feel for anything. Jared told me that I wouldn’t be able to just walk in and get pain meds with a snap of a finger and well…I pretty much did.
I called Lucy after I left the doctor’s office and told her that I needed to wait for my prescriptions, and then I was just going to go home to rest my shoulder. It was still hurting, and I wanted the muscle relaxers to kick in. Plus, the doctor told me that they would probably make me sleepy.
And that they did. I slept all afternoon, not waking up until Jared got home at four in the afternoon. I thought that he would be around to cook dinner for me, but when he arrived home, he told me that he had plans with his friend, Justin. Justin, who he hadn’t seen in a long time. Since he hadn’t seen Justin in a few months, I didn’t want him to cancel. I ate a Hot Pocket for dinner since it hurt to move my shoulder and cook, took another relaxer and went to sleep.
*~*~*
After taking Monday afternoon and Tuesday off, I worked the rest of the week as normal. Friday night, Nicole and I met up for our weekly dinner and happy hour and then went shopping for cute outfits for our cruise.
During the day, my shoulder was still hurting. It wasn’t as bad, but it felt like more than just a pulled muscle. I took the muscle relaxers at night, hoping it would get better soon. The doctor told me I’d be in pain for a few weeks while it healed. I was right handed and I did everything with my bum shoulder. I was in pain all day since the relaxers would knock me out, and I couldn’t take them during the day. My routine quickly settled into coming home after work, making dinner the best I could, watching a little TV, icing my shoulder and then going to bed once the relaxers knocked me out. I didn’t really speak to Jared since he was busy playing COD every night or hanging out with Justin.
“We need to find a store with bikinis,” Nicole said, stabbing a piece of her parmesan-crusted chicken.
“It’s April—you think places have swimsuits already?” I asked.
“We better hope so. I need at least five.”
“Five?” I asked, wide-eyed.
Why the hell did she need five?
“Yeah, we’re going on a eight day cruise. I can’t wear the same suit more than once.”
I always knew that Nicole was high maintenance, but I had never really traveled with her. Well, I mean, we would go on trips for long weekends, but nothing this long. What was so wrong with wearing the same suit while you were there? I had gone on trips and washed my suit with shampoo before. I was only planning on bringing two bikinis. Now I needed to buy at least three to meet her standards.
I took a sip of my pomegranate margarita before replying to her. “Why not? We can wash them in the shower on board.”
“I will not let any cute guys see me in the same suit.”
“They won’t even notice; they’re guys. Plus, who’s to say there will be any cute guys on board. Our luck, there will probably just be a lot of families with kids.”
“Yeah…about that…,” she paused, her eyes looking down at her chicken pasta.
“Nicole?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. She was up to something, and when she trailed off, I knew I wouldn’t like what she was about to say.
“It’s nothing. We’re going to have so much fun. I can’t wait! How’s your shoulder?”
“Don’t change the subject. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Don’t get mad.”
“Oh God.”
There should be some sort of Cardinal rule or something, because whenever someone says, “Don’t get mad,” you already know that you aren’t going to like what they have to tell you.
“The cruise is…well, the cruise is—a singles cruise.”
“What?” I asked, feeling my eyes grow wide as I tried to process what she had just told me. Why would she book a singles cruise when I had a boyfriend? I wasn’t mad. I was just shocked.
I probably shouldn’t be so surprised. She was single and looking for the one.
“I know you have Jared, but I thought that you could be like my wingwoman or something. I’m not meeting anyone here, so I wanted to see what was out there. Plus, Mike never called me.”
“What about online dating? I’ve heard that could be good.”
“It could also be bad. You never know who you’re going to meet. They could murder you.”
“There is a slim chance. Plus, when you meet these guys, you should do it in public. And,” I said, dragging out the word, “you don’t know who you will meet on a cruise ship, or hell, you don’t even know who you will meet at work or at a bar. It’s all the same, really.”
“Whatever. I also thought it would be fun to go on a cruise.”
“No, it totally will be fun. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good, so you’ll be my wingwoman, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, giving up the fight. It actually would be fun with a lot of people our age partying.
CHAPTER FOUR
Easton
After closing the bar up for the night, I walked Bethy to her car and then jumped in mine. Every Saturday that I worked, Cheyenne and I had our routine on Sunday. Even though I had been working since eight the night before and doing other things, I always drove straight to my parents’ house and started making breakfast for them and my peanut before they woke up. After breakfast, Cheyenne and I would go home, throw in a movie, and I would pass out for a few hours on the couch until I needed to make dinner for us.
“Hello, Son,” my dad said, coming up behind me as I flipped a pancake. He grabbed a mug to my left for coffee.
“Mornin’.”
“How was work?”
“Good. Same ol’, same ol’. Did you do anything fun last night with Chey?”
“Your mother took her to the mall while I watched the game.”
I grew up in Southern California with love for the A
naheim Angels—well I still called them that. They were renamed to The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim in 2005, and I didn’t like it. Since living in New York, my buddies would rag on me for not liking the Yankees or at least the Mets. My Dad and I have stuck with our home team, especially when they played the New York teams. We both even subscribed to get all the games on TV throughout the season because we were that much of diehard fans.
Halo was named partly from the love of the Angels, but mostly for Cheyenne. I figured that one day, she would own the bar or be a part owner in it with Avery’s kids—if he ever had any—and I always told Cheyenne that Dana was looking down on her and is her guardian angel. Halo just fit—perfectly.
“I watched a little, but we were swamped at the bar. They won, right?”
“Of course,” he said, sliding the coffeepot back into the maker.
The Angels weren’t the best team, but they weren’t the worst either; we had one World Series win under our belts. If you asked my dad, he would tell you that they won every game—even when they didn’t. This game the night before didn’t even count. It was just a spring training game that happened to be televised, but my dad was sure that since they won, it was a sign that it would be a good season.
I finished making the pancakes, grabbed the bacon out of the oven and started to scramble eggs while my dad sat at the dining room table, watching me. He knew how to cook or at least help, but every Sunday morning when I was there, I did all the work.
“Hey, Honey,” my mom greeted me and did exactly what my dad did. She grabbed a cup of coffee and watched the show.
“Everything good last night?” I asked, still making breakfast in front of an audience.
“Of course. Cheyenne and I went to the mall. Some store there lets you make your own jewelry. She made something for her and Courtney,” she said, sipping her coffee.
Cheyenne met Courtney when we moved to New York. Courtney lived across the street from us and had become her best friend. Before we moved, I was worried that it would take her a while to adjust, but one day she was playing in the front yard and ran to her room with Courtney in tow. They’d been best friends ever since—almost like Avery and me.
“You two didn’t want to stick around and watch the game?” I asked, finishing the last of the eggs. I was about to go wake up Cheyenne, but turned around to see her sleepy self, walking into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
“Dad, we watch baseball all the time,” Sleeping Beauty said.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, pointing to a chair at the table for her to sit down.
“It’s for boys.”
“That’s not true. A lot of girls like baseball.”
“No, they like softball—not watching baseball on TV.”
I made a plate of the pancakes, bacon and eggs for her, then made mine as we continued our debate.
“Your mo…” I paused. Even though Cheyenne doesn’t really remember Dana, she remembers things about Dana. I wasn’t hiding Dana from her. As Cheyenne has gotten older, we’d talked about her. I’ve shown her pictures, taken her to California to see her other grandparents and Dana’s grave, and told her stories about Dana—especially how much she loved her.
The reason why I paused was that it was still hard for Cheyenne to be reminded that she only had one parent. Courtney’s parents were still alive and together, and I knew that Cheyenne missed Dana. Mentioning Dana was sometimes hard for me as well. While we have dealt with her death, my heart still ached for Cheyenne. I wasn’t helping matters by not looking for my next wife, but before Dana died, I didn’t plan on remarrying anyway.
I liked doing what I wanted and how I wanted to do it. It was nice not having a nag around, and honestly, I wasn’t ready since it wasn’t part of my plan. I told Cheyenne about a year ago that her mom and I were getting divorced when Dana died. I left out the reasons why, but told her that we had decided it was best to end our marriage. Cheyenne understood because she wasn’t the only one in her class with divorced parents.
“Your mom loved baseball,” I started over. “We used to go to Angels games all the time growing up and after we got married. We even took you a few times.”
“You were so cute in your little Angels jersey,” my mom said, chiming in. “I think I have a picture in an album. I’ll show you after we eat breakfast.”
“Whatever,” Cheyenne huffed. “I would rather go to the mall, Dad.”
Cheyenne didn’t grow up with Dana, but she sure as shit had her attitude. It was amazing. It was like I was raising a mini Dana.
We finished breakfast, and after gathering Cheyenne’s things, I drove her home, and she picked Monsters University to watch. I was just dozing off when I got a text from Avery.
Avery: I’m coming over.
Me: Dude, you know I worked all night and C and I just got home. I’ll just talk to you at the gym later.
Avery: I’m 2 min away.
I sighed. I really just wanted to sleep. Avery should know better; this better damn well be an emergency, or I was going to kill him.
“Uncle A is on his way, Peanut. When he gets here, I will talk to him for a bit and then come back and watch this with you. Okay?”
Cheyenne was on her cell phone, not watching the movie. Did she do this every Sunday? Kids these days practically had a cell phone in their hand at birth. It was crazy, but at the same time, gave me piece of mind that I could track her down and get ahold of her whenever I wanted or needed.
“He can watch, too, you know.”
“I’ll ask him,” I said, kissing the top of her head and went to answer the front door.
Avery wasn’t two minutes out, more like thirty seconds. Fucking bastard.
“This better be important,” I said, greeting my best friend of twenty-six years.
“Dude, calm the fu…” Avery looked over my shoulder. I assumed to see if Cheyenne was behind me, since he almost slipped and cussed in front of her. He regained his response in a whisper, “Seriously, I have some fucking awesome news.”
“If it involves me going back to sleep in the next five minutes, I’m all for it,” I said, grudgingly stepping aside so he could come in.
“What up C.C.?” Avery asked, addressing Cheyenne.
Just a few months ago when Cheyenne started to have Dana’s attitude, Avery gave her the nickname C.C. (Cheyenne Crawford). When Dana and I got married, Avery called her D.C., and Cheyenne loved to be called C.C. by Avery since her mom was D.C. He tried to call me E.C. when we met in the Kindergarten. I remember punching him in the arm and telling him that was stupid. He resorted to E. He had a thing about abbreviating names for some reason. He never called anyone by their real first name.
“Uncle A, want to watch this with us?” Cheyenne asked, pointing to the TV.
“I would love to, but I need to talk to your Daddy. We are going to California!”
“We are?” Cheyenne’s eyes lit up, looking away from her phone.
“We are,” he stated as a matter of fact.
“We are?” I questioned. What the fuck was he talking about?
“We are,” he said as he winked at Cheyenne and then went to the dining room and sat down.
I followed, not having any other choice.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked, sitting across from him.
Cheyenne was far enough away that she couldn’t hear us talk, and now that he gave Cheyenne hope that we were going to California and possibly getting to see her maternal grandparents, I wanted to kill Avery.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…”
“This can’t be good,” I said, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms.
“All the girls that come into the bar really only want one thing.”
“I know, I’ve told you for the past two years that you could be getting laid nightly if you would just follow my lead.”
“You know that isn’t what I want,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“Dude, seriously, just
have fun and look for the one that you so desperately want to find.”
“Well, if this plan doesn’t work out, then I will. Okay?”
“What plan?”
“So, like I was saying.” He got up and walked into the kitchen as he spoke. “I was thinking of what I haven’t done to find the future Mrs. Scott. You know I’ve tried the online shit—that didn’t work out too well, and yeah, okay, I see hot chicks at the bar, but they just want to fuck.”
“You think?” I laughed.
Avery returned with a glass of orange juice. He wasn’t a guest, and even though he didn’t live with Cheyenne and me now, he did when we first moved to New York. Avery lived in a townhouse not far from my house and my parents’ house. All three of us were only about a twenty to twenty-five minute drive into the city where our bar was.
Living in New York was very different from California. Long Beach had all the hustle and bustle, but New York was far worse. I traded in my truck for a BMW not long after we moved here. It was much easier driving a car into the city than my pick-up.
“Yes, I know,” Avery stated, taking a sip of his juice.
Since moving to New York, I knew of a few chicks that Avery had met while working and hooked up with, but it wasn’t in our office at the bar…that I knew of. He was looking for his wife, so he would wine and dine these chicks. You know, buy them dinner and shit: date them.
Avery was a decent looking guy, in my opinion. He definitely looked like a Southern California guy. He had shaggy, dirty blond hair, blue eyes and a lean frame. Growing up, we worked out together, played baseball, and while I had a little bulk to me, he was thinner, but all muscle. Women loved him, but he always found crazy chicks.
There was this one chick who he tried to break up with her at her house, but she ran to his car and locked herself in there. Then there was another one who apparently had an iguana that watched them have sex. And he seriously questioned why I wasn’t looking for my next wife? Case in point.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I heard from Bethy that she knows a guy who met his wife on a singles cruise.”
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