Murphy

by Jenny Wood

  Murphy

  “This is amazing,” I say around my mouthful of steak; at least I grabbed my napkin and covered my mouth. I’d learned impeccable manners when I was younger and flitted to temporary home after temporary home because I thought it might help me be more unique or memorable. When I was about seven, I thought if I became as perfect as I could possibly be, that I would get to stay longer or that someone might see my qualities and “pick me.” I remember reminding myself of a robot because I didn’t do anything but what I was asked to do. I didn’t play or get rowdy. I did chores and didn’t speak unless I was spoken to. I stayed out of people’s way and didn’t make a fuss when I was sick or got hurt. I cried to myself when I got sad or scared, and I didn’t require much attention at all. It didn’t work, but some things just grew into habits, thankfully, manners weren’t a bad one.

  “Told ya.” Cruz smiled an outright smile. My body froze in the way it transformed his face into something more gorgeous. My fork was suspended in midair as I blinked and tried to shake off the insane notion that he wouldn’t pummel me if he even got a hint that I was admiring his smile.

  “Mr. Kinzer!” I jump as my name is almost a scream from behind me. Turning quickly, I see none other than Sasha, newly named McBride, and her parents, John and Alissa.

  “We are so sorry to interrupt.” Sasha’s mom apologizes, looking embarrassed.

  “We were just walking to our table, and she spotted you. This little booger is fast.” John snickered when he caught up to his daughter. Sasha didn’t look the least bit sorry, as her face was beaming with a smile so wide, it was contagious.

  “We’re eating here for our celebration, aren’t we Daddy?” Sasha looks up at her new daddy and every bit of frustration he might have had at her running through a restaurant drained away at the use of his new title.

  “We are, it’s a double-special day today, and they have cake.” He smiles down at her and winks at Murphy.

  “Are you going to have cake, too?” She asks me.

  “I’m going to have chocolate pie,” I whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, but she giggles like it’s a shared secret between us.

  “Okay, let’s let Mr. Kinzer get back to his dinner; we have a table waiting for us.” Alissa smiles and tries to excuse them. She guides Sasha away, while John tries to apologize for the interruption. I tell him it’s fine and I’m glad they stopped to say, hello.

  “Don’t forget to make a wish!” Sasha yells from across several tables over, and the people surrounding us stop talking and stare. I yell back across the floor that I won’t forget, and she giggles and waves from their table. Was it rude to yell across a crowded dining room while people were trying to eat? Yes, yes it was, but that little girl had double reason to celebrate today, and I wasn’t ruining that for the world.

  “Friends of yours?” Michael asks, brows raised in question. I didn’t mean to not introduce him, but I wouldn’t have even known how to, had I thought about it.

  “Yes. John and Alissa were Sasha’s foster parents for the last year and a half, but it became permanent this morning; which coincidently is Sasha’s birthday. That’s why it’s a double-special day.” I tell him with a smile.

  “You a lawyer or something?” He asks softly, his expression going soft at the mention of Sasha’s situation.

  “No, I’m a social worker for the state of Georgia as well as a certified adoption specialist. I’ve known Sasha and the McBride’s for a couple of years now, though they live in Macon. Normally, I drive up for hearings and scheduled visits, but since moving here; the McBride’s have family in Garret, which I believe is about a half hour from here, so we had the finalized papers signed today, here. They didn’t want to wait until next week when I could get there; they drove down to get it done on Sasha’s birthday.” I explain more than I should’ve, but it was nice to talk about this with someone. I was proud of what I’d done and I wanted to share my success stories with someone.

  “That’s pretty amazing, vato” Michael commented, taking a sip of his beer and looking away. Vato, what did that mean? Whatever it was, sounded sexy the way he said it. Vato, I’d have to google translate when I got home.

  “It’s my job.” I shrugged, although hearing his praise made me flush.

  “Not everyone could do it though; I couldn’t.” He doesn’t let me brush it off, and for a moment, I let myself soak up the feeling.

  “Thank you,” I mumble, though it’s the sincerest moment of gratitude I’ve maybe ever given.

  “How are things? Can I get you, fellas, something else to drink? Another beer?” Jessie must think Michael is more approachable because she has no problem asking him directly this time. He declines but asks for a glass of water, eyes never leaving mine. I tell her I’m fine with my tea. She flits away but is back within seconds and the quiet moment I had with Michael watching me is over.

  “So, a social worker from Savannah who has pie to celebrate a little girl’s double-special day.” He turns the smile on me again and again; it knocks the wind from my sails. He could be very dangerous with that smile if he wanted to be; I bet it got him most anything he wanted when he shined it on the right person.

  “We actually share a birthday. It’s my birthday, too.” I scoffed, wondering how lame it made me seem that I was celebrating my birthday alone.

  “No shit?” He asks, sounding affronted. I just shrugged and took another bite of my steamed broccoli. It was awkward telling someone it was your birthday like they might expect you to want them to do something big or make a deal out of it. This man was a stranger to me, I didn’t expect anything at all, though I was enjoying his company. We ate in relative silence, though we commented on the food and Michael kept asking me how old I was. It turned into a challenge for him I think, but I refused to answer; enjoying the game too much to give in.

  “Now, I know you’re not older than thirty-five, come on, tell me already.“ He smirked good-naturedly.

  “I’m not.” I relented, watching him roll his eyes but keep the smile.

  “Did you gentlemen enjoy your meals?” Jessie was back, smiling and asking us both.

  “Thank you, yes,” Michael answered as I smiled my affirmation.

  “Can I interest you in any dessert?” She asks, plucking our plates and balancing them on her empty tray.

  “It’s my friend’s birthday today; we were thinking, pie. What do you recommend?” Michael asks her, shining that charming smile her way. It wasn’t just me, Jessie seemed to need a minute to pull herself together as well. What a complete personality transformation. I watched Michael wink at her, and my stomach sank in disappointment; which was silly and I knew that; me being jealous over someone I met all of an hour ago… It was a new low for me, for sure.

  “I can bring you a list if you’d like.” Jessie blushed prettily, and I saw her glance at me but look right back to Michael, who wasn’t broody or grumbly at all anymore; in fact, his attitude had turned a complete 180.

  “Actually, can I have a piece of oreo cream, to go, please?” I asked politely. I’d had a less lonely night than I would’ve had, had I just went home and heated up leftovers or ate a sandwich; so, I could wrap this up and be okay with how I spent my birthday. I did not want a front row seat to this gorgeous man and our gorgeous, friendly waitress, hook up.

  “Two, please,” Michael added. I noticed a gathering of employees on the far left of the dining hall and wondered what was going on there; but when a break in the crowd broke up, I saw a sparkling cake with a giant fountain candle, lit up on top of a giant, pink cake. It must’ve been planned by her parents. Lucky girl.

  `The employees started clapping and pretty soon, most everyone was clapping along while they sang their version of a Happy Birthday song that involved lots of hollering and chanting. That was for Sasha; I saw her standing on her chair, dancing while everyone sang and clapped for her. I was so happy she had that, and I loved that I helped give it to her. I hoped she had that kind of birthday every
year for the rest of her life.

  “You had a hand in that, giving that to that little girl,” Michael commented as we both watched the loud production. My heart swelled with pride. I needed to get my shit together before I am done something embarrassing like openly weep into my now empty dinner plate.

  “Here’s your pie, I bagged them up separately for you but how’d you want me to do the check? Together or separate?” She asks, pulling out her booklet…Michael and I answered together, but our answers weren’t the same; he said together, and I did not.

  “Together, please.” He answered again, and she nodded and walked away.

  “You didn’t need to do that, let me give you my half,” I say, pulling out my wallet from my back pocket.

  “No, I insist; it’s your birthday, let me do something nice. You shared your table with me after all, and I was kind of a dick there for a minute.” He puts his hand over mine as I tried to open my wallet. I smile at his crude language in such a nice place, but he doesn’t seem the type to care about such things.

  “It’s very nice of you to offer, but-

  “No buts, it’s your birthday; you don’t pay for your own meal on your birthday. Them’s the rules, vato, mi madré says so.” He teased, but there was no room for argument. I watched him slide a bank card into the sleek black check folder and wink at me before handing it back off to Jessie. How incredibly pathetic of me for getting choked up about it; that not only did he share dinner with me, he also paid for it for my birthday. I needed to get out of here.

  “Thank you,” I say softly, hoping he hears every ounce of sincerity I put into saying it. Jessie is right back with his receipt, and he scribbles his signature, and I see the substantial tip he’d left for her. I pulled out my own bill and left it on the table for her as well. He doesn’t say anything, but he rolls his eyes before we both stand. He grabs both of our bags of dessert and gestures me in front of him so that he can follow me out. I turn to him when we’ve reached the sidewalk. I’m not sure where he parked or what he drives, but my car was several spots down, and I wanted to thank him again before grabbing my dessert and being on my way.

  “You have plans for the rest of the evening?” He asks, catching me off guard before I had a chance to speak.

  “Uhm, no, not really; why do you ask?” I ask him skeptically. He seemed to be going over something in his mind.

  “Be a shame for you to go home and eat your dessert all alone, wouldn’t it?” He comments. Is this happening? What is he suggesting? I’m so completely out of my depth here. I mean, I know what I hope is happening, but…most likely it isn’t that, and I’m being ridiculous.

  “Well, I mean, it wouldn’t be terrible.” I offer, unsure of what he’s getting at and why.

  “If you don’t want to go home and eat that pie alone, you could come have it at my place.” He suggests like he didn’t just invite a complete stranger to his house for pie. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay too, but the night is still early.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal either way.

  “I don’t know; you want to have pie with me?” I ask, making sure. We’ve literally only known each other for less than an hour, it seems dangerous and stupid, and I’m agreeing despite both of those reasons because he nodded and that was all the confirmation that I needed. His eyes light with something dangerous, something carnal and sexy. The way he looks down at me and bites his lip sends a shudder through my entire body, and I know he didn’t miss it. I’m a fool for agreeing, he could be a serial killer or something; but the promise in those eyes as they sweep my body from head to toe, I wanted that. After thirty-three years alone, especially on this day, I don’t want to spend it alone if I don’t have to and he’s giving me that and hopefully much, much more.

  “You get that asking you over for pie; I could give a fuck about the pie, right?” He almost growls, stepping closer to me, licking those sexy lips again. I can’t help but stare at them. I could only nod, I didn’t know for sure, but I do now and as stupid as it is, I am just fine with that.

  “Good, where you parked?” He asks, and I point to my car. He walks with me, apparently parked only a couple spaces down from me. I open my door and turn to him, ready to ask where I’m going but before I have a chance to say anything; his body is pressed against mine, tongue swiping across my open mouth before he kisses me soundly. He steps back before I even register that his lips are gone from mine, and it takes me a second to even open my eyes. He’s just kissed me stupid against my car, in a busy parking lot at a fancy restaurant.

  “Follow me.” He says, walking away without a backward glance. I sit hard down in my seat and start my car; stupidly or not, I followed him. Happy birthday, to me.

  Cruz

  “You taste so sweet,” I say against Murphy’s lips as I have him pressed against my bedroom door. We’d not made small talk or even paused to have our dessert when we got back to my place. He followed me from the car to my living room, and the minute the door was shut, I stepped into him, taking his face in my hands and softly dropped my lips to his. His hands found my waist as he held on to me, letting me swipe my tongue into his mouth again and again. His entire body seemed to melt against me.

  “Mijo, you’re not listening.” My mother grumbles at me down the line. She was right; I wasn’t; my mind had been all kinds of preoccupied lately.

  “Mamá, I cannot get into this with you right now, I’m at work,” I tell her, hanging my jacket on the back of my chair and giving a chin lift in acknowledgment to my boss, Wade, as he’s currently on the phone before our shift as well.

  “Michael, it is getting worse.” She cried. I felt for her, I really did. Her husband of the last 25 years, was suffering from colon cancer. Ugly disease, that; and maybe I should’ve been more sympathetic to his suffering, but I couldn’t be. The years that I had suffered at his callous, hateful words and actions, I didn’t really have it in me to be all that broken up about it. For my mother, yes; I was sorry she was hurting but for him? Nah

  My mother married, Jose Miguel Tomas De Marco, when I was six years old.

  I thought I was getting a father; that’s what she promised me when she shared the news of their upcoming nuptials to my hopeful, fatherless heart. I was excited; I thought I was finally getting someone to teach me how to ride a bike and someone to take me camping and fishing and to play basketball with me. Instead, I got a hateful, bigoted, somewhat racist prick who thought children were better seen and not heard. He was never physically abusive, my mother would’ve never allowed that, but that didn’t mean the verbal, emotional and psychological abuse wasn’t there.

  He hated everyone that wasn’t the God-fearing, Hispanic cultured, Catholic. Different races had their stereotypes, and he took them to extremes. When my baby brother Mateo was born, I was fourteen. I prayed he would be spared the extreme hatred for anyone different; I hoped that he was taught that difference was okay. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case; because when my five-year-old brother found my magazines and took them to his father, and my closet was blown wide the fuck open when I was nineteen. I got my ass kicked and was thrown out of my mother’s house, only visiting when I’d known he wasn’t going to be there. I had been old enough to be out on my own, so it didn’t matter too much. I’d had a nice enough bank account from working at a garage with my buddy Carlos’s father, while I put myself through the Police Academy. Then I got my own place a couple of towns away and still kept in touch with Mamá and tried with Mateo.

  Mateo wasn’t as bigoted as his father, but he wasn’t altogether accepting either. I guess years of hearing about his “abomination” brother had him convinced that it was wrong and disgusting, but seeing our mother love me regardless was enough to keep him from despising the person that I was. So, we weren’t close, but when Mamá told me a few months ago that he’d been getting into trouble at school; acting out because he was pissed that he was losing his dad, and had no way to let that negative emotion out, he was taking it out on the world and ge
tting himself in trouble in the process. He’d come to stay with me a couple of weekends here and there, but he mostly pushed, and then I’d pushed back, and by the time he went back home, it was more strained than it was before between us. We argued a lot, and Mateo had his father’s temper; he could get pretty ugly.

  “I’m sure his doctor is doing everything they can, Mamá. I’m not sure what you think I can do at this point.” I tell her gently. Despite him being an out and out prick and all around hateful piece of shit; he did treat my mother with all the love she deserved to have. I prayed for her and sometimes even him, but it was hard.

  “I’m not talking about him, mijo! Your brother! Are you not listening to me at all?” She accused accurately, apparently. I had only been half listening.

  “What about him, now?” I inquired. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gotten himself up to.

  “He didn’t come home last night! He hasn’t called, nada! I’m really worried this time, Michael.” She snapped at me. I sighed audibly and fell into my chair at my desk.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, Mamá, probably at a friend’s house and he’ll roll around when he wakes up.” I try to assure her. While my brother is sixteen now, he’ll always be Mamá’sbaby boy. I know she worries over him and he does still live under her roof. “How about this, if he doesn’t come home by this afternoon, give me a call back, and I’ll make some calls, si?

  “Yes, gracias, my boy. Your mother loves you. I hope you know that.” She tells me, as she does every time she’s fixin’ to get off the phone with me.

  “I do, Mamá. Love you too.” I tell her honestly before ending the call. Despite the negativity of her darling husband; Mamá always made up for it in her own way. I didn’t fault her for his nastiness; it wasn’t like she looked the other way, she stuck up for me. A tongue lashing by my mother could last for hours, and the woman could lecture like no one else; I didn’t envy him the times she heard him talking down to me. He deserved it.