Chapter 6
I couldn’t imagine just meeting someone in the grocery store or while out for a walk. As I turned back to face the woman, inspired to introduce myself, I found that she’d already walked off.
I looked back at the painting of the children. It struck me that maybe being mature wasn’t the best thing in the world. Was it age that isolated us from one another, or insecurity?
With these thoughts on my mind I walked toward the gallery. I was looking forward to getting a selfie outside the building so that I could prove that I was there. I paused outside and fidgeted with my phone.
I hadn’t mastered the art of taking a good selfie. Usually I ended up with one eye half shut or a clear view of the inside of my nostril. Determined to make it great for my blog, I practiced a few different expressions. When I heard a smothered laugh I looked to my right to find that a small line had formed behind me. I was blocking the entrance of the gallery and everyone waiting was being treated to my selfie practice.
“Sorry.” Embarrassed, I started to move out of the way. Right at that moment I hit the button on my phone. Once everyone had walked past me with strange and amused looks, I checked the picture. I’d managed to get a half-shut eye and one nostril pose, with a nice shot of horse teeth thrown in when I gasped. I sighed and went to delete the picture; however, as I was hitting the button to delete it, someone jostled past me to get into the gallery and my hand bounced across the screen of my phone.
I saw the confirmation: Sent. My eyes widened as I wondered who in the world I had sent such a horrible picture to. I checked my texts to discover that in the midst of everything Max had sent me a text.
What are you up to, beautiful?
In response I had inadvertently sent him back the most hideous picture I’d ever taken of myself.
“Oh no.” I groaned and started to send a text explaining the situation. Before I could get it typed Max had sent me another text.
Sexy.
I glared at the phone and turned it off. I knew he was teasing me. I decided to forget about the selfie and continue with my evening.
As I stepped into the gallery, I willed myself to act cultured. The gallery wasn’t very crowded. I was a little surprised to see that it featured photographs rather than paintings. The images were quite breathtaking, if not a little mind-boggling. It took me several minutes to figure out that what I was looking at in one photograph was a single flower petal. The artist seemed whimsical and playful.
There was one thing that Barry had been right about. The crowd was on the older side. Most looked to be in their early fifties and older. I didn’t mind though, as I was so enraptured by the photographs, I didn’t have time to attempt to socialize.
I paused in front of one particular image which was the swirl of a thumbprint. I stared at it for some time. I was certain that there was some kind of wise and witty blog post that I could come up with, inspired by that photograph.
“The circles we follow,” I mumbled to myself and then shook my head. “Our paths are designed before we’re born, like thumbprints,” I whispered to myself. I scrunched up my nose and shook my head. “Too New Age.”
I sighed as I continued to study the picture. I wished that it could just talk to me, give me something to write about.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” a smooth voice asked from beside me.
I was startled, as I hadn’t even noticed that someone had come to stand next to me. He was a tall man, slender, dressed impeccably. His hair was a mixture of blond and silver, a combination I hadn’t seen on many men. He looked to be in his late forties, perhaps a little older. His expression was serene as he continued to study the photograph.
“It’s endless, eternal, and yet minuscule.” He smiled, looking very pleased with himself.
In three words he had summed up everything I had been feeling about the photograph. I was enchanted as I met his eyes.
“I was just thinking that,” I said with a nervous smile.
“Oh?” he asked. “Well, I guess great minds think alike.” He smiled.
“Maybe they do,” I said. “I’m Samantha.”
“Ronald,” he replied and tipped his head slightly in my direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samantha. There are many great works to see here. Are you a fan of the artist?”
“Actually this is my first time seeing the work,” I smiled, feeling slightly nervous and awkward. “I really just came for the wine.” I laughed much too loudly.
My joke obviously fell on deaf ears; I noticed his eyes narrow.
“I see,” he said under his breath as he started to turn away.
“I’m sorry. What I meant was that I didn’t even know that these shows existed until tonight,” I called out to him.
“Well, now you do,” he said with a soft smile before walking toward the next photograph.
I didn’t want to follow him, potentially giving off the stalker vibe. He was so distinguished. I was certain that he would have a million things to put in a blog.
I looked back at the photograph. The thumb looked like it was mocking me.
“I’ll tell you where you can stick that thumb,” I said under my breath as I moved on to the next display.
Chapter 7
As I studied each photograph, I waited for an epic thought to enter my mind. Something that would make a reader stop and say, Wow, this girl really has it all figured out. But my mind filled with thoughts of hot dogs, cheeseburgers, and chef’s salad.
I was starving. My stomach had begun to growl. I hoped that I was the only one who could hear it. As if on cue, they began handing out the wine. One thing I’d learned from dieting was that it was not a good idea to drink wine on an empty stomach. I’d had the worst hangover of my life one time after skipping all the high-calorie treats at a wedding so that I could focus on the wine.
I turned quickly and tried to duck out the front door of the gallery. I was sure there had to be a vendor of some kind out on the street. Just a quick hot dog or pretzel would help me soak up the wine I was looking forward to drinking.
When I reached the door I found a couple standing in front of it. They were talking softly to one another. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes. I was stunned by the way they never looked away, not even to laugh or offer a shy smile. It was as if they were only aware of each other. I didn’t want to interrupt that. I wanted to be that. I wanted someone to find me that fascinating.
When a waiter walked by to offer me a glass of wine, I snatched it off the tray, downing it in just a few quick swallows.
“Oops.” I frowned as I felt the sudden heat hit my cheeks.
“Didn’t you get a glass of wine?” another waiter asked with concern. He handed me another glass before I could answer.
I noticed that I had drawn a few stares from other patrons because of my wine guzzling. Everyone else was taking their time, going through the process of tasting their wine, rather than chugging it like a frat boy.
I cleared my throat and did my best to follow the same steps that I saw other people taking. I attempted to swirl the wine in my glass; however, the wine refused to stay in the glass. Instead it splashed over the brim and all over my hand. I cringed as the cool liquid covered my palm. I looked around for a napkin, but before I could find one, a man stepped up beside me. It was the same suave older gentleman that had drawn my attention earlier.
“Enjoying your wine?” he asked.
“Well, I was,” I said with a slight laugh.
Before I realized what he was doing he took the glass from my hand. He sniffed the wine carefully.
“Is it off?” he asked with some concern. His steel-blue eyes looked up from the wine and back at me intently.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just I—” I started to explain.
“No matter.” He took my hand in his own. “I’ll get you another—um,” he drew his hand out of mine and shook it a little. “You seem to, uh—”
“It’s wine,” I said quickly�
�too quickly.
He smiled strangely and handed me back my glass.
“Enjoy it,” he said and turned to walk away.
I wanted to call out to him, to force him to understand that it was the wine on my palm, not sweat, or some other random sticky substance. But there was no point. I had tried all day long to be more cultured, to be interesting and even a little wise. In the end all I had was a bunch of silly selfies and wine on my hand.
I downed the remainder of my wine and then dropped the glass on one of the passing trays. The couple by the door no longer fascinated me. In fact, they were annoying.
“Don’t you ever blink?” I asked as I shouldered past them and out through the door.
Neither seemed to even notice my drunken, disparaging comment.
Outside, the air had grown cool. I knew that I could spend a little more time wandering the sidewalks, looking for inspiration, but I felt completely dull. My evening out had only proven that I didn’t fit into cultured society, and as a result I wasn’t going to have anything interesting to share on my blog.
I started walking back towards my apartment, thinking that a brisk walk might do me some good. I’d only walked a few blocks when my stomach began to churn. I rubbed my hand over it and moaned quietly. The wine was beginning to fight back. I glanced around to see if there were any shops or restaurants available. Everything was either closed or didn’t offer food.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. I knew I wouldn’t make it all the way home. I leaned back against the wall of a building and closed my eyes. The world began to spin around me. I knew the moment I opened my eyes I was going to have to vomit.
“Sammy, what are you doing out here?” Max asked from a few feet in front of me. My eyes opened by instinct, and my stomach clenched tightly in preparation for revolt. I shoved Max hard out of my way just in time.
Chapter 8
All of the wine was now out of me and onto the pavement.
“Sorry.” I was mortified.
Max handed me a tissue to wipe my mouth. “Wine on an empty stomach?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.
I nodded a little as I wiped at my mouth.
“When are you going to learn, Sammy?” he asked with a slight laugh. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” I sighed. “What are you doing here?” I asked when my head finally stopped swirling.
“You didn’t text me back. I tried calling you and your phone was off. I figured you were mad or abducted, so I went to look for you at the gallery. Someone there told me you walked off this way.”
“How did they know who you were looking for?” I asked. Then my eyes widened.
“Oh no, you didn’t, did you?” I stared at him with horror.
“Well, it was the most recent picture I had of you—and good job getting just the hint of the event sign in there along with your eye and nostril, which gave me a clue at least.” He laughed. “I’m glad to see that you weren’t abducted. So does that mean that you’re mad?” He pouted a little.
“No,” I sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I’m not mad. I’m just a complete failure.”
“Failure? What are you talking about?”
“I came out here tonight to get a little culture, but I only succeeded in making a fool of myself—as usual.” I frowned.
“Oh, listen to you.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand. “What you need is food. Let’s go. There’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks up.”
“I don’t know if I should eat,” I said as I rubbed my stomach.
“That means that you absolutely do need to eat.”
As we walked I felt so much comfort with Max beside me. Even though our relationship was such a conflict in my mind, he still soothed me in ways that no one else could. But I couldn’t put that in my blog. My blog needed to be “Max-free”.
“I guess I could eat a little,” I said and then sighed.
“What were you even doing out here?” he asked as we walked toward the restaurant. “This isn’t where you usually hang out. Were you really trying to fit in?”
“I didn’t think it would be that much of a stretch.” I laughed lightly. “I just wanted to learn to be interesting.”
“Learn to be interesting?” He laughed at that as he held the door of the restaurant open for me.
“Is that funny?” I asked, as we settled in a small booth to wait for the waitress.
“It’s not that it’s funny so much as that it’s absurd.”
“It’s not absurd,” I said. “Fries and a coke,” I ordered when the waitress walked up.
“Bring her a cheeseburger too,” Max said. “I’ll take one as well and a beer. Whatever dark you have.”
“Why do you always do that?” I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration.
“Do what?”
“Order things for me. If I wanted a cheeseburger, I would have ordered a cheeseburger.,” I kept my voice low, but I was annoyed.
He sat back in his seat and studied me across the table. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t what?”
“You wouldn’t order a cheeseburger if you wanted one,” he said, looking way too confident.
“Of course I would,” I said.
“No, you wouldn’t. I see you do it all the time. You’ll tell me you’re so hungry, and when we go to the restaurant you order a tiny little meal. French fries aren’t even a meal,” he pointed out with a frown.
“Maybe not, but that’s what I wanted.”
“Oh?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He looked me directly in the eye. “So you had no desire for a hot, meaty cheeseburger?” he asked in a slow sultry tone.
“Oh my God, I hate you.” I frowned and crossed my arms.
“That’s not nice,” he said, teasing me. “Just tell me I’m right, and we can enjoy our meal.”
I frowned. I didn’t want to tell him that he was right, but the truth was, he was. I tended to order small when I was feeling insecure. It was odd, but I sometimes felt as if people were staring at me, judging me for what I ate. So I would order something I didn’t necessarily want.
“Fine,” I finally admitted. “I did want a cheeseburger.”
“See?” He shrugged. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I can order for myself,” I reminded him, though our argument felt like it was going in circles.
“No,” he said. “The problem is that you can’t order for yourself. Just like you spent an evening trying to be something you’re not. Why? That’s what you should figure out.” He sat back as our meals were placed in front of us.
The cheeseburger looked delicious, but Max’s words stuck in my mind. He was pointing out a pattern that I’d never really noticed before. Damn, but he could be insightful.
“Fine, maybe it’s true,” I said, my voice low. “You should know, after all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking up at me.
“Like the women you date,” I said and took a casual sip of my Coke.
“What about them?”
I could sense that he was getting defensive real fast.
“You’re always picking the most vapid women I’ve ever met,” I pointed out and set my glass down. “There are intelligent skinny women out there, you know.”
“Wow.” He shook his head and pushed his plate slightly away from him. “You’re way off base.”
“Am I?” I asked. “What about Gina?”
“Gina was a mistake,” he frowned.
“Like you couldn’t tell she would be, before you went on a date with her?” I enjoyed that it was his turn to squirm a bit now.
“Look, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I like to give women a chance, see if we click.”
“And if you don’t, you never call them—you never follow up. Do you know what that does to a woman?”
He frowned and grabbed his cheeseburger off his plate. H
e took a big bite out of it and chewed it slowly. I knew that he was just trying to delay the conversation. So I took a bite of my cheeseburger as well.
“You just don’t understand.” He shook his head and took a swallow of his beer.
“What don’t I understand?” I asked and smiled, genuinely curious now.
Chapter 9
Max met my eyes and set his beer back down on the table, hesitating just long enough to make me slightly nervous as to what his next words were going to be.
“They can’t all be you, Sammy,” he said, his voice serious.
I stared at him, a little taken aback, but a moment later he grinned and winked at me. All hopes that I had of his finally professing his love for me were dashed.
“Thanks, I guess,” I said and drained the last of my Coke.
Even though we had shared a meal together, and he had done his best to find me when he thought I was upset or in danger, I still felt like a bit of a joke to him. I couldn’t recall when, exactly, things had shifted so much between us.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said as we boxed up our leftovers.
“Sounds good.”
We settled up with the waitress and I left a good tip. It was better than the money I had wasted on the art walk. I thought of the man at the wine tasting and the way he had looked at me with such interest and then such judgment. I decided it had to be exhausting to be so perfect all of the time. Max looped his arm through mine and we began walking down the sidewalk to my apartment.
“How’s your tummy?”
“Better now.” I sighed.
“Good—so maybe now you can stick to being you, instead of trying to be someone else?” Max asked.
“Who am I?” I frowned. I stopped. Since his arm was linked with mine, he stopped too.
“You tell me,” he said and waited.
“I have no idea.” I shook my head. “How can I be thirty-two years old and have no idea who I am?”
“I guess you’ve spent far too long trying to figure out who people want you to be.” Max shrugged. “It’s easy to get caught up in that game.”
“Seems that way,” I said. “Do you ever feel like you’re falling behind everyone else, Max?”
“What do you mean?” he asked as we began walking again.
Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) Page 6