Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  I pop the milk in the fridge and clean up the mess quickly. I’ll be back in a second, I’m sure, but I still don’t like leaving powdered milk on the counter. Nothing invites roaches faster than tiny particles of animal food.

  Looking down at myself as I walk the halls to the front reception area, I realize what a mess I am. You wouldn’t think tiny animals could make such a mess, but they do. I’m covered in squirrel milk, probably drops of pee because they’re not that big, and, oh look. A poop pellet. Awesome.

  I’m never more aware of how dirty I am until I turn the corner and the most precious family is standing in the lobby. Matthew has a huge smile on his face as he watches… Calypso… nuzzle into Olaf’s neck. It’s no wonder this man is a model. If it wouldn’t make me look like a creeper, I’d whip out my phone right now and capture this picture-perfect moment. I bet I could make some money off a stock photo like this.

  “Matthew?”

  He looks up, that smile unchanging as I approach.

  “Carrie, I’m so sorry to interrupt your workday.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I say with a dismissive wave that morphs into a stealthy flick of my middle finger at Jamie for setting me up. She just cackles a laugh and answers the phone when it rings. “I’m just glad we were able to find Olaf for you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for texting me.” He bends down and rubs Olaf’s back. “I was about to give up hope that he’d ever return. Someone’s really good at hiding, aren’t ya boy? Huh? You have fun out there chasing squirrels?”

  I bristle. Olaf better not have been chasing my squirrel or next time he shows up, I’ll wait until after he gets his ringworm check to mention I know him. That little hooky thing in his bum will show him who’s boss.

  “Anyway.” Matthew startles me out of my premeditated thoughts. “I just wanted to say it in person. Thank you for everything. Sprite.” He nudges the little girl gently. “Do you have something you’d like to say to Carrie?”

  She pats Olaf one more time and stands up, looking me dead in the eye. “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?”

  Well, that was unexpected. Based on Matthew’s uncomfortable body language, I don’t think he was expecting it either.

  “Um”—he chuckles uncomfortably—“close, but I was thinking more of a thank you.”

  But Calypso is determined and stands up even taller if that’s possible, looking him dead in the eye. “But Daddy, Grandma says it’s always nice to include our friends. And Carrie found Olaf so she’s our friend now, right?”

  I really should jump in here and say I’m busy, but honestly, it’s fun watching Matthew squirm. He’s got this blush running up his neck and his hand keeps running through his hair, like he doesn’t know what to do. It probably makes me a horrible person that I’m so entertained. Actually, no. Of all the thoughts I’ve had about this family the last few days, Matthew squirming is on the mild side.

  “Well yes, that is true,” he says with a nervous laugh. “But it’s a school night, Sprite.”

  She turns back to me, and I know what she’s about to say. “Okay. Then we’ll do it Friday.”

  Matthew sort of makes a choking, laughing sound, realizing he just keeps letting this kid dig him into a deeper hole. I haven’t had this much fun in a while and I haven’t even said anything yet.

  But of course, Matthew has yet another excuse. “Friday is your sleepover night with Grandma and Papa.”

  Calypso sighs and rolls her eyes, hands settled on her little hips. This one has some serious gumption. I love it. “Then Saturday. And that’s my final offer.”

  Calypso’s staring at me and I’m staring at her. Matthew is still fumbling around trying to figure out how to get out of this, but something about this girl has me wanting to play along with whatever her game is. If there even is one.

  That’s actually probably a little conspiracy theory on my part. But I don’t care. Now I’m intrigued, so before Matthew can find another excuse, I blurt out, “Saturday it is.”

  Calypso smiles and leans down to pet Olaf again. Matthew is frozen in place, probably still trying to figure out what just happened. And Jamie is silently celebrating behind him where he can’t see her ridiculousness.

  She and I are going to have words later. I know she was trying to set me up and she thinks I just fell for it. She has no idea Matthew is the one who got duped this time.

  Before anyone can move, except Jamie, who is now twerking for some reason, I smile brightly at Matthew. “I need to get back to work, but I’m glad you got Olaf back. Text me the details for Saturday. Bye Calypso.”

  “Bye!” she calls out after me as I turn and walk away.

  It isn’t until I’m back at the counter feeding a raccoon that it hits me. I just allowed a six-year-old to invite me to dinner. With Matthew. Who I don’t like.

  I just got snowed by a kid.

  Chapter 7

  Matthew

  Saturday mornings growing up were spent sitting in front of the television with my brother, eating pancakes, and debating which Power Ranger was the best. Red. It’s the Red Power Ranger.

  Over the years, my weekend mornings went from pancakes to hangover cures in college before morphing into early morning feedings. Now that my little girl is older and spends her Friday nights with my folks, I spend my Saturdays catching up on laundry, paying bills, and squeezing a workout in before I pick her up for a day at the movies or park, weather permitting.

  Not today though. No, today I’m adding a trip to the grocery store to the list of to-dos instead of the park or movies. My little Sprite will not be too happy with the change of plans but hopefully she’ll remember the sacrifice the next time she thinks of inviting virtual strangers over to our house for dinner.

  Dinner. I’m still not certain how she managed to bamboozle me into this, but here we sit. Me making a shopping list on my phone while Olaf chases a bird in the backyard. Lucky guy, he doesn’t have to entertain a woman who until last week has only ignored me or made me feel like a complete idiot.

  Seeing Carrie in her own world has reminded me how different most of us in the book community are in real life. Sure, we dress up and put on a smile at the industry events and signings, putting our personal lives and problems to the side to give readers a great experience. As a cover model, I’ve spent enough time sitting to the right of Donna Moreno to see how excited the readers are to meet their favorite authors. The first time I saw Carrie at a signing, she looked at me like I was a nuisance. Granted, I was trying to make a point by hitting on her, but she still gave me the evil eye. Then at the NANA’s earlier this year, she reluctantly allowed me to buy her a drink but not before she warned me of her intentions. Or lack thereof.

  I think her attitude toward me in the past and the way she’s been the last two times I’ve seen her at Critter Keepers is what interests me most. I never know which version of her I’ll encounter, but as long as she grants me her megawatt smile at least once, it’s worth whatever snide comment I may have to endure.

  My phone chimes a reminder for me to leave and pick up Calypso from my parents’ house so I flip off the Bluetooth and lock up the house. The storm we had last week is a distant memory as I slip my shades on and drive with the window down. The sun is bright, warming my skin as I make the quick drive across town. Slowing as I turn onto my parents’ street, I see my dad walking a little behind my daughter who is pedaling her little legs like her life depends on it. She’s laughing, her curls sticking out beneath the bright purple helmet on her head.

  I pull up to the curb about a house distance from where she’s riding. When she spots me, a huge grin spreads across her face.

  “Daddy! Look at the cool bell Papa put on my bike,” she announces as she flips a little switch on her handle bar setting off a high-pitched whistling sound with each flick of her finger.

  “Oh wow. That’s really awesome. Pretty cool of Papa to put that on your bike at his house.” I look at my dad who smiles wide, a mischi
evous twinkle in his eye.

  He wouldn’t.

  “Don’t worry, he got me two. Can you believe that? One for my bike at home too. Papa is the best. Do I have to go home now?”

  Shooting a look to my dad that clearly conveys my appreciation for his kind gift for her bike at home, I shake my head before answering my daughter. “You finish your ride but make it quick, we have to go to the grocery store. I’ll go say hi to Grandma and grab your things.”

  With another flick of her thumb, she triggers her bell and then takes off again with my dad in tow. I make my way to my parents’ house and park in the driveway before letting myself inside. My mom is nowhere to be found so I start walking around, looking for her. As I turn toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms Darryl and I used to occupy as kids, she steps out of the bathroom and screams, her hand grasping her non-existent pearls.

  “Dear Lord, Matthew. You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Language, Mother,” I tease. Her response is a smack to my arm as she pushes me out of her way and back into the main living area.

  “I’m buying Dad a cuckoo clock for Christmas. I don’t care what you say. He’s getting paid back for that damn bell he’s sending home with Sprite.”

  Laughing, she opens the refrigerator door and begins pulling a few Tupperware containers from the fridge. As expected, my name is written across the top.

  “So, I hear you have a date tonight.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “Well, from what I hear a very pretty woman with princess hair who saves animals is going to be your guest for dinner. And, if memory serves, you haven’t entertained a woman in your home since… well, since I was over for tea with Sprite on Mother’s Day.”

  Choosing not to answer right away, I walk to the cupboard and pull a glass from the shelf and push the water dispenser from the refrigerator door. As I take a large drink for my suddenly parched mouth, I toss around what she said. I have always tried to keep any woman I’ve taken out separate from my life with Calypso. That’s why I don’t bring women home and I don’t do relationships. My primary focus is on my daughter and being the best parent I can. She only has one in her life full-time, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her feel like she’s missing out.

  “It’s not a date. Carrie was kind enough to let us know about finding Olaf and keeping him out of the system so we didn’t have to do a bunch of paperwork. We’re thanking her. Plus, it was Sprite’s idea, and she kind of steamrolled us both into it without asking first.”

  “Mm hmm. Well, I’m just happy to hear you’re doing something social that doesn’t involve a sports bar. I assume you’re making your famous chili and cornbread?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Just remember to take some Beano first.”

  •••

  The afternoon flew by and suddenly I’m rushing around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to shower and get dressed before Carrie arrives. The chili is simmering on the stove, and Sprite is cleaning up her room, so I have just enough time to wash the day off of me before our dinner guest arrives.

  We’ve exchanged a few texts today, mostly her making sure neither Calypso nor I have any food allergies. When I reminded her I was the one cooking, she said her mother would kill her if she showed up without something for her hosts. I hope whatever she brings, it isn’t a fruitcake or jello mold. Just thinking of either one makes me cringe as I slip a long-sleeved shirt over my head.

  I’m keeping it casual tonight with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black long-sleeved Henley, and no shoes. We rarely wear shoes in the house, and I figure this keeps it from looking like I put too much thought into the night. Adding a little product to my hair, I run my fingers through it, letting the strands do what they naturally want but always looking like I made an effort.

  Stopping by Calypso’s room, I see her small bedside lamp is on but she’s not in there. Then I hear it. A pair of giggles coming from the living room. One I recognize as my little girl while the other is that of a woman. Giggles mean smiles. Dammit. I’m a little too excited at the thought of Carrie smiling.

  Rounding the corner to the living room, I watch as my little girl drags Carrie by the hand, showing her each piece of furniture and where we keep everything. Maybe I should entertain more often. It’s clear my daughter doesn’t understand boundaries.

  “And this is where my daddy keeps his big thing of powder. He says it helps him make muscles. I think it smells like Olaf’s farts after he digs in the trash.”

  Carrie laughs, and because I’m afraid she’ll take her on a tour of my bathroom and show her where my waxing kit is stored, I clear my throat. Both ladies turn to face me, the taller one smiling while the little one scowls.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi. Calypso was just giving me a tour.”

  “I see that. Hey, Sprite, why don’t you check and see if Olaf needs water and give him a biscuit.”

  She hesitates for only a beat before dropping Carrie’s hand and skipping to the mudroom where we keep the bin of dog treats. Fiddling with her hands, Carrie shifts on her feet. Awkwardness rolls off both of us, neither of us speaking a word and then we hear it.

  “Olaf! Where are you? I have your biscuit. You better not be drinking toilet water, I’m not sure I flushed!”

  Covering my face with my hand, I let out a groan at the same time Carrie starts laughing. It isn’t a quiet laugh. Or even very ladylike. This is more of a cackle with a weird honking sound. Is she part goose? When she snorts, I lose it and join her hysterics.

  “She says whatever comes to her mind, doesn’t she?”

  “You have no idea. Can I get you something to drink? Glass of wine? Water?” I ask, turning into the kitchen and stirring the chili.

  “Water is fine. I brought dessert. Just some cupcakes from my favorite bakery. I hope you like bacon and maple syrup.”

  Eyes wide, I fill her glass of water and slide it over before asking, “On a cupcake?”

  Nodding her head, she takes a sip from her glass as a small smile appears over the rim. I’m glad she told me now so I can avoid that second bowl of chili and save room for cupcakes.

  “You have a beautiful home. It’s not what I expected at all.”

  “Thanks, I think. It took me a few years but I can officially say it’s complete.”

  “You did the work yourself?”

  Before I can respond, Olaf runs through the room barking with Sprite hot on his heels. She’s scolding him about messing with her socks as she chases him into the backyard. We watch their antics in silence before I turn my attention back to my house guest.

  “I had some help but a majority of the remodel I did myself.”

  “Wow. That’s cool. I can’t even hang a picture with tape let alone practically build a new house. Are you some sort of construction guy? A house flipper?”

  Shaking my head, I tell her the one thing I don’t let anyone in the book world know about me outside of a few authors.

  “Nah, I’m a financial advisor.”

  Her eyes are as big as saucers as Calypso bounds back into the room and lets loose a belch that would make any fraternity member proud.

  I guess Carrie’s laugh isn’t the only unladylike thing around here.

  Chapter 8

  Carrie

  I considered cancelling a few times this week. Okay, many times. I considered cancelling many times. But whenever I picked up the phone to text Matthew an excuse, I was reminded of Calypso’s determination for me to break bread with them.

  I’m probably reading into her behavior way more than necessary, but I was intrigued by what made this dinner so important to her. Is it because in her mind I found Olaf, so she really is trying to be polite like her grandma taught her? Is it because she doesn’t have a mom and she is craving the attention of a woman? Is it because I’m the nice animal lady and she’s an animal lover? I get that a lot, especially when school field trips roll through the facility.

&
nbsp; And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what goes through the mind of an overthinker. No wonder I’m always tired. The gerbils never stop running on the wheel inside this brain. Sometimes they run really fast and hit me with a great idea. Some of my best blog posts come with the rapid thoughts after I finish an amazing book. But mostly, they’re just huffing and puffing and trying not to fall off.

  It’s been suggested over the years that I may need a tiny bit of medicinal help to keep my scatterbrained thoughts under control. Those who have suggested, namely my mother and Jamie, are probably not wrong. I am scatterbrained and have all the classical characteristics of some form of attention deficit. But until I burn my house down or forget to pay all my bills, I’m too lazy to pursue that avenue. There are better things to do with my time. Like read all the books. And save all the animals. And figure out why a six-year-old child wants me over for dinner.

  So I’m glad I didn’t cancel. Not only will it satisfy some of my curiosity about this man who is very different than what the rumors would suggest, but it’s oddly relaxing around here. Not that I expected chaos. I just didn’t expect to feel so comfortable. Maybe it’s because Matthew is barefoot. That simple gesture makes this entire scenario feel more casual. It’s just a couple people making chili and hoping it takes long enough to digest for me to get home to my own bathroom. Really, I know chili is easy to make, but it seems like that might put all of us in a bad predicament if we aren’t careful.

  Matthew is putting the final touches on dinner while Calypso is off somewhere washing her hands. I’m taking advantage of the moment and perusing the framed pictures scattered across the small built-in bookshelf. One of them catches my eye.

  “Is that”—I point to a picture—“the Sydney Opera House behind you?”

  He places the pot of steaming chili on the table and takes off his oven mitts. “Yeah. I’m standing on top of Harbour Bridge there.”

  I turn back around to take a closer look and sure enough, he has a harness around his waist and is wearing a blue jumpsuit.