Match This! (The UnSocial Dater#1)

by Mj Fields

  “Katherine,” she gasps as she comes out in her pink terrycloth bathrobe. “What have you done?”

  “What have I done?” I gasp. “What have you done!”

  “What? I am a single woman, an adult, a–”

  “Text whore!” I snap.

  “Painted up walking disease!” she snaps back.

  I can’t help but laugh. Not a funny ha ha laugh, a disgusted laugh. “DTF, FWB, DUM, DUSL, FB, Q2C, do you even know what that means!”

  “Of course I do!” she says.

  “So you’re down to fuck, the thirty-year old kid with the sideways hat who is probably more like twenty?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “DTF Mom, I’m not stupid. I know what it means and apparently so do you and the fucking —”

  “Your mouth!” she yells.

  “Your vagina!” I yell back.

  I look at the clock as she stands there speechless and I shake my head. “Google Mom. It’s your friend. I’m going to be late—”

  “I need your help!” she cries out.

  “You need help, that’s for sure.” I shake my head as I down another glass of water and head towards the door.

  “Katherine, I need you,” she cries.

  “I need to go to work, have a good one,” I say as I open the door and shut it behind me.

  I hop in my Q60 and put the top down. She’s standing in her robe on my porch yelling something. I crank up the radio; pull down my shades, and wave goodbye, all the while ignoring the itch in my middle finger to flip her off.

  She’s done lost her damn mind.

  I grip the steering wheel with one hand and try to ignore the anger boiling inside of me. Anger is an emotion some may think I embrace, it’s not. Annoyance yes, people are fucking annoying. Let me be more clear, women are annoying. Let me be totally unambiguous, my Mom-ster, is the epitome of annoyance.

  Does that make me an ungrateful little bitch? I don’t give a damn if anyone thinks so. The woman is a grade A pain in the ass. The leash she attached to me from the day I was born was seemingly connected to an invisible choke collar. The Mom-ster gave it a damn tug every chance she got, until I flew my flags in the air the day I left Harvard University.

  I walked after my very first semester.

  Ass-Professor-Dick-Wads-Worth, was my first fuck. I didn’t know he was an assistant professor at the college I was attending. My first night free from the Mom-ster, I let loose. I fucked a random stranger to rid myself of my ‘virtue’, a big fuck you to the Mom-ster. Lo and behold, he ended up being my History in Literature assistant professor and we became socially secluded ‘lovers under covers’. It was cool, he said he loved me, I made the mistake of allowing myself the ‘fairytale’…the disillusion, and told him I loved him too. We fucked for a semester, and then I found him fucking the bitch professor he worked for.

  The end.

  It wasn’t for me. Reality was, I knew the ho bag professor set it up so I would find out and right then and there I decided I would not spend four years of my life looking at either one of them. Not that I was lovesick or heartbroken, I wasn’t. After a long chat with myself, I realized I felt ignorant, embarrassed, stupid. Feelings and I are not friends. So I snipped the cord attaching me to those damn feeling things.

  I went back to my home and told the ‘rents’ I wasn’t going back. Mom-ster flipped her shit. Laid on the guilt and I walked out the door.

  I hopped in a cab with one fucking suitcase to head back to New Jersey, back to where I was raised until the Mom-ster got her claws on another collar… of sorts.

  The bus ride next to Greasy Gus, the mid-forties comb-over dude, who was apparently immune to deodorant and allergic to showers, with the wondering eyes and the apparent inability to hold a fart, was so worth it.

  I showed up in Wildwood and as soon as my feet touched pavement, Steph’s older sister Jamie was there to pick me up. Steph was skiing with her folks in Colorado; we had the house to ourselves for a week.

  Jamie invited a few friends over for a party and the damn thing lasted three days. It was wild, so fucking wild. Alcohol, pot, pills, artists, hot fucking men…and women everywhere.

  Joel, I don’t remember his last name. He was about five foot ten, dark hair, dark eyes, killer ‘Fuck You’ attitude, and a case with a tattoo machine and all the supplies needed to ink someone.

  I sucked face with him, let him cop a feel, copped a few of my own and was shocked by what I felt when I shoved my hand below his jeans.

  Peen. There is something seriously hot about it. The soft skin is sexy, the way it grows with needs and desire to be inside something hot, wet, and tight is a fucking turn on, but then add a steel bar or five lining the underside of his dick, I needed to feel it inside of me.

  He wanted me, told me so, as much as I wanted to feel that connection with the steel on his dick, and with someone other than Ass-Professor-Dick-Wads-Worth. I wasn’t ready to start racking up the numbers either.

  He inked the pocket watch on my foot, I did the chain. He told me I was naturally talented. I found out later that night, he was too, with his tongue and his steel dick.

  After two days of fucking him, I felt those little bastard feelings return. I cut that shit quick.

  I walked again.

  ****

  As I drive into work I can still see evidence of Hurricane Sandy’s devastation. It was only about two years after I left Albany and returned to New Jersey on the bus, that the storm left the shore scarred forever.

  In ruin there is a beauty, it’s obscure and I’m not sure anyone would ever say those words out loud, but there is a nonsensical truth in it nonetheless.

  Dark and hidden from what the average person allows themselves to behold, and that is also nonsensical.

  My phone rings through the speakers in the car and I hit the hands free to answer.

  “Darby, aren’t you in Italy?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “Just wanted to see how you were doing?”

  “Me?” I almost laugh because that is so un-Darby like. The girl is in that ‘Me’ phase that most girls are at her age, it’s all about her. Some people have a problem with that, me, not so much.

  “Yes,” she sighs dramatically, “and Mom.”

  “Mom?” I bark out a laugh.

  “She’s having a hard time, Kat,” her whisper is so soft I almost can’t hear her.

  “Darby, what the fuck is going on with you. Didn’t I raise you better than this? You are acting like you have—feelings.” I make a gagging sound.

  “I do have feelings, Kat, and-”

  “You have your period?”

  “Kat!” she yells and there’s my crazy redheaded sister.

  “Hey babe, glad you’re back, I missed you.”

  “I’m serious,” she almost hisses at me.

  “Great, serious doesn’t mean bitchy kid—”

  “I’m not a kid,” she hisses for real this time.

  “I have no idea what has gotten into you but—”

  “Of course you don’t, you checked out when you went to college.”

  I sigh dramatically, because well, it’s drama and I don’t often allow it into my life, but it’s Darby, I let her live as a ‘Me’ baby, now she’s kind of mine forever. “You know that’s not true.”

  “It’s so very true,” she huffs.

  “When you get back from Italy, come stay with me, end of summer would be best, I can take four or five days off—”

  “Four or five whole days for me,” she says in a tone dripping with sarcasm and insolence.

  “You know it’s the busy season with tourists on the shore. This winter during break, you can come stay then too.”

  “Be nice to Mom and maybe I will.” The threat in her tone makes me laugh. “I’m serious, Katherine.”

  I am shocked at the change in her, but I remember being her age. She lets it all out. I held it all in and distributed it into little nonsensical glitter bombs and let
it all fly away.

  “Hey, Darby?”

  “What?”

  “I miss you too.”

  “I have to go,” she grumbles but I hear sadness and not anger.

  “Text me when you’ll be back from Italy, we’ll make plans.”

  “Whatever,” she whispers.

  “I fucking promise,” I say with a smile that only Darby and a handful of friends get.

  “We can’t shake on it,” she sighs.

  “We will. Our promises are fucking promises,” I say all loud and obnoxiously like she usually would.

  “Yeah, except that one time,” she huffs.

  “Love you, Darby,” I say.

  “Yeah, ciao.”

  The phone goes dead and I hit the steering wheel control.

  “Except that one time,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Throw Down Thursday

  When I walk in the back door of FS Ricco is in the employee lounge making a cup of coffee. “Hey.” I hold up the large Dunkin’ Donuts cup. “Right here.”

  He nods. “You’re late.”

  “Late-ish,” I correct him and set his cup down on the table. “Still fifteen minutes ahead.”

  “Normally half an hour,” he says and takes a drink from the cup he just made.

  “Fine, fuck you, I’ll drink them both.” I roll my eyes and go to grab the cup.

  “Back off my cup, Kat,” he says and raises his eyebrow.

  I flip him off as I turn to hang up my purse. I turn around and all three of them are standing there staring at me.

  “What?” I scowl.

  “Back in Black,” Zack sort of sings the damn AC/DC lyrics.

  “Seriously get over it.” I roll my eyes and pick up my cup and Ricco’s.

  “Kat,” he warns.

  “You shouldn’t have brought, Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” I say walking out of the breakroom with two large coffees in my hands.

  “Which one of us is dumb?” Zack laughs from behind me.

  “Do you even have to ask?” I say over my shoulder and see Ricco walking out towards me.

  I’m not afraid of him, but I’m pretty sure I pissed him off which was the intention. Asshole should have never brought them to my place.

  I sit down at the reception desk and start to set the cups down when one gets snatched out of my hand.

  “Don’t mess with the coffee, Kat,” he says and then takes a drink.

  “Don’t mess with me, it’s too damn early.”

  “It’s nearly eleven in the morning,” he says hooking his boot around the base of the chair next to mine and dragging it to him.

  He sits and leans forward resting his elbow on his knees. “You kill her yet?”

  “What?”

  “Your mother? She still alive?”

  I shake my head.

  “No?” he asks.

  “Yes, she’s still alive.” I look away and flip on the computer.

  “She pissed off at you?” he asks.

  I look over at him, “Why?”

  “Well she—”

  “Look, this,” I throw a hand in the air and motion around the room, “this is work. At work we don’t talk about my private life.”

  “Right. At work you wear black and act all bad ass. At home you wear unicorn shirts, shorts, and baseball socks yanked up to those knobby knees of yours,” Marcus laughs.

  I look over at him. “Who the hell asked you?”

  “You’ve been found out,” Zack says leaning against the desk. “We now know for sure, you don’t live in a cave, sleep in a coffin, and drink the blood of virgin twinks—”

  “No, we aren’t sure about that yet man,” Marcus laughs. “May not have been red wine.”

  “Unless you two want me to reach down your throats and pull your balls out your mouths I would shut the fuck up,” I say turning away from them.

  “Ease up boys, we’re all one big happy family here.” Ricco's warning is way too jovial.

  I turn and look at him, roll my eyes and look around. “No, we’re not.”

  “Right,” he says as he stands. “Looks like my appointment has arrived.”

  I look up and over the desk. “Margret Snatcher again?” He looks at me oddly. “Look at her.” I nod at the glass storefront windows. “Bitch is getting out of that 2004 Escalade like it’s a fucking Rolls Royce, wearing last season’s Louis Vuitton pumps like they’re this season’s. Bitch thinks she’s the queen.”

  He shakes his head and the boys laugh.

  “Is there anywhere else to ink that bitch?” None of her work is visible. “Needs to be able to be covered darlin’,” I say mocking her. “I’m a professional. Can’t let everyone know the freak that’s hiding inside.”

  “Ease up Kat, we all have our own shit,” Ricco says and the door swings open.

  “It’s like coming home,” she says smiling brightly and I spot the red lipstick on her teeth. “I’m ready to do it up today Ricco Suave. Let’s give the goods some sparkle and pizazz.”

  “Snatcher,” I whisper under my breath and Ricco kicks my foot under the desk.

  “Kat, dear, you and I should go shopping sometime,” she says walking past me like she owns the joint. “Set it up, send me one of those little text message reminder thingies y’all send.”

  Before I have a chance to tell her I would rather give a blowjob to Sasquatch and choke on a million pubic hairs, Ricco chimes in. “Meet you back in my room, Mags.”

  “Such a tease,” she laughs. “I have a special surprise for you today, Ricco.”

  I start to say something and his big old finger points at me. “No.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing,” he grumbles, picks up my phone, and hands it to me. “You need to deal with this.”

  “Deal with what?” I take my phone and flip it over. Twenty missed calls and three text messages…from the Mom-ster. Irritation flairs inside me and I direct it at him. “How the hell did you see the screen?”

  “Phone’s skating on every surface you’ve put it down on, Kat. Gonna be a rough enough week. Need to deal with that so it doesn’t get worse.”

  He walks away and the phone rings again and I answer, “Yes?”

  “I’m so angry at you,” she sobs.

  “At me or at yourself?” I ask honestly.

  “I am coming to see you,” she says and I swear I hear a door shut.

  “No, no you’re not. I’m at work.”

  If she only knew, I laugh to myself.

  I look up and look around still laughing to make sure no one sees me, they don’t, but the gates of hell, or the drivers side door of the Mom-ster’s Buick opens up and I want to die.

  I watch her as she looks at her phone and then around as if she is looking for what I know is me.

  “Is that your Mom?” Marcus says from behind me and I jump.

  “If she comes in here, tell her I don’t work here,” I say as I grab my phone and turn to run out the back.

  Marcus grabs my elbow. “First, that shit’s not gonna work, second.” I hear the doorbell chime. “Too late.”

  “Katherine?” I hear her gasp.

  I take a deep breath and turn around to face her. “Mom.”

  She shakes her head and looks around. “I don’t understand? Do you work here?”

  “I have for almost four years now,” I say as I walk around the reception desk.

  FS doesn’t look like your typical tattoo parlor. The storefront doesn’t have price lists or pictures of tattoos or anything tacky. The owners took pride in the place and showcased their love of art.

  The white walls and the concrete flooring give the place an industrial feel, however, the art hanging on the walls, the paintings, the photographs are all lit up with track lighting and the pillars hold sculptures and pottery.

  Her eyes go to a black and white charcoal drawing of a tree with cards in place of leaves on the branches and floating in the air.

  “This is yours. It’s beautiful,
Katherine.” She stands in front of it looking up. “You truly are a gifted artist.”

  The door opens and Rozz walks in. “Hey Kat,” he says with a smile. I give him a nod.

  My mother turns and looks at him. She takes a deep breath and walks towards him. “I’m Katherine’s mother, Carrie.”

  He sticks out his big old paw and she shakes his hand. “Your daughter is an amazing artist.”

  “Thank you, are you here to buy one of her pieces?”

  Fuck, I think.

  “I am a frequent purchaser,” he smiles then pulls up the arm of his shirt and points to his sleeve. “These are my boys, all three of them. Wife just gave me a girl.” He points to the only blank spot on his arm. “She’s going right there.”

  “That’s—” she smiles and nods not finishing her sentence and I want to crawl under the desk.

  “No one else can put her there like your daughter. Wouldn’t trust anyone else, she’s the best,” he smiles and nods, “I’ll meet you back there.”

  “Be back in just a minute.” I nod and then turn and look at my mom.

  Her face is expressionless, but only for a moment, then she shakes her head. “You are so smart, Katherine, and you walked away from Harvard to do this?”

  “Art Mom, I’ve always loved it, so yes I walked away to do this.”

  “All that intelligence and this,” she points at the drawing, “talent and you permanently mark not only someone else’s body but yours?”

  I walk out of the shop and she follows like I know she will. She’s waiting for a fight and it’s not happening in the shop.

  “Katherine Anne Teresa, where are you going?” she asks following me.

  I walk around the back of her car knowing she is on my heels. I turn around and look at her. “You need to leave. This is where I work I will not have you trample my happiness.”

  “Your happiness?” She huffs. I take her key fob from her hands and hit the unlock. “Katherine, you are so much better than this.”

  “Than what Mom?” I am getting angry. She opens her mouth and I hold my hand up. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  “Katherine, wait,” she calls after me.

  I don’t.

  ****

  Drunk, I sit forward laughing in Macey’s car to hold onto the dashboard. “Thanks for picking me up bitch,” I say as she pulls into my driveway.