25 to Wife

by J. C. Robinson

“You know, I’m going to miss chatting with you while I stand here deteriorating,” he said.

  “Well, I do have a number,” I replied.

  “Oh?” His smile reached incredible proportions, absolutely stunning me. “In that case, let me give you mine.” He still had that disarming smile going as he recited his number for me to put into my phone. “I hope you’re not going to make me wait three days for a text,” he said.

  “Can I at least finish my coffee first?”

  “You do what you gotta do.” He leaned forward and his low, yet soft, voice washed over me, forcing goosebumps up my arms. “Just know I'm risking my job for you now.”

  “Not allowed to talk?”

  He shook his head. “I got in trouble earlier for talking to another Target employee.” He stood there and let it sink in. “Yeah, exactly. But meeting you is worth a few slaps on the wrist.” He winked.

  Once this guy got going, I really liked what he had to say. “Oh don’t worry, you'll be hearing from me sooner than three days, Mr. Security. Permission to go drink my coffee?”

  “Granted.”

  I plopped myself down in my car a few minutes later, thoughts of drinking my coffee lost in the back of my mind. This Paul guy was alluring. This was one mistake I almost wanted to make. I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.

  This fast enough?

  I leaned back on the headrest and closed my eyes. My phone buzzed shortly after.

  Just right. Hey, I’m almost off anyways. Why don’t you come back in and drink that coffee with me?

  The butterflies swarmed my stomach at record speed. I took two deep breaths and responded.

  Sure.

  Well, this was unexpected. My limbs wouldn’t sit still. My whole body was jittery. I chuckled to myself as I realized that’s what normal people call ‘anticipation’. Had I really forgotten what that was? I opened my car door and was halfway down the parking lot when I realized I had left my coffee behind. I shook my head and turned around.

  ----

  “Didn’t think you’d come back,” Paul said as I walked in through the automatic doors.

  “You could have asked me to stay before I walked all the way out to my car,” I responded.

  He shrugged. “I was distracted.”

  “Oh… by what?”

  “Your excellent conversation?” He shrugged again.

  “Oh, man. Just tell me when you get off.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Two minutes. I just have to go take off all this junk.” He gestured to his badge and his belt adorned with walkie-talkie and handcuffs.

  “Okay, I’ll wait at the wonderful Target cafe. Hurry or my coffee will get cold.”

  “It probably already is,” he said, walking away. He turned and flashed a final smile before disappearing into an office. I could think about that smile for hours. I was sure my face was just as smiley in his presence – hopefully he found it as alluring I found his. Taking a seat at the cafe, I pulled out my phone and texted Stacy.

  So… kinda found this new guy…

  She responded with the mischievous devil-face emoji.

  Stacy, can’t a girl get a coffee without your mind going to the craziest scenarios?

  I didn’t read her reply as Paul showed up, sitting down across from me. He still wore his uniform, this time sans badge and other utilities. “Finally,” he sighed. “This job is something else.”

  I rose an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  “Where to start, where to start... I’ll give you a quick rundown. I get in trouble if I don’t keep the walkie-talkie on when I go to the bathroom. And when winter comes? Well, it might be warmer in Antartica! I have to wear a long shirt and underwear just to be comfortable - it gets really cold as everyone walks in and out, bringing that winter air in. For eight hours.” He exhaled before leaning forward. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “I teach Pre-K,” I said. “I have a particularly difficult kid this year, but it’s fun.”

  “What’s so bad about the kid?”

  I took a moment to think.

  “That bad, huh?” he asked.

  “Pretty much,” I answered. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Maybe we can do something this weekend, then. You can forget about your students and I can forget about the customers here. Sometimes they act like they’re practically children as well.”

  I couldn’t get a read on him. One moment he seemed reserved, the next he was pretty forward with what he wanted. I’d have to accept this date proposal so I could figure him out. Not that I needed an excuse to accept, but my brain liked to rationalize each guy that was surely going to turn out to be my next distraction. “Okay, Paul. What did you have in mind?”

  “That’s a good question.” His hand stroked his chin in contemplation. “No idea. What about you?”

  “Well, I was planning on getting a good hike in this weekend.”

  “If you want company, I’m in,” he said.

  What? To say that was a surprise was an understatement. The last five guys I had asked had all declined. They’d rather go to a bar or somewhere closer to their place.

  “But wait…” he said.

  Here comes the excuse.

  “Are we talking walking-hiking? Like casual, nice-views hiking? Or something like Everest-hiking?”

  That wasn’t the excuse I was expecting. “No climbing involved,” I said. “I promise.” The tightness in my chest that I hadn’t realized was gathering, released as relief washed over me. “I’ll text you when I figure out which trail I want to hit.” The corner of his mouth twitched with that last statement – I must have sounded quite eager.

  “Sounds like a plan to me - I’m looking forward to it.”

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “Nowadays, not too much,” he said. “Just trying to figure my life out.”

  “Tell me about it.” I didn’t know myself how much longer I would last with the cyclical go-to-work, wrangle-with-kids, go-on-bad-date pattern. “What did you go to school for?” I asked, trying not to let such awful distractions ruin my surprisingly pleasant date.

  “Computer science,” he answered.

  “Oh, are you trying to get into that field?”

  “I was already in it.” His jaw tensed slightly. “But, I had to… switch careers. What about you?”

  “I was a speech pathologist before I became a teacher, so I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades.” Just thinking back to my speech pathology days sent shivers down my spine. It paid well, but it wasn’t worth the stress of being overworked. And the constant intensity of care that my clients required? I shuddered at the memory.

  “Bad daydream?” he asked. He looked to have lost his tension from a moment ago.

  “Yeah, speech was not a great time in my life,” I answered. “Have you ever worked over forty hours a week? It’s awful.”

  “I can barely do forty.” He crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t make it.”

  “Can I ask why you left computer science?”

  “Hmm,” he said, leaning onto the table, deep in thought. “Usually I don’t put out such personal information on a first date, but I will tell you if you tell me something of equal or greater value.”

  “How am I supposed to know what the value is I’m trying to match?”

  “Do your best.”

  What could I tell him? The cruel and racist mother? The imprisoned father? I chuckled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing. Just laughing at how I have such great options to share.” I paused and took a breath. “My dad’s in prison. He’s been in there for a while. I don’t consider him much of a father, but I do still visit him, for some reason.”

  Paul’s eyes grew wide, then shot to the floor. “Oh, shit.”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t know anything else to share. Do I need to go into details or is that sufficient?”

  His eyes slowly picked up from the floor and he bit his lip, avoiding eye contact. “Ye
ah, that’s good.” While he paused, and stared off into the distance, I heard his foot begin to tap against the linoleum floor.

  “Was that too much?” I asked. Did I blow it already? He had asked to share something personal… Resisting the urge to slam my head to the table, I took a sip of my forgotten coffee. It was cold but I drank it anyway, waiting for his response.

  “No, it wasn’t too much.” His eyes finally met mine. “I left computer science because…”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I interrupted.

  “I can tell you next time? On the hike?”

  “Sure,” I agreed, but I knew from his reaction there would be no hike. He would wait until we weren’t in person to send a text with feigned empathy. Apparently, I couldn’t win even when the guy was normal. At that point I could leave it to my family to mess things up. Even if I got past the first or second date, any normal guy would want to run when he realized I had the worst parents. My shaking hand resisted the urge to dump my coffee on the floor.

  “I’m excited,” he said, looking anything but. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

  “Sure.” If he wanted to, who was I to turn down the offer?

  “Cool.” He flashed a brief smile that was just enough to remind me of the wide grin that had disappeared when I brought up my father. I threw away my cold coffee and we made it to my car.

  “This is it,” I said.

  “It’s nice.” He turned and looked at me. “So, text me later?”

  Now I was confused. What was going on? Did he want me to text him or not? Why was he still standing there like he wanted a kiss? I was thoroughly confused. “Yeah, definitely. How else would we plan the hike?” I teased. Leaning forward, I placed a small kiss on his cheek. If I was reading the situation wrong and he still did like me, I wanted to preserve our first kiss for a better mood.

  His hand went up to his cheek and the corners of his mouth curled in an involuntary grin. “Well then, I’ve got to head home now… I’ll see you tomorrow.” With a final look at me, he turned and walked away toward his car. I was still puzzled, but I had hope that maybe he wouldn’t punish me for having shitty parents.

  Four

  Kelsey

  “Well, you’re quiet tonight.” Stacy said, as she picked up a fry and threw it into her mouth.

  “I’m confused,” I said. Stacy and I had met up for a debriefing session after my impromptu date with Paul, but it wasn’t helping much. “Usually the guys are just straight-up awful, so it’s easy to figure them out. Guy picks his nose on the date and wipes it on his shirt? Dropped. Guy says I love you on the first date? Dropped. But when this guy is so intelligent and handsome… and with that charming smile, I don’t know what to do.”

  “One.” Stacy held up a finger. “What guy has ever said I love you on the first date? Have you been watching ‘How I Met Your Mother’ again?”

  “No comment.”

  “And two, why don’t you just ask him?”

  “Hmm.” Why didn’t I? Why was I driving myself insane trying to wonder what had nearly scared him off. Had I offended him? I sighed as I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Are you happy? I’ll ask him now.” I whipped an exasperated look at her.

  “Absolutely,” she said, giving me two thumbs up. I grinned and threw a fry at her, nearly missing her as she ducked. “Now that’s not very ladylike of you, is it?” she grinned.

  “Do you want me to text him or not? You’re distracting me.” I pulled up Paul’s number and typed at least four messages before I settled on one to actually send.

  Hey, can I ask you a question?

  Having someone ask if they can ask you a question was pretty annoying, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Nothing to lose, I thought as I hit send. “Okay, what was it you were saying? Something about being ladylike? You know I have my moments...” I rolled my eyes.

  Stacy knew that when I talked about my hobbies, almost everyone was surprised that they didn’t involving heels or Pinterest. Knowing how much it irked me, she loved to poke fun at that. Sometimes a girl just wanted to be able to try rugby without getting a thousand side-eyes – keyword being try. It turned out not to be for me, but hey, that’s why you explore.

  “I’m glad you finally sent it,” she said, snapping me out of my mental rant. “You should have asked him hours ago.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Stacy had a way with relationships. I didn’t know how she did it, and I didn’t think she knew herself. She got whatever she wanted, not even through manipulation. Good communication, sacrifice, and all those buzz-words relationship counselors mentioned, she could do them all. I’d been waiting years, but they hadn’t rubbed off on me yet. Instead, I was stuck with my daddy issues. “Shit – Stacy, does he think I have daddy issues?”

  “Well,” she swallowed a bite. “Don’t you?” She tilted her head like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar noise.

  “In a way… I guess.” Truth be told, I had no idea what the definition of daddy issues was, but if it had something to do with a crappy father, I figured I had them. I didn’t know much about him, and he knew even less about me.

  “So don’t worry about it. You want a guy that doesn’t mind a girl with a shitty dad. Hell, he should be offering to drive you up and hold your hand during a visit.”

  Suddenly I slipped into another daydream, picturing myself walking into the the prison during my somewhat-regular visit. But I pictured myself with Paul this time, hand in hand. My reverie was shattered when I realized there was no way that something about Paul’s race wouldn’t be the first thing out of my lovely parents’ mouth.

  “Kelsey, why are you grinning?” Stacy wiped her mouth with her napkin. She looked down at my barely touched food and shook her head.

  “I’ve had a lot of thoughts about what would happen when I visit my dad,” I answered.

  “But what about that is a pleasant thought?”

  “Well, the part that Paul comes along with me, and my dad freaks out because he’s black.”

  “Kelsey, Kelsey.” Stacy’s head shook side to side. “You are a troublemaker.”

  “Can I blame it on ‘How I Met Your Mother’? I probably shouldn’t be daydreaming about him after half a date.”

  “What’ve you got to lose?” Stacy asked.

  I couldn’t think of a damn thing.

  Five

  Paul

  At my grandma’s house, I sat on the tan couch that was older than I was. I had stopped by to drop off some groceries, and to pick up some of her delicious macaroni.

  “I was so excited, too. She was so personable,” I called into the kitchen, eyes mindlessly roaming the room. “What are the odds her father is in prison? Seriously? Mema, that’s just my luck.” I let loose a resigned sigh.

  My grandma shuffled into the room with a tray of soda and baked chicken. “You didn’t need to cook me something. You know I have to leave soon, right?” I asked.

  She gave me a stare and said, “Well, you’ve got to eat something, Paul,” as she placed the tray onto my lap.

  I picked up the fork and poked at the green beans as she shuffled back into the kitchen. “Were you even listening to what I said?”

  She stopped and turned back toward me. “Of course. Is the food hot enough? I can throw it back in the microwave for a wee bit if it’s too cold.”

  I picked up a piece of chicken and tested it against my tongue. “Mema! The food is already scalding as it is.” I laughed and cracked open the orange soda she had given me, pouring it into the glass. I took a sip. My tongue was feeling much better. The food was never hot enough for her. If she didn’t ask you if you was warm enough, I knew it wasn’t actually my grandma.

  “Well, eat up!” She gestured to the food. Her hands, wet from the sink, sprayed a bit of water onto me. “And if this girl is a keeper, she will like you for who you are, not where you’ve been. She won’t lump you in with her dad just because you both spent a few years in a similar place.” Her voice faded as she ente
red the kitchen.

  “But Mema, that place is prison.” The smell of the food got to me, and I found myself digging in, “It’s a little different.” I heard her suck her teeth in the kitchen. “I don’t know grandma, my track record after getting out isn’t so hot. No one wants me anymore.” Especially not my old job. The thing was, I didn’t even love that job. But it gave me a sense of security, and I felt like I was actually a contributing member of society. That was what I regretted most about being shipped off to prison. Not the wasted two years of my life, not the relationships I had lost. Nope – it was the fact that I now had to deal with Target, forty hours a week.

  “The right person will want you, Paul. You’re young. What, twenty-six?” Mema walked out of the kitchen with a plate of rolls. “Almost forgot the rolls.” Her eyes twinkled with that grandmotherly care as she placed them on the coffee table in front of the couch. My own eyes just rolled, because my stomach did have room for all this food.

  “Yes, twenty-six. I’m getting old,” I said.

  “Do you know how old I am?” Her hands went to her hips.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t remember.”

  “Exactly.” She cracked a smile. “Are the rolls warm enough?”

  I reached out and grabbed one, taking a bite and placing it on my plate. “Yep,” I said with a mouthful. “I hope you’re right.”

  She went over to the couch across the room and sat down. “Aren’t I always right?”

  “Yes Mema, you are.” I tilted my wrist toward me, checking the time. “Oh, I’ve gotta go soon.”

  “Make sure you grab the food by the door,” she said.

  “I will.” I picked up the pace I was eating, shoveling a few bites into my mouth at the same time. The food was delicious – I looked forward to the leftovers when I got home later. Maybe Kelsey would text me again tonight – home was lonely ever since I got out of prison. Friends and family had flocked away in droves, except for Mema. She stuck by me. I smiled to myself, finishing my last bite, then picked up my dishes and brought them to the sink.