by J. J. Murray
I have to ask. “Did Marie want eight or nine or ten children?”
“No,” Dylan said. “She was too proud of her figure. She was extremely vain. Working out all the time, fixing her hair and makeup for hours, and she really didn’t like kids at all. Not like you do.”
Hope traced a heart on the back of his hand. “Am I anything like her?”
He shook his head. “No.” He smiled. “Not at all, and that’s what I’m learning to love about you. You’re like no one else in the world.”
Neither are you, Dylan. “You didn’t have any ulterior motives for taking me to the playground today, did you?”
“Of course not,” he said.
“Right,” Hope said. “You wanted to see me in action.”
“Okay, you have figured me out,” Dylan said. “I had a feeling you would be good with children, but you amazed me. You are a natural with children. They are drawn to you, pun intended. You had Deja talking up a storm.”
“She’s not usually talkative?”
“No,” Dylan said. “I couldn’t get anything but the word ‘butterfly’ out of her, and I’ve been coming here and knowing her for over a year.”
“She said you weren’t very good at butterflies.”
“See why I need you?” He squeezed her shoulder. “Without you, there will be no recognizable butterflies in Brownsville. Please consider joining us this week at Kinderstuff. We’d make a good team there, too.”
He wants more of me in his life, and this scares and excites me. Seeing him every morning, maybe sometimes at lunch, finishing the day with him covered in paint or glue or chalk. I’ve never felt more needed and wanted. “I will be there.”
“What day?” Dylan asked.
“I don’t know,” Hope said. Maybe every day. I figure I could get off three hours early six hundred times and still have vacation days left over. She drifted her fingers over his leg. “You’ll probably get sick of me.”
“Not a chance.” He kissed her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For everything.” He looked out the window as they came to another stop. He jumped to his feet. “Let’s get off here.”
“This isn’t our stop, is it?”
He shook his head and grabbed the backpack. “It’s dinnertime. I know you’re hungry.”
For more than food. “I suppose I could eat.”
He took her hand and led her off the train. “I know a place where we can increase our bad cholesterol . . .”
They went to Dutch Boy Burger on Franklin, where they inhaled Dutch burgers with mushrooms and onions, Abita root beer, and toasted-marshmallow milkshakes.
There had to be at least one thousand calories in the milkshake alone.
“Aren’t you gaining weight, too?” Hope asked as they took a leisurely stroll to her apartment.
“I’m actually losing weight,” he said.
“That can’t be true,” Hope said.
“There is more than one kind of weight,” he said softly.
True.
“When I get back to my place tonight and take off this backpack, I will feel much lighter,” Dylan said. “That’s how the last few days with you have made me feel. I’m losing the weight of regret, you know?”
Hope nodded. I know exactly how you feel.
“You’ve made me feel lighter, and I’m not making a skinny joke,” he said. “You were appropriately named. The hope you’re giving me is lightening my load. Thank you, Hope.”
“And you’re making me fat with hope,” Hope said. “I suppose it’s an even trade.”
So he’s not planning to stay with me tonight. That’s okay. That makes sense. We work different hours, and we’re only boyfriend and girlfriend. I have a boyfriend! I want more than a boyfriend, of course, but it’s not as if he’s going to move in with me after only a few days.
Though I really want him to. Small apartment, big him, nowhere to hide. That would be paradise.
“You okay?” Dylan asked.
I can’t ask him upstairs. I know I will make a scene and cling to him, begging him to stay. “I’m just a little tired,” Hope said. “I’m sure you are, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s a good kind of tired.”
They stopped at the entrance, the blue butterfly peering over their shoulders.
Dylan set down the backpack and hugged Hope tightly, then held her at arm’s length. “I’m sorry I called you my girlfriend at the playground. ‘Lady friend’ sounds ridiculous, and only calling you my friend wasn’t enough.”
“It’s okay,” Hope said. “It made me feel younger.”
“How old are you? Twenty-five?” Dylan asked.
Wow. He doesn’t know weights or ages. “I’m thirty-three.”
Dylan’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “No way.” He held her face in his hands. “You can’t be.”
“I am.”
“You really look younger, Hope.”
Such a nice compliment. She dropped her chin.
“I wasn’t saying that to flatter you,” Dylan said.
“Thank you.” She kissed his chin. “And what are you, thirty-six?”
“Is that what you really think?” he asked.
“You’re not?” Hope asked. Oops. I hope he’s not younger.
“I just turned thirty-six,” Dylan said, frowning. “I thought I looked younger than thirty-six.” He sighed. “So I look my age.”
“As long as you don’t act it,” Hope said, “and you don’t.”
“So it’s okay if I tell people that you’re my girlfriend?” Dylan asked.
Hope nodded. “Yes, but I wish . . .” I were more. She hugged him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“For breakfast?”
Hope nodded against his shoulder.
“What kind of jelly or jam do you like?” he asked, stepping back.
“Surprise me.” She forced a smile.
“I will,” Dylan said. He kissed her tenderly.
Hope took out her keys.
“And Hope?”
She turned back.
“I wish . . . too.” He hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders. “And I will wish . . . all the way home. Good night, Hope.”
“Good night.”
Hope trudged up the stairs, entered her apartment, and sniffed the air. “Whack?”
The cat shot out of the kitchen to the bed.
Those fries must not have agreed with her, and if I don’t deal with it now . . .
She raked and double-bagged Whack’s merde, setting the bag in the trash can. Then she disrobed as she walked into the washroom, turning the hot water tap of the tub. I may never take a shower again. Besides, taking a shower burns calories. As the tub filled and the room filled with steam, she looked at her face in the mirror.
This is a happy face. It isn’t a content face yet. Dylan should be behind me in here or waiting for me out there in my bed. I guess this is the face of a woman—
A pattern of lines appeared on the mirror, and as the steam billowed around her, the lines became words:
I
miss
you.
:)
D
“I miss you, too,” she whispered, tears forming behind her eyes.
He wrote that before we left for the recreation center this morning. He was thinking that far ahead, and if I don’t wipe it off, I can see him missing me anytime I steam up this room.
I now see the face of a woman who likes to be surprised by hidden messages.
This man surprises me all the time.
It’s almost like Christmas every day with him.
OCTOBER 19
Only 66 more shopping days until Christmas . . .
Chapter 17
Hope leaped out of bed with gusto the next morning.
Then she remembered to take it slow.
“I mustn’t burn calories” became a whispered mantra as she languidly brushed her teeth, lazily dressed, and lethargically fed Whack. She leisur
ely left her apartment at 7:45 AM instead of 8:10 AM, gradually snacking on two toasted Pop-Tarts by the time she sluggishly arrived at Prospect Perk Café and unhurriedly ordered two triple-triples instead of her usual double-doubles.
She even sipped her coffee, now fortified with more fattening milk, slothfully.
Once she slowed to a snail’s pace and stood under the multicolored Kinderstuff awning, she realized she hadn’t broken a sweat.
Dylan opened the door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Hope said, kissing him dreamily, then handing him his coffee. “I missed you, too.”
“You got my message,” he said, and he handed her two pieces of paper. “The one on top is a breakdown of your earnings. The one on the bottom is a list of orders you need to do today.”
Is this right? Twenty-four hundred dollars? Look at all these orders! I’ll be busy all morning! “Wow. I better get going then.”
“Not before your toast and jam,” Dylan said. He stepped aside to reveal Aniya holding a paper plate. On it were two pieces of brown toast slathered in red jam resting on a paper towel.
“Thank you, Aniya,” Hope said, picking up the toast. “Strawberry?”
Aniya nodded. “It’s a special kind from Canada.”
“Crofter’s,” Dylan said. “It wasn’t easy to find.”
She took a bite. Wow. It’s a taste of home. “Delicious.”
“Dylan showed me the picture of the kiss,” Aniya said. “You had your eyes closed.”
“Yes, I did,” Hope said.
“Was it a good kiss?” Aniya whispered.
“The best.” She smiled at Dylan.
“It looked like a good kiss,” Aniya said, and she carried the empty plate inside.
“Send me the kiss,” Hope said. “I need a new screensaver.”
“I will,” Dylan said. “Take your time getting to work.”
“I have been,” Hope said. “I know I’ll be late.”
Dylan hugged her, careful to avoid her toast. “So be late. Bye.”
She nibbled both pieces of toast and barely made it across several crosswalks before the lights changed, arriving at Thrifty at 9:05 AM. I am late for the first time in ten years. I wonder if anything will change.
More truthfully, I wonder if anyone will notice.
She breezed up to Kiki at the counter, wiping her lips with the paper towel. “How was Saturday?”
“I do not know,” Kiki said. “I did not come in. I was busy, as I am sure you were.”
“I was.” Hope raised her eyebrows, eased around the counter, and took off her coat, laying it over her chair by the mainframe. So Justin ran the store by his own little self? Highly unlikely.
“On-Gee and I had the whole theater to ourselves,” Kiki said.
No chance of claustrophobia there. I wonder what that would have been like, to have your pick of places to be intimate.
Hope squinted as she looked around the store. Was Justin even here Saturday? The store looks the same way I left it on Friday.
“We found that one of the box seats had an old-fashioned fainting couch,” Kiki said. “I am so glad I was small enough to use it. I wanted her to put a red spotlight for us on the stage, but she is so shy sometimes.”
The office door opened, Justin striding to the counter. “From now on,” he said, addressing the red and yellow tiles on the floor, “you both can’t be sick on the same day.”
Kiki stared at Hope. “We did not plan to be sick on the same day.”
“Well,” Justin said, now addressing the ficus plant, “don’t let it happen again. I was so busy.”
He has to be lying. He probably came in Saturday morning, found out we were both “sick,” and immediately closed the store.
“Just be here from now on, all right?” Justin glanced at Hope and walked back to the office, shutting the door behind him.
Kiki smirked. “That may have been the first day that man actually had to work here. Is this the moment we ask for a raise?”
Hope shook her head slowly. She checked the mainframe and found orders that came in Friday night that Justin hadn’t accessed on Saturday. “He didn’t check for Friday’s overnight orders, Kiki. They’re still here. Including one for the House of the Lord Pentecostal Church.”
“Oh no!” Kiki cried. “They didn’t get their Sunday service programs. They must be so angry.”
“I’ll bet they are,” Hope said. “I’ve been doing those programs for years. Have you checked the copy key counters?”
Kiki nodded. “The count is the same as the count for Friday. We usually have a minimum of one hundred a day.” She pointed under the counter. “Orders you did Friday to be picked up Saturday are still here.”
“I don’t think he opened the store, Kiki.” The man is useless and should be fired.
Kiki smiled. “This is the day we ask for a raise.”
“I doubt there’s any money available for a raise,” Hope said, “and Justin will never admit he closed the store. He might have been here all day in his office.” With his girls. “You may have a few upset customers today. Let’s call House of the Lord right now and get ready to apologize.” Hope called out the number from the work order, and Kiki dialed it.
“Hello, this is Kiki Clarke from Thrifty Digital Printing.” Kiki held the phone far from her ear, wincing. “Yes, ma’am, I know there was a serious problem on Saturday, and I would like to help you . . .” She covered the mouthpiece. “These Pentecostals are always so loud.” She uncovered the mouthpiece. “When did you come to the store, ma’am? . . . I see . . .” She wrote a number on a scratch piece of paper and showed it to Hope.
Eleven. If Justin was even here, he probably heard the knocking and hid in his office until they left. What a coward and a fool! All he had to do was collect some money.
“We are so terribly sorry we let you down,” Kiki said. “What can we do to earn back your trust?”
“Make their next two orders free,” Hope said.
Kiki nodded. “We would like to do right by you and give you your next two orders free . . . Yes, ma’am . . . No, ma’am. It will not happen again.” Kiki hung up. “We really cannot be sick together. This place will lose all customers and go out of business. As low-paying as it is, I need this job. On-Gee only makes money when a show is in production, and some of the shows she works on are so bad they last only a few days.” She ground her hands together. “We must bust Justin out. We must let Mr. Yarmouth know what kind of bay-it he has managing his store.”
Should we cause some drama? I’m not supposed to work too hard today. “Let’s just keep this to ourselves for now. It might be more to our advantage to leave it hanging over Justin’s head.”
“I want to bust some bay-it today,” Kiki said. “But I understand. We can bring it up whenever we want to get away early from now on.”
Hope nodded. “Or when we want to take another day off.”
Now I will take a load off, Hope thought. I will sit as much as I can today. I will become one with this padded, duct-taped, rolling swivel chair. She sat in her chair and spun to face Kiki. “After this weekend, I could have used another two days off.”
“So the rest of your date went well?” Kiki asked.
“It went . . . so peacefully.” Hope smiled and sighed.
Kiki dragged her stool to within inches of Hope’s chair. “You must tell me everything.”
Should I? I have to tell someone. “It was . . . nice.”
“He became your champion?”
Why not? He will be. Soon. He’s already my hero. “Yes.”
Kiki grabbed Hope’s arm. “And is he . . .” She widened her eyes.
I’m not lying here. “He’s . . . abundant.”
Kiki shook Hope’s arm and laughed. “He is abundant! I knew it.”
I shouldn’t have told her. Kiki will stare at Dylan’s “abundance” every time he comes into the store now. “But more importantly, Dylan is officially my boyfriend as of yesterday.”
“That’s wonderful!” Kiki let go of Hope’s arm. “Yesterday? Your date was Friday.”
“He stayed,” Hope said. “Both nights.”
Kiki leaned back and sighed. “That is the problem with abundance. So you may be ‘sick’ again next Saturday.”
“I might.” That gives me another idea.
Kiki frowned, picked up her stool, and returned it to the counter. “Just give me ample warning so I can get as much abundance as I can from On-Gee Friday night.”
“She’ll understand, won’t she?” Hope asked.
Kiki rolled her shoulders forward. “She has never understood why I have to work on Saturdays.”
“Doesn’t it make the reunion Saturday night sweeter?” Hope asked.
“Sometimes she is too tired from doing nothing all day without me,” Kiki said. “Sometimes she is tired from working a Saturday night show.” She sighed. “But I will manage without you.” She shook her head at the office door. “It is him I am angry with. If he could do any part of our jobs . . .”
That confirms another idea. I can’t share these ideas now, though. The timing has to be right.
Hope worked at a steady, measured pace completing Friday’s unprinted Internet orders, several flyers for upcoming Halloween parties, and all the Odd Ducks cards by eleven while Kiki fended off two more fuming customers. A teacher collecting 150 “Reading is Fun!” bookmarks that she had “planned on giving out today as a reward to my deserving students” eventually relented and thanked Kiki for a generous twenty percent discount.
The owner of Party City on nearby Atlantic Avenue wouldn’t shut up, however, ranting, “The lights were on, but no one was home! My time is valuable! I should not waste any more of my business on you!” He tossed his “30% OFF!” sale flyers into the air, many of them spilling off the counter. “What good are these now? My three-day sale is two days old!”
“We can change the dates, sir,” Kiki said.
“And run a three-day sale starting tomorrow?” he howled. “No one runs three-day sales in the middle of the week.”
Kiki smiled. “So you will be the only one running that sale during the middle of the week.”
The man swallowed his next outburst. “Okay,” he said.