“Are you staying for dinner?” her friend asked from behind me, and she sounded so hopeful, I couldn’t disappoint her, now could I?
“You don’t mind?” I asked, secretly feeling smug that I was instantly getting my way without having to work for it, but also knowing her friend inviting me left no room for Mari to say no without appearing rude.
She chopped a little harder than necessary on the lettuce leaves before looking up long enough to tell me, “Not at all.” Then she continued on with her food prep, pretending I wasn’t there, leaving me to chat with weird girl while repeatedly glancing her way to see if she was showing any interest in me being there.
Twenty minutes later the bar was set up with an array of taco fixings, and it smelled good. Better than good. If I died tomorrow, I would die a happy man after putting this into my mouth. I would also die a freeloader because I pretty much came over with the intent to eat, but a man has got to do what a man has got to do, am I right?
“This smells amazing,” I complimented her as she sat down a tray of taco toppings.
She gave me a crooked look, “It’s tacos, not a five-course meal.”
“But it’s freshly cooked tacos,” I countered.
“No sour cream?” her friend said from behind me, and I reminded myself to make it a point to get her name again.
“I didn’t remember until I was checking out; it wasn’t worth getting back in line,” Mari explained to her friend who stood there looking genuinely heartbroken over the loss of a dairy product.
I took out my house keys from my pocket and held it up for her friend to see. “I have some in my fridge; it’s questionable whether it’s good or not, though.”
She reached up and snatched the keys from my hand with lightning speed. “I should warn you, I’m a perpetual snoop.”
I nodded. “I figured as much. You have two minutes. Stay out of the bedrooms.”
Her friend only shrugged on her way to the door, neither confirming nor denying whether or not she would follow my instructions. The moment Mari’s door was shut I blurted out, “What’s her name?”
“Raylee. Why? Is that why you kept giving me funny looks?”
I felt sort of satisfied knowing she did notice my glances, but I kept that to myself. “I’ve been calling her weird girl in my head since she opened the door.”
At my confession, I saw the corner of her lips tip up a bit. “She’s definitely different.”
She handed me a plate, then picked up one of her own and grabbed a few taco shells that she then loaded with seasoned beef. I held my plate, watching her, amused that she wasn’t like the other girls I was usually around. Instead of loading her plate with lettuce, she had no problem loading it with tacos, probably the same tacos most girls shy away from. “You can help yourself you know. I’m pretty sure that was your intent in coming over anyway.”
“I know, I was just watching you and your tacos.”
She poured salsa onto half of her loaded shells, “What about my tacos?”
“Nothing really,” I responded. “Girls usually go for salads and such is all. It’s a nice change to hang around someone who eats.”
She gave me a deadpan look, “You poor boy. If you think girls pick a salad over tacos, you are sorely mistaken. Tacos have their own food group, and there is not a single woman alive who wouldn’t give up a tight dress and uncomfortable shoes for a night in eating tacos.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
“Start polling,” she challenged.
The door opened, then slammed shut behind Raylee. “So, I found the sour cream. It expires tomorrow, so I think we are still good.” She shrugged, then tossed me my keys. “Nice place, by the way.”
I caught my keys in midair. “Thanks. Hey, night out at a club or tacos.”
She snorted, “Obviously, tacos.”
“How is that even possible? Doesn’t every girl like to dress up and wear pretty things?”
“I do like pretty things, but tacos make me happier. Plus, tacos love me regardless if I’m wearing sweats or not.”
She gestured down her body, causing my eyes to follow and take in the sweatpants she was wearing. I looked toward Mari and noticed she was in a similar attire, which, if I thought about it, was all quite similar to the garb I had on. I didn’t once think about putting on appropriate clothes to come over. I should’ve been completely mortified. With the exception of Mari’s visit at my door earlier, no one saw me in anything outside of either my gym clothes or dress shirt and slacks. But here I was, wearing my favorite sweats, a t-shirt, and I felt at home.
I followed the girls into the living room where they hit play on some movie that was already half watched, then they both curled up on a corner of the couch, plate of tacos in hand, leaving me to stand and stare.
“What? Afraid we bite? Sit,” Raylee demanded, pointing toward the spot between them.
It wasn’t that I was particularly afraid of biting women, it was more like the space between them looked so small, and although I was a healthy guy, I was a big guy. To fit in that space, I would have to give up some of my own personal space and boundaries.
“Well?” Mari asked, between bites of tacos.
I looked at my watch. I had plenty of time before my scheduled bedtime at eight. What harm could hanging out with them on this little couch really cause? So, instead of finding a reason why I should suddenly leave as my insides screamed at me to do, I moved toward the couch and sat down. Using my shoulders, I wedged myself between the ladies, trying to force them over enough so that I had some room. I wasn’t exactly successful. I could feel every scorching inch of Mari’s thighs against my own, and as innocent as the whole situation was, it was also equally distracting.
We ate in silence, watching the movie between crunches of the taco shells, and when it was over, Raylee stretched her feet out over my thigh and asked, “So, how do you feel about nannies?”
I tried not to grimace at her act of familiarity. I wasn’t a prude, I just didn’t really like touch, unless I knew the person. It felt weird, off, awkward. I opened my mouth to answer, but before the words left my throat, Mari cut in, “I don’t think so, Ray!”
“What?” she feigned innocence, which even though I didn’t know her, I knew was a complete lie.
“You know what. Leave him alone!” Mari threw a pillow at her, passing it so close to my face that I felt the air shift right before it hit Raylee.
“Fine. I need to go, anyway.” Raylee stood, taking our plates from our hands and delivering them to the kitchen sink before grabbing her purse. “But, don’t think I won’t try again, Mari! He has a built-in wine refrigerator!”
“No!” Mari shouted.
“Yes!” Raylee shouted back, as she quickly slipped out the door and slammed it, making sure she got the last word. Mari sighed heavily from the spot next to me, and I knew I should probably leave now that dinner was over. The evening was pretty much over now that we’d finished watching the movie, but I had thirty minutes left of free time in my schedule, and I didn’t want to spend them alone in the silence of my apartment.
Instead, I got up and walked to her kitchen, opened her freezer and took out the pint of cookie dough ice cream. Grabbing two spoons from the second drawer I tried, I walked back to where she sat on the couch and plopped down. I could have sat in the corner where Raylee had just vacated, but I didn’t. I sat in the exact spot I had moments before, thighs touching, too close for any personal space, then I handed her a spoon, held up the carton and asked, “Ice cream?”
Chapter Eleven
MARI
So, it became a regular thing, and I can’t say that I minded it so much. We were friends, sort of. Only on the surface. We didn’t know anything deep about each other, and neither of us spent time asking. We knew the superficial stuff we learned by hanging out, observing. But, damn, I felt like I knew him better then I knew my own ex-husband.
He liked to eat bananas with his ice cream.
&n
bsp; He got a five o’clock shadow, by three.
He was obsessed with time, crazily so.
He visited the gym five times a week. I knew; I now repeatedly ran into him there.
Surprisingly, he was an introvert and would rather stay in and watch a movie than go outside and join humanity. I liked that because Raylee was a go-getter. She liked to socialize and be around people, and I did it because I loved her, but with Spencer, I didn’t have to pretend. And wasn’t that the craziest? I sat on my couch, in my sweats that were a few years past acceptable, passing a pint of ice cream around with one of the hottest guys on television, and I was comfortable.
It seemed so natural.
It was an easy camaraderie.
I should’ve been terrified of this friendship that was destined to end in abandonment.
But when he walked into my apartment without knocking, making a straight line to my freezer for ice cream, grabbed spoons from the drawer next to the stove, and plopped next to me on the couch without uttering a single word . . . it was hard for me to imagine this friendship ending negatively.
“What’s your plans for the rest of today?” he muttered around a mouth full of chow mein that he had ordered for us. It had been a few months since he first invited himself over and he seemed content leaning back on my couch, his feet up on my coffee table, a box, and chopsticks in his hands.
“Writing. Preparing for my release coming up, binge-watching Arrow.” I shoveled some rice into my mouth.
“Arrow, huh? That show seems pretty popular.”
“You haven’t seen it?” I asked, spilling rice down my shirt.
“I don’t watch much TV. I see enough TV stuff at work. It just seems overkill to watch it when I’m home. I mean, I do occasionally, but it’s just . . .meh.”
For a moment, I looked at him like he was crazy, and let’s be honest here, he sort of was, “So, in your spare time you. .?”
“I read, work out, adult,” he responded, grabbing a chunk of garlic chicken from the carton on the coffee table.
It occurred to me that we never had information-seeking conversations before and this was all new, and maybe I liked it a little. “Reading, huh? Like the Wall Street Journal or Sci-fi and romance?”
“Can’t I read it all?”
“Do you read it all?”
His shoulders shrugged as he played with his chopsticks. “I read everything because words are beautiful, no matter what they are written about.”
“Be still my heart.” I dramatically placed my hands over my heart.
He tossed a napkin at me. “Stop. I’m serious.”
“What about writing. Do you write?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “I write sometimes. I’m not very good at it, in fact, I’m terrible, but it is sort of stress relieving.”
“It really is. It doesn’t really matter if you’re good at something or not, if you enjoy it, do it.” I looked up at him nervously through my lashes. “So, have you read my books?”
“I might have.” His confession was a bit shocking, considering he’s a man, and my demographic was usually females.
“And?” I prompted.
“I like them.” He shrugged his shoulders again, and although I liked learning something about him that I didn’t observe, I was uncomfortable knowing that he could be judging my words, my profession, me . . . and I wouldn’t know it. Wasn’t that ironic, though, considering he was on live television daily and he probably looked at me and wondered if I judged him the same way? I didn’t, of course; he was actually quite charming when the camera was zoomed in on him.
“Did you read them because you met me or did you read them prior?” I asked curiously.
“I haven’t read any in like a year. I have a few on my bookshelf, though. So, prior. I was a fan prior.”
A Fan. I felt my face heat, and I knew I was probably blushing, but damn, he was a fan of my work. In a way, it was weird, knowing he had read every scandalous word I wrote. Did he think about that? Did he remember the scenes with the women on their knees or the men’s faces buried between thighs and judge my indecent thoughts portrayed through my writing?
He cleared his throat and sat his Chinese carton on the coffee table. “Do you…” He paused a little while he rubbed his palms on his pants. “Do you watch me on television?”
“Sometimes.”
He stared, waiting for me. “. . . and?” he prompted.
“. . . and you’re pretty good. But, obviously, you knew that since you drive the ladies wild. You are very precise, and I used to wonder if that precision is something that transitions into your real life. I’ve since learned that yes, yes it does. But, you’re kinder in person than on screen, less severe and more hermit-y.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Hermit-y?”
“Yeah. I imagined you were more social, but you are a hermit.”
“I am not a hermit!” he said defensively.
“No?” I challenged.
“No!” he stated. I stood up, walked toward the door and began putting on my shoes. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I figured since you aren’t a hermit, we’d go out.”
He looked down at his sweatpants and the shirt with an oil stain from a piece of pork he dropped while eating. “Now?”
“Why not? It’s as good a time as any.”
Looking down at his clothes again, then back up, he stated, “You win. I’m a hermit. Sit back down and introduce me to Arrow. I imagine I have a lot to catch up on.”
With a smug smile, I sat next to him and prepared myself for an afternoon of binge watching.
Chapter Twelve
SPENCER
Out of all the things I pictured happening in this world, becoming friends with the awkward girl from the coffee shop wasn’t one of them. To think, I would have never talked to her if it hadn’t been for my spilled coffee, and now? Now I wanted to spend every free moment I could with her because she made me feel normal, and a taste of normal is what I desperately wanted.
Weeks, it had been weeks since I met her, or was it months? I swear it felt like a lifetime. Was this what a good friendship felt like? Was this how it really worked? I seemed to have forgotten companionship since I lost Simon, but I was struggling to find it again. I wanted it. I did.
It was almost seven, and I was expecting my mother to drop off Victoria at any moment. I should’ve been using this time to relax, but I couldn’t; I was restless, anxious to see if my mother was on time or if she had decided to ruin my scheduling again. I sat on the couch and fidgeted with a paper crane from the giant bowl Victoria was filling up. A thousand paper cranes in exchange for one wish. She thought I didn’t know, that I didn’t understand what she wanted to wish for, but I did. I did understand, and it broke my heart to know she was trying so hard to grasp a wish that could never come true. I didn’t tell her that her attempt was futile, that she was wasting her time, her wish, her efforts, because who was I to break the dream of a twelve-year-old? She would learn, of that I was certain, but I didn’t want to be the one to teach her and give her one more reason to hate me.
It was four minutes past seven when I heard my mother’s voice in the hall, followed by the door opening and Victoria storming by. Without a further glance at her grandmother, Victoria stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door.
“What’s her problem?” I asked my mother, who just stood there with a look of pure annoyance on her face.
“Her problem is obviously that you let her get away with this type of behavior. This attitude is unacceptable, and if the circumstances were different, we both know she would never get away with acting like that. You always were too lenient for your own good, never cared much about rules and boundaries, and look where that has gotten you!”
“I haven’t seen her all weekend, how am I getting blamed for this?” I stammered.
“You’re getting blamed for this because, obviously, this behavior is something you allow.”
&nbs
p; I huffed out a sound of frustration. “What would you suggest I do, mother?”
“Try being a better parent to that little girl. That’s all she needs.”
I couldn’t explain to her that I didn’t know how to be a better parent; that I was lost and there was no map or compass that could direct me in the right direction. There was no manual that got handed to me the day she arrived to stay forever, nor was there a pamphlet giving me tips.
There was just Victoria and me.
And the stifling wall that instantly erected between us.
The wall that repeatedly reminded me that I wasn’t good enough for this job. That every day when I woke up, I’d failed her in some way. I didn’t have control of it, over the situation, over the mess my life had become.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“When?” she countered.
“When you leave,” I told her.
“The moment I leave, Spencer. If you let this go on any longer she will only turn into a rebellious teenager, and trust me when I tell you, you don’t want that. I had my fair share of trouble with you and your brother and mark my words, you don’t want to get a call at two in the morning from the police station informing you that she has snuck out and is warming a seat in a holding cell.”
“Once, it happened one time.” I wouldn’t say I regretted it; it was one of the best memories of my teenage years.
“Once was way too many times. What if that officer wasn’t as nice as he was? You could still be in jail!”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “For stealing a pack of gum and a root beer? I highly doubt I would have gotten fifteen years to life.”
“Just talk to her, that’s all I’m saying. If she turns into a wild teenager, it’s on you.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, clinging to the straps a little tighter.
“I said I would talk to her. And I will. But, I’m not good at this stuff,” I confessed.
“No parent is ever good at it, son. You have to do what you have to. You’re going to be the bad guy sometimes. Other times, she will love and appreciate you more than you can ever imagine. It’s how parenting works.”
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