Start Me Up

by Nicole Michaels

  “So Michael Everett, may I assume that since I’ve already seen you half naked, and my daughter has seen … more than half…”

  Anne groaned. “Mom, please.”

  Marie waved a hand at Anne to shut her up as she continued her question. “As I was saying, can I expect you tomorrow at my house for Monday-night dinner at Grandma’s?”

  “Mom—”

  “Sounds great,” Mike said at the same time.

  Anne fought dueling emotions of thrill and dread. She could have sworn that Monday night at Grandma’s was definitely not something he would be into, but he was too kind to turn an old woman down. When her mother left she’d have to tell him it was fine to bow out. She’d cover for him.

  “Well, good, it’s a date. I’ll just see you two kids tomorrow then.” Marie walked into the living room to leave, and Anne knew better than to let her go without following. When they made it to the front door she braced herself for the real reaction.

  “You know,” her mother said as she turned, one hand on the door. “When I pulled up and saw that fancy car, I hoped it wasn’t just one of the girls, honey … gracious, what a man.”

  “If you saw the car, Mom, why didn’t you knock?” Anne scolded under her breath.

  “I did, it was just quiet, in case you were sleeping.” Marie winked and then laughed as she opened the door.

  Anne rolled her eyes and sighed.

  “So this is Uncle Mike, right?” Marie asked quietly.

  “Yes, Mother, it is, but I’m not sure if it’s super serious right now so don’t get any ideas. I wish you didn’t invite him over for dinner. How awkward.”

  “Well, he could have said no,” Marie said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh yeah, right.” Anne lifted her arms and whispered, “Some partially dressed guy meets the mother of the woman he stayed with, and then turns down her invitation for dinner. He’s not a jerk.”

  “I think he wanted to come. Did you see his face light up? And please tell him shirts are optional.” Marie pulled the door closed behind her.

  * * *

  The next day came quickly, and it didn’t take long sitting at Marie’s dining table for Mike’s nerves to evaporate. She was funny and kind, just like her daughter. He was enjoying himself despite their awkward first meeting.

  Of course she’d made the obvious—and correct—assumption that he’d spent the night with Anne the day before, which was never the first impression one was going for. But there was really no other way to explain his bare torso and bedhead. Yes, he’d been embarrassed, but he’d liked her immediately. She had a quick wit and a sparkle in her eye. And she loved Anne and Claire fiercely, that was obvious and definitely her best feature.

  “This meat loaf is amazing, Marie,” he said genuinely as he helped himself to his third helping. “I’m not used to eating so well.”

  “That’s a shame, Michael,” Marie said with a click of her tongue. “Sadly, that’s a symptom of bachelorhood, and from what I hear there’s only one proven remedy.”

  “Oh my God, Mom, are you serious right now?” Anne looked adorably horrified at the end of the table, unable even to meet his eyes.

  “What’s a bachelorhood?” Claire asked across the table. She wasn’t fond of meat loaf so Marie had made her a plate of cucumbers and ranch—her favorite, he learned—and mashed potatoes. Her question was so innocent, yet Anne ignored it so Claire grew louder. A tactic he was familiar with from his niece. “What’s a bachelorhood, Grandma Ree?”

  “It’s a horrible disease that makes nice boys lonely and malnourished—”

  “Oh my gosh, Claire, eat your dinner,” Anne said, shooting her mother a glare. “It’s not a disease. Grandma Ree is pulling your leg.”

  Mike smiled around his fork and grabbed Anne’s knee under the table. Finally she looked up and he winked at her. She managed to sag a little in her chair; he hoped it was from the release of stress. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. He was enjoying himself, and he wanted her to enjoy herself also.

  “So, Michael, Anne says you work on old cars? My late husband used to drive a classic car when we were first dating. Well, at the time it wasn’t yet a classic, but he kept it running. Sold it and made a tidy little profit in ’89, I think. We had some good times and made some great memories in that car.”

  Mike smiled at the wistfulness in her expression. He loved stories like that; it always made a reno job more rewarding when the owner had a story to go with the vehicle. “You recall what kind it was?”

  “I know it was a Ford, but other than that I don’t know. Although I bet…” She stood up and turned to the wooden buffet that was nestled along the wall in the tiny apartment. From a drawer she pulled a small frame. “Here we go.”

  Mike took the photo as she sat back down and examined the car that stood behind a young couple in the faded image. “No way, a ’40 Ford. My father had one of these. This was the car I learned to ‘wrench’ on. In fact, this odd-shaped taillight was my first tattoo.”

  “You have a tattoo? Does that mean you’re bad?” Claire’s eyes were wide, and she had ranch on her upper lip. “Can I see it?”

  He was instantly a little embarrassed he’d brought it up. He’d gotten the ink right after his father passed, and although he loved it, he wasn’t sure if he would do it again at this point in his life. He also wasn’t sure about flashing his naked back for three women, one of whom was six and impressionable, over meat loaf.

  He glanced at Anne and she raised an eyebrow as he spoke. “I’d better not—”

  “Well of course you should,” Marie interjected. “I have to see it if it’s a ’40 Ford. My husband really loved that car, and well … since I’ve already seen you without a shirt it just makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

  Anne rolled her eyes, and he cleared his throat. “Okay, if you insist.”

  He stood up from his chair. Of course he’d chosen to dress up a little for Anne’s mother so he had on a button-up shirt, tucked in, over a T-shirt. Shit. This was going to feel like a gosh damn striptease. He tried not to meet eyes with Claire—she was a little girl, for heaven’s sake—so he looked at Anne as he unbuttoned the top few buttons, but the warmth in her eyes was going to be a problem. Nope. He glanced at Marie, and her smirk undid him. No way. His eyes landed back at Claire. She giggled, her ranch mustache still firmly in place, and he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. He couldn’t look at these three women as he pulled his shirt off. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Finally he turned around, grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and hiked it up his back. The tattoo was dead center between his shoulder blades, and it sort of looked like a double red V, one on top of the other, with a thick black outline. His dad’s initials and the date of his death were scripted across the bottom.

  “You should have gotten a unicorn.” Claire said, and thank goodness for six-year-olds, because it released the awkward tension in the air. After a minute he turned back around, tugging his T-shirt back down.

  “I love it,” Marie said. “I remember that taillight. They were unusual, on those big rear fenders. That’s a good-looking tattoo.”

  “Thank you. I used to like sitting on that fender when I was a kid, made my dad so mad. It was the first thing I thought of when I wanted to get something to remember him. We spent a lot of time working on that car together.” Mike pulled his shirt back on and buttoned it up, but he didn’t bother tucking it in before he sat down.

  He looked at Anne, who finally appeared to be enjoying the moment, and he warmed inside when she reached for him under the table. He squeezed her hand and then turned back to her mother, who obviously hadn’t missed the interaction between Mike and her daughter. “Thank you for sharing that photo, Marie, it’s really great. Too bad you don’t still have that car. I’d have bought it from you.”

  “It is. I miss it. If I’d have known Anne was going to meet a man who restores classic cars and has a thing for ’40 Fords then I would have made Wade hang o
n to it.” She sighed and then grabbed a few dishes. “Who wants banana pudding?”

  “Meeeeee,” Claire shrieked.

  Anne released his hand and stood up. “Sit down, Mom. I’ll get the dishes and dessert.”

  “I’ll help,” Mike said as he stood. He grabbed his plate and Marie’s.

  “Well, I won’t argue with you there.” Marie settled back into her seat and started talking with Claire.

  Mike followed Anne into the small kitchen and immediately put the plates in the sink so he could get his hands on her, turning her around from the refrigerator and pulling her into his arms. He whispered into her ear, “I’m dying to make out with you.”

  She laughed quietly and cupped his jaw with her soft hand. “You need to be a good boy, Uncle Mike.”

  “Didn’t you hear? I can’t be good, I have tattoos. Plus it’s so hard when I can almost see down your shirt.” He put a finger into the low neckline of her top and pulled far enough so he could peek in.

  “Hey!” She slapped his hand away, laughing, and turned to the cabinet. She pulled some bowls down and began scooping out servings of banana pudding. He wrapped his arms around her waist and glanced over her shoulder.

  “I’d like to lick banana pudding off your body,” he whispered, her floral scent filling his nose.

  She giggled and whispered, “I’d like to lick it off your tattoo. Among other places.”

  God how he loved it when she played back. “You would, would you? You like my tattoo, Perfect? You should have said so before. You can lick any part of me you want.”

  She leaned back into his arms and for a moment they were silent, only the sounds of their shared breathing filling the air in the kitchen. The playful laughter of grandmother and child came from the dining room, and Mike felt at peace. He had Erin’s family, but something about being with a woman he enjoyed—in this context of family togetherness—just felt good.

  “Anne, thank you for bringing me tonight. I’ve had a good time.”

  She turned in his arms and looked in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, too, even if my mother enjoys humiliating me.”

  He grinned. “She loves you. It makes her happy to joke around.”

  “I’m glad it makes someone happy.”

  He threaded their fingers and leaned his forehead against hers. Touching Anne was the simplest pleasure, but he craved it. This kind of small intimacy felt amazing, and also terrifying. He wanted something he’d never wanted before, and he wasn’t sure what she was thinking. He pushed those thoughts away. “You make me happy, Anne.”

  She just stared into his eyes for a moment, and then she finally whispered back, “You make me happy, too, Mike.”

  Twenty-One

  Watching Callie coach the dance team was exciting. Anne sat in the bleachers, Claire next to her coloring, as the music pounded through the Preston High School gymnasium. The girls looked amazing, but the best part was watching Callie in action because she definitely knew her stuff and took it very seriously. It was fun to see this intense side of her.

  “No, no, no, Caitlin.” Callie killed the music and yelled through the expansive room, her voice echoing over all the shiny surfaces. “The back leg in attitude, not straight. Don’t let me see that straight leg again.”

  The teenager nodded and bent her outstretched leg, wobbling only slightly.

  “More, more, a little too much.” Callie tilted her head. “Good, now lift your chin and don’t forget to smile.” All sixteen girls beamed, their smiles fake, but Callie’s was real. She’d invited Anne over to watch the fourth practice, and Anne had been more than happy to accept. She’d never been a girl like the ones before her, beautiful and popular. Jessica Monser was one of the sixteen dancers, of course, so Anne had decided to kill two birds and meet with her and her mother, Jill, before practice to go over some final details for the weekend.

  “Okay, girls, amazing job. I’ll see you tomorrow for conditioning day and please be on time. We have less than a month before camp and I’m planning on us coming home with Best Overall award.”

  The girls cheered and clapped before dispersing to gather their stuff. Callie walked over to the bleacher where Anne sat and took a deep breath. “How do they look?”

  “Incredible. I’m so impressed,” Anne said, and it was true.

  Callie smiled. “Thanks, can’t take the credit. It’s only my fourth day. The previous coach did a good job. I heard rumors that the she was fired due to some inappropriate texts with one of the administrators, but who knows and who cares, I’m just glad to take her place.”

  Anne laughed. “I’m proud of you.” She glanced around for Jill and saw her talking with her daughter in the corner. Anne stood and waved, and they headed over to say goodbye.

  “The girls are looking fantastic, Callie. I’m really pleased you took over,” Jill said. “I don’t know how you do it and run the bakery.”

  Callie smiled. “Thank you, Jill, I’m thrilled to be coaching, and I’m lucky to have a very dedicated employee who’s willing to put up with me coming and going.”

  “Oh yes, Eric. He sure is a cutie, it’s a shame he’s…” Jill said, waving a hand around like she couldn’t find the word.

  “Gay?” Callie finished for her. Anne tried to hold back her smile.

  “Yes, that.” Jill smiled awkwardly.

  Callie leaned over to stuff her notebook in the bag. “Well, I assure you, he’s not missing out on anything.”

  Jill laughed but it sounded strained. Callie was good at casually defending her friend, who shouldn’t need defending. It never ceased to amaze Anne that people still had trouble discussing such things, but she shrugged it off, which is what Eric always did.

  Another mom, sporting an unfortunate haircut, approached. Jill introduced Callie as the new coach and then Anne.

  “Are you the Anne of the My Perfect Little Life blog?” the woman said with her mouth agape. “I knew you lived around here, but we’ve never met.”

  Anne smiled. “Yes, that’s me. Do you read it?”

  “Of course, I love it, and Callie your recipes are amazing. I also made Lindsey’s altered Christmas wreath this past December.” She made an odd face and glanced around toward Claire before she lowered her voice. “It’s too bad about what happened today, Anne, with that video on Facebook. I don’t know why someone would want to embarrass you like that.”

  Anne’s heart sank like a lead ball, but she held on to her smile as she cast a quick questioning glance at Callie. Her friend’s eyes were wide and she shrugged, her own plastic smile firmly in place.

  “Oh it’s no big deal. These things happen,” Anne lied, because she had no idea what the woman was talking about. She just went on to shake her head, her eyes full of pity as she looked at her and Callie. Anne thought she might vomit, and she didn’t even know what this woman was talking about.

  Jill Monser’s face scrunched in question. “What kind of video?”

  Anne froze and luckily, or not, the woman butted in and continued. As the words poured from her mouth it was confirmed. Anne was going to be ill.

  “Well, Anne’s dancing … with some guy. I have to say, Anne, it kind of looked like fun, so don’t you feel bad. We’ve all gotten a wee bit tipsy before.”

  Jill shot Anne a concerned look. “Anne, is everything okay? Why would someone post something like that? It doesn’t sound very appropriate.”

  Anne took a deep breath and looked sheepish. “I’m not sure. Someone was clearly just trying to be mean. You know how people can be on the Internet. Wanting to share every detail, but don’t worry about it, we’ll get them to take it down.” But even as she spoke she felt more and more light-headed. She couldn’t even imagine what or who or why this had happened.

  “Oh I hope so,” Jill said. “We’re inviting a lot of Dan’s colleagues Saturday, and I plan to give your name out. You know how important an online image is these days.”

  She certainly did know, better than anyone. But what did
Jill’s words imply? Was it a warning? Was she concerned that Anne couldn’t handle it? Was she judging her? Any of those was enough to make her feel sick.

  “No worries there, Jill, Saturday is going to be wonderful. We can’t wait,” Callie said and picked up her purse and gym bag. “Anne and I have a busy day ahead of us so we’ll plan on seeing you all soon.”

  Anne collected Claire and her coloring books and then followed Callie through the gym and out the door. When they hit the fresh air Anne gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Callie, what just happened?”

  “I don’t know, sweetie. Let’s just get in the car and we’ll find out.”

  Anne followed like a robot, her mind shutting down. She didn’t even want to consider the possibilities, only rewind time to ten minutes ago before the humiliation occurred. She hadn’t looked at the blog or anything on her computer since late last night. What time did this video go up? Was it on the Perfect Little Life Facebook page, and how many people had seen it? They walked straight to Anne’s car and Callie—bless her—dealt with making sure Claire was situated while Anne sat down in the front seat stunned and wide-eyed.

  When Callie finally joined her in the front seat she pulled her cell phone from her bag. “Oh gosh, eight missed calls from Eric.”

  “I don’t know if I can look,” Anne said, nearing hysteria. She hadn’t done anything truly scandalous, but her mind reeled with possibilities. This was her worst nightmare come to life—becoming an embarrassment to herself and her family. Looking like a fool, a fraud, or, even worse, a horrible mother. Shame coiled inside her stomach.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?” Claire called out. Anne ignored her, knowing if she responded to or looked at her daughter she’d lose it.

  “Nothing is wrong with Mommy, Claire. Don’t you worry,” Callie said calmly, shoving her purse in the backseat. “Why don’t you look through my purse, all kinds of goodies in there.”

  “Yay!”

  “Just take a deep breath, Anne. Nothing can be that bad,” Callie said.