Pride & Joie (#MyNewLife)

by M. E. Carter

  He stares at me blankly for a several seconds before a belly laugh bursts out of him.

  “Oh, come on,” I argue, punching him on the arm. “It’s not funny.”

  “I disagree.” The asshole wipes a tear away from the corner of his eye. “I think it’s really funny. Is that why she keeps looking everywhere but here?”

  “I’m guessing so.”

  He’s still chuckling as he claps me on the back. “Good luck fixing that one.” He walks away, two drinks in hand still muttering, “Stage-five clinger” under his breath.

  “Asshole,” I mutter. Although I’m not sure if I’m talking about him or me.

  “I want an elephant!” The towheaded five-year-old doesn’t ask. She demands.

  Unfortunately, I don’t know how to do elephants yet. I always screw up the trunk. “Uh . . . how about a dog?”

  She stomps her feet and squeezes her little fists. “I don’t like dogs. I like elephants!”

  I blink a few times, trying really hard to keep the smile plastered to my face. I’ve only been here for thirty minutes. I have two and a half hours to go. If this is the way all the kids are going to act today, I may not last my whole shift.

  “Okay.” I muster up as much fake brightness as I can. “I’ll do my best.” And by do my best, I mean I make a dog, then shove a deflated balloon through its face for the trunk. Shock of all shocks, the world’s most delightful child is thrilled with the creation and skips away to show her mother who is sitting in the corner chatting up a friend.

  I sigh before beaming down at the next child, putting on my fake smile again. He’s small, maybe three, and has his thumb in his mouth.

  “Would you like a puppy?” His eyes widen and he nods, never taking his eyes off what I’m doing. Normally I would be chatting him up, trying to draw him out of his shell. But I’m not into this today, which stinks because it’s usually the highlight of my week. I love entertaining the children and bringing some joy to their day. Especially on special occasions like this one where I get to dress up in a red, curly wig and giant floppy shoes.

  Typically, I wear my normal clothes, paint a cute rainbow on my face, and I’m good to go. But it’s the five-year anniversary of this particular location, so as a celebration, management asked if I’d come in the complete clown get up. Of course, I don’t mind. But even with the hustle and bustle of all the people wandering in and out, attracted by the music and free ice cream, my heart can’t get on board with the job today.

  It’s been close to a week since I last talked to Jack. He’s texted me several times since Friday night, apologizing for jumping to conclusions. But I haven’t responded.

  The thing is, I understand why he was surprised to see me at the gala. I never told him Isaac was in his football program. I planned to tell him. It was never a secret. But with Isaac springing the event on me at the last minute and barely having time to get ready, I ran out of time. I take responsibility that he was blindsided. But that’s not the part that makes me hesitate to respond to him.

  I’ve thought a lot about it over the week and what raises all the red flags for me is the nasty way he insulted me. Instead of hearing me out, he automatically assumed the worst of me. When I tried to explain what was going on, he cut me off and jumped to conclusions.

  I get that this is a misunderstanding. A very dumb misunderstanding. But I swore when Isaac’s father left, I would never settle for less in a relationship than what I deserve. What I deserve is how Jack has been to me before that night: kind, attentive, flirty, caring. But what I don’t deserve is how he was at the gala: unkind, rude, judgmental, harsh.

  In all truth, I could probably give him one more chance because of my part in it. But he needs to work for it. He needs to prove to me this isn’t his normal pattern of behavior. He needs to go out of his comfort zone to make this right. And yes, that is a lot to ask after only one date. Well, two if you count the coffee. But I won’t settle for less. Fair or not, I need a man. A strong man who can keep up with a strong woman like me. I need a Viking.

  Not as in the mascot of the team. I have no obsessive interest in athletes. What I mean is, I need a man who is strong enough to not be intimidated by my strengths, but is equally unintimidated by my needs. I need someone who admires the things about me that a lesser man would be intimidated by. My independence. My ability to provide for myself. The fact that I don’t need him, I want him. A man who recognizes that he needs to go above and beyond when he’s wrong, because a couple of apology texts is bare minimum, and I deserve more than bare minimum.

  And that makes me sad because I really hoped Jack was a Viking. At this point though, he’s just a man.

  I hand the tot his balloon animal and a huge smile lights up his face.

  “Tank ew,” he practically whispers before running off yelling, “Mama! Mama! A puppy!”

  His excitement is infectious, and I flash my first real grin of the day. Zeroing in on the next child in line, I go through my normal spiel, “Hi! I’m Joie the Clown! Would you like a balloon animal? Or maybe a sword?” Before the little girl can answer, movement catches the corner of my eye, and I look up.

  “Jack,” I breathe, blinking a few times to make sure this is real.

  “I think she wants a hat,” he says, confusing me.

  “What?” I feel like I’m in a dream and none of this is making sense. Not him being here. Not what he’s saying. Not his gesturing to the kiddo standing next to me. He seems nervous, which I’ve never seen before, and he has dark circles under his eyes. Another thing I’ve never seen before. It’s all very confusing.

  “Your customer. I think she wants a hat.”

  “Oh. Oh!” I exclaim as my brain starts working again and I address the small child. “I’m sorry. Yes of course, you want a hat!”

  My fingers fumble as I twist and turn the balloon, forcing it to finally take shape. Jack just stands there the whole time, watching me. It makes me nervous. Or maybe I’m giddy. I’m not sure, but what I do know is my hands are shaking. He’s here. He’s here. He’s gone out of his way to track me down. But why? What does he want? Waiting for my answers is excruciating.

  Finally, I get the project together and place it on the little girl’s head. Turning to the next kid in line, I announce, “We have lots of time to do more balloon animals. I’m going to take a tiny little break, and I’ll be right back, okay?” A collective groan follows. “I know, I know,” I agree. I understand their frustration. Waiting patiently is hard on them. “But this is a good time to go finish eating your lunch or to go potty, so you don’t miss out on the face paint when I come back!”

  It’s like a lightbulb of multi-tasking has gone off in all their little brains, and they all take off towards various parts of the room, each asking their mother for something different.

  Taking a breath, I stand up and walk toward Jack.

  “Nice outfit,” he teases.

  I smile and check out the bright yellow jumpsuit I have on. “It’s a special occasion today. Figured I’d go all out.”

  “I see that.” He sizes up the restaurant, taking it all in. “The parking lot was packed. This is quite the event.”

  “Five years of being open is no small feat these days.” He nods but doesn’t say anything, so I finally do. “Why are you here, Jack?”

  He runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and takes a breath, like he’s calming his own nerves. “I came to apologize in person. Not because you haven’t responded to my texts, but because it’s the right thing to do.” I feel my eyebrows rise as my interest is piqued, but he’s not done. “I said some harsh things to you that night, and I was wrong. I never should have spoken to you like that. Never should have jumped to conclusions. I questioned my own judgement of character, and I should have trusted my gut to know when someone is interested in me for me, and when they have ulterior motives.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I challenge.

  He chuckles lightly. “Matthews, one of our practice c
oaches. Did you meet him that night? He was with the blonde?” I stare at him blankly. “She wore a bright yellow dress that had the giant slit up the side. I thought it was going to malfunction all night.”

  “Oh, that one.” I nod. “She got super plastered and tried to start a fight with the bartender.”

  “Yeah, that’s her. Anyway, he doesn’t have the best luck with women. The gala was mild compared to what happened a couple years ago.”

  “What happened a couple years ago?” What I really want to know is what the heck this has to do with Jack begin a terrible jerk to me. But I assume he’ll get there eventually. Plus, there’s no way this Matthews guy has dated someone worse than the woman he was with the other night. Color me intrigued.

  “He got involved with this woman. He thought she was really nice and it turns out, she was psychotic. Really psychotic. After two dates, she started showing up at the stadium and at his apartment, questioning why she hadn’t heard from him. Even brought her mother one time so she could introduce her to ‘the one.’ It got really ugly when he broke up with her. At first, I thought he might have to take out a restraining order.”

  This sounds like a reality TV show, or the beginning of a Law and Order episode. Part of me wants to know more. But I can’t let him get away with treating me disrespectfully. “What does that have to do with me?” I cross my arms over my chest, making it clear I don’t appreciate being compared to these unstable women.

  “Nothing, really.” He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hank and I were talking about it right before I bumped into you. It was fresh on my mind. And having seen the guest list, I knew your name wasn’t on it, so I just . . . I just . . .”

  “Assumed I was stalking you?”

  He has the wherewithal to look sheepish. “Kind of. For a second.”

  “It was longer than a second, Jack.”

  “It was,” he jumps in, admitting his mistake. “I was disappointed because I really like you. And then I jumped to some wrong conclusions.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him.

  “And I was a total and complete dick in front of a whole lot of people, and probably embarrassed you in the process.”

  “You got that right,” I mutter, glaring at the floor as his explanation sinks in.

  “For that, I’m so sorry. But Joie”—I peek up at his face, observing the soft expression—“why didn’t you ever tell me your Isaac is the same person as Stevens? My player?”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh because this is the part where my fault comes in. “You know how you like to get out of Flinton to go out to eat because it keeps you a little more anonymous and you can just be Jack instead of Coach Pride?” He nods. “I’ve been Isaac Stevens’s football mom for a lot of years. I was enjoying just being Joie.”

  I glance up at him and watch a small smile of understanding cross his face. “You were enjoying being a woman out with a man. No pretenses of who people think you are because of what you do.”

  I nod again. “I really was going to tell you. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I was just waiting for our next date to do it, after I knew you had a genuine interest in me, and it wouldn’t scare you off. And then Isaac sprang the event on me with only a couple hours to get ready”—he grimaces with understanding—“and I didn’t have time to text you. I really did try to tell you when we ran into each other.”

  He grabs my hand and holds it between us, trying to be discreet in front of the kids. “I know. I’ve thought about the exchange so many times over the last few days. And I really am sorry. Can you forgive me? I really like you, and I’d like to keep getting to know you. Not Isaac’s football mom. You. Joie.”

  I smile at him and nod. “Yeah, I can forgive you.” Pointing a finger at his chest, I continue, “But listen here, Bucko. If you ever talk to me like that again, there won’t be any more chances, got it?”

  He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay,” I say, relaxing. “Now I know you want to kiss me and make it better, but I’m at work and have a job to do, so it’ll have to wait. Plus, my clown nose gets in the way.”

  I squeeze the red ball, and he chuckles. “Can I stay and watch you work? Maybe take you to a real dinner after you’re done?”

  “Um . . . that’s two hours from now. But if you really want to . . .”

  “I do,” he interrupts.

  I head back to my chair and sit down, children immediately clamoring around me, making requests, which I’m more than happy to comply with. When I glance up, I see a little boy pulling at Jack’s hand. He looks down and smiles at the child.

  “Can you paint my face?” the child asks.

  Jack’s expression changes. His eyes flash up to mine, a cry for help written all over his face. I ignore it and wait to see how he responds.

  “Uh . . . the only thing I know how to draw is a football.”

  “Yes!” the boy yells. “I love football!”

  Jack sits down, grabs my face paint, and goes to work. For the next two hours, Joie the Clown and Jack the Coach paint faces, make balloon animals, and read stories. The kids all seem delighted to have another adult to torment, which makes me laugh several times.

  And when I see the demanding child who refused anything less than an elephant putting colorful barrettes in Jack’s hair without him so much as flinching, my heart softens. He may just be my Viking after all.

  For a September evening, it’s a little chilly. The air has cooled and a breeze is blowing through, so it’s the perfect night to wear a Flinton State hoodie. It’s also perfect for Saturday night football.

  For the first time ever, I have decent seats at a home game. I’m not really sure if it’s because of Isaac or because of Jack, but either way, I’m not complaining. Fifth row at the forty-five-yard line for free beats the heck out of nose-bleed seats I pay for any day.

  As the team makes their way down the field, following the line of scrimmage, my eyes can’t help but gravitate toward the assistant coach. He’s wearing a white polo and black pants, with some headphones over his ears. He stands with his feet apart, arms crossed over his broad chest, always chewing that gum. Is it weird that I find him sexy like this?

  My eyes stop their perusal and lock on the small bruise on his temple, causing me to giggle under my breath remembering how he got it.

  After Jack showed up at my job and I opted to give him another chance, he made good on his promise to take me out. Not only did we go to dinner that night, last weekend he really surprised me by signing us up for juggling classes. He said kids love it when clowns juggle, and it would be one more skill I can pull out of my pocket to keep them entertained.

  I disagreed with his thought process, based on the fact that I don’t plan to juggle anything in a small restaurant with children crowded around me. That’s just asking for someone to get hurt. Nor do I ever plan on show-boating when I become a teacher. But still, it sounded like fun so I agreed to go.

  We spent four hours learning the basics of juggling. First with two balls. Then with three. Then they had us juggle different items like plastic cups and stuffed animals. We both did pretty good. The problem came in when Jack decided to try his hand at bowling pins.

  He wasn’t ready. I knew it. The instructor knew it. Everyone in the class knew it. But Jack was determined to get it right. All was well for about ten seconds, and then he lost his concentration. Before his brain could catch up with his hands, and he could stop the tossing, the pins crashed into each other, ricocheting around and smacking Jack right in the face with the hard edges.

  When I finally stopped laughing, I realized one of the pins had knocked him so hard, he had the beginning of a nasty bruise on the side of his face. Naturally, I started laughing again, while pulling a portable cold pack out of my purse. He then started laughing over the randomness of my having a portable cold pack with me.

  He and my brother Greg are going to bond over my giant purse of surprises someday. I just know it.

  Despite
his injuries, we had a wonderful time that night. Shortly after he knocked himself silly, the class ended, and we went out to dinner again. This time at an authentic Thai place. We ate real Krathong Tong followed by Lad Na, which had this amazing gravy. If I didn’t already enjoy Jack for his witty conversation, I’d probably still date him just for the fantastic restaurants he finds.

  Just like before, Jack walked me to my door that night, but didn’t try to come in. Instead, he gave me a sweet, lengthy kiss, his tongue barely sweeping against mine when our lips connected. In some ways, I was hoping he would have kissed me harder, but I also appreciated he didn’t want to put on a show for my neighbors. That’s not my style.

  Of course, the texts and phone calls haven’t stopped. And as worried as I was in the beginning that he would distract me from my goals, he doesn’t. He asks about my classes all the time. He asks about my projects and tests. Whenever I get nervous, he shifts into coach mode and encourages me. It’s really sweet. And really cute. And I now understand why Isaac likes him as a coach so much.

  My last assignment for the week was turned in this morning, so my mind has been on this football game all day. I’ve been looking forward to it. Seeing both my men on the field, without the aid of binoculars, has made me practically giddy.

  “Can you believe how close we are?” Mia screeches in my ear.

  Well, I was giddy. Then I arrived, and I realized I was sitting next to Chatty Cathy. I have no idea how she scored her seat, but I suppose since she hangs out with the team, someone had an extra.

  I nod politely in agreement with her. It’s not that she’s here. In all truthfulness, she’s a sweet girl. She’s just a lot for someone my age to take in sometimes.

  “Oh, there’s Isaac!” She begins tugging on my arm. “Are you going to call him? Maybe he’ll see us!”

  I shake my head in amusement. I’ll give her one thing—at least she’s honest. Even if it is to a fault.

  But while she’s batting her eyelashes at Isaac, I’m watching Jack. Compared to the other coach, who is pacing and screaming and banging on a clipboard, Jack is that steady calm I love. He doesn’t say much, but when he speaks, his players stop and listen. It’s fascinating watching how respected he clearly is. He really is a Viking. Not just to me, but to others as well. That is so endearing to me.