by Hilary Dartt
“No, I’m fine. A little queasy, but otherwise fine.”
“Wait. You’re not pregnant, are you? Nausea can be the first sign of pregnancy.”
Delaney waved a hand, dismissive. “No, Mom. But thanks for asking.”
Camille shrugged one shoulder. “I ran into Summer at the market. She said you were on a date.”
“Is there no privacy in this town? Yes, I was on a date. With a rancher. A hog rancher. Jesse.”
“But what about the others?”
“What others?”
“Those other guys you’ve been seeing? Mark? Zorro?”
“Summer didn’t tell you that, too?”
“Tell me what?” her mother said.
Delaney took her time answering. It was embarrassing, really, and she’d already moved past it in her mind.
After a long silence, she finally said, “Okay. Long story short: all three of the guys I’ve been seeing dumped me last weekend.”
“All in one go?”
“All in one go. Yep. Practically.” Delaney threw up a hand. “So, my intrepid friends Summer and Josie have taken over my love life as a result.”
“Sorry to say this, honey, but it’s about damn time.”
“Come on, Mom.” She paused, waiting for her mother to laugh or otherwise indicate that she was joking. When no indication followed, Delaney said, “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“What is that even supposed to mean? I was doing fine.”
This time, Camille waited to answer. She used her straw to stir her latte. She’d always been so pretty, Delaney thought, and age hadn’t changed that. Fresh off a trip to the California coast, her mom looked happy and relaxed, her skin tan, her long gray hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a blinding shade of pink and the sandals she wore were better suited for walking on a wharf licking ice cream than they were for end-of-winter Juniper.
Despite the carefree outfit, though, her green eyes were intense when she finally looked into Delaney’s.
“You were doing fine, yes. Fine. But isn’t it about time you were doing better than fine? I mean, you’ve always got something going, which is good. You’re good with men. But – and I know you’re going to hate hearing this, just like I would have before I met your dad – it’s about time to stop messing around, Delaney. You aren’t getting any younger. Have you thought about your future? I mean, long-term?”
Annoyed, Delaney took a sip of her tea to stop herself from blurting out something retaliatory. How long have they all been thinking this? And it’s not just Summer and Josie. It’s my mother, too.
“How come you never said anything about any of this?”
“It’s your life, Delaney. I knew you’d settle down sooner or later. Probably later.” She shrugged. “But eventually.”
Time to switch topics. Delaney hated being scrutinized.
“They’re also making me get a new job.”
Camille set her cup down on the table. “You can’t tend bar forever. I mean, one of these days, aren’t you going to want a husband, kids, a dog? I mean, that’s what I always assumed you wanted, after watching you play house when you were little. You’re not going to want to be out all night, spending time with guys like David … what was it? Steadbaker? Oh, Steadman, that was it. Or, are you?”
Delaney rolled her eyes. Nope, nothing was sacred. Nothing. Summer had spilled the beans about David Steadman too.
“I know you love Dad,” Delaney said, “but you guys got married when you were like, twenty. I just don’t want to miss out on all the fun you’re supposed to have once you’re an adult.”
“Oh, I think you’ve gotten plenty of fun in, sweetheart. For the past several years, you’ve been dating two or three men at the same time, consistently. You’ve tasted all the flavors. It’s time to pick your favorite.”
“Wow.”
“Stop pouting. You’re so worried about missing out on the fun that you’re actually missing out on creating a real life for yourself. You know, I never got to do the things you’re doing. I didn’t go to college, or have my own place, or hang out with my friends for Happy Hour every week. But I don’t regret one minute of it. What I did have and still do, is a home. Your dad is my home. And that’s something special. Don’t miss out on the important stuff because you’re so worried about missing out on the rest of it, honey. That’s all I’m saying.”
“But –”
“Don’t ‘but,’ me. You know I’ve always told you to follow your heart. And I think, deep down, you want for yourself what your friends want for you: a steady relationship with a great guy, a good job that actually challenges you. But you’re afraid to go after something that’s actually important to you. Take a good, hard look at what you really want and then ask yourself why you haven’t pursued it. It’s time for a reality check.” Camille paused and picked her purse up off the floor. “I gotta get going, honey. I’ve got to get to the store. I promised your father a roast for dinner tonight and it needs to go in the oven early.”
“You didn’t even tell me about your trip.”
Her mother’s eyes went dreamy. “Sweetheart, it’s the beach. What is there to tell? Gorgeous sunsets, drinks on the porch every night, an ocean view from the bedroom. Lots of hot sex with your father –”
“Stop there. I think I get the picture.”
Smiling, Camille stood, stretched and picked up her cup.
“Honey, Summer and Josie care about you. They have a good idea of what’s right for you. Trust them. Give this a chance. Follow The Rules.”
***
See? I can follow The Rules.
Delaney pulled on the soft blue sweater and clean jeans the girls had instructed her to wear on the second date. Right down to the nighttime makeup. Black eyeliner, smudged. Black mascara. Sparkly eye shadow. Lip gloss.
Tonight’s feature: a kindergarten teacher.
“A male kindergarten teacher?” Delaney whined when Summer went through the roster. “Isn’t that a little weird?”
She couldn’t tell whether it was her intuition or just plain snobbiness that stirred up her reaction.
“You’re being critical already,” Josie pointed out. “There are plenty of nice, normal kindergarten teachers out there, who happen to be male. It’s a noble profession and it means he likes kids. It also means he works nice hours. He won’t be gone all day, every day like my husband is. Trust me.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t say, ‘fine,’ like it’s your choice,” Summer said. “This is our next pick for you.”
“Fine.”
According to the girls, Craig Densmore had suggested Delaney meet him at Mama’s, Juniper’s only upscale Italian restaurant. He was waiting (and twiddling his thumbs) outside when Delaney arrived two minutes early.
Exactly as advertised, she thought: his longish brown hair curled over the back of his sweater’s turtleneck and his big brown eyes were warm when she approached him. She searched her brain for that inner voice, but for now, it was quiet. Maybe it was whispering, “reserve judgment.” She just couldn’t be sure.
“You must be Delaney,” he said. “I’m Craig. Craig Densmore. But I also answer to Mr. Densmore, or Mr. D.”
“Can I stick with Craig?”
They shook hands. He pumped hers maniacally. She felt their palms stick together.
“Yeah.” His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m a bit nervous.”
The admission softened her.
“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.
“Ah, no. Less than an hour.”
“An hour? Am I late?”
“What? No! No, not at all. I just didn’t want to be late.” He wiped his clammy hands on his khakis.
“Oh. Okay.” Poor guy. Delaney resolved to give him a fair chance.
As Jesse had, Craig opened the door for Delaney. She made a mental note to put that on the rubric.
The dinner conversation
was relatively pleasant, she thought, as the server brought them their check. Boring, but pleasant. They discussed jobs, home ownership, hobbies … the usual. He’d become a teacher in part because he was an avid mountain biker and wanted weekends and summers off. He enjoyed kids, but his real passion was photography, which he did on the side. Mountain biking provided him lots of photography opportunities, as long as he didn’t wipe out and mangle his camera. Teaching provided good benefits and regular pay and he liked it just fine. This made him slightly less weird, in Delaney’s opinion. At least he had normal hobbies and an adventurous side. It could be promising.
He ordered lamb. She winced as she watched him chew the delicate meat of the baby sheep, but remembered to stop mentally criticizing him and focused on her own food: spicy spaghetti.
Craig took her up on her offer to split the bill. She couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or disappointed.
“How about some mini golf?” Craig asked as they signed their credit card receipts.
“Mini golf? Isn’t it a little chilly for that?”
“They just opened this new indoor course,” he said. “Over where the roller rink used to be.”
“Oh. Um, sure. It’s been years since I played, but it sounds fun. Let me use the restroom real quick.”
In the bathroom, still life paintings of bright red flowers hung on bright yellow walls, making the bathroom look dingy even though Delaney couldn’t see any actual dirt. The grout on the floor was absolutely black, though and the toilet and sink looked grimy. She took out her phone, hung her purse on the hook on the back of the door and stood in the middle of the room, trying not to touch anything. She texted the girls: He wants to mini golf.
Summer: So go.
Josie: Have fun.
Delaney: Seriously? Isn’t it for kids?
Summer: He wants to spend more time with you. Quit being a snob.
Josie: Is he nice?
Delaney: Yes.
Summer: Is he talking about butchering?
Delaney: No.
Josie: Has he tried to have sex with you?
Delaney: No.
Summer: Has he talked about sex?
Delaney:No.
Josie: Is he creepy?
Delaney: No.
Summer: Has he asked you to look at his feet?
Delaney: No.
Josie: Haha
Delaney: Haha. Ha.
Summer: Are you having fun?
Delaney: So-so.
Josie: Go golfing.
Summer: But no holes-in-one, ok? Hahaha.
Delaney: Fine. I’ll go.
Summer: There she goes with the fine again.
Josie: Seriously, Dee. Stop with the fine.
Summer: Have fun.
Josie: “Fine guys. If you’re going to make me.”
Delaney: Shut up, Josie.
***
Orbit Golf was packed. Teenagers, determined to do well without actually looking like they were trying, milled around in the black light, their teeth glowing every time they spoke. Delaney and Craig stood in the doorway for a few seconds, admiring the fluorescent planets, moons and aliens painted on the walls. The course, which was outlined in multi-colored fluorescent duct tape, looked more complicated than Delaney had expected. She immediately noticed a tiny bridge on Hole Twelve and a tight left turn on Hole Seven.
“This looks cool,” she admitted.
“You’re goin’ down,” Craig said. “C’mon. Let’s get some balls.”
He hurried off. She thought she heard a nervous chuckle. Was he chuckling about getting balls, or chuckling with excitement about golfing?
Delaney wanted to shrivel up and hide under the counter when Craig said to the greasy-haired teenage employee, “I’ve already got two balls but I need two more.”
In a stage whisper, he added, “Can’t play golf with the two I have.”
Is he for real? She and the kid behind the counter exchanged a quick glance. The kid grabbed a couple of balls and set them down in front of Craig.
Give him the benefit of the doubt, Delaney reminded herself. She grabbed the blue ball, hoping to prevent him from making jokes about blue balls. “Shall we?”
When they arrived at the first hole and had to wait for a group of kids to finish their turn, Craig stuck his golf club out in front of himself and said, “Check out my club, Delaney. It’s a powerhouse.”
She turned away to dissuade him from making further jokes, but he didn’t stop there.
“Want to hold my ball?” he asked, holding his glowing red golf ball out in his palm, twirling it suggestively.
“I’ve got mine, thanks.”
“Ah, you’re just a one-ball kind of girl, huh?”
When someone made a wild putt, Craig shouted, “Ball on the loose! You’d better learn now, you young guns! Get your balls under control, fellas!”
Every time he made a joke, he turned to Delaney, eyebrows raised, waiting for feedback.
It reminded her of Summer’s kids. Luke and Nate were always interrupting Summer’s conversations to say, “Watch, Mom!” They’d ninja-jump off the couch, or spin around a dozen times, or do some fancy somersault, then turn to her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to cheer.
That was cute. But Craig Densmore wasn’t a little boy. At one point when he looked at her after pantomiming poking a slow golfer with his club, she shook her head.
“Whatsa matter? My club making you nervous?” He wagged the golf club back and forth in front of his body and came towards her. It took a gargantuan effort for Delaney to stop herself from saying something about how pathetic he was.
By the time they reached the ninth hole, Delaney wished she could find somewhere to hide. She was more than grateful the building was dark so no one would recognize her. What about one of those fake moon rocks? Could she climb under it?
On another fabricated restroom break, Delaney texted the girls: I need an exit strategy. ASAP.
Summer: Why?
Josie: Not the kindergarten teacher! I had high hopes!
Delaney: I was fine with the mini golf, until he started the endless club and balls jokes. Kill me now.
Summer: Are you for real?
Delaney: Is HE for real?
Josie: His profile didn’t say anything about liking body humor. I swear. He’s probably nervous.
Summer: Are his armpits sweating?
Delaney: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t get a good look at his freakin’ armpits, Summer. Geez.
Summer: Just trying to get a sense for whether he’s nervous. Geez, yourself.
Josie: This is what we’re talking about. You give up too easy. Get out of the bathroom, suck it up and finish the date.
Summer: What hole are you on?
Delaney: I think he’s probably on 11 by now.
Josie: You can make it through 2 more.
Delaney: Josie, a golf course has 18 holes.
Josie: Oh. Right. Well, you can make it through 7 more.
Josie: Then just say you’re tired. He’ll get the hint. But I still think you give up too easy. If he wants a second date, he’s getting it.
Delaney: Fine.
Summer: Haha, she said fine!
Josie: “Fine, you guys. Fine.”
Delaney: Shut up. I’m calling an emergency meeting for tomorrow. My handy dandy schedule says you’re both free at 4. We’ll meet at Summer’s. That way you can go get the kids at 5. See you then.
In a huff, she shoved her phone into her purse, threw the stall door open and stalked out of the bathroom and back to Hole Twelve, where Craig, tongue poked out between his teeth, was pouring all his concentration into getting his ball around the tight corner and over the small bridge. Once he’d completed the hole successfully, he turned and looked at her as if he wanted her to cheer for him.
He really is cute, with those puppy dog eyes. Maybe he is just nervous. Maybe I should cut him some slack.
She tried to get a good look at his armpits but it was dark and he was wear
ing a sweater. While they waited for the group ahead of them to finish Hole Thirteen, Craig looked earnestly into her eyes.
“Look, Delaney. I’m really sorry. About all the potty humor and everything. I obviously spend way too much time with five- and six-year-olds. I’m just nervous. It’s been a while since I dated. Can we start over?”
Holes Thirteen through Eighteen went smoothly enough. Craig was subdued. A couple of times, she thought she saw him smirk, as if he’d thought of a really good joke but abstained from actually saying it. Although she was grateful for the respite, she found him pretty boring when he was this quiet. Is there no happy medium?
Sure, dinner conversation had stayed above the belt, but it hadn’t given her much to think about. Despite having started over, she decided before they said goodnight that she wouldn’t be seeing any more of Craig Densmore.
She didn’t need a rubric to tell her that.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Thank you all for coming. As you know, we’re gathered here today to create an emergency exit strategy for Yours Truly.”
Delaney and Josie stood in Summer’s bright, cluttered kitchen, where Summer chopped onions, tossing them into a Dutch oven on the stove and Josie leaned against the counter, scanning her copy of “101 Tips for the Best Interview Ever.”
“You don’t need an exit strategy,” Josie muttered. “You need a try-to-like-someone-normal-for-once strategy.”
“You weren’t there!” Delaney said, raising her voice. “Was she, Hannah?”
From her high chair, Summer’s one-year-old squealed and clapped her hands, then extended her arms to be lifted. Delaney took her out of the chair, wiped the smears of sweet potato off her face and hands, and kissed her cheek before settling her on one hip.
“I need to be able to make some of the decisions,” she said as she tossed Hannah high into the air, making her squeal.
“You can,” Summer said casually. She shrugged a shoulder and stirred the beans and meat she’d added to her Dutch oven. “You did. Don’t do that thing you do where you act like you don’t have a choice. That’s exactly how you’ve turned bartending into a permanent career. You made choices last night. Like what to order for dinner. What to say during conversation. When to go to the bathroom and text us like a crazy person.”