Dream Boy

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “Grab some leftovers,” Reese suggests, her arms still tangled around her husband’s waist.

  I throw a quick glance at the digital clock on the stove. If I leave right now and speed-walk it to the bus stop, I’ll probably catch the 58 bus, I calculate. “Next time,” I tell her.

  “Let me drop you off,” Leo offers as he struggles to unlock the twins buckled up to his chest.

  I shake my head as I hustle toward the door. “You’re tired. Go rest. Hang out with your family.” I pull River’s hat over her head then put on her shoes. “We’re fine.”

  As I swing the door open, Charlie calls out after me. “I haven’t forgotten I promised to paint the daycare center for you, Soph. Just been really busy. But I’ll send a guy over there to take care of that. Soon.”

  “You really don’t have to. I’ve got it.” I don’t want to burden my friends. They’ve been so great to me. But they have their own lives and I’m done being the charity case. No more leaning on others and putting my faith and my future in someone else’s hands.

  Nova plants a fist on her hip and groans with exasperation. “Stop being supermom, Sophia. Accept some help once in a while.”

  I throw on a smile and do my best to project the image of a woman who’s got this single mom thing under control. “Have a good evening, folks.” And I slip out the door before they extend one more offer or pitying glance my way.

  As I hustle toward the sidewalk, I see the 58 whiz by at the end of the block. “Fudge!” I mutter under my breath.

  Momentarily, I consider going back and taking Leo up on his offer to drive us home, but when I glance through the picture window looking into the living room, I see my friends with their husbands and their children. Laughing and talking. They’re families.

  I force away the jealousy that rises. I'm happy for them. I’m genuinely happy for them. Even though my life is far from picture perfect like theirs.

  River babbles contentedly against my chest. I smile at her and kiss the top of her head as I turn back toward the street, ready to start the long walk home.

  “You’ve got this, Soph,” I mutter under my breath. “You’ve got this.”

  2

  Archie

  The chick I was with last night? Man—her tits were like water balloons. Huge. I mean, huge. And squishy as hell. I almost forgot to fuck her. I just wanted to snuggle up against them and suck my thumb like a baby.”

  “Whatever it takes to resolve those mommy issues, man.”

  The dumbass on my left—I’ve been calling him Dave and the name suits him because he’s basic like that—leans across to high-five the dumbass on my right—let’s call him Jim since I can’t remember his name, either.

  I feel like I’m trapped in the middle of a low-budget American Pie remake. These guys are clueless. Like late-bloomers just discovering all the magic tricks their little sausages can perform.

  I’m sure hell is a lot like this.

  What the fuck is taking so long? I ease forward and crane my neck to look out the front windshield. The sky is gray. The weather's been shit since I got here two days ago. The constant drizzle has dialed up to pounding rain by the time Charlie's beat-up Silverado pulls up to the gas pump in front of ours. Both doors pop open then he and Leo exit the vehicle.

  Meanwhile, the scintillating conversation around me continues. “It's getting harder and harder to find a good, fuckable pair of tits around here. I don't know what the hell's happening in this town." Jim shakes his head, lamenting what he surely considers to be a tragedy of monumental importance.

  Through the windshield, Charlie throws a quick salute in our direction then feeds the spout of the gas pump into the truck's gas tank.

  While he fills up, Leo saunters over to our truck. He pops his head in through the open front window and cranes his neck to look at the three of us packed into the back seat like sardines. "Any of you need anything inside?"

  Dave doesn’t miss a beat. "Grab me some Doritos, bro. Cool ranch. And a Gatorade. The blue one. I need to get my energy up after last night." He winks. Leo's eyes do a full 360-degree rotation.

  "Gimme the same thing," Jim says. "Uh, please."

  Leo's annoyed gaze transitions into straight-up pity when it turns to me. His attention falls to where my left hand is rubbing small circles on my knee in a silent prayer for the razor-sharp stinging to let up.

  Hating the look of woe in my friend’s expression, I growl and his eyes quickly return to my face. I know it's not his intention to make me feel like shit but still..."Walk inside with me, Jones,” he prods. “You look like you could use some fresh air."

  Shaking my head 'no' takes an obscene amount of energy.

  An inkling of a smile works its way across his face. "You sure you don't need a break from the cheap body spray fumes poisoning the truck?" He motions toward Dave and Jim with his chin.

  He has a point. The level of drug store brand cologne in this enclosed space is toxic. But I don't think I care. My will to live is pea-sized.

  My voice grates across my vocal chords. I haven't been using it much these days. "Nah. I'm good."

  Leo sighs with exasperation. “Damn, I can’t even get half a smile out of you? What happened to Sergeant Good Times?”

  Sergeant Good Times got blown to bits by a roadside bomb and stitched back together again in a military hospital. But he already knows that.

  He stalls for a second and observes me again. I glare at the intrusion. What? Is he a fucking psychologist now? He takes a hint, thankfully, and pushes off the side of the truck. "All right, then. Suit yourself.“ He raps his knuckles against the hood and then turns toward Charlie who's just finished filling up the tank.

  As my two buddies stroll toward the gas station's convenience store, Dave snorts like a damn buffoon. "As I was saying, all the hot chicks in Copper Heights are getting wifed up by greedy assholes who don't wanna share." He tilts his head toward Leo and Charlie as they're stepping inside.

  Listening silently, I open and close the fingers of my left hand, praying the burning sensation will stop.

  Jim's head bobs up and down. "Yeah, those two lucked out. Their chicks are hot! Have you seen Nova's ass, man?"

  Dave makes a lust-filled sound. "Yeah, dude. An ass like that makes me wish my face was a toilet seat. If I had the chance, I would totally—"

  His words cut off abruptly when my fiery glare snaps in his direction. What the hell is wrong with this guy?

  He clears his throat and mumbles. "Sorry, man. We’re all bros in here. I got a little carried away with the smack-talking. That’s all."

  We are most definitely not bros. And there’s no way I'm gonna sit here and let some asshole disrespect my friends’ wives.

  Maybe I'm a bit over-sensitive but Charlie and Leo are more than my best friends. They're my fucking family. Together, we’ve ducked through the tangled vines of the humid jungle in the godforsaken middle of nowhere. We've stood shoulder to shoulder at death's door.

  Yes, they got out of the service before I did but that didn’t dim our brotherhood. And after the shit I went through on my last tour of duty, Leo and Charlie were standing at my bedside, haranguing me to keep fighting for my life when I was begging god to pull me under.

  When I finally got out of the hospital, I found myself behind the wheel of my Chevy, driving from state to state again, drifting aimlessly, unable to sit still. And Charlie and Leo were constantly blowing up my phone with their goddamned corny motivational speeches. But what did I expect? That’s what happens to men who spend too much time watching Oprah reruns with their wives.

  They finally wore me down. They convinced me to come to Copper Heights for a little while, to catch my breath.

  Now, here I am, doing scutwork for Captain Save A Bro Inc., ahem, Hartley Construction.

  This is totally Charlie's modus operandi, by the way. Jumping into the middle of people's business, making himself the hero. It’s exactly what he did when Leo's ex left him. Charlie lured the poor g
uy to Hell-Hole, Illinois, with the promise of a job and a house. Now, two years later, Leo’s got a wife and a house full of kids. Good for him but that white-picket-fence-life isn’t in the cards for me. In my heart, I’m a wanderer. I’ve put my life on the line to protect the American Dream. Even though I know I’ll never get the chance to actually live it out myself.

  My chest twitches with regret when the beautiful face of that girl from Las Vegas suddenly blinks across my thoughts. Daisy…

  Anyway, I’m not saying that Charlie's bad. He's just stupid. Like Leo. They think they’re gods. That they can hold the world together even as it's crumbling all around. That it’s their job to save the day.

  I used to think that way, too. That’s why I went into the military to begin with. But now I see that I was wrong. I'm just a helpless fool like the next guy. My last overseas mission left me with the scars to remind me of that every day. The nerve damage is just one item in the catalog of shit that's wrong with me.

  After a few minutes, another guy from the construction team jumps into the front passenger seat. Then Pauly, the round-bellied prick driving our truck, pops back inside with an armful of snacks just for himself.

  He's got nacho crumbs and cheese shreds dangling from his long, bushy beard again. I don't bother to tell him about it because I made that mistake earlier this morning and I got dragged into a conversation about how he's been eating his emotions since his wife left him sixteen months, two weeks and five days ago. He lamented having lost track of the number of hours.

  In any case, Leo is at the window a second later, tossing snacks into the backseat like Santa on Christmas morning. And then, both trucks are pulling onto the road. Hartley Construction’s A-team is headed to work on a huge shopping center project they've been on for the last few months.

  I'm on the B-Team. The job is to repair the foundation on some crumbling mini-mansion on the rich side of town.

  I’ve gotta get myself into a good headspace if I’m going to do a decent job today. I can’t bring my boatload of negativity to the worksite. With my eyes closed and my hands fisted on my knees, I sit there and try to visualize happy shit.

  Butterflies.

  Rainbows.

  All that jazz.

  That's what they told us to do at that bullshit veteran's support group I went to a few times. I don’t think this meditation stuff is working for me but at least with my eyes closed, I don’t have to see Dave’s stupid face. I manage to keep it up for a few minutes.

  But my eyes snap open and my heart launches into overdrive when the truck swerves sharply.

  Dave and Jim squeal like newborn piglets. "Goddammit, Pauly." Dave grips the headrest in front of him with white-knuckle force. "Put down the chips and stop steering truck with your beer gut, man."

  Jim's voice comes out in a warning tone. "I already told you—I’m my momma’s only kid. It's my job to carry on my family genes. Don't you put my life in danger like that!"

  I’ll reserve comment here because I don’t have anything nice to say about the quality of Jim’s family genes.

  Pauly mutters an apology and drops the snacks into his lap, the fingers of his right hand curling around the steering wheel. As the truck shifts into the middle lane on the steep incline that leads to the freeway, we zip by a woman on the side of the road. She's pushing a hell of a stroller up the hill with about a dozen babies in it. Her clothes are wet from the rain. The hood of her pink sweatshirt is pulled over her head but tendrils of long, dark hair spill out, whipping across her face.

  The truck stops at the red light at the end of the street and I turn back, my attention glued to her. It's the way she's pushing the thing. With so much determination. Against the wind. Against the rain. Fighting her way through. Fuck, that's grit if I've ever seen it. I just can't look away.

  As she's getting closer, my skin tightens and my neck starts tingling. I lean closer to the window.

  "What the fuck are you doing?" Jim complains as my shoulder crushes him against his seat.

  Just as the woman is pulling up to the intersection, the traffic light turns green. Out of nowhere, a sleek white sportscar swerves into the right lane and dashes her with a tidal wave of dirty puddle water. She shrieks and the hood flies off her head on a brisk gust of wind.

  My heart stops.

  It's her.

  It's Daisy. The woman who's haunted my thoughts for two fucking years. The woman whose laugh echoes in my head each and every sleepless night. It's her.

  Meanwhile, Pauly makes a sharp right turn onto the freeway. "Fucking Tesla-driving asshole!" He thrusts his pudgy middle finger in the direction of the sportscar that just cut him off.

  "Stop the truck!" I roar as I tear my seatbelt away from my chest.

  Jim jolts as I lurch across his lap to yank on the door lever. "Whoa! Whoa, man! What are you doing?"

  Shock and panic surge inside the truck. "Stop the truck! Right fucking now!" I order Pauly.

  The man's wide eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror as I rattle the handle with all I've got. "Are you insane? We're on the freeway!" he shouts back.

  I rattle the door handle again. "Why won't this thing open?" I bark in frustration.

  "Leo probably clicked on the child safety lock. He uses this truck to pick his kid up from school sometimes." One of them explains.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  “Calm down man!”

  “This guy is crazy, y’all!”

  I press the button to lower the window. "That woman—I have to talk to her." I thrust my arm out the window in the direction where Daisy is dragging the arm of her sweatshirt across her face to chase the water away. “Turn the truck around.”

  Dave yanks me back. "Dude. A piece of ass isn't worth breaking your neck over."

  Pauly’s eyes focus on the rearview mirror. His expression reads confused. "And isn't that just Sophia? The daycare chick?"

  The men cringe in unison.

  Dave's got a nasty scowl on his face. "She's hot and all but her life is pretty sad. Trust me, you don't want to get tangled up with her."

  As the truck moves further away, the woman gets smaller and smaller. Common sense gradually begins to return to me. I fall back into my seat and my pulse begins to slow.

  I can't believe I'm still doing this to myself. I'm still thinking about that woman. It's been two years but I see her in every town I visit. And it's never really her. I’ve seen other women with dark hair and smooth skin and slight curves. But none of them are quite like her.

  When am I going to accept that I'll never see her again? The one night I spent with Daisy in that Vegas hotel room marked me permanently. It ruined me. But one night is all it will ever be. I just wish my brain would accept it.

  But how does a man accept that he's lost the girl of his dreams for good?

  3

  Sophia

  The Cardi B song blasting through the Opal Lounge seeps right through my skin and takes up residence in my bones, rattling me from the inside. With my eyes focused on my feet, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and pretend not to notice the lingering attention of the group of horn-dogs seated at the bar.

  My god, this is weird.

  Tonight, I’m wearing a simple black blouse. It’s kind of sheer so it’s not completely drab, but at the same time, it doesn’t reveal too much of my soft tummy. Instead of my usual basic polyester yoga pants, my sister Angie forced me into these super uncomfortable garbage-bag-chic leggings that squeak every time I move. I’ve paired it with red lacquer-shine heels and a matching purse.

  But I literally feel naked without River propped on my hip. My daughter isn’t an extension of me. She’s her own tiny, little person, a separate entity from me. I know that, logically. But in practical terms, being here in this lounge instead of at home, reading her stories and tucking her in, feels strange and unnatural. I’ve already called to check on her three times since I left the house.

  Mom guilt is no punch line, ladies and gentlemen.
That shit is real.

  Sophia—what the hell are you doing here? I’ve asked myself this question at least a dozen times since my friends herded me through the front door.

  I haven’t been to a bar since the night of my botched nuptials in Vegas. I close my eyes for half a second and I see it all in detail—the colorful neon lights, the enamel-topped counter, the broad-shouldered stranger who invaded the seat next to me and set my life on fire. I shake my head and push the memory away.

  I’m not here to meet anyone tonight. I’m just here to hang out with my girlfriends.

  And in all honesty, I’m really looking forward to having a drink. Now that River is weaned and I have a stockpile of breastmilk in the freezer, momma can have a cocktail. And heaven knows I need it.

  I mean, I was already having a bad day before the Tesla from hell showered me with mud water on the side of the road this morning. The rest of the day didn’t get much better from there. Well, at least now, I have a dirty martini to look forward to.

  The sight of Nova and Reese tucked into a dim booth in the corner of the room is like an oasis in the middle of the desert. I move purposefully in their direction, ducking around a half-naked waitress balancing a tray of shots and a drunken couple making out in the middle of the passageway like there’s some noble humanitarian purpose behind their sloppy tongue wrestling.

  As I’m closing in on the table, I hear snippets of my friends’ conversation. “Relax. It’s not a big deal,” Nova is saying as she brings her whiskey-filled tumbler to her lips.

  Reese doesn’t seem to share that opinion. She’s frowning hard. “We have to tell her. We can’t just spring this on her without warning.”

  A hell of a knot tightens in my belly. “Tell me what?” I ask cautiously as I slip into my seat on the dark vinyl bench across from my friends. I plonk my purse down on the table.

  Reese’s gaze darts to me and guilt covers her face. “Charlie and Leo have a friend who’s in town…” she blurts.