Cookie Cutter

by Jo Richardson

  “Bitch.” She grabs her things from inside the truck.

  “Seems nice to me.”

  Iris whips her head around and gives me a look of utter disbelief.

  “I mean, you know, except for that whole . . . thing she did just did.”

  She throws her bag over her shoulder.

  “Meg says she’s a stripper.”

  “A stripper?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Have you seen how she dresses?”

  She starts off but I round the truck and keep up easily.

  “So you don’t actually know that she’s a stripper.”

  “Meg says she’s seen her come and go at all hours of the night and not only that, but---”

  I slow down a little bit.

  “Interesting.”

  Iris stops and turns. “What?”

  Forget about the irony that Meg is commenting on Alex’s comings and goings.

  “Didn’t you just get offended that Alex had made an assumption about you?”

  Iris shakes her head, like her thoughts are all muddied. “Well, yeah, but-.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t go making an assumption about her.”

  I’ve hurt her feelings. I can tell by the way her shoulders slump and she turns to head home, slower now.

  “Listen.” I grab her arm and pull her back around so she’s looking at me. “I don’t want to fight. I just wanted you to have a good day. Don’t fight with me.”

  She bows her head a little and nods. “You’re right though.” A hint of guilt twists her mouth up on one end. “What Alex does with her time is really none of my business.”

  And this is Iris. Listens to what others say a little too much, but at the core, she’s a good person. I should leave well enough alone. I need to get back home and finish up a few odds and ends. Maybe get some tiling started. Something about being around Iris though . . .

  “Hey, what are you up to tonight?”

  She sighs and glances back at her house. “I have a bazillion batches of cookies to bake. I was up until midnight last night prepping the dough. Now I’m going to be up until midnight again, baking it.”

  I laugh.

  “What?”

  “A bazzilion, Iris? Really?”

  She grants me a smile again, but no words. I’ll take it.

  “Want some help?”

  “What? Oh,” she waves a hand. “No, thanks, I don’t want to---”

  “It’s no trouble. I’ve got a bunch of supplies I need to buy before I can start on my next project and I can’t get any of it tonight anyway.”

  She watches me carefully, debating.

  “I can’t be home alone and bored; I get in to trouble when I get bored.”

  She remembers, I see it in her face, the first day we met, when I was waiting for her in her entry way.

  “This is true,” she says, amused, and then, “Okay, come on in.”

  As we walk to Iris’s house, I notice a Lexxus Limited whatchajigger pulling around the corner at the far end of Spirit Drive. It stops abruptly before it makes a full turn, then it takes off in the other direction.

  Weird.

  I make a mental note to keep an eye out for suspicious activity the rest of the evening and then laugh at myself because apparently, I’ve been hanging out with Iris too much.

  * * *

  A few hours and about fifty-five sugar cookies later, because I have tasted tested one from each batch, I can’t really say for sure that I’ve actually helped Iris bake, but it sure is erotic watching her.

  She changed as soon as we got inside, into what she very humbly calls her baking clothes, which I suppose means she doesn’t care if she gets anything on them. There’s a few stains, what I can only guess are from previous baking sessions. That’s not what catches my attention the most though. It’s the way the jeans are ripped and torn in places that some might think show a little too much skin and how the blue t-shirt, complete with Cookie Monster and “I heart cookies” on the front has a much deeper “V” in the front than anything else I’ve seen her wear to date. Every time she bends down to put another sheet into the oven, I’m convinced she’s going to catch me ogling her thirty-six B breasts.

  I can’t help it. They’re right there for Christ’s sake.

  It’s not just her body that makes the way she bakes such an intimate experience, however, it’s the way she rolls the dough she’s kneaded and prodded, eyeing it as though she’s secretly communicating something to it; and how she measures the thickness of it before moving on to cutting her shapes just so. A perfectionist at her craft.

  “I’ve got it,” I tell her after she slides another batch into the oven and sets her timer for two minutes less than what any recipe might call for.

  She says her mom taught her that trick.

  “Got what?” She looks around to take a silent inventory of what’s left to do.

  “What you should be doing.”

  “What?” She looks at me like I’m being ridiculous but I know people.

  The doorbell rings.

  Iris the baker.

  She hurries off to answer the door and I hop up on to the counter, stealing another un-frosted cookie to taste test. When the front door opens I can’t see who it is but I can hear Iris’s entire demeanor change as she greets her visitor.

  “James?”

  “Hey Izzie.”

  “What are you---?”

  He sees me, mid-sentence and eyes me from the other side of Iris. “I saw your lights on, thought I’d stop by and go over the tag renewal stuff with you.”

  “Oh.” She turns to come back to the kitchen. As she walks, she licks icing from her fingers and I lick my lips. “Actually, Carter took care of it for me already.”

  What can I say? The woman speaks before she thinks, sometimes. And, oh boy, here we go. James’ expression turns from only slightly annoyed with my being in Iris’s home when he drops by unannounced to, what-the-fuck-does-this-guy-think-he’s-doing, taking care of my ex-wife’s problems for her. His fingers twitch beside him and I hope there isn’t a gun in this house that he knows the whereabouts of. I can see the headlines now. Jealous ex-husband douchebag attempts to murder friendly neighbor over crazy cookie baking woman with OCD tendencies. Notice my use of the word, attempts, because if he makes one move on me, I swear to Pete, I will take his ass down.

  He walks in, un-invited and as he crosses the threshold, Ally storms into the house, behind him.

  “Hey Dad,” she says, running toward the stairs.

  “Hey kiddo. Where were you?”

  “Study group.”

  “Who brought you home?”

  Iris turns and answers for her. “A friend. Why so interested, James?”

  “I can’t be interested in my daughter?”

  “I just wish you were this interested when it comes to visitation.”

  “Like she wants to spend time with me when she can go hang out with her buddies, right Ally bear?”

  Ally shrugs but remains quiet. I know this language. Hell I invented this language.

  “See?” the douchebag ex says to Iris—who also speaks her daughter’s language. The only person without a clue here is the ex.

  Ally finishes her ascent up the stairs and Iris looks to me as though she feels the pain her daughter is feeling as she watches her go. Instead of chasing after her, she decides it’s time to get rid of the guy who interrupted my Iris watching.

  “I’ve got everything taken care of with the license bureau, James, so . . .”

  She smiles a fake smile for him and James gives me a look before he decides he better go. Good decision.

  “I’ll . . . catch up with you later then.”

  “Okay.” She keeps it short.

  “Carter, nice seeing you again.”

  I nod. Wish I could same the same, asshole. He leaves and Iris pushes the door shut, keeping still with her head against the jamb for a few moments before getting back to work. She’s quiet though.

&n
bsp; “Can you believe that guy?” I throw it out there to try and lighten the mood.

  “He’s one of a kind, alright.” She sweeps the flour on the counter into a nice neat pile. I’m guessing she’s done for the night.

  “Where does he get off making that kind of assumption, anyway?”

  “James usually comes up with whatever it is he wants to come up with whenever he wants to, whether it’s true or not.”

  I know I need to go, she clearly wants to be alone. I’m running out of excuses for hanging out with her. I’m not sure the next time I spontaneously show up at her work to give her a ride will work, considering she’s got her license back. I want to kick myself for getting that taken care of so quickly. I could ask her out.

  Although my first instinct is to steer clear, I honestly don’t know what my problem is. It’s not like I haven’t dated since Cheryl and me ended things. I’ve had plenty of dates, actually, I just . . . I mean with Iris, it’s . . .

  Screw it. I think too much, anyway.

  “Hey, I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  Nothing to be afraid of here.

  “It’s a little crazy. You might wanna hold on to something.”

  “What is it?” Her cleaning moves more quickly.

  We like each other. We’re friends. Friends date.

  “And as an added bonus, it’ll probably make the ex completely insane.”

  “Carter!”

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  Am I ready?

  “I’m ready,” she says, ceasing cleaning to give me her full attention. “Tell me.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “Go on a date with me.”

  Chapter 11. Iris

  I blink once, maybe twice as I try to comprehend what Carter has just suggested. To clarify, I paraphrase to myself. He wants to take me out. On a date? Until I realize, he must be joking. He’s definitely joking. I’m simply stressed over these cookies I need to get done and not picking up on his sarcasm. That’s all. I let out a laugh that’s probably louder than it needs to be and I cover my mouth in response to my own boisterousness.

  “I’m sorry, Carter, but—” I breathe and clean the counter again while we wait for the next batch of sugar cookies to bake. “Good one. Yes, James would definitely love that.”

  I doubt James would care at all really but it’s fun to think about.

  “Iris.” There’s a seriousness to Carter’s tone that says, he’s not kidding.

  I won’t lie and say I’m not flattered. It’s one thing to think he’s adorable, sweet, handsome, sexy even – maybe fantasize about biting his lip and climbing onto his lap while I do it, but a date? That’s real. I have no idea how Ally would react to my seeing someone other than her father. Especially someone who’s only here in Spangler temporarily.

  “Carter,” I start, softly, “it’s probably not a good idea.”

  “Why? Because of your ex?”

  “I don’t know.” Maybe a little.

  “You know he’s just trying to get under your skin right?”

  “I don’t---”

  “Iris the guy wants to make absolute certain that you’re dependent on him for the rest of your life. Why do you think he keeps showing up on your doorstep? Literally. He wants to move on but he doesn’t want you to. Can’t you see that?”

  I don’t answer him. That doesn’t mean I don’t hear him. I’m simply having a difficult time believing James wants anything to do with me anymore. He made it quite clear when he left for mistress number two that he wasn’t happy being married.

  “Seriously, what the fuck?” Carter says, angrily.

  Which gets me to thinking. “And what about you Carter? What are you trying to do?”

  When he steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes, he seems confident in what he’s about to say. Sincere, even.

  “I’m just trying to see what goes on behind the facade.” He says it like he sees already.

  My defensive mechanisms make their attempt to stay strong though. “What facade?”

  He bends down so we’re eye level with each other now. “The one where you make everyone think you’ve got your shit together.”

  I stare at him, wanting to deny it. Wanting to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Only I can’t and he does. I’m deep in thought over what to do. It’s not until Carter’s mouth is next to my ear and his breath is hot on my skin that I realize how close he is. My entire body is humming.

  “Say yes, Iris,” he murmurs. It’s like a plea really. One that promises that his lips could be on mine again at any moment.

  I stiffen at the possibility. Then I let out a shaky breath before answering him before I can change my mind. “Okay.”

  For just one moment, I’m not worried about what anyone else wants, but me.

  Carter smiles slowly, triumphantly. “Great. I’ll pick you up Saturday, seven o’clock.”

  “Okay.” I’m still in lockdown on coherent thoughts, but then I remember and blink away the moment. “Wait. I can’t.”

  He throws his hands up in the air in frustration. “Iris, come on, we just---”

  “No.” I stop him from thinking I don’t want to. Because I soooo want to. “I mean, I can’t, the carnival is Saturday.”

  This takes the wind right out of his sails. He lets out a heavy sigh and says, “Sunday then.”

  “Clean up.”

  “All day?”

  “Probably.”

  He thinks for a few minutes. “Next Friday?”

  That’s gin rummy night. Not that it’s something I couldn’t normally skip, but next week also happens to be Cynthia’s birthday. “I can’t.”

  Carter eyes me. He thinks I’m just putting him off, and I probably should be but I’m not. And just when I think he’s going to give up on the idea, he grins.

  “Fine, then I’ll meet you at the carnival.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He ignores me as he backs his way down the hallway toward my front door, pointing at me as he goes. “Sevenish?”

  “I have to work, Carter.”

  “Seven-thirty then.” He flashes that Boy Scout smile at me and what am I supposed to say?

  He slaps his hands together and turns to go. I’m sure I should be feeling apprehensive about this whole thing but right now, all I feel is elated. He waves over his shoulder before the door closes behind him. “See you tomorrow, Iris.”

  Just like that, he’s gone and I have a date. While I’m supposed to be supervising everything and anything that goes on at said date spot.

  Did Ally hear any of our conversation? I don’t hear a sound from upstairs. Either she’s got her headphones in already or she’s standing next to her door, listening for me as I listen for her. I start up the staircase and have no idea why I’m tip-toeing but I do it anyway. I approach Ally’s bedroom door and push it open, quietly. I take a moment to miss the days when she was still my baby girl, wanting to hug me tight and snuggle whenever she got the chance. As she lays on her bed with her eyes closed and her ear buds in, I very desperately wish I could get some of that time back. I turn to go and bang my pinky toe on her door.

  Mottherrrr of God.

  “Mom?”

  I turn and Ally’s now sitting up, turning her music off.

  “Hey, honey. I just wanted to check on you.”

  She smiles and picks up one of her school books, then opens it and flips through a few pages, avoiding eye contact. I walk over and sit on the edge of her bed.

  “You okay?” I push the hair out of her face and behind an ear. “With that thing your dad said? He didn’t mean it like---”

  “It’s cool Mom,” she insists. I can tell it’s not by the way she wrings her hands and twists her fingers. For now, I’ll leave it alone as I know she’ll only get upset again if I push.

  “Okay.” She’s been that way since she was little. “I’ve got to finish up the c
ookies for this weekend, so . . .”

  She leafs through her book some more and I get up to reach for the door again.

  “Mom?”

  I turn. Ally’s chewing on the inside of her mouth. Maybe she’s ready now.

  “Yeah honey?”

  “I know you already said no but I really need to be at this party on Saturday night.”

  Part of me is disappointed. I should have known that topic wasn’t done. “Ally . . .”

  “I know you think it’s stupid and that I have responsibilities and all that other stuff, but Mom, I have pressure too. Political pressure to be there. With my team. And if I’m not, I just . . .” She sighs. “I’m gonna look like such a jerk, being the only dance team member not going.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know, honey.”

  The truth is, if it were at Karen’s house, I might let her go but apparently the girl hosting this party is some relative of a friend who lives two subdivision over and whose parents I don’t even know.

  “Think about it at least?” she begs.

  And I can give her that. “Okay.”

  This seems to suffice. For now.

  * * *

  Downstairs, I busy my mind with a tick list of things I need to get done tomorrow but in the back of mind, sits Carter Blackwood and his hungry voice, asking me to say yes to his date request. I close my eyes and feel his breath against my neck, his lips against mine and his hands around my waist. I squeeze the frosting bag tightly when my mind wanders to other areas I’d like Carter’s hands to roam. My eyes flash open and my shoulders slump when I see I’ve made a mess of three cookies at once.

  “Nice job.”

  I wipe the counter down, scrape the wasted frosting off of the cookies and begin again. I try not to think about Carter’s bright brown eyes that crinkle at the edges when his smile reaches them. Or the way he smirks when I stumble over my words from time to time. A lot of times. What will a date with this man even be like? At the carnival, no less.

  Is he planning on wining and dining me right smack dab in the between the dunking machine and water balloon darts? Or will he pull me behind the ticket booth and kiss me like he did earlier?

  Unexpectedly, thoughts of Ally come to mind and how irresponsible I am to be fooling around with the idea of going out with a man who has no chance of becoming a stable part of mine or my daughter’s life. I’ve made a mistake here. There’s no justifying myself, no matter how many different ways this situation could go down. I come to a conclusion that may not feel great but it’s probably the right thing to do – even if it does make my stomach twist up inside.