The Unexpected List (The List Trilogy)

by Chrissy Anderson

  THE UNEXPECTED LIST

  The Difference Between Being Calm and Being Chaotic Is Clarity

  CHRISSY ANDERSON

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Chrissy Anderson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  THE LIST TRILOGY

  The Life List

  The Unexpected List

  The Hope List

  For Eva…My fearless and tireless touchstone.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  IN

  Listen

  Wounded

  Ritual

  Muddled

  Spying

  ALREADY

  Recapitulating

  Finally

  Glowing

  Shit-show

  Shit-heads

  Puffalumpa

  Different

  Bwamp-Chicka-Bwamp-Bwamp

  Besties

  Exposure

  Whadididoo?

  Damage Control

  Gangness

  Group Love

  Bravado

  Speechless

  Scramble

  Destructive Distraction

  Frantic

  Relief

  Simplicity

  Fur Reals?

  Acceptance

  Again

  Crash

  Happening

  Please Don’t Make Me Do This

  I’m Doing This

  Bawling Brawling

  My Worst Nightmare

  Tousled

  Uncharitable Heart

  What the Heck?

  Burnt

  Pummeled

  HELP!

  End of an Era

  Lube and Tune

  Onward and Upward

  Almost

  Stupid, Stupid Girl

  Reminiscing

  Oh, NO You Didn’t!

  Numb

  Wait, What?

  FOLLOWING

  Big Gaping Hole

  Done

  Tough Love

  Five Minutes

  Tainted Love

  Vomit

  SAY WHAT?

  Hush Little Baby

  It’s Time

  Interrogation

  Unraveling

  Exposed

  Stubborn

  Heart of Hearts

  Disoriented

  Great Aunties

  Welcome To My World

  Ready?

  Answers

  Mommy

  Far, Far Away

  April Showers

  Knights in Shining Armor

  Now (adverb) ˈnau̇:

  At the present time or moment.

  Listen

  September 11, 2002

  “What are you gonna get?”

  “Thinking we share the usual- buffalo wings and some nachos. Sound good?”

  “Duh! But this time make sure you tell them we want ranch dressing with the wings, none of that blue cheese crap!”

  Some things never change. Kelly and I have been sharing the same two things at Chili’s for like a hundred years. I always give her a lot of shit for dragging me here, but I have to admit, there’s something really comforting about our usual table, the bottomless beverages and the never-ending trash talking about our former high school classmates/current servers.

  “Look! Look! Look, Kel! Isn’t that the guy you went to homecoming with when we were sophomores?”

  “Oy vey…would you look at him?” Shaking her head at the now thirty-two-year-old man-boy. “After all this time, still a waiter. Jesus, to think I let that guy touch my boobs in the back of his mom’s Toyota Celica.”

  This is the way it’s always been with us. The greasy food, the ruthless revolting chitchat that makes Courtney and Nicole roll their eyes, it’s my very favorite part of the week. I’m secretly glad those two had to work late tonight so we can say whatever we want to without their smug looks and smarty-pants doctor jargon.

  “Oh my gosh, Kel, I almost forgot to tell you! I had this horrible dream about you the other night. You had cancer. It was that one that sounds like a pancake or something.”

  “It’s called a pancreas, you moron! It’s a good thing Court and Nic aren’t here; they would’ve made fun of you until you ran away in tears.”

  “Yes, that’s it! You had pancreatic cancer! Man, it was brutal Kel. You got all skinny… and mean too! I wanted to help you and stuff, but you completely shut me out.”

  “Sounds like something I’d do.”

  “Didn’t work though, I sat on your front porch and wrote you a bunch of mushy letters telling you how much I loved you. You totally hated it.”

  “No doubt. So did I die?”

  I tilt my head and say, “Odd, I can’t remember now.”

  Bored of my boring dream, Kelly looks at me over the rim of her Diet Coke and asks, “So, tell me what’s been going on with you? I mean, besides the obvious.”

  I roll my hands down to my belly and give my bump a little rub.

  “Is that husband of yours in town or are you alone again this weekend?”

  “Alone again. He’s working his ass off to get that new division off the ground.”

  It’s sorta the truth. He’s in Nevada taking a crash course to get his pilot’s license for I have absolutely no idea why. Seriously, where the hell does he plan on flying off to when this thing pops out?

  “Let us know when you guys have a free weekend. Craig wants the gang to go camping one last time before the fall.”

  Lovely. I hated camping enough when I didn’t have an extra twenty-five pounds to drag around. But, never one to ruin everyone’s fun, I enthusiastically nod my head like sleeping on rocks and peeing in the woods is the most super fantastic thing I can possibly think of doing at this stage of my life.

  The food arrives, and after yelling at the idiot for bringing us blue cheese dressing, I proceed to tell Kelly the most hilarious story.

  “So get this…I’m at a bar a couple of weeks ago-”

  “A bar? But look at you! And, you can’t even drink!”

  “I know, right? It was for my co-worker. She was having some sort of mini-meltdown and she begged me to sit with her while she drank her troubles away. I don’t know why, but I went.”

  “And….so?”

  “So she bailed on me the second we got there! Yep, ditched me for some little Korean guy. Oh man, he had the funniest name. What was it again? Ho-gab…Ho-dog…Ho-Bag! That’s it, Ho-Bag! Anyway, when they took off, I started talking to the Korean guy’s friend, and you’re never gonna believe this…HE HIT ON ME!”

  “Was the dude blind?”

  “Nah, the c
ountertop on the bar was totally huge.” Rubbing my belly again, “This thing was comfortably tucked underneath. Anyway, we actually had a nice conversation. Don’t laugh...it was about ghosts.”

  “Oh, brother…you and your ghost stories.”

  “Actually he was the one who brought them up.”

  “Whatever. So what happened with…what was the dude’s name?”

  “Leo.”

  Saying his name out loud sends chills up the back of my neck and rousing thoughts of that evening begin to flash through my mind. It causes me to pause long enough for Kelly to bug her eyes out at me to continue.

  “Oh! We talked until my bladder was about to burst, that’s what happened.” My voice trails off, “Something about him was...I dunno…special.”

  “Hoooold on! Back the story up, you bar hopping Barbie! Sounds like you’re leaving something out.”

  I’m leaving a lot out. He was mysterious and sexy and totally into me. Our conversation was packed full of things we had in common and the way my heart pounded whenever he looked at me…

  “Okay, okay…I left out the fact that he was only twenty-two!”

  “Holy Hannah! You could almost go to jail for that!”

  “Calm down! All we did was talk!” Looking from side to side and lowering my voice to a whisper, “Can I tell you a secret though?”

  “I don’t even repeat the things you want me to repeat, so what do you think?”

  “I kinda can’t stop thinking about him, Kel. He had these hypnotic eyes…”

  “Wow, this isn’t like you. It’s freakin’ me out.”

  “Freakin’ me out too.” And then my voice trails off. “I had so much in common with him. Almost more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Hellooooooo? What about your husband?”

  Snapping back to reality, “Except for him, obviously!”

  Wiping sauce from her lower lip, Kelly points to my stomach and says, “So when did he notice that thing?”

  “When the bar was about to close I-”

  “You stayed until closing time?”

  “I’m telling you, his eyes were crazy beautiful! Anyway, he suggested we talk outside for a while. I was like, HELLS NO! But, I still didn’t have the guts to stand up and show him that he wasted his entire evening on me. This bar was crawling with chicks! And, trust me; this guy could’ve had his pick of the lot.”

  “You chick-jacked him!”

  I’m looking at Kelly like she’s an idiot.

  “What? You get to say stuff like that and it’s cute. But when I do, it’s lame?”

  “Well…kinda.”

  “Oh, whatever! So, what the heck happened?”

  “I peed my pants.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Nope, peed all over the fucking floor. You know how it is when you’re this far along.”

  “Oh my God! Did he notice?”

  “No. I pretended to spill my water and asked him to hurry and find some towels. When he was gone I made a run for it.”

  After a laugh so intense that no sound emits from either of our bodies, I catch my breath and say, “I feel bad though.”

  “About?”

  “Bailing on him.” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I know, I know…I’m married and…” pointing at my gut, “I have this. But still, it seemed like he was relieved to meet me. Like I made him feel something he never felt before. Like I saved him. I dunno…I wish…”

  “You wish what, Chrissy?”

  Catching myself before I say something Kelly can’t even comprehend, “I wish that damn waiter would bring the bill. I gotta get home and catch up on my sleep while Kurt’s gone. It’s like the only time I can get a solid ten hours.”

  Standing up to flag down the waiter, my pregnant belly bashes into the table, spilling our drinks everywhere.

  The commotion jolts me out of my sleep and straight up in bed. My head darts all around to try and figure out what the hell is going on. My hands clutch my stomach and relief washes over me. Flat as a board.

  “Thank you, Lord Jesus, who I’m still kinda struggling to believe in.”

  I’m thankful only until I remember that Kelly’s dead and Leo’s long gone.

  Wounded

  September 11, 2002

  I have dreams like that all of the time, and everything about them is so real. Kelly’s so real. Her frank assessment of whatever Chrissygan…Oh wait, must pause to explain what a Chrissygan is.

  Over the past three years, my name and the word shenanigan have become so synonymous that my friends have made a word out of it, Chrissygan. Anyway, whatever Chrissygan I’m talking to Kelly about in my dreams, she gives me her tell-it-like-it-is take on the matter. It’s very comforting. But with Kelly’s comfort comes a lot of weird stuff, like being pregnant, and it makes me crazy.

  While I’m in the shower trying to make sense out of my latest dream, I do my usual morning drill: pick up the shampoo that Leo left behind, squirt one teeny tiny dot of it into the middle of my shampoo, mix them together, rub until my scalp hurts, and numbly stare at the drain as it sucks down the suds.

  His razor is still here, but it’s so dull it cuts me whenever I use it. For a moment, it made me consider being an actual cutter. Gross, right? Well, hear me out. I read somewhere (probably in one of those useless self-help books that I picked up back in 1998) that cutting helps freaks relieve the intense emotional pain they’re feeling internally. Yep, cutters feel so dead inside that seeing their own blood actually helps them to feel alive. And, well…after Leo was gone, feeling alive was something I really struggled with. I was willing to try anything. One day, I picked up the damn razor and thought, “What if?” Who was I kidding though? I’m way too vain to scar up my body. Besides, the last time I felt dead inside, yoga (sprinkled with precisely the right amount of alcohol) worked just fine as my emotional pain crutch. Plus, there’s no place in my life for masochistic thoughts like cutting. And, the plastic bin of toys suctioned to the side of my bathtub is one more reminder of why that is.

  As I exit the shower, I knock over the garbage can next to the toilet and stare for an eternity at the waste that’s now scattered all over the floor. My mind flashes back to the day I picked Leo’s phone number out of my garbage can. Even though it was only four years ago, it seems like a lifetime away. I woke up that January morning stunned that I had spent so much time talking to him at Buckley’s, bewildered that we continued our conversation in my car after the bar closed, and mortified that I had broken my vows as a wife and kissed him like I had never even kissed my own husband. He gave me his phone number and made me promise to call him. It seemed unbelievable…I was six years older than him. God, I was so scared to make that call, but what my heart needed at the time crushed all trepidation, and so I picked his phone number out of the trash and dialed. Who knew that phone call would change the course of my life and lead to so many firsts…and so many lies.

  Snapping out of my funk, I scoop up the garbage and tediously wash my hands. Almost everything I do these days is tedious. I gently push Leo’s towel over on the bar, careful not to disturb it. It’s still hanging in the same spot and still hardened from the water he quickly dried off of his body the last time he used it. I shiver at the memory of watching him do it, wishing I had savored the moment…but knowing it would’ve been inappropriate given all that was going on at the time.

  I prepare to leave my cozy cottage with the same feelings I’ve had for way too many days in a row now; glad I have somewhere to go, but pissed that I can’t just stay locked in my bathroom with what’s left of Leo’s belongings.

  Oh crap, eight-fifteen, already! I better get moving. So much to do today.

  I toss my super special crochet yoga bag and the rest of my crap into the empty leopard print toddler seat that’s tethered to the backseat, throw the car in reverse and head out.

  I’m tuned into KKSF, which is jazz I barely like. It’s all I allow myself to listen to anymore th
ough, no words to drag my mind into the past. Although…today of all days, it’s impossible not to think about the past. Reminders are tied in yellow bows on every overpass on my drive down Highway 680.

  It’s a typically beautiful late summer morning in Lafayette, California. The sky is robin’s egg blue and sprinkled with clouds so perfect they look manmade. The store owners are out watering their hanging flower baskets and sweeping their store fronts. Starbucks is bustling with over-anxious patrons, and the smell of over-priced coffee is oozing out of the front door and into my car. I almost want to stop to grab a cup, but can’t. Too much to do…too much to do.

  Entering the on-ramp to the freeway, I pass hundreds of American flag-waving patriots dedicated to honoring our country and the victims of 9/11. I want to stop my car and hug every woman and man I see in camouflage and thank them for the sacrifice they’ll most likely be called to make on my behalf. But I don’t, because I’ll just cry. Nearly every car, including my own, is proudly displaying some red, white and blue. One minute it fills me with an overwhelming sense of pride, the next it makes me mad as all hell that it took the deaths of nearly three thousand of us to make it happen. I turn the shitty jazz music a little louder to drown out my thoughts of that horrific day, and the consequences of it that changed the course of my life just as much as that day in January, 1998 when I picked Leo’s phone number out of my garbage can.

  I finally arrive at one of my yoga studios where my rag tag team of yoga bitches is waiting for me to start our weekly meeting. They were absolute life savers after the confusion of 9/11 when I disappeared for a while. When I finally came back, I returned to two very packed studios, both with waiting lists and lines out the door. Sure enough, in a gross twist of fate, the tragedy of 9/11 made people crave the peaceful healing powers of yoga and meditation, and it prompted the need to open a third Forever Young Yoga Studio. Just as my girls have done every single day since the bottom fell out of my world, they spring into comforting action as I enter the room.