The Thirteenth Chance

by Amy Matayo

  “Okay, I’m done. Thank you for trying, and I swear I’ll pay you back all the money you spent. But I can’t take it anymore. Most of these men are nice, but none are for me. Now where do I go to get my bag?”

  Kimberly’s eyes go wide as she latches onto my arm. “You can’t go yet. You only have three more to get through. Give them five minutes, that’s all.”

  “I don’t think I can take another five minutes of anyone. If you knew what some of them are asking me—”

  “And you can tell me after this is over.” She pulls the paper from my hand again. “Now, table thirteen is just around the corner. Go over there and see what that guy is like.”

  “Kimberly, I—”

  “For me, Olivia? If he’s as bad as the rest, I’ll grab Blake and we’ll go get takeout. You can pick the place, I swear. Just one more.”

  I give her a look, take a long pull on my soda, and hand her the glass. “Stay here. I’ll be back in two minutes. Three, tops.” With a long-suffering sigh, I force my feet forward and around the corner to guy number thirteen.

  I should have known she was up to something.

  Will

  I should have known they were up to something. As soon as she rounds the corner I see it in her face, the same stunned expression I can feel on my own. But stunned gives way to impatience and then anger. At the situation. At the setup. At me. She stops in front of the table and raises her chin a notch, then another. She doesn’t even attempt to sit down.

  “Of course you’re table thirteen. I’m an idiot for not figuring it out sooner.”

  “So am I, and I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming here I would have—”

  “You would have what? Brought a date? Made sure to have some bombshell on your arm so that you could really humiliate me?”

  I stand quickly and reach for her hand. My chair scrapes against the tile floor. “Olivia, I wasn’t trying to humiliate you. That dance, that party, it wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t leave with her. We didn’t hook up. It was one dance. Not even one dance. Like, half a dance.” My voice has risen and people are turning to look, but I don’t care. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kimberly standing with her hands clasped, taking in the scene. She’s a cross between worried about us and irritated with me. Join the freaking club.

  Olivia rips her hand away and runs it across her middle as though trying to erase the feel of my skin. “So you keep saying. The problem is, I don’t believe you. Our entire relationship is based on lies. You only wanted me around to clean up your reputation. What’s to say you’re not lying right now?” She’s doing a good job of putting up an angry front, but I see it. Even if no one else can see it, I do. Olivia is hurt, and I’m the cause.

  I flick a glance at Kimberly. There’s no mistaking her expression now. Now she’s just mad.

  “Because I’m not lying. Please believe me. Please give me another chance.”

  It hits me then—she’s going to leave, and I’m going to lose her. Will Vandergriff—the man who never begs a woman to stay—finally got caught by a woman who is making it her mission to shake him off. I can see it in her eyes. Olivia’s grown cold; she’s not buying any of what I’m saying. She picks up her paper and folds it in half.

  “Sorry, Will. I’m done playing games. I’m done with your indecision, I’m done being just another woman on your arm, I’m done with tonight, and I’m done with baseball.” She smiles. There’s not a trace of amusement on her face. “Thirteen. Will there ever be a day when that number doesn’t haunt me?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, one that doesn’t require an answer.

  Even if it did, I wouldn’t be able to respond.

  Because Olivia just walked out and took my brain, my ability to speak, and my heart with her.

  Chapter 33

  Olivia

  School has started, and it’s been a nice distraction. We’ve been in class eleven days now, not counting weekends, and I’ve been so busy that I barely even remember what happened this summer. I remember spending a lot of time outdoors, I remember being sweaty, I remember making new friends. I remember loud music . . .

  Really, there’s not much to recall.

  The kids this year are just a joy. Pure love and light that add so much richness to my day. Take Landon for instance. He’s smart and inquisitive and funny and has a real knack for soccer. He stands out on our school’s intramural league, even if he is only in fourth grade. Among most of the spectators on the field on Saturday mornings—myself included, because Perry loves to be outside, especially in mud puddles, a new thing for him and an irritation for me—there’s already talk of him being a standout in high school. Landon reminds me so much of my brother that—

  Anyway, Landon’s a good kid.

  As is Avery, whom I continue to see a few times a week when I drop off packages for his family. They’re all doing a bit better—the boys now have their younger sister living with them, and his father has a single full-time job that pays enough to keep food on the table. Now my drop-offs often consist of things like new shirts, new shoes, and the occasional package of socks. But it works. They seem much healthier. Definitely happier.

  I can’t help but remember the one thing that would have made Avery really happy. More than happy. And my only regret is that I’ll never be able to fulfill it . . . that second condition on my requirement list with—

  Enough thinking about regrets. I don’t believe in them.

  As for Perry, we never did get around to those Mommy and Me cat day-camp classes, since I was distracted doing . . . other things. So we enrolled for fall classes. We’ve only been twice so far, but he loves them. There’s a jungle gym for him to climb and catnip toys for him to play with. There’s a calico named Tasha that he hates, but I just chalk that up to the animal being typically female. I don’t normally have such a sexist attitude, but in this case the parents need to train their cat better. I am the only cat parent who stays for the class, which I find disturbing. Cats need attention just as much as toddlers, and what kind of parent would drop a toddler off at camp? But no matter. I stay. It’s only an hour, and Perry thrives on the attention. With pets—as I’m sure is true with children—it’s all about staying consistent. And present. Some people just haven’t learned this yet, I suppose.

  Life with a cat is just awesome.

  Oh, and I enrolled in a photography class at the community college. We meet on Tuesday nights at seven, and my teacher says I’m a natural. I’ve learned so much about focus and angles and resolution and megapixels, and I just love it. It’s a nice way to better myself. To deepen my interest in a lifelong hobby. I have no idea why I didn’t think to pursue it until now. I probably should have decided to do it the moment we were at my mother’s house, looking through that drawer of old photos in my bedroom and—

  You know, life in general is just awesome.

  I did take David up on his request for a date. I called him up after I got home from the speed-dating thing that I’ve managed to completely block from my memory and told him I’d misunderstood his first inquiry. I didn’t mention the ellipsis. It didn’t seem appropriate and, really, I figured he didn’t mean it quite as harshly as I took it. Plus, some people don’t enjoy being the subject of impromptu English lessons.

  But an ellipsis can mean many things. Like, the night could lead us to a movie . . . to ice cream . . . to a scenic drive through the city. We never wound up doing any of those things, but we have been out twice since then, and he really is as lovely as I remembered from the night we met. His manners are impeccable, and he’s a pharmacist. Did I mention that he’s a pharmacist? There’s a lot that goes into becoming a pharmacist. So many drugs to memorize and so many medical terms to keep straight. And the measurements. The measurements alone can be exhausting, really grating on a person’s nerves by the end of the day.

  David is just lovely.

  I’ve never seen him without a tie and dress slacks. I’m not sure he owns a sweatshirt. I can’t i
magine him in sneakers. Definitely not in a ball cap. He doesn’t strike me as the type to play sports or even wear sports attire.

  There are so many advantages to dating a pharmacist.

  I have kept in contact with Kimberly. She tells me the play-offs are next week, though why she thinks I would be interested in that information is anyone’s guess. In the past two weeks we’ve gone to dinner a time or two. She’s kept me posted on her life, and I have to admit it sounds exciting. I might be jealous of her if I were into that sort of thing. You know, sports and other things sports-related. She’s kept me posted on a few other things as well . . . things I haven’t even had to ask her about. Kimberly has some very strong opinions. Mainly about my choices. About my attitude. My attitude is fine.

  It really is nice dating a pharmacist. Have I mentioned that?

  Will

  Life sucks and I hate it. And maybe that’s an awful attitude, but I’m not exactly asking for opinions here. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve seen or heard from Olivia, unless you count the times I’ve pressed my face against my living room window to get a glimpse of her, on the off chance we’re home at the same time, which has been only once. And even though we only dated for a month—real dated; I’m not talking about the fake-date thing because that puts us at more like three months and she would never let me count it—I’ve had more than enough of her absence. The woman managed to get under my skin, and women never get under my skin. It’s a personal life rule. One, put socks on left and then right. Two, show up on time to meetings, practice, and games. Three, own up to my mistakes. Eventually. And four, steer clear of commitment.

  Right now, commitment is the only thing I want.

  I miss the days of thinking she was crazy.

  For that reason and that reason alone I decided to throw another party tomorrow night after the game. If Olivia refuses to see me, she’ll have to listen to me. If she refuses to return my calls and texts, she can accept her fate of dealing with a bunch of loud music.

  Olivia likes her sleep. That’s one thing I learned about her.

  Too bad tomorrow night she’s not going to get any.

  Suddenly feeling in an upbeat mood that might have a little to do with annoying the chick who refuses to get out of my head, I fist my car keys and head for the door.

  I’m out of soda, and I need to buy some.

  And while I’m at it, I think I’ll pick up some new speakers. Ones that get really loud. Like, a million decibels that will reverberate through the walls.

  Straight through my living room to Olivia’s bedroom.

  Good luck sleeping, lady.

  Chapter 34

  Olivia

  I barely make it into bed before it starts. Music. The worst kind of music—the kind that vibrates against the floor, pounds through the walls, rattles across the ceiling, and shakes my bedroom fan, then ricochets into my head. It takes two seconds for me to have a headache. It takes three seconds for me to be blazing mad. He’s hosted exactly two parties since I met him, and it’s no coincidence that he’s having one now.

  I throw back my blankets and launch myself out of bed. Stupid nonexistent property owner rules. Will must have paid the fine up front, and now nothing will be done to stop him. Except me. I’ll stop him. I reach for a T-shirt and tug it over my head, then pace the bedroom floor, recalling Kimberly’s latest words and trying to decide what to do.

  He really does care about you, you know. You might find it hard to believe, considering his reputation, but Will was happy with you. He smiled when he was around you. Will doesn’t smile around women unless he’s trying to put on a show. Unless he’s trying to bide his time until the night is over. Will always smiled with you. Will smiled just talking about you. I saw his face when you walked out of the fund-raiser. He was devastated, Olivia. I’ve never seen him look like that.

  She said more. Much more. Each word like a nail being driven into the fence posts around my heart: one strike, two strikes, three, until they were in danger of toppling over. And as I’ve done every day since hearing those words, I find myself wondering if I was wrong. What if he was telling the truth about that actress? Worse, what if the last few weeks have found him moved on and dating other women? Worse still, and this thought jolts me to a stop in the middle of my bedroom floor—what if he’s not hosting a party after all, and he’s actually in his apartment with another woman right now?

  That last thought makes me mad and gets my feet moving. How dare he forget about me that fast. I haven’t forgotten about him.

  I don’t even like pharmacists.

  Within seconds I formulate a plan, one that I should probably think through a bit more before implementing. But I forgo a plan and go with my instinct. Four months ago, I didn’t know I possessed much of an instinct, or if I did, there wasn’t time to consider it around the schedules and organizations and charts and graphs I lived by. Tonight, it’s time for spontaneous. Tonight, I’m grasping instinct and tugging it by the hand.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror and roll my eyes.

  No one said spontaneous had to be pretty.

  I grab my cat and head to the kitchen, then yank open the closest drawer.

  And then, hammer in hand, I march out the front door.

  Will

  The first song isn’t over before it starts. Maybe she’s kicking with both feet, or maybe she’s pounding with two angry fists; either way, she’s taking out her aggression on my front door, and I find it amusing. I should probably stop her before serious damage is done to the finish, but I’m having fun listening to her temper tantrum and imagining her wild-eyed anger, that blonde hair falling in her face and swinging in all directions.

  I force myself to stop thinking about the hair and instead focus on Olivia getting giant purple bruises on her hands. That’s much easier.

  Maybe unfair, but Olivia brought this on herself.

  If she had only believed me, she wouldn’t be out there hurting unknown body parts while I stand inside and smile about it. I lean against the wall and take in the scene all around me. This party has sucked. This whole night has sucked. The past two weeks have sucked, and judging by the sound of Olivia’s fists, the suckage isn’t going to end anytime soon.

  “What is that sound?” Ricky asks, walking over with a beer in his hand and a swagger in his step.

  I shrug. “It’s Olivia. She’s mad because of the music, but I’m letting her sweat a little. Frankly, I’m enjoying it.” I smile. I’ve smiled a lot in the past few minutes. Not as much in the last couple of weeks, but it’s nice to feel it return.

  Ricky takes a slow sip of beer and swallows. “It sounds like someone is destroying your front door, dude.”

  At that, my eyes go wide and I push off the wall. Olivia is angry. Olivia is angry at me. Though that might be enough to make a fair amount of the female population do crazy things—threaten a lawsuit, claim a fake affair—I have no idea what it might do to Olivia. She’s . . . well . . . crazy. At least she used to be. Maybe she still is. Maybe she’s insane and ripping apart my expensive mahogany door with a screwdriver and—

  The door is open and we’re face-to-face.

  Yep, she’s mad.

  “What are you doing and why is the music so loud?” She doesn’t even try to be civil. She’s holding a hammer in one hand and Perry in the other. One glance at the front door tells me she was kicking it. No real damage to be seen except a white scuff mark at the bottom—no wood splinters or holes in the panels. With a quiet sigh of thanksgiving, I look at her and try not to notice the way my heart thuds. Wild-eyed and disheveled, she glares up at me while I force my face to harden and take in her appearance. Her T-shirt is inside out and she’s wearing familiar blue flannel pants. Her hair tumbles over her forehead and slides down her shoulders just like I imagined. Her curls are wild and tangled and messy. She looks like she just rolled out of bed.

  My mouth goes dry.

  I’ve never seen her look so beautiful.
>
  I scrub a hand over my face, because it’s just so typically Olivia, then peer at her through the slits in my fingers.

  “I’m having a party. Want to come in?”

  I don’t expect her to nod. I don’t expect her to move past me and into my living room. When she reaches the middle of the floor, she turns to face me. If she’s aware of how out of place she looks, she doesn’t seem to care. My lips itch with a desire to kiss her. The way she stands out among this gathering . . . it turns me on.

  She sets Perry down and palms the hammer. “Where are your speakers?”

  “What do you mean, where are my speakers? Are you going to smash them?”

  She sighs dramatically. “Yes, I’m going to smash them. Unless you end this party right now and tell everyone to get out, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  I take a couple steps toward her, facing an opponent. It’s nothing I haven’t done before. “You sound crazy. You can’t just come in here and threaten to ruin my property. Get out.”

  “I’ve been called worse, even by you. Now make everyone leave or I’m going to start swinging. What’s it going to be, Will? What’s it going to be?”

  She’s serious. When I see her scan the room and lock her sights on the new speakers I dropped a lot of money on just last night for the sole intent of annoying her—what do you know, it worked—I know she’s serious. With a growl that can’t be heard over the noise, I walk over and turn off the stereo, then make an announcement that everyone should go home. Everyone turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. After all, it’s common knowledge that you eventually take on the personalities of the people you hang around most. For me and Olivia, that pretty much adds up to a two-person gathering of the insane.