by Roya Carmen
“Come in,” I say a little too enthusiastically.
His eyes rake over me quickly, for an appropriate amount of time. I’m wearing my hair up in a messy bun, and a green shirt dress over leggings, cute but not too sexy.
His gaze darts about the space and he seems impressed. “I love the colors here.”
I smile. “Yeah, isn’t it great? It was like this when I moved in. It will probably need a repaint soon.”
“No, it looks good.” He hands me a bottle of red wine. “For the hostess. I wasn’t sure if you liked wine.”
My smile fades. “Uh… actually I’m in AA.”
His face falls and he stands there, dumbstruck. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I had no idea.”
I laugh out loud. “Nah, just pulling your chain. I love wine… perhaps a little too much.”
A slow smile traces his beautiful lips. “You have a mean streak… who knew?”
I grin as I take the bottle from him, a lovely Bacot Noir. “I’m sorry… that was in poor taste.”
“Well, you got me. Way to break the ice.”
I give him a quick tour of my place, which doesn’t take too long. I’m lucky to a have a corner unit, spacious with a great view. However, it’s certainly not easy on the wallet.
We move into the kitchen and he offers to help but I insist that he sit down on the sofa and relax.
“So what do you do when you’re not helping people,” he asks me as I take care of the final preparations.
I laugh. “I like to read,” I say. “Can you tell?”
He stands, heads to my bookcase, and browses my books. I’m a little uncomfortable at the sight of him intently perusing my many books. Book collections are so personal.
He smiles. “I see you’re a fan of Calvin & Hobbes. Me too.”
“I love it.”
“You have a great collection here.”
Yes, over the years, I’ve collected the entire collection of Calvin & Hobbes, Garfield, Foxtrot, Dilbert, and am the proud owner of the Peanuts Collector’s Edition.
“They cheer me up when I’m down,” I confess. “All I need is a cozy throw, a cup of tea and my comic books.”
“No drugs or booze needed,” he jokes. “That’s cool.”
I’m brought back to my parents, and a wave of sadness consumes me, like it often does whenever I reminisce about the past. My dad died a few years ago, and I’m estranged from Nick. Jake and I sometimes chat on Facebook, and he keeps me up to date. He’s a mechanic, and apparently Nick is unemployed. In a funny twist of fate, Nick bought the Reeds’ old trailer.
“This looks amazing,” Noah says as we sit down to eat. “And so do you, by the way,” he adds with a playful grin.
I raise a brow. “Are you flirting with me?” I tease as I serve him a helping of beef and rice. “You know this is just a friendly neighborly meal, right?”
“I do.” He smiles, and I stare at him a little too long before filling up my own plate.
He pours us both wine, and I study his beautiful hands. He has the long fingers of a pianist.
“So, Abby,” he says. “How are you, really? Are you happy?” he asks and the question catches me completely off guard.
When I don’t respond, he adds, “You can tell me. I’m the perfect person to confide in. I’m just a stranger.”
“A stranger is just a friend in the making,” I say.
He laughs. “Well, let’s hope.”
I stare down at my plate.
“Seriously,” he says. “How are you? Why aren’t you married with kids yet?”
I honestly don’t know what to say. Nosy much? But he’s right, he’s just a stranger so who cares. “Well,” I start. “I had the whole thing planned out, but then my wonderful ex-husband decided that he was in love with his secretary.”
Noah’s eyes grow wide. “I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head and twirl my fork in my rice. “It’s actually okay because I never really loved him, you know. Not the way you should love your husband.”
He nods, quietly urging me to go on, but I don’t quite know what else to say.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks.
I laugh. “Wow, you don’t pull any punches, do you? You go right for the gut wrenching questions.”
“Yes, I’ll be asking how you feel about dying next,” he jokes.
“Yes,” I answer him. “Once.”
He nods as if he expected this answer all along. “Tell me about him… or her?” he teases.
I laugh out loud. “You’re funny.”
“I try.”
“Well, he was my first love and my only love,” I confess. “And he was all wrong for me.”
“Isn’t it always the way?” he says. “Why was he all wrong?”
“God, you’re nosy, you know that?”
His grin is impish when he says without apology, “Guilty. What can I say… no one’s perfect.”
I smile. “You’re like a creepy stalker.”
“A very handsome creepy stalker.”
I shake my head yet again. “You’re very nosy, and also full of yourself.”
“Like I said, no one’s perfect.”
My thoughts are brought back to Gavin. My heart still aches for him. It’s been almost twenty years, yet his face never leaves me; that intoxicating smile, those big kind eyes, and mostly, the way he made me feel. I’ve been searching for that feeling ever since. “He was too old for me.”
He rubs a finger along his jaw, and slowly reaches for his wine. “I see.”
“He died,” I add.
He nods quietly and sets his wine glass carefully down on the table, and I’m surprised by his reaction, or lack thereof. “I’m so sorry, Abby,” he finally says, and he seems genuinely sorry.
“Well, anyway, that’s all in the past,” I’m quick to say, eager to change the subject. He doesn’t ask me how Gavin died, and I’m thankful for that. I wouldn’t have the heart to go into it.
“Tell me about your work,” he says instead.
I light up when I tell him all about my past clients, all the wonderful amazing people I’ve worked with in the past. Unfortunately, all it takes is one person to ruin it all. And for me, that person was Michael Howard. If there’s anyone I wish I never met, it’s Michael. Of course, I don’t tell Noah about Michael. It would paint me in a bad light, and I want him to think I’m beautiful, inside and out.
Following dinner, I serve a lemon tart for dessert. I’ve always loved baking, ever since I was a kid. I used to bake treats for anyone who would eat them. I’d walk around the neighborhood and hand out baskets of cupcakes, muffins and cookies. “I need the basket back, though. I’ll come back in a week,” I’d always say. Of course, the whole neighborhood loved me. The way to people’s hearts is through their stomachs. I learned that at an early age.
We chat about our jobs mostly, and I tell him all about my friends in the building. He doesn’t speak much about his friends, and says nothing about his family. When I ask him if he has siblings, he hesitates for a beat and says “Yep… one brother.” I don’t press. If anyone understands the complexity of family dynamics, it’s me. I get it.
He doesn’t overstay his welcome, and says goodbye at around eight o’clock. He says he has some work to do. He leaves me with a soft thank you kiss on the cheek. I want more.
“I owe you now,” he says. “Next time… my place. I’m a decent cook.”
“So not just a pretty face,” I tease.
He laughs. “Nope.”
“Well, I’d like that very much,” I admit.
A soft smile traces his lips as he turns the door handle. He says goodbye and leaves me wanting more.
Izzie peels off her red Power Girls t-shirt, and her tiny breasts are unapologetically in my face. She has no qualms about being practically naked in front of me and her little brother, Abe. I, on the other hand, am not too comfortable since the kid is here.
“C’mon, Abby. It’s just me and Abe.”
I was only nine when she died but I don’t remember her ever being as glamorous as Izzie’s Mom. My mother kept her mousy brown hair short, and wore ripped jeans and old rock band t-shirts. She looked nothing like the beautiful Adele; painted eyes and lips, long golden hair, and flattering dresses.
I make a mental note to remember to pray tonight before bedtime, and remind the Lord to not forget to give me Adele’s body when I grow up.
“Oh, try this one,” Izzie cheers as she hands me a slick black leather dress.
I smile as I catch a glance of little Abe, golden locks and big blue eyes, hair kept a little too long. He’s wearing a sequined hot little pink number. The dress drags down to the floor, and he sways his hips in an attempt to imitate his mother dancing.
Izzie laughs her head off. “You look like mini-mom.”
I slip on the skinny leather dress. “He totally does.”
He grabs a hairbrush and starts to belt out Whitney Houston’s I Want to Dance with Somebody.
Izzie and I both laugh out loud.
I wake with a start, and stare up at my elaborate ceiling. At least this time, it wasn’t the bike ride nightmare. Rather, it was a pleasant memory, a recollection I hadn’t thought about in ages; raiding Adele’s closet, and those Power Girls t-shirts.
Izzie and I had so much freedom back then. We were pretty much left to our own devices. Adele was extremely lenient, and I was practically an orphan. Leaving two young energetic girls at their leisure was probably not the smartest move, but we certainly appreciated our freedom. We formed an exclusive club (just us two) and called ourselves the “Power Girls”.
Izzie always looked up to her older brother. Danny could go to the mall by himself. He had a girlfriend… her name was Anna. He worked at McDonald’s. He was all grown up.
“Did you get them? Did you get them?” Izzie tore at the bags Danny was holding.
“Relax, Izzie. I’ve got them.” He pulled out two red t-shirts and handed them to her.
She hugged him with all her might. “Thanks, Danny. Thanks so much.”
“Now you promise to leave Anna and I alone. I want to hear you say it.”
She stretched out the t-shirt to approve it. “I do. I do. I promise.” The words Power Girls, in black felt stick-on letters, were pressed on the front. At the back, was her name. I reached for the other t-shirt and checked the back, and there it was: Abby.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head. I felt empowered. “I love it.”
“Here. I also got you these.” Danny pulled out two pairs of rainbow colored suspenders and helped Izzie into hers.
“I love these. I love the colors. You’re the best, Danny.”
“So you promise? You’re gonna give Anna and I some time alone?”
“Yes. I promise. I told you. I can’t wait to show everyone.”
I still have that t-shirt and those rainbow suspenders, stashed away in a box in my closet, with all my other memories. I can’t bear to open that box. I wish I could. I wish I could face my past, but it’s all too painful, and it breaks my heart every single time I think about it.
7
We’re having coffee at Mischa’s today. I can’t wait. My friends have been a blessing during my time away from work. Without them, I’d probably lose my mind. I hurry down the stairs, and I smile at the sight of my feet. I’m wearing sweats and Birkenstocks. I’ve pretty much given up on life. I suppose that’s what happens when unemployment hits.
God, I hope I don’t run into Noah.
Mischa greets me with a smile and gives me one of her very formal hugs. She’s a sweetie but at first glance, she seems very uptight. Everything about her is perfect; her hair, her pressed clothes and her flawless smile… unlike me, with my permanent bed hair and slightly crooked incisors.
She urges me in. “Everyone is already here.”
“Sorry, I’m late.” I don’t tell her that I just realized that old aunt flo was visiting, just before I was about to leave. Immediate action had to be taken.
The last thing I’d want to do is accidentally bleed on Mischa’s sofa. Her loft is just as flawless as she is. Everyone knows that if you move a cushion on her sofa, you should probably put it back exactly where it was. Otherwise, she’ll do it for you. Claudia likes to mess with her and tilt the frames on her wall, just for fun. Mischa doesn’t find it as amusing as we do.
We exchange quicks hugs, and I settle on the sofa, next to the girls.
“The usual?” Mischa asks.
“Sure… thanks.”
“So… tell us all about dinner?” Claudia says in a sing-song voice.
An impish grin traces my lips. “What dinner?” I say innocently.
She grins playfully. “Dinner with the boy toy,” she clarifies.
I laugh. “Well, he’s young, but I wouldn’t exactly call him a boy toy.”
“I need to see this guy,” Gretchen says. “Why haven’t I seen him?”
“Well, you are on the other side of the building,” I point out. “And you’ve probably seen him.”
Truth is, Gretchen might have not noticed him. She’s been walking around like a zombie ever since her husband’s death. It’s all about her son Ethan, and she doesn’t see anything else.
“Well, it was quite nice,” I tell them. “Lots of talking… lots of laughing. He liked my meal and he was full of compliments.”
Claudia shuffles to the edge of the sofa. “Any tongue action?”
I shake my head. “No, no tongue action, Claudia.”
“But you wanted it, right?”
“Uh…”
Claudia cracks up. “She did. She totally did.”
“Okay, enough about me already,” I plead. “What’s new with you, Mischa?” I ask, a desperate attempt to change the subject.
Mischa laughs.
My phone sings, rescuing me. Thank you, phone. I excuse myself and walk to the privacy of the hall. “Hello,” I say, chipper.
“Hello, is this Abigail Cooper?”
My heart skips a beat. Could this be them finally getting back to me about the job. “Yes, this is she.”
“Hello, Mrs. Cooper. This is Melanie Adams from Warden Social Services. How are you?”
“Oh, hi, Melanie… uh… Mrs. Adams. How are you?”
Oh God, please let this be good news.
“I’m great, thanks. I was just calling to thank you for coming to chat with us.”
My heart sinks. I stare at the collection of framed photos hung on Mischa’s wall.
“I really enjoyed meeting you,” Melanie goes on. “I found you to be very kind and approachable, not to mention intelligent.”
“Uh… thank you.” Where exactly is she going with this?
“You’re obviously very qualified for the position, and I think you’d be perfect for the job,” she finally says. “If you’re still interested, that is. We’d love to welcome you to the team.”
My chest swells proudly. “Of course, I’m still interested. I’d love to join your team.”
“Fantastic. It’s settled then. Could you come in tomorrow, just to go over a few things before you officially start.”
“Of course. Name the time, and I’ll be there.”
We settle on a meeting time, all the while, my heart is beating frantically, refusing to behave. When I finally end the call, I practically bounce back to Mischa’s living room. “I got it!”
“The job?” Mischa asks.
“Yes!”
They all rise in unison to give me congratulatory hugs.
“It’s great and all, but I’m kind of sad, though,” Mischa confesses. “We’ll miss you.”
“Yeah, we will,” Gretchen agrees. “Who am I going to bake with?”
“Don’t look at me,�
�� Claudia chimes in.
We all laugh and reach for our drinks. It’s a bittersweet moment. Yes, I’m excited about this new job, but I will definitely miss this.
Saturday mornings were always my favorite day of the week. I think that’s the case for most kids. I used to lounge on our blue sofa and stare at the television like a zombie, my hand usually in a box of Lucky Charms. I loved eating all the marshmallows, just to piss my brothers off. Digging for the last one was some kind of game. One memory in particular has always stuck with me.
As was my habit, I’d eaten all the tasty bits. When I was finally convinced I’d gotten them all, I put the box back into the cupboard.
“What are you smiling at?” Nick asked, rubbing his eyes. He had gotten up late that morning, as usual. My brothers were so lazy, typically sleeping in until ten or so.
“Nothing.” I giggled.
Nick shuffled to the kitchen. He poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“Abby,” he scoffed. “You ate all the marshmallows again.” He poured the milk and then hurled himself at me. I tried to get away, but I couldn’t quite get out in time, and he poured the bowl of cereal right over my head. I stood there in shock, head dripping, cereal bits stuck all over my hair.
I reached for my head, and pulled out the cereal bits from my hair. “Asshole!” Where was my dad when I needed him?
“You’re gonna have to clean that up, loser.”
A stupid grin was plastered across his face. “I don’t care. It was worth it.”
I thought he should be more mature than me. After all, he was three years older. At fourteen, I was still allowed to be immature. I was livid. I hurried outside to find Dad. He was having a good day, meaning a sober day. It was beautiful out, and when it was sunny, he’d usually have good days. I prayed every day for sun.
I worked to get the cereal out of my hair as I headed toward our front yard. I figured my dad would be in front of the house, working on his garden. Inside, our trailer was a total mess, but outside, it was quite a sight to behold. It was his pride, a kind of unwritten competition in the park. It was known that the Coopers had the nicest yard in the park. But there were also the Wards on Road #1 who were giving my dad a run for his money. He had to stay on top. He had recently painted the flower bed rocks in alternating browns and beiges. The previous month, he’d also added a scarecrow in his fruit and vegetable garden. That move put him over the top and he was determined to stay there.