by Tabatha Kiss
“Kimber VanHouten,” I repeat. “I kissed her.”
Gertie keeps walking.
“I mean, that right there would be an accomplishment at any stage in my life, but...”
I glance around for eavesdroppers but the highway is empty except for a blue car way too far ahead to be dangerous.
“I don’t know if you know this, Gertie, but she’s married. I kissed a married woman. On her kitchen table.”
“Moo-OOOOOO!”
“I know,” I say. “I’m a walking cliché but… Kimber’s my dream girl, man. What was I supposed to do?”
Gertie exhales hard.
“Hey, you weren’t there! She was all… blushing and vulnerable and… heaving breasts. I’m just a man, you know?”
I stop and take another look at Gertie.
“I’m a man arguing with a cow.”
“Moo-OOOO!”
“Yeah, I know you don’t care.” I pat her head with a sigh. “Let’s get you home.”
Thirteen
Kimber
“Thanks for walking with me, Jovie,” I say as we step off Main Street toward Third.
Jovie scoffs as she pauses to slowly roll the stroller up onto the sidewalk. “Are you kidding? You did me a favor. Five months since I’ve had this kid and I still can’t figure out the car seat.”
I smile. “They aren’t really my area of expertise, either.”
“Car shit is Will’s area. Mine is toys.” She turns her head up and takes a deep breath of fresh air. “Besides, the weather is beautiful today. I don’t mind the walk at all.”
She looks at me, her eyes partially falling on my hat and gloves. I know she wants to ask. I would ask, too, if my friend wore thick, winter clothing at the end of June.
But she doesn’t ask. We continue down Third Street and I push my sunglasses a little higher up my nose to block out the harsh, summer sunlight.
“And we’re here!”
Jovie comes to a stop in front of a big, blue house. Four cars line the driveway and I bite my lip in thought.
“Hey, Jove, how many people are in your sister-in-law’s book club?” I ask.
“Uh...” She bends down and picks up Joanne from the stroller. “Five or six? Not everybody makes it sometimes. There will be plenty of room for you, I promise. Can you push the stroller to the door for me?”
“Sure.”
I grip the handle and give it a little push to follow her up, slowly feeling a smile inch up my cheek. I spent the last few hours talking myself into this, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t ready for it, but it was all just bullshit. Little parties, social gatherings, mingling. This is what I was known for. What I lived for. It feels nice to be invited somewhere again, to get out of the house for a few hours. Away from my library and my kitchen…
And Nate.
Yeah. He’s been on my mind, too.
I kissed another man. On my kitchen table.
And I liked it so much I couldn’t even look Curtis in the eye this morning.
Not that he noticed, of course…
Jovie shifts her baby a little higher up her hip and knocks twice on the front door. After a few moments, a tall, brown-haired woman in dark pink scrub bottoms and a black t-shirt opens the door and instantly gushes over little Joanne.
“There’s my niece!” she coos, reaching out to pinch the baby’s cheeks.
“Hey, Sara,” Jovie says. “I’m here, too.”
Sara straightens up. “Oh. Hi, Jovie.”
Jovie glances back at me and rolls her eyes. I chuckle as I slide off my sunglasses and Sara looks at me, her mouth instantly dropping open.
“Kimber!” she says. “Oh, wow...”
I wave a hand. “Hi, Sara.”
“I told you I was bringing a plus-one,” Jovie says.
Sara blinks at me. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t realize...” She clears her throat and takes a step back. “Please, come in.”
Jovie passes through the doorway and I push the stroller in front of me. Sara helps pull it inside and she sets it off to the right of the doorway by the stairs.
“It’s good to see you,” she says to me, her gaze locking on my left eye with trained, bedside manner precision.
I recognize it from the few weeks I spent in the hospital. Every nurse looked at me with that same forced smile trying to mask the pity in their voices.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“No, really. I mean that.” She gives my arm a friendly pinch. “We think about you often.”
I nod, not really sure how to respond to it. “It’s great to be here. Jovie says some nice things about your group.”
“Eh, it’s just a fun excuse to get together and drink wine in the AM, mostly.” She rests a hand on the side of her mouth. “Don’t tell my husband,” she jokes.
I chuckle. “All right.”
She hooks my arm and leads me toward the voices in the living room. “Speaking of which, how is Curtis? We’ve barely seen or heard from either of you since...” She realizes her mistakes. “Well, you know.”
“It’s okay,” I say, touching her hand. “He’s great. Working non-stop—”
“Oh, my god! Kimber?!”
I stiffen as three women leap off the couch and bolt toward me.
With a blink, I retreat into the happy place deep in my mind somewhere. I let myself run on autopilot on the outside, greeting each one of them with hugs and smiles.
Hi, Natalie. How are you, Claudia?
Even Cindy Sumner, whom I haven’t spoken to since high school, but the photos of her perfect, little life in her mother’s office stand out in my memory.
I grin and bear it. This was who I used to be, right? I lived for this, right?
“Okay, already!” Jovie shoves through the crowd and takes my hand. “Give the poor woman some space, please.”
She leads me across the room toward a loveseat in the corner on the opposite end away from the couch.
I look at her as we sit down, giving her a silent thank you and she just rolls her eyes in that Jovie way while expertly balancing her daughter on her lap.
My savior, Jovie Ross.
Well, that’s a strange thought.
“Okay, so...” Sara sits down in an armchair while the other girls slump back onto the couch. “What did we think of To Bed With You?”
Natalie snorts. “Meh. Boring. Let’s talk about the hoedown!”
I freeze in place.
“We can talk party planning committee matters at the party planning committee meeting on Thursday, Natalie,” Sara says.
“But I’m really excited for it this year—”
Jovie nudges my leg and leans in. “And this is the part of the book club meeting where it devolves into a discussion about party planning because all of us are also on Clover’s party planning committee.”
I nod, trying to catch my breath. “Uh-huh.”
“Sara will steer us back on-course in a few minutes. Just gotta wait it out.”
“What do you mean Mr. Warner isn’t letting us paint the barn this year?” Sara asks, her voice rising.
Jovie squints. “Or not.”
Claudia shrugs. “He said he just had the inside re-done and he doesn’t want us broads screwing it up — his words, not mine.”
Sara’s jaw drops. “Well, what are we gonna do?”
“We can hang some posters? Or signs!” Natalie says. “I live for signage.”
Sara considers it. “We’ll have to do something. We can’t throw a hoedown in a bare barn.” She looks at Claudia. “Will your father-in-law let us hang things, at least?”
Claudia nods. “I’m pretty sure, yeah.”
“Okay, well...” Sara bites her cheek. “Who do we know that paints?”
Jovie looks at me. I say nothing. Thankfully, neither does she.
I focus on my breath. I lock my eyes on the couch cushions or the clock on the wall or the wine glass in front of me. I try to think of anything but Cl
over’s annual Fourth of July hoedown.
The last time I went to one, I went in with a smiling, happy face.
And I came out like this.
Fourteen
Nate
I stare into my second cup of coffee. Bits of steam rise off the top, caressing the air like the soft touch of a gentle hand and — Oh, my God. Am I really getting turned on by a goddamn cup of coffee?
Get your shit together, Nathaniel.
It was just a kiss.
The best kiss I’ve ever had but do try not to focus on that detail. Maybe focus on the fact that she’s married. To a jerk. But still lawfully wedded. Yes, she’s legally bound to a man who ignores her every need. It’s understandable why she just needed a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold... and place on her breast while you shove your tongue down her throat.
Oh, hello, Square One. Nice to see you again.
“What’s gotten into you?”
I blink out of it and look at my mother across the table. “Nothing,” I answer.
She squints at me with suspicion. “You look antsy.”
“I’m not antsy,” I say.
“You’re fidgeting.”
I force my ankle to stop bouncing. “No, I’m not.”
“You on the pot again?”
I scoff. “I wish.”
She raises her own mug and takes a slow, careful sip.
I glance at the clock. A quarter past five. Come on, Myers, give me something to latch onto other than the same, blissful memory replaying itself over and over again my for the last thirty-six hours...
Finally, the back door opens and Will steps inside, his hands covered with a thin layer of black grease and dirt.
I lurch forward. “What’d you find out?” I ask.
Mom grabs an old dish rag off the sink and hands it to Will.
“Thanks,” he says to her as he wipes his fingers. “Well, it looks like your alternator is busted.”
“Cool,” I say. “Fix it.”
Will turns up his hands. “Do I look like I carry a spare alternator on me?”
“Why didn’t you come prepared, Mr. Mechanic?”
“Nate, you called me at four-thirty in the morning. I have a five-month-old daughter at home. You’re lucky I even answered the phone at all before Jovie had the chance to fling it against the wall. I’ll call Marv for a tow, we’ll get you looked at some time today. Hopefully, you’ll be up and running again by the weekend.”
I glance at the clock. “I’m already a half-hour late on deliveries. What am I supposed to do?”
My mother snickers into her coffee mug.
I glare at her, my guts falling. “Oh, come on.”
“We keep it as a back-up for a reason,” she says.
“To humiliate me even more?”
“No, for the days when the truck goes belly up and the people still need their milk.”
I groan.
“It’ll be all right, honey. Just think of it as a bit of exercise.” She pokes my shoulder. “Beef up those skinny legs.”
Will smirks as he pretends to focus on cleaning his knuckles.
I lean down and slam my forehead against the kitchen table.
Well, I can’t say I didn’t get what I wished for.
I’m definitely not replaying that memory anymore.
No, I’m pedaling my ass off because our backup vehicle is a damn carrier tricycle. One wheel behind me and two in front with a large cooler mounted between them.
I look fucking ridiculous.
No wonder my grandfather had legs made of solid steel. They didn’t upgrade to the refrigerated truck until my father was in high school. I can only think of two instances in my young life when I had to venture out in this thing and I hated it then just as much as I do now.
The sensitive, doting housewives of last week now frown at me with bitter, annoyed eyes. Most of them, thankfully, take notice of my sweat-drenched clothing and tired eyes and throw on an understanding smile. Shit happens, right? The others...
Eh, screw ‘em.
There was just enough room in the large cooler mounted on the front to carry all the bottles I need for my Wednesday drop-offs. Nothing more and nothing less. Luckily, the bike feels lighter with each bottle I take out and by the time I reach the end of my orders, I’m light as a feather. My legs will probably feel stiff as boards tomorrow, though.
I ride over Main Street for the last time on my route and pass by Marv’s Auto Repair on the corner. My milk truck sits in line behind two sedans and a mini-van. Will said he’d try and bump it up on the list and he better follow through. There’s no way I want to ride this Cold War-era monstrosity around town twice.
“Lookin’ good, milkman!”
A car honks deep in the auto garage. I raise a hand, giving them a dull wave and laughter echoes off behind me as I disappear out-of-sight onto First Street.
I come to a stop mid-street and snatch the last few bottles out of the cooler. My thighs burn as I walk from house-to-house, silently dropping and bolting on to the next.
The morning breeze cools my face. I turn my head up to catch a bit of the morning sun between the houses. It’s a beautiful day, to be honest. Birds chirping. Wild blowing. And yes, I’m doing everything I can right now not to think about the black cloud of naughty guilt and blissful shame staring at me from the end of the street.
The VanHouten house.
Kimber.
She was gone yesterday. I might have passed through on my way to the grocery store to grab some totally necessary soda I just had to have right at the time I knew Curtis would be gone at work. That kiss kept me up all night. Twice.
I had to know if she felt the same way.
But, turns out, she and Jovie went to Will’s sister’s house for a book club meeting. I wasn’t about to risk looking like some weird stalker freak by going over there, though. Also, Sara hates my guts. To be fair, Sara hates everybody, but especially me.
I hit the sidewalk and head toward the back of the house. My heart pounds harder with every stiff, aching step that hits the pavement.
What’s going to happen when I reach that back door?
Will it be closed but unlocked like the other day? Will it be open? Is she waiting for me with that sweet smile? My mind runs wild for a few greedy seconds. Kimber in my arms. On that table. A moan on her tongue. She says my name in that perfect way…
The back door comes into view and I pause. Two empty bottles sit on the stoop. She remembered today.
Kimber never remembers to put her empties out. But she remembered today.
I set the last two fresh bottles down beside them. Did she remember on purpose? Did she put them out here to avoid me?
I touch the doorknob, hesitating for a moment before slowly turning it but it’s stuck in place.
She locked the door.
I exhale as that fantasy vanishes from my head.
Okay. I guess she doesn’t feel the same way after all.
Fifteen
Kimber
Let him in.
I sit on my chair in front of the easel, holding absolutely still as Nate’s hand falls from the knob.
Let him in.
I don’t move. Letting him in would be a mistake. If I let him in, he’d flash me that smile. He’d look at me the way he always does and I won’t be able to resist him.
Finally, his feet click down the sidewalk. I follow the sound around the house, my eyes drawing a line along the wall until I can’t hear him anymore.
It feels awful. It feels like an important part of myself is going with him. The part the makes me laugh and smile and feel good about myself but it’s not right. It’s the right feeling. But it’s the wrong man.
I take my deep breath and hold it as I stare at the blank canvas in front of me.
“You look different.”
I nod as Dr. Sumner leans forward in her seat. “I feel different,” I say.
Her eyes trail downward again, bouncing from the top of my head
to my feet and back again. “What’s different?” she asks.
“Well, I...” My lips twitch. “I did what you told me to do.”
She smiles. “...And?”
“And...”
I kissed a man other than my husband.
“I reconnected with some old friends,” I say instead.
Sumner’s stretches her hands out in an explosive, jazz-hands-like maneuver. “Atta girl!” She chuckles. “How does it feel?”
“It feels great. Really great. I talked to my neighbors for the first time in a year. I went to Lucky’s bar on a Saturday night.”
She blinks. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa.” I force a chuckle. “It’s all really great...”
Her hands plummet back to her lap. “But?” she asks, sensing more words on my tongue.
I sigh. “The Fourth of July is next week,” I say slowly.
“The anniversary.”
“I’d almost forgotten about it, strangely.” I fiddle with the fingertips of my glove. “Then, I realized that I’ll never really be able to. That’s the thing about holidays. You have one bad one and it taints it for the rest of your life. While everyone else is...” I swallow the lump in my throat, “planning hoedowns and buying fireworks, you’re just trying to breathe through it.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?” she asks. “Just trying to breathe through it?”
“That, and thinking about avoiding the world until it’s over with again.” I look at her. “How do you deal with everyone around you celebrating on the worst day of your life?” I ask.
“It might feel like it but cocooning yourself away again isn’t the answer you’re looking for, Kimber.”
She waits for a response but I say nothing.
“Have you spoken to Curtis about this?” she asks.
My eyes wander to the empty armchair beside me. “No,” I say.
“And will he be joining us this evening?”
I shrug a shoulder. He knows when our appointment is. 8 PM. Thursday nights. For four months now.
I glance at the clock. Thirty-two minutes late. New record.