by Susan Cairns
“Are you ready?” the kid asks from behind the counter.
“Yeah, I’m good. Do you know what you want?” I ask, nudging Jennifer.
“Yeah, but go ahead.”
“All right, I’m going to have five beef tacos, all hard shell, and a small drink.”
“Do you want anything on those?”
“Um, yeah, I’ll have hot salsa, cheese, and sour cream,” I answer as he punches my order into the computer.
“Okay, and for you?” He nods toward Jennifer.
“I’m going to get a chicken quesadilla with salsa and sour cream on the side.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Yes, can I get a small vanilla milkshake?”
“Is that everything?” the kid asks looking between Jennifer and me.
“Yeah, I think that’s going to be it.”
“Okay, so I have five hard shell tacos with hot salsa and sour cream, a chicken quesadilla with salsa and sour cream on the side, with a small fountain drink and a small vanilla milkshake?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Your total’s $26.93,” he says, and I hand him my debit card. “And your order number is 490.”
“Thanks, man.”
After slipping my card back in my wallet, I put my hand at the small of Jennifer’s back and guide her to a table. Before I have a chance to sit down, the kid is calling me back to pick up the cup for my drink, then just as my ass is about to hit the bench, the kid is calling our number.
Jennifer giggles. “You probably should have just waited by the counter.”
“You’re probably right. Be right back,” I say and head back.
After dropping the receipt in the small trash bin on the counter, I pick up our tray, making sure to grab some napkins and a couple straws on the way back to the table. Before sitting, I hand Jennifer her milkshake and food, then I finally slide myself onto the bench seat.
“How is it?” Jennifer asks, watching me curiously from across the table.
It takes a minute for me to answer since my first bite was half a taco. “It’s good.”
“Better than your usual drunk munchie food?”
“The best fake tacos I’ve ever had.”
“Fake tacos?” Jennifer looks up from where she’s spreading sour cream and salsa on her quesadilla. “They’re tacos. What’s fake about them?”
“They’re not authentic Mexican, they’re made in a sandwich shop, so they’re fake tacos.”
“Mighty is fake tacos. ETS is the real deal,” she counters before taking the first bite of her food.
“I guess you’ll have to introduce me to all the taco joints in Buffalo and let me decide for myself.”
“All right, I’ll make a list, and as we check them off, you can rate them.” She looks almost too excited. “But I warn you, when you eat Mighty, you need to be drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever had their food sober.”
“That sounds promising.” I take another big bite, finishing off taco number one.
“Trust me, it’s amazing, especially when you have the right amount of alcohol running through your veins.”
“This coming from the woman eating a quesadilla while drinking a vanilla milkshake.”
She grins. “I drink milk with pizza too.”
“That sounds absolutely disgusting.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Jennifer challenges me with a raised brow and a smirk.
“Okay, make your list and let me be the judge.” I smile at her before diving into number two.
For a few minutes, we eat in silence. Jennifer’s paying attention to painting the toppings on her food while I look out the windows, watching all the people walking around the neighborhood and enjoying the spring weather. I’m not sure how much more there is to do around the area, and I wonder what else Jennifer has in mind for us today. I can’t imagine spending the whole day walking up and down Elmwood Avenue, although it seems to be the thing to do.
“So after lunch, what else do you have planned?” I finally ask.
“Well, there are a couple shops I want to stop at. One is a co-op where we can pick up some groceries, and the other is a small boutique a couple blocks closer to the condo, on the other side of the street. But I figured we can walk a little farther so you can see all there is to offer around here. I’ll also show you a good route to Delaware Park, so you can start running again. After that, I thought we could go to Forest Lawn Cemetery.”
“You’re taking me to a cemetery?” I ask, a little confused.
“It’s kind of an attraction around here. Millard Fillmore and Rick James are buried there.”
“Ok, and the attraction is?”
“It’s Rick James, bitch!” Jennifer answers then bursts out laughing at her corny joke.
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
‘What? You opened the door, I had to take the opportunity.” She smiles sweetly. “But really, it’s a beautiful park. People even have their wedding pictures taken there.”
“It’s a cemetery. That’s a little morbid and kind of disrespectful.”
“It’s not though. They’ve made it so people can walk around and enjoy the history. There are a lot of influential people buried there. You’ll see.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I’ll try to have an open mind about it too.
Once we’re done eating, I clear our garbage while Jennifer waits by the door. I take her hand as we make our way back to the sidewalk and resume our earlier positions. Jennifer points out different bars, restaurants, and stores that she goes to or used to go to when she was younger. The architecture of the older buildings is beautiful; I can definitely see why this area is so popular.
Stopping at Forest Avenue, Jennifer tugs my hand. “Let’s turn around here so I can stop at the co-op on our way back to the condo.”
“There’s nothing else up ahead?” I ask, wanting to see what else our neighborhood has to offer.
“Buff State is up on the left and the art museum is on the right, but we can plan to walk around there another day, and I’ll drive by on our way to Forest Lawn. Then I can show you how to get to Ring Road so you can run around the park,” she offers as we head back in the direction we came.
“Yes, please, I need to map out a good place to run. I’m starting to get fat with all of this sitting around.”
“Seriously, you call this fat? Because I’m pretty sure I could do my laundry on your abs,” she says as her cheeks turn pink.
“Wow, Jennifer,” I call her out with a big cheesy smile . “I think this is the first time you’ve ever vocalized your thoughts on my body.”
“It’s hard not to notice when you’re pressed up against me at night,” she says, sounding a little unsure. I don’t know if it’s about making the comment or about me being pressed up against her back as we sleep.
“Does that make you uncomfortable?” I ask, tipping my head to look her in the face.
She slows her pace a little, glancing at me. “No.”
“No? That’s it?”
“We’ll talk about it later. This isn’t really the place to have this discussion.”
“Fair enough, but I’m glad you brought it up, because that’s something we need to talk about.”
“We will.” Jennifer ends the conversation by slipping her sunglasses over her eyes and putting a few inches between our bodies, although she doesn’t let go of my hand.
We stop at the Lexington Co-Op, which is only three blocks from the condo, and grab some groceries. I follow Jennifer around the store as she picks up produce and random items that don’t look like they’d be in a normal grocery store. At the checkout, I go for my wallet out of habit, but Jennifer beats me to it, whipping out her card before I have the chance. It’s not a big deal this time. I didn’t buy anything, nor do I want to waste the money on things she could have gotten at Tops or Wegmans for half the price.
At the intersection before the condo, Jennifer stops and turns so her body is mostly in
front of mine, then she looks at me with a small smile. She’s been quiet since I said we needed to have a chat about things getting a little more intimate between us, and I think she feels a little awkward about it. So I give her an encouraging smile and brush the back of my free hand across her cheek.
“I’m going to run over to Bluebirds.” She nods at the small store across the street, drawing my attention away from her for a second. “Do you mind taking the groceries into the house? I’ll only be a few minutes, then we can head out again.”
The store looks to be filled with nothing that would interest me in the least, so I don’t offer to join her. “Go, I’ve got the bags, and take your time. I’ll put everything away for you.”
“I appreciate that, thank you.” Jennifer pulls away, facing the intersection and waiting for the light to change.
I watch her for a few seconds, wondering if my bringing up our lack of sex life really bothered her that much. Apparently it did. Maybe because we were out in public. I need to remember that she’s got some pretty high morals and probably doesn’t freely talk about those things while in public, unlike some of the conversations we heard as we walked. I shake my head a couple times before making my way to the sidewalk leading up to our front door.
The drive to Forest Lawn is about five minutes, taking us down the same route we walked today. As promised, we swing by Delaware Park so Jennifer can show me how to catch Ring Road, which looks like a smaller version of the loop that runs around Central Park. It’s a lot less busy too, and will be nicer than running the streets like I did in Chicago.
Pulling up to the gates at Forest Lawn, I’m a little surprised by the number of cars parked in the lot. I know Jennifer said it was an attraction around here, but I didn’t really believe her. Who the hell wants to walk through a cemetery, although if the gravestones are anything like the gates, I can see the attraction.
Jennifer parks the car and I jump out, determined to make it around to grab her door before she swings it open. I guess I’m trying to make up for embarrassing her earlier. She seems to like when people are more proper, so why not give it a try? With my hand on the top of her door, I offer Jennifer the other one. She smiles at me then slides her fingers across my palm.
“Do you want to get a map?” she asks.
“Do we need one?”
“No, not unless you want something that explains the history,” Jennifer says while adjusting her sunglasses.
“Then nah, I’m good. Why don’t we just walk around and check things out?”
“Sounds good to me, but I’ll make sure to point out Rick James’s grave.” She holds out her hand for me to take.
“This is going to sound bad, considering I just said it was kind of morbid, but I totally need to send a picture to my brother.”
“It’s not morbid, people do it all the time. I bet you won’t be the only one doing it,” she says, motioning in front of us with her head.
“Whatever you say. Lead the way.”
Jennifer leads us down a road that seems to go around the outside of the park, taking us to a section with older stones. She points out where Millard Fillmore and his wife are buried, which is kind of interesting. It also explains why so many things in Buffalo are named after the former president. The thing that really captures my attention though is the stonework of the fences and bridges. I can tell they’re old, but they’re put together so well, they barely look weathered. Jennifer explains that stonework was big during the Great Depression—something to keep people in work, or so she’d heard.
When we get to Rick James’s grave, I crouch right next to the picture of his face and frame it with my hands while Jennifer takes a picture. I send it to Jordan with the caption, “I’m Rick James, Bitch!” His response comes right away, telling me to let the dead rest in peace, with a middle finger emoji. I didn’t expect anything less from my brother.
Since we didn’t take the guided tour or grab the map with all of the historical information, we make it around the cemetery sooner than we probably should have.
“This is it. Maybe next time we’ll grab a map so we can follow along with the history,” Jennifer suggests as we walk up to the car.
“We can do that,” I agree, pulling her door open for her.
“So I was thinking we could go downtown for dinner then walk around canal side. I think they’ve started the projections on the grain silos again.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“You’ll find out why I have a shirt that says, ‘My city smells like Cheerios!’”
“You did promise me that I’d smell it when I moved here. I guess it’s time to make that happen,” I say with a smile and wink over the top of the car.
Jennifer takes me downtown to a bar my brother would salivate over. 716 is not only covered with TV screens playing every sport you can imagine, but it also has a two-story screen playing whatever local favorite is on. If Jennifer didn’t want to walk around, I would have stayed here all night. But I did say I would make this weekend about her, so after paying our bill, I take her hand and let her lead me toward Buffalo Creek.
There’s not too much going on—probably because now that the sun’s gone, it’s freezing—but a few people are walking along the boardwalk area. The closer we get to the grain silos, the more it smells like Cheerios, which surprises the hell out of me. I really thought Jennifer was full of shit, but I guess I was wrong. Although there aren’t any projections on the grain silos like she said, she swears that it’s a big thing to come see in the summer.
Along with the ships in the naval park, the catamaran cruises, and the Buffalo Creek tours, Jennifer has pretty much planned our whole summer in a matter of an hour. Like myself, most people think early May is too cold to be out doing things on the water in Buffalo, and I’m from Chicago, where it’s just as cold and has just as much water.
After spending an hour or so walking around, freezing our asses off, Jennifer finally throws in the towel. We head back to the condo, where we cuddle up on the couch and pick up where we left off with Big Bang Theory reruns. At some point Jennifer falls asleep, breathing deeply with the smallest snores I’ve ever heard. I think it’s the way she’s lying, because I’ve never heard her do it before. Not wanting to get stuck sleeping with her on the couch, I shake her gently to wake her up.
“Jennifer? Hey, you fell asleep,” I say when her eyes pop open. “Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll get everything turned off in here.”
“Okay,” she says quietly then rolls off the couch, hitting her knees on the floor before standing.
From the look of her, I can’t tell if she’s actually awake, so I grab the TV remote and click it off before she walks away. Wrapping my arm around her back, I guide Jennifer to our room and flip on the light as we pass the door. Surprising me again, she doesn’t even bother changing into her pajamas, opting to fall into bed in her clothes, which makes me laugh.
“Good night,” I say quietly with a chuckle, then I grab my things and take them across the hall to the bathroom so I don’t wake her.
Lying in bed, I wait for Jennifer to turn and wrap her arms around my middle like she usually does, but it doesn’t come and I’m kind of glad. Although I had a good time with her today, I can’t help but feel more friendship for her than anything else. Even lying next to her in bed, I just don’t feel any sort of connection. Something I didn’t realize I needed and wanted until I felt it with the woman I can’t seem to stop thinking about.
Chapter Nine
Taylor
Monday morning, the day only coffee can cure, started off better than any before. Reid knocked on the short wall of my cube about fifteen minutes after I got in. He then rounded the corner and handed me a nonfat latte from Starbucks before retreating to his office. I gave him a half hour or so to get his shit together before I headed down there to let him know that I’m on Tuesday coffee duty. I get that he was trying to mend fences with me last Friday, but we passed that, so there’s no need for him to wor
k to get on my good side. When he didn’t put up a fight, it surprised me. Instead he let me know his drink of choice and suggested I probably should get one for Casey too. Which is the truth, because if she found out I got a coffee for Reid and not her, I’d never hear the end of it.
Which brings me to my current situation—standing in a never-ending Starbucks line waiting on three coffees. I really thought I’d beat the rush, since I’m at work so much earlier than everyone else, but apparently that’s only true for our office. I guess if I’m going to keep this up, I’ll have to get the app and order ahead. I’m so not a “wait in line” type of person, especially when I haven’t had a sufficient amount of caffeine.
“Taylor,” the barista calls at the end of the bar.
“Thanks!” I grab a carrier for our drinks and shove them in the slots.
Once I’m situated in my car to head across the street to our building, I think it might be a good idea, in the future, to wait for Reid so we can walk over together and get coffee. For some reason all weekend, yesterday, and this morning, I’ve been thinking of different ways I can spend time with him without making it seem like I’m trying to start something with him outside of work. And it’s not working, because every thought I have ends up with him pushing me up against a wall and kissing the shit out of me. And I’m stuck. I need to talk to someone about this shit, but talking to Casey will lead to her gloating. But on the other hand, she’ll be honest with me, something I need right now, since my thoughts seem to be going haywire.
Pulling into the first open spot, next to Reid’s Jeep, I grab the drink carrier and head inside. I drop my computer and lunch bag at my desk before heading down to Reid’s office.
“Knock, knock,” I say, standing just outside the door.
“Morning.” He looks up from the notepad on the desk in front of him.
“Just wanted to drop this off before I get started,” I say, moving into the semi-dark office and setting Reid’s coffee in the middle of his desk.
“Thanks, I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“I was thinking that we could go after we’re set up. I mean, Starbucks is just across the street, so it would kind of make sense to drop our stuff off before heading over. That way we don’t have to lug everything in,” I ramble, the thought sounding so much better in my head.