One to Tell the Grandkids

by Kristina M Sanchez

  Today, Slate was in no mood to joke. He sat with his head on his hand, glaring at the monitors as though he could intimidate them into giving him the answer to everything.

  “Look,” Caleb said, settling in the seat across his desk. “What you don’t want to forget is you have options. Push comes to shove, she can’t keep the baby away from you. Biological fathers have rights.”

  Slate looked up at him with a stricken expression. “Can we not start talking like that?”

  “I’m not trying to tell you to go get a lawyer right now and start knocking down her door with summons. I’m just saying you don’t have to worry so much. Worst case scenario, you’re still covered. You’re still going to be able to be a daddy to your kid.”

  “I know. I just wish she’d call so I’d know what the heck I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “You’re doing what you can do. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “Well, if you think so, that makes me feel better.” Slate tapped on one of the monitors. “Check this out. Sexy-And-I-Know-It keeps hitting on this chick, and he’s oblivious.”

  “Oblivious to what?” Caleb scooted his chair over so he could see what Slate was looking at.

  “The girl isn’t interested. The only reason she’s sticking around is because she’s making ‘‘sup, girl’ eyes to the chick in his group. He’s playing the wingman, and he doesn’t even know it.”

  “Hey, boss.”

  They both looked up as Oni rapped on the open door of his office. “What’s up?” Caleb asked.

  “Need you up front for a minute.”

  A minute turned into an hour before Caleb was able to get back to his office. He walked in the door ready to apologize, but Slate was on the phone. It took Caleb a minute to figure out who was on the other end. Taryn had finally called.

  “I’d come to see you this weekend, but I have a couple of clients coming in on Saturday and Sunday,” Slate said, pacing a few steps back and forth in the cramped confines of the office. “It shouldn’t take long for either appointment. What’s going on with your car?”

  Caleb tilted his head, shooting Slate a questioning look. Slate hit mute on the phone for a few seconds so he could explain. “Taryn wants to come see me for the weekend, but she was saying her car isn’t dependable.”

  “I’ll bring her.”

  “What?”

  “I come up here every weekend anyway,” Caleb said. “We might as well carpool, and then she doesn’t have to worry about her car.” And it gave her one less excuse, Caleb didn’t add.

  “Okay. If it really doesn’t bother you, I’ll ask her,” Slate said.

  “Ask her.”

  Slate hit the mute button on his phone. “Hey, Taryn?”

  That Friday afternoon, Caleb wasn’t in the best of moods. He didn’t realize how short he was being until Taryn called him on it. “If you didn’t want to drive with me, you should have said so. My car does work—it just doesn’t work very well.”

  Caleb blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s not you.”

  “Are you sure? Not for nothing, but I’d be pissed if some chick showed up and announced she was pregnant and then kind of, sort of, maybe freaked out a little bit when my friend said he wanted to be involved.”

  His lips twitched, and more of the chill he felt for her melted away. “You’re here now, that’s what counts. It really isn’t you.”

  She hummed. “You want to talk about it? Or vent? I’m a good listener.”

  The sincerity in her voice stopped Caleb from brushing off her offer outright. He took his eyes off the road for a brief moment to find she was looking at him with an expression of genuine concern. Disarmed, Caleb told her a minimized version of the truth. “Family trouble, that’s all.”

  “You, too? I can relate. Sibling, parent, or option C?”

  Caleb’s heart gave a quiet pang. Taryn couldn’t know how thankful she should be that she couldn’t relate to Caleb’s family problems. “Sibling.”

  “That makes two of us, then. Older or younger?”

  “Older.”

  She snorted. “Let me guess. He or she knows what’s best for you, and you’re just a kid who doesn’t know anything.”

  There was a bitter edge to her tone that made him pause. “Your older sibling has opinions about your situation?”

  “When does he not? I think I preferred it when he called me a whore and wiped his hands of me.”

  Caleb balked. “Your brother called you a whore?”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. My filter is off.”

  “I hope you know you don’t deserve to be called that under any circumstances, let alone by a person who’s supposed to love you unconditionally.”

  “My brother is a dick, but he has his reasons.”

  “There’s no justification for that kind of name-calling.”

  “You don’t know me.” He could tell she was trying to make her tone light, but she wasn’t quite succeeding. “Maybe he’s right.”

  “No, he isn’t. No matter how you choose to live your life, you deserve enough respect not to be called such ugly things.”

  “Mike has put up with a lot of bullshit from me.”

  “That doesn’t give him the right to call you names. That’s my general principle. I hate that word. I don’t understand the point of judging anyone by who they choose to sleep with or how many people they choose to sleep with. As long as it’s all consensual, I don’t see why anyone should have an opinion about such a personal thing. I especially hate that word because it’s aimed at women.” He laughed at himself. “Sorry. That’s heavy conversation for a rush hour drive.”

  “No, typically, I’m with you. On a personal level, you don’t know my family history. There are a lot worse things he could call me for very legitimate reasons. And anyway, he moved on from that stage pretty quick.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “What Mike does best. He’s trying to run my life.” She shifted to face him a little better. “He still thinks I’m seventeen. He had to rescue me a lot when I was a teenager. I didn’t listen to him when he was right, so I don’t know what makes him think I’m going to start listening to him now.

  “He keeps telling me what Perfect Pauline did. That’s his wife ‘Paul gave up this and that. Paul started going to yoga. Paul found the best doctor.’ Pah!”

  For some reason, the disgruntled sound and the consternation on her face made him want to smile. It wasn’t that he found her pain funny. There was just something endearing about the way her voice curled, like she was trying to growl, but it wasn’t coming out quite right.

  “It’s my life. My responsibility.” There was a pleading note to her voice, a hint of uncertainty behind her ferocity.

  “No one can live your life but you, better or worse, feast or famine. And you can’t make decisions for anyone else, no matter how much you might want to.” His own words hit home, and frustration, all but forgotten at that point, resurged with a vengeance. He scrambled for a subject change before he could start stewing again. “Well, whatever your brother says, I’m glad you’ve decided to give yourself a chance to get to know Slate. He’s going to be a good dad.”

  Taryn’s answering hum was noncommittal, but at least she didn’t deny it outright. “Okay,” she said a minute or so later. “I’m going to ask you something, and I would appreciate a straight answer.”

  That had Caleb on the defensive, but he nodded.

  “You’re his best friend. You know him. Now, let’s pretend there’s no baby. What do you think about this whole idea of Slate dating a person like me?”

  He’d been half-afraid she was going to start grilling him on Slate’s deep dark secrets. “Is there a difference between a date and spending time getting to know someone?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Am I anywhere close to his usual type?”

  “Type is such a ridiculous, arbitrary—”

  “No bullshit.”

  Caleb
chuckled. “Okay. You’re not his usual type.”

  Taryn grunted, but she didn’t seem surprised. “What’s his usual type? Boys?”

  “Sometimes. More tattoos. At least two shades of hair—one of them preferably some kind of neon. A penchant for metal—both the music and bits of it through various parts of their face.” He felt a hint of guilt when he looked over and realized she was pressing her lips together pretty hard. Without thinking about it, he reached out, brushing the pads of his fingers down her cheek to get her attention. “But he also likes pretty. You’ve got pretty in spades.”

  She seemed startled, whether at his touch or his words he couldn’t tell. Caleb drew his hand back. He gripped the steering wheel and wondered if he’d made an already awkward situation worse. But after a moment, she exhaled, and when she spoke, her tone was steady. “I don’t mind metal.” A beat passed. “Not for nothing, but you don’t seem like Slate’s type either. I mean, you’re pretty different. You seem older.”

  “You think I look old?”

  “I think you look older than Slate, but that’s not difficult. How old is Slate anyway?” She sounded as though she was dreading the answer.

  “How old are you?”

  “How old do I look?”

  “Ha.” Caleb shook his head. “Nope. I know better than to fall into that trap.”

  “I’m twenty-six.”

  Caleb hummed in acknowledgment. That had been about what he’d guessed.

  “Slate’s younger, isn’t he?”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Depends on how young is younger.”

  “He turned twenty-four the day after you showed up.”

  “Oh, that must have been nice.” Taryn’s voice was dry. “You’re irrevocably tied to another human being or two for the rest of your life. Happy birthday.”

  Caleb felt bad for bringing it up. She was right. Slate had spent his birthday with his head in his hands, lost in his thoughts. It was one of those moments where Caleb would have done anything to make it better. Slate was normally such a bright presence. He was the kind of guy who always knew how to make anyone smile, so it was sad to see him so overwrought. Nothing Caleb said or did that night helped.

  “Okay. So I’m twenty-six, Slate is twenty-four, and you are?” she asked.

  “I’m thirty-two. Ancient, right?”

  “Hardly, but I still don’t see the connection. You guys aren’t exactly two peas in a pod.”

  “We’re very different. We met at the shop. Slate did some work for me.”

  “You have a tattoo?”

  “Surprised?”

  “Well, yeah. You’re so”—she gestured at him—“I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine.”

  “Slate gets tattoos because they’re a form of expression for him. I got mine because I needed something permanent.”

  In the silence that followed, Caleb was surprised at himself. There was a lump in his throat, and he touched his shirt high up on his chest where his tattoo was. He’d never offered a near-perfect stranger that kind of personal information. He could count the number of people who knew of the tattoo on both hands and the number who had seen it on one.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s like I was trying to say before about types. It really is arbitrary. Maybe you fill your life with the same type of people, and that’s fine. It’s always nice to have something in common with someone whether you’re talking about friends or dates. But at the end of the day, who really cares why you connect?

  “Slate isn’t like most of my other friends, and back then, I’d have been the first one to laugh if you’d told me this twenty-year-old, skinny, long-haired, goofy jackass was going to become my best friend.” He laughed, shaking his head as he remembered Slate as he had been then—all grins and eagerness to get Caleb’s tattoo just right. He worked so hard, and the result was so beautiful, Caleb teared up the first time he saw it. “Bottom line? I was in a really bad place when I met Slate. He was exactly what I needed.”

  Taryn was quiet, and when he looked over, it seemed like she was deep in thought. Not knowing if he’d gone a step too far, Caleb’s tendency to babble kicked in.

  “I feel like if you’re looking for something specific, you run the risk of missing something fantastic. So you’re not like the other people Slate has been with. What does that matter? It’s not like any of them have been amazing, at least not for him.”

  “It seems so farfetched. What are the odds I would fall in love with the guy I don’t remember being with?”

  “Reality is stranger than fantasy most times. Anyway, don’t think about that. Love doesn’t give you a choice. If you want to know the truth, love is a sadistic son of a bitch with a dickish sense of humor. Have you ever heard an easy love story? You don’t fall for the one who makes sense or the one who’s easy.”

  “Maybe falling for my baby’s father sounds too easy.”

  Caleb didn’t have an answer for that.

  Chapter Six

  Friday night was awkward. Saturday was a little better, but Slate still dragged Caleb along with them to dinner. Sunday, Taryn found the secret passphrase that broke the tension between them.

  “Can I see your sketchbook?”

  Slate was shy at first, but as he began to explain how he came up with designs based on his clients’ descriptions, he came alive. “Like ninety percent of the time, people come in and they want something dumb. You know. Girls with their butterflies. Guys with snakes and sexy ladies on their biceps. Whatever, man. It’s their bodies, but I prefer the ones who come up with something unique and meaningful. When they come to me with an idea or words they want to incorporate, and I can bring it to life? That’s my favorite part of the job. Your tats are supposed to be a part of your body forever, you know? They should have as much meaning as possible.”

  “What do your tats mean?” Taryn asked. She shouldn’t have been so shocked when Slate pulled his shirt off.

  After that, Slate was a lot more comfortable. It was nice until Taryn realized the more at ease he grew, the more Slate got touchy-feely. It wasn’t anything major—just his hand on her arm to get her attention or at her back to guide her in the direction they were supposed to be walking. He took them mini golfing and had to retrieve her ball from the water. When he put the ball back in her hand, his fingers lingered over hers.

  Taryn didn’t know if he was naturally a more hands-on kind of guy or if he was flirting. She couldn’t be surprised when, as she was getting ready to leave, he tried to kiss her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she turned her head away. She hated the way his shoulders slumped and his whole body tensed.

  “That’s my bad.”

  Taryn crossed her arms, trying to get her head on straight. “Is that what you want from me?” She wasn’t angry. She was sick of the confusion that came with coming to terms with a life altering event with a person she didn’t know how to read. How could they even begin to get on the same page?

  “I don’t know. It seems like we should try, shouldn’t we?”

  He looked so much younger than he was when he looked at her with wide eyes. He was trying so hard to do the right thing. “You probably have more experience with dating than I do,” she said. “I don’t go on many dates.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t laugh at me, okay? And don’t tell me I’m jaded. There’s a huge difference between being jaded and not being in love with the idea of love.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Dating a perfect stranger has never made any sense to me.”

  “Um. Isn’t that the point of dating?”

  “Sure, but it still doesn’t make sense to me. You take a random chance on a completely random person based on what? Aesthetics? My only long-term relationship happened because we were familiar with each other. We were friends until the sexual tension got the better of us.

  “Rob and Mel keep telling me it wouldn’t kill me to give a guy or gal a chance. They get so exasperated b
ecause I ignore anyone who hits on me. Well . . .” She looked up at Slate and blushed. “For the most part. I just don’t see the point of it all. I don’t want to be charming. I don’t want to be charmed.”

  “So you’ve never dated?”

  “I’ve tried and hated it. I was self-conscious and ridiculous the whole time, worried about whether or not this random person liked me. If I was doing or saying the right things. Who cares? If someone is going to fall in love with me, shouldn’t it be an accident? I don’t want to try to make it happen.”

  Slate stared at her, his mouth open as though he couldn’t think of what to say. She should have known better. This conversation never went well. “Okay. I guess what I’m trying to say is I think our situation is complicated enough without trying to navigate a potential romance. Can we just try being friends first? No games. No dates. Can we just hang out without expectation?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” There was a hint of relief in his tone.

  When Caleb pulled up to carpool back home, Slate and Taryn hugged. Like friends.

  Later that week, Slate made the trek down to Orange to visit her for the day. He said he was curious about what she did, so she let him follow her to work.

  Taryn was a makeup artist by trade. She’d done it for the living, but she took a number of mortuary science classes so she could do it for the dead. She explained the process of preparing a body for burial, the chemicals, what they did, and the difference between doing makeup for the living and the dead. Slate looked a little green around the edges at first—the woman Taryn was working on was misshapen after a brutal tumble down the side of a cliff—but he rallied. He seemed fascinated by the whole business. He peppered their conversation with questions, listening intently as she answered.

  His inquisitiveness sparked questions of her own.

  “You don’t think I’m creepy for enjoying my work?”