“Of course I am, sweetie! I’m a granny, and we elders are always right.” She laughs at her own humor. “But you know what?” She scrunches her face up in that very cute way that only older ladies can manage. “It’s nice to be a kid sometimes, you know?”
“Life is short, live it while you can?” I say, tracing the swirly pattern printed on the tablecloth.
“You know it!” Ruth says. With a loud clap of the table, she bounds out of her seat with such spry agility that I’m taken aback and giggle for a second. “Come on! I don’t want to miss Wheel of Fortune,” she says, “and you’re not off to your next patient for a while, right?”
***
I consider canceling my date for cocktails with Jackie after work tonight. Ruth is right about life being short and not letting stupid arguments get in the way of true love. I knew it all before, and hearing it kind of drove the point home. Her words made me more aware of how imperative it is that I repair the damage that’s been done and try my best to keep it from happening again. I know Conner and I aren’t impervious to disagreements and bouts of silence or grudges, but this has gone on long enough. We can’t sink deeper.
But for some reason I don’t feel one hundred percent ready to go home and face him. I’m not prepared to sit him down, spill out my feelings, and tell him that I really want to fix things and move forward. I’m almost ready, so maybe once I have a drink and talk with Jackie, I’ll be good to go. A little liquid courage could help do the trick, and Jackie’s always great for lightening the mood—or getting you to feel confident about what you’re about to do. I can have one quick drink with her and chat a little, and then I’ll head home and draw up the nerve to say to Conner, “We need to talk.” Oooh, I just got a shiver up my spine. They say men really fear those four words, but I know women do just the same.
I pull my creaking car into one of the many open spots in the lot in front of Elements, a no-fanfare kind of low-slung bar in Capitol Hill, a nice halfway point in town between where Jackie and I live.
My car has been acting up again, choosing when it wants to start and when it wants to do nothing but stay put. It’s a real headache. To get to work this morning I had to try the ignition half-a-dozen times before it finally started. I haven’t told Conner about it, and luckily he hasn’t spotted me struggling behind the wheel in the drive. I don’t want to bring more trouble to the table.
I take a peek at my watch and notice that Jackie is running late. Perhaps this is just a sign that I should cancel, head home, and do what I’m so reluctant to do.
I let five minutes pass before I order myself a glass of the sweetest wine available, with two packets of Splenda added. (It’s really good, trust me. I told the bartender he should try it, but he only gave me an expression like I was crazy.)
Jackie’s still not here, and with no warning text message that she’s running late, I look at my half-drunk wine and decide to cancel our date.
“You want another one?” the bartender asks, obviously short on customers and eager to do something other than wipe down an already clean bar. His face is twisted slightly, as if he’s thinking about how bizarre the beverage concoction is that I’ve ordered.
“No thanks,” I say, lacking any semblance of vigor.
I finish texting Jackie when a familiar voice comes from behind.
I spin around on my barstool. It’s Chad.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, bewildered.
“I think the better question, is what are you doing here?” Chad saunters up, his plain white t-shirt stained in black, grey, and taupe paint. He takes a seat next to me. I notice his ragged jeans and fingertips are covered in the same color of paint. He must have been working on one of his art projects, the aspiring artist he is. But what is he doing here?
“I, uh…” I mutter, looking rather abashed. I haven’t seen or spoken to Chad since the Las Vegas incident. Who knows what Conner told him about me and our fights. Chad probably thinks I’m a bitch with a capital B. A crazy person. A very clingy or demanding or bossy wife-to-be.
The bartender asks if he can get Chad anything, and he replies with, “I’ll have what she’s having.” He points his thumb at me.
“Uh,” I say, putting a hand flat out on the bar, as if trying to halt the bartender. “I’m sure he’ll have something else.”
“You want a rosé with Splenda?” the bartender asks him.
“Two packets,” I say, lazily holding up two fingers.
Chad looks at me, surprise written on his face, and says, “Whatever light beer you’ve got on tap’ll work. Thanks.”
I take a swig of my wine, closing my eyes. “So,” I say, setting the glass down. “Why are you here, Chad?”
“You didn’t answer my question, Claire,” he says. He’s leaned down into the bar really low, his forearms resting on the cool surface. His hands are clasped in an almost contemplative, yet rugged way. “Come on. What’s going on?”
“Psh! As if you don’t have a clue.”
“Look, I’ll skip all the small talk. Get right to it.” He keeps his position, but turns his head to his right to look at me. His face is very serious—a look he usually doesn’t display, the kidder and laidback kind of guy he is. “Conner loves you. Very much.”
“I know.”
“You two are going through some shit right now, and that’s normal. But you have to work it out. You’re bigger than this.” He thanks the bartender for his drink and takes a sip at the frothy rim.
“I know,” I repeat.
“You know he’s terrified of losing you? Of you not wanting to go through with this wedding?”
“Me?” I say, astonished. “He thinks I won’t want to get married? I’m worried he won’t.”
After another sip of beer, Chad says, “See? You two are peas in a pod. Both worried about the other one bailing and…I expect you do want to get married still?”
“Of course!” I practically shout.
“See? Peas in a pod, both worried the other one won’t, but both wanting more than anything in the world to be together. Neither of you has the balls enough to apologize first.”
A playful smirk tugs at his mouth. “Come on, Claire. What are you doing here drinking? Drowning your worries and sorrows in a nasty-as-sin drink?” He scoffs. “What’s with that drink, anyway?”
I swirl the sugary concoction around the glass. “A Claire Cocktail, Conner calls it. And no, I’m not ‘drowning my sorrows’ or whatever. I was supposed to meet Jackie here.”
“Well, you have someone at home you need to talk to.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I pause. “And, while you’re here, what was with Vegas anyway?” I give him a glaring eye. “Do I have to hate you for this? I do, don’t I?” I’m only half kidding; I’m still pretty peeved about that stunt.
“Conner’s idea,” he replies gravely. “But not one I was disinclined to hop on board with.”
“Ugh. Honestly.” I drain the remainder of my drink. I wince a little as the last part goes down. It really is sweet, and kind of disgusting actually.
“Innocent fun. That’s all,” he says.
“Strippers, gambling…I suppose we’re broke now?” I lick my lips before applying a coat of lip balm.
“No,” Chad says, shaking his head determinedly. “Honest. Nothing like that. Well…gambling, yes. But totally in control.”
I raise both eyebrows.
“Honest! I lost a helluva bunch, but Conner actually left the tables up two hundred. Not bad, for a rookie.” He winks and takes a sip of beer. “Spent that cash on that ta—” He immediately looks guilty, like he knows he’s said something he shouldn’t have, so I cut in to spare him the fright.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I know. He got some dumb-ass tattoo.”
“Well…erm…” Chad groans, turning his glass about on its cardboard coaster.
“Whatever,” I say, wanting to officially put Vegas and whatever happened there behind me for good.
“I still think it was a horrible i
dea,” I say. “I mean, it was such a Hangover movie kind of thing. Totally pathetic. I should hate you forever, Chad. Hold a grudge against Conner for a very long time.” I flash him a small grin to let him know that I’m not serious. Well, not entirely serious.
“But it was fun,” he says. “And, yeah, Conner probably should have told you.” He becomes more serious. “That’s why I kind of leaked the story to Sophie.”
I tear at the edges of my cocktail napkin. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Hey, I may be an ass now and then, but I know when there’s potential destruction ahead in a relationship. Conner shouldn’t have just left. But you two really just need to talk.” He pushes his half-full glass towards the edge of the bar and pulls out his weathered leather wallet.
“Come on, time to go home,” he says. “You’ve got a man there waiting for you who loves you like you’d never believe.” He leaves a twenty on the bar, waves goodbye to the bartender, and leads me out the door.
“Hey,” I say, stopping on the way to my car. “How’d you know to find me here, anyway?”
Chad kicks a flip-flop-clad foot around, trying to shake a pebble loose. “Jackie. She called me and said you’d be here. She said you had more important things to do than toss a few back with her.”
“That girl,” I say.
I wave goodbye to Chad after thanking him for, despite his obvious flaws, being an upstanding guy. Conner is his best friend, after all, and I don’t really know how the guy world and guy rules work, but I’m pretty sure that when one is upset with his girlfriend and asks to jet off to Vegas with him for some fun, the other must oblige. It’s the good guys who can see through the trouble and lend a helping hand in the end.
After I try to start my car a bunch of times, failing to turn it to life, I poke my head out the car door. “Chad?” I call out.
He’s already started to make his way over to me.
“Come on,” he says, opening my car door. “I’ll give you a ride and call this baby in to the shop.”
“Thanks,” I say meekly, following his long strides to his massive truck parked across the way.
“You’ve got some making up to do with that man of yours. No time to waste with a car that won’t start. Hop in.” He opens his truck door and I climb aboard using the step for assistance.
Once we pull up in front of the house, Chad wishes me good luck. I’m going to need it. “And tell him I say hi,” he adds.
I thank him again, then awkwardly walk up my own drive. I’ve never been scared of coming to my own home. I’ve never really felt intimidated or at odds or something with the prospect of seeing and talking to Conner. It’s all so…strange.
Conner’s truck is parked in the drive, so that means he’s home. He’s not off gallivanting with Chad, that much I know. He’s probably sitting in front of the TV playing a video game…or he might be working on his comic strip…maybe sitting there and worrying if I’ll come home…
I take a deep gulp and push open the front door once the lock clicks open. I peer around the living room. Empty.
“Hello?”
I don’t bother setting down my keys or purse. I walk straight into the kitchen, but there’s no Conner to be found. I wander down the low-lit hallway and peek into the guest room and office. Not here, not there. That’s odd, I think. Maybe the back?
I quickly check the bedroom and bathroom, but there’s still no sign of Conner. I step onto the deck out back, but he’s not to be seen there either. Hmph.
Schnickerdoodle, I think. That’s it! The dog’s not here, Conner’s not here. They must be on a walk together!
I make a beeline for the front door, dumping my purse on the way out. They’re probably out doing the usual loop around the neighborhood. Now all I have to do is figure out where best to hopefully intersect them. I could wait at the house, but that’d be like waiting on pins and needles. Besides, I’m ready to talk to Conner right now. We’ve been silent and awkward and argumentative long enough. Now’s the time, and I can’t lose the nerve.
Uncertain if I’ll be able to intersect them soon, I pick up my pace and start jogging. I’ve nearly jogged half the usual route, and I’ve yet to spot them. Either they’re nearly finished with their loop and I’ll have to circle all the way back around to catch them, or they’ve gone somewhere else. Judging by the time, there’s no way they could already have completed the loop. Conner can’t have been home from work longer than—
There’s whistling from far off. Familiar whistling. It’s Conner! He’s doing that rapid and high, then really low-pitched whistle he does to get Schnicker to hop up and down wildly. I look over the hill that eventually spills into the park that’s adjacent to the Broadmoor Golf Club.
Precisely! Conner’s taken Schnicker to play at the park. The weather’s perfect, there’s no Claire at home (which means no dinner on the table soon), and he’s probably feeling bad that neither of us has been giving the dog his much-deserved attention or lengthy walks.
I take off at my jogging pace for the park, certain with each step that the whistling sound belongs to Conner. With each step I can feel my stomach churn a little more, then some more, anxious and a tiny bit excited about having this long-delayed heart-to-heart.
Panting, I stop some yards up over the hill and I spot him. He’s tossing a tennis ball across the wide open green, and the dog’s attacking it with gusto that I haven’t seen in several weeks.
As if by magic or fate or fairytale dust, Conner turns around. I shiver a little with goosebumps. He’s so handsome. He’s wearing a pair of plaid shorts that I picked up for him in some end-of-summer sale pile a few years ago. A blind purchase, but one that suits him quite well. His hair is tousled and, as always, in need of a cut, but no matter. The olive-colored skin of his legs and arms are sun-kissed. And when his eyes lock on mine, a hint of a smile begins to form on his lips.
I approach slowly, both enamored with his looks and his growing smile. At the sheer sight of seeing him right now, I’m also feeling worried about what will happen. Oh dear. What will happen now that I’m ready to talk? Is he even ready? What will either of us say to each other?
“Claire,” he says as I near him.
“Conner.”
There’s a brief moment of silence. I’m taking in his beautiful blue eyes that make me go weak at the knees. That silly and sweet grin of his that he’s still wearing, and the way he’s standing, with confidence, but also with slight vulnerability.
I swallow hard and say a quick prayer that he’s feeling what I’m feeling, that he’s ready to repair and move ahead. I take one small step closer, my face so close to his chest I can barely catch a whiff of his familiar scent. “I miss you, Conner.”
His smile breaks as he slowly licks his plump bottom lip. And then, “I miss you, Claire.”
I heave a loud sigh and fall into his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” I breathe in his comforting aroma. This feels so good, so right.
His strong arms wrap around me, and I can feel his lips kiss the top of my head. He pulls me in tightly and tells me again how much he’s missed me.
“I don’t want to fight anymore, Claire. Not anymore.” He kisses me, and I pull back from his embrace momentarily to look up into his eyes. His gaze is reassuring. It’s telling. Oh, it’s telling me everything I know deep down, and everything that I want and need to hear. Everything will be all right. Everything is all right.
I hug him tighter and smile through the tears that can no longer be held back. I tried. I really tried to hold them back as long as I could.
“I love you, Claire,” he says as we pull back, yet still in each other’s embrace. “I love you and never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I cry, rubbing my shoulder against my tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry for being so bossy and aggravating.”
Just then Schnickerdoodle approaches, a ratty old tennis ball in his mouth. I laugh happily at the warming scene—Conner and I, toge
ther, and with our sweet puppy.
“I’m sorry for not being more attentive, Claire,” Conner says. He takes a second to rub at his eyes; they’re getting glossy. “You’re working so hard on our wedding, and I know I could try a little harder. Help out more.”
I nod, pressing my lips firmly together, trying to hold back the thick and wet tears that I can feel building up. “
“And I totally acted like an asshole about your makeup. You’re pretty with a bag over your head.”
“Huh?” I scrunch my brow.
“Sorry. You know what I mean.” He looks down feebly. “I mean to say you look pretty no matter what. With or without makeup.” He tilts my chin upward so our eyes are locked once again. “Even with globs of makeup.”
I giggle and he kisses the tip of my nose.
“And I never should have blown off my fitting appointment,” he says. “I should never have gone to Las Vegas like I did. That was completely selfish.”
I shrug and say, “I ‘spose it’s not so bad so long as there weren’t skanky strippers involved… Because then you’re in real trouble, mister.” I poke a stiff finger in his chest.
He gives me another kiss on the nose before saying, “Some beers, some pool time, and, hey! You know I won a little over two hundred bucks at Blackjack?” He’s smiling just like he does when he’s guilty after putting an empty milk carton back into the fridge. “Isn’t that awesome?” he asks, looking like a silly dope.
“Yeah, Chad told me. He also told me what you spent it on.”
“Well…” He looks off in the distance and rubs at the back of his neck.
“Anyway,” I say, catching his gaze. “You’re not the only guilty party. I’m sorry, too, Conner.” I rest my hands on his waist and glimpse down at Schnicker. He’s given up on trying to get us to play fetch; he’s rolling on his back in the grass.
I look back up at Conner—at my fiancé. “I do need to calm down,” I say. “Sure, this wedding is stressful, but it’s not an excuse to treat you badly or bite your head off over stupid things like you playing video games…or working on your comic when, let’s face it, you’re not going to be able to sit down and sew some drapes to help out.” I laugh nervously. “And I shouldn’t chew you out like I have been. I mean, so you don’t do the load of laundry I ask. So what?”
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 33