by M. Mabie
“This doesn’t count as a date,” I said.
“Why, because I’m paying?” It was hard to ignore the defensiveness in her tone. “That shouldn’t matter.”
Impressed with her backbone, I replied, “It doesn’t, not enough to argue over anyway. If you want to buy me dinner, I’m okay with that. I just want to take you out again. That’s all.”
“Oh, good. Do you like Chinese? It’s becoming my favorite.”
Who was this woman with opinions? And how was I going to keep up with her?
“That’s fine. I’ll have the same thing you get.” I didn’t eat Chinese often, but if she ate it, then I was certain in a worst-case scenario I could still choke it down. “I’ll be there just after four.”
“I’m glad you called,” she said, the sweetness returning to her voice.
“I’m glad you answered.” Nothing I’d say for the rest of the day would be truer. When she wasn’t taking my calls, it was like torture. Thank God for second chances.
A few of the guys were headed my way, so I wrapped it up.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
After we hung up, the day went smooth. As misogynistic as it made me feel admitting it, I couldn’t deny how nice it felt knowing she’d be there when I walked in the door.
Or maybe I just liked being where she was.
20
Myra
Turned out getting an oil changed was no big deal. In fact, my short wait in the hospitality room was spent with other women. I guess that was just another thing that outside Lancaster didn’t have a gender role assigned to it.
But I supposed it made sense, most of the wives I knew didn’t own their vehicles and I did. Most families had a large van they used on weekends, to and from church and the store. Then a secondary vehicle would be used by the husband day to day for work.
I was glad the Festiva wasn’t very big because I’d never been good at maneuvering vans, the few times I’d driven them.
After my car maintenance was checked off my list, I picked up our food and drove to the cabin.
Abraham had the windows open, which left the place with a bit of a chill, but I didn’t live there so I resisted closing them. I didn’t start the full load of laundry in the washing machine or clean the mirror in the bathroom. He tended to get messy with toothpaste, but I didn’t live there, and I had to respect his space.
It was still weird seeing my things there though, all in the same spots. He hadn’t even pitched the empty bottle of shampoo in the shower I’d left behind. Or moved my clothes from the drawers and closet into boxes.
It hadn’t been that long, but my old dresses didn’t seem familiar anymore. They only reminded me of where I’d been. Of the past. Of the person I was only a few months ago.
Did I even want them anymore? Would I wear them again?
Whatever the case, they were taking up room, so I slipped out the bedroom door and went down the stairs where I’d seen a few empty boxes in the storage room.
Shockingly, that was the one room in the cabin that had changed a lot. Instead of bare boards and cobwebs, the room was finished and painted a pale gray color and a brighter light hung overhead.
He’d said he had plans for the cabin.
Maybe without me around to entertain, he’d had more time to do what he wanted. Was he better without me?
That thought soured my stomach. So, as soon as I spotted the boxes I needed, I grabbed them and left.
It was perfect timing. After folding and packing them away, I closed the last one up as Abraham opened the door. He stared at the cardboard in my hands and on the table and then leaned against the door frame.
“Are you taking your stuff? Moving it out?” The forlorn expression he’d had that day in the pretty purple field was back.
“No,” I said. “I’m getting some old dresses I probably won’t wear again out of your way.”
He scratched his head. “I just thought...” he paused and shuddered. “Know what? Never mind. I was wrong. I could smell that food from my truck.”
I stacked the second box on top of the first and carried them to the corner near one of my trunks, unsure of what to do with their contents. I’d figure it out later. Maybe I could use the fabric for something.
In the kitchen, Abraham washed his hands in the sink and then took the silverware out of the drawer. So I unpacked the bags and divided the food. One full order of Rangoon. Four egg rolls. Two orders of General Tso Chicken, which I’d only discovered the week before, and fried rice for two.
We carried our things to the table and ate there, something the Griers rarely did.
I was worried he might not like what I’d chosen, but he didn’t waste any time digging in.
As I ate, my eyes wandered him. The smudge of something on his forehead. The sawdust in his hair. The hole in his t-shirt. The way his biceps flexed each time he lifted the fork to his mouth. I could look at him for hours.
He was masculine like nobody I’d ever met. Manly in ways the men in Lancaster weren’t.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked after a while went by without much being said.
It was too embarrassing to admit. “Just thinking.”
“About your class?” He wiped his mouth with one of the tan napkins that the restaurant had sent and rested his tan forearm on the table between us.
Class hadn’t been on my mind, but since he’d brought it up. “I’m not sure what to expect.”
“I wish I could tell you.”
“You didn’t go back?” I’d assumed he had. He was doing so well. A good job. A business of his own. It was hard to believe he had everything he did with what little education that was offered to us.
“I always thought I might, but never got around to it.”
How about that. I was doing something even he’d never done.
In some odd way, that felt good.
We ate, and I told him about the coursework, what I knew of it, and he encouraged me to not get too overwhelmed. To take it one step at a time.
Soon, it was time for me to head back to town. I didn’t want to be late, but the clock had run down fast. He walked me out and headed for the back of his truck.
“I wasn’t sure what you had or what you needed, but hopefully this is a good start.”
Abraham lifted a brand-new gray and pale great backpack out of the truck bed. My jaw dropped. I was waiting to see if the instructor had specific materials he preferred before I’d went supply shopping, but the bag was something I’d hadn’t really thought much about.
“Thank you,” I bound toward him under the big shade tree where he was parked. “That’s so thoughtful.”
My arms went around his neck and without dropping the bag, he embraced me and lifted me off my feet. I hugged him close and as I slid down his chest, I let my mouth pair with his. It would be easy to change my mind and start the next week, just to stay and kiss him.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said against my lips. It tickled, causing me to grin.
“We better stop before I get more whisker kisses.”
His chest bounced against mine as he asked, “What are whisker kisses?”
“Like the ones you gave me last night. I can’t walk into my first day with a big red mouth.” Otherwise, I had no arguments. I’d take whisker kisses or any others he felt like offering.
He was good at it. Exceptional really, as far as I was concerned. When he kissed me the way he did, my body just sang and there was nothing like it.
“I’m free all day Saturday,” I said.
His free hand stopped over my backside and gave it a squeeze that had me pressing closer into him. “No you’re not,” he countered.
“Yes, I am, and I want to spend all of it with you.”
He let me go but placed one last kiss into my hair.
“Have a good time in class, pay attention, and drive safe.” He left my gaze and cocked his head to the side. “Lift your arms.”
I did, and then he slipp
ed the straps, up and over my shoulders. I’d expected the bag to be light, empty, but it wasn’t. It felt full and the weight hung against the small of my back.
I wiggled my hips as I took a step away, really needing to go. “There’s stuff inside too?”
He nodded. “Notebooks and pens and stuff like that.”
When I got to my car I slid it off one side to toss it in the passenger seat. “Even though this wasn’t a date, will you still call me tomorrow?” I asked.
“You know it,” he replied.
THE CLASSROOM WAS MUCH fuller than it had been for the practice test. There weren’t many desks left. So I made my way to the middle of the first row and sat in the first open one. There wasn’t a single familiar face and I wondered if I was in the wrong place.
Or maybe everyone who’d taken the practice test with me did well.
Good for them. Eventually, I’d get there too.
It was still a few minutes before six, but Mr. Paxton was already writing on the board.
“Before we get started, if you’re new to class, then welcome. This week, I’ll be reviewing many of the topics that could possibly be covered in the social studies portion of the GED. Although this class is designed to help you prep for the test, I encourage you to check these books out from the library or buy them for yourself. They are a much more thorough guide for you to use in your preparation.”
He walked to the door and before he could close it, a woman slipped in.
In search of something to write the suggested books down, I opened my bag. Totally shocked, I found two of the three titles already inside as well as pens, pencils, highlighters, and four notebooks.
I wasn’t sure how he’d known what I needed, but I was thankful.
“Anyone sitting here?” the late arriver asked, bumping the empty seat beside mine with her foot. “And why are you smiling like that?” She plopped down, slid deep into the seat, kicked a foot up on the desk in front of her and sucked whatever she was drinking, loudly through her straw.
“Miss Perry?” the teacher said aloud, over the quiet chatter still buzzing in the room.
“Dale,” she replied.
He squared his shoulders and rested his hands on his hips. “No food or drink.”
She leaned over the desktop and rattled the ice in her cup. “But—"
“No buts. I’m not going through it with you again this week. If you can’t follow the rules. There’s the door.”
“Relax,” she said. “It’s social studies week. Wars. Plagues. Oppression. It’s supposed to be fun.”
None of those things sounded like fun. I kept my head down. If she spoke to teachers like that there was no telling what she’d say to me.
The class was two hours long, but it felt more like five. There was so much I didn’t know, but I’d done my best to take notes and make a list of events to look up on my own. It didn’t matter if I enjoyed reading anymore. I wanted a job and there was no way around cracking open the books.
When it was over, it didn’t take me long to pack up. “Goodnight,” I said to Mr. Paxton on my way to the door and paused when he replied.
“Goodnight. See you tomorrow.”
I didn’t see her—Ms. Perry, as she’d been referred to earlier—behind me, and when I stopped she ran into my backpack. “Move, Mary Ann.” Her hand flew through the air, but she didn’t bother turning around as she blustered by me. “Later, Dale.”
“My name isn’t Mary Ann. It’s Myra.” My words trailed off as she got farther away.
Looking back at Mr. Paxton, his eyes were tightly shut and huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ignore her. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I walked outside, my mind was on that young woman. Lancaster was horrible for countless reasons, reasons that added up by the day. But at least people there had manners. I wasn’t a lot older than the girl, and didn’t particularly need her respect, but I’d never speak to anyone the way she did. It was just rude.
I stewed on it the whole way home, but there was a chance I stayed hung up on it because I didn’t want to think about all the studying I’d have to do. My days, which up until then had been basically free, would now be dedicated to getting my GED as quick as I could.
If I had to deal with cranky people, I’d rather do it at a place I was getting paid.
21
Abe
Myra was getting a crash course in life.
“I have to read everything twice,” she admitted the day after her first class when I called on my lunch break. “There’s so much to learn. It takes people four years to graduate high school, how am I ever going to do this.”
I could relate to that overwhelming feeling. It swamped me when the bank told me how much I’d have to save on my own before they’d help me with my business.
“It’ll get easier,” I said, playing with the cap on my water bottle. “Beginnings are tough.”
She groaned, and although I felt sympathy for her, she I also thought her tame form of complaining was adorable. “Abraham, it feels impossible.”
In my mind, she was sitting at the Griers’ table, books and papers spread everywhere. It wouldn’t take me more than three or four minutes to get to their house if I wanted to, but she had to tackle this part on her own. Of course, I’d help her study—if and when she asked me to—but her biggest obstacle at the moment was doubt.
“Hey, nothing you want bad enough is impossible.” I grimaced, hearing how self-helpish I sounded. Additionally, the statement wasn’t even completely true. “If you want that GED, put your head down and earn it. I know you can do it.” That was honest.
“You’re right.” Her voice was optimistic more than defeated. “So what if it takes me a long time. When I get it, it’ll be all mine.”
I suspected when she got into the groove, found a way to flip that learning switch on in her head, it wouldn’t be as daunting.
“My break is over. Don’t stress out because it won’t help. Text me when you make it home from class, if you remember.” I swallowed the last of my water and tossed it into the dumpster outside the saw house.
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”
Just inside the doorway, Chris leaned, smirking at me as I came in. I hadn’t been more than a few feet outside the door, he’d overheard me and was about to give me hell about it.
“What?” I asked so he’d get it out. We had work to do. I slipped my cellphone into my pocket and worked my fingers back into my gloves.
He only chuckled.
“Laugh it up while you can. In a few weeks I’ll be the one laughing, and you’ll be up to your ears in diapers.” I’d enjoy his misery then, but he was going to make a great father.
The big oaf only laughed harder as I lifted my end of the plank and waited for him to get his. When he hauled his side up, he said, “You’re in love with her, you jackass.”
I dropped my end.
“Pardon me?”
“I said, you love her. You need to tell her.”
He’d lost his mind. Myra had only in the past week started talking to me again. I wasn’t about to throw that curve ball at her so soon. She had too much going on.
Also, he was right.
I loved her.
Tucking my hands under the wood again, I lifted my side. “Shut up. I don’t need to tell her anything right now.”
Chris dropped his end and it was clear we were never going to get that length of wood through the machine. “Yes, you do. Trust me. Tell her.”
“It’s too soon for any of that. I didn’t expect this.”
“Men like us never do. We’re stupid.” He gave up and sat down on the pile, pressing my end out of my grip with a smack. “Besides, there’s no such thing as too soon. I told Ash I loved her the second she let me touch her boobs for the first time. She laughed and didn’t say it back, but I meant it. Look at me. How many women do you think would want me to touch their boobs?” He tipped his chin like he was replaying the memory in the dusty air in
front of him. “She was a purple haired angle.”
I gave him a minute to reminisce, and then cleared my throat.
“The point is,” he began and tapped his index finger against his knee. “Love isn’t going to be the same today as it is tomorrow or the next day. If you love her today, tell her today. People need to hear that. Love fixes shit, Abe. It took weeks, maybe months for her to tell me back, but you know what? When she did, it didn’t matter who said it first or why? Because she loved me and when someone loves you, you want to know as soon as possible. I don’t mean to get all deep and up in your business, but it’s a fact. When Ashley told me she loved me, I didn’t care if my parents were assholes anymore. My life changed.” His fingers snapped, and it cracked through the air. “Just like that.”
How could I argue with that? I couldn’t.
Instead, I snapped and fed his words back to him. “Just like that?”
He rose to his feet and nodded. “Yeah, smartass. Just like that.”
FROM HER MESSAGE, MYRA’S day hadn’t gotten any better.
MYRA: I don’t understand why she won’t call me by my name.
Someone in her class was giving her trouble. Again, seeing her fiery side only made me smile when I should have felt something different. Protective maybe? But I wasn’t. She could handle it.
ME: Just ignore her. How was the class?
I crossed my legs across the couch and wished she was there talking to me instead of waiting for her to reply over text.
MYRA: Class wasn’t so bad. I’d read some of the stuff he covered earlier. So at least I wasn’t totally lost. And I can’t ignore her. I moved to a different side of the room, and she still sat by me.
ME: What if she’s just looking for a friend? You’re friendly.
MYRA: Well, she’s not. She’s got attitude about everything.
From where I was sitting, attitude wasn’t always so bad. But I didn’t want to get her too worked up, she was under pressure and it was getting late.
ME: I’m looking forward to Saturday.