“Are you going to church tonight?” he asks me. We go to a megachurch that has a huge Sunday night singles group. I go for the worship and sit in the back, sneaking out early before the migration to the hamburger and pizza joints kicks in, while Jeff seems to be right in the middle of everything, passing out business cards at after-church events and being as friendly as possible. He’s a regular Mae West. Come on up and see me sometime.
“I’m going. After I finish a little paperwork,” I say with as little expression as possible.
“Do you want to drive together?”
Why would I want to do that? “In that thing?” I ask, staring at his Lexus.
“It’s my car. I don’t have a glass carriage around the corner if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
“Who’s the blonde?”
He smiles slightly, “She’s a pharmaceutical saleswoman who’s selling more than the product. I’m not buying, in case you’re interested.”
“I’m not. She works on weekends?”
“But if you were interested in me, not the pharmaceuticals, would it bother you?”
I poke my hair behind my ear. “Why would it?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“I don’t know.” His usual bravado disappears from his voice and he shrugs. “I was a bit hopeful, I guess. It’s not everyday a redhead looks my way.”
“We can be friends, can’t we?” I ask, hoping to wave the white flag. I know we both feel this chemistry, but I’m also practical. In addition to finding him incredibly attractive, I also think he’s the scourge of the earth.
“You know, Poppy, plastic surgeons aren’t met with any more grace in church than an alternative healing expert. I know that you think I look down on you for what you do, and maybe I have had an attitude, but I get the same thing. It’s no different for me.”
“I think it is. You’re a doctor, and therefore a catch at church, regardless of what you do with your day.”
He exhales deeply. “I’d like to be respected for what I do, Poppy, not just looked at like a Christian wallet for someone.”
“What about the four kids and the barefoot-and-pregnant thing?”
“I think you’re remembering that a little differently than I might have said it,” he laughs. “I want four kids, and I believe in traditional roles. I assume that’s what you’re speaking of?”
Something about the way he says this pierces my heart as I realize I have been aiming a spear straight at his heart. I’ve wanted to bring him down, put him in his place. In short, I’ve wanted to make him feel like others have made me feel.
Words elude me as I realize the truth. My life verse booms in my head: the human spirit can endure in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear? I can’t speak as I remove the plank from my eye. Is it wrong to want a woman to stay home and be a mother to your children? Or just to admit it in this day and age?
Jeff continues trying to justify himself to me, and with each word, I feel its crushing blow to my own ego and the attacks I’ve made on him. “I have a calling, Poppy. Just like you, and it doesn’t fit neatly into the puzzle. We’re two leftover pieces. In a world of engineers and marketing experts, we’re two freaks of nature trying to serve out our purpose here until the Lord returns.”
I try to recover. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
He smiles widely. “I love surgery, Poppy. For a surgeon, it’s all about the surgery. There’s the paperwork and the set up and the consultations, but when I get into surgery, I come alive. Every time I want to do better than the last time. I want my patient to thrive after their procedure. I want each cut to be neater than the last, and each scar smaller than the first. You may not cut people open, but I know you understand the high that comes from fixing something a patient has struggled with. It’s a triumph.”
I nod in understanding. What he says actually makes sense to me, and suddenly, I hear his fruit. The fruit of the spirit I’ve been so quick to judge. “It is a triumph.”
He grabs my hands, and I don’t flinch or back away. In his steely blue eyes, I see the exact rejection I’ve felt myself. “Finish up your work, and we’ll head out and have some dinner after church. I’ve got a surgery to plan in my mind. I like to go through it in my head before I’m in the operating room and—”
“Jeff,” I start to shake my head.
“So I’ll be back. Don’t say no, Poppy. I’m trying here.” He slams the door behind him, then opens it up again. “By the way, I love your skirt. It’s new again.”
Lilly said men didn’t notice clothes. I nod.
“You look happier in it,” he says.
My head snaps up as he says this. “I do?”
“You do. Give me an hour?” he asks while backing away.
I nod. “That should work.”
As he walks away, I lean against the door. I’m heading for a fall, and I’m smart enough to know it, and powerless to stop it. Three more weeks until the wedding, but how long can I play normal? And what if I start to believe it?
chapter 13
Miles run: 8
Laps swum: 0
Desperation scale: 9
I am a fraud. For someone who supposedly embodies all things natural, lying is a toxic emotion. And worse yet, I’m lying to myself trying to pretend I’m someone I’m not to please Morgan and Lilly.
I feel like I’m being picked up for my prom as I wait for Jeff to finish his work and drive us to church. I want to be as nice as possible to make up for my past behavior. His real estate issues not withstanding, I have my own conscience to answer to. My heart pounds when I see him come out of his office, and I fling myself in my office chair to act as though I’m working. There’s no knock at the door, so I get up and peek out the curtains and see him letting himself back into his office.
Sigh.
My cell phone rings at this point, and it’s a number I don’t recognize. I think twice before answering, but my curiosity gets the best of me. Like curiosity did anything for my cat, Safflower, when she climbed that tree. It did get me a single date with a fireman, but it did little for Safflower. Come to think of it, the guy was a jerk, so it really did nothing for me either. But I digress.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hi, Poppy Clayton?” It’s a man’s voice. A deep and resonate voice. Definitely not the jerk fireman.
“This is Poppy.” I fan my skirt out over the office chair.
He clears his throat. “You don’t know me, but your friends Morgan and Lilly . . . They suggested I call you.”
My stomach drops. Oh my gosh, they didn’t give my name out to some “looking for athletic/skinny” guy online, did they? I’m not thinking of health at the moment. At least, not theirs!
But the voice continues. “I met Max while jogging on the beach—”
“Oh,” I say with a sense of relief. “It’s you.” Running man from the nude beach.
“I hope you don’t mind my being forward, but when I met Max, he just went on and on about you, Poppy. How much you loved to work out, eat right, and that you really enjoyed the beach.”
“And I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain,” I joke. Badly.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” Morgan and Lilly are just asking that I be good for three days: the couples’ shower, the rehearsal dinner, and the reception. I can do this. I can keep my mouth quiet about all things health. Even with a plastic surgeon on my arm.
“You’re a drinker?” he asks.
“No, I’m not a drinker. What?” I’m confused.
“What’s with the piña coladas?”
“It’s a song. Piña coladas . . . getting caught in the rain . . . Remember?” He doesn’t remember. He’s probably twenty-two, but Morgan and Lilly are counting on me, so I push away any thoughts of doubt. Let their dreams of grandeur continue until they’re both well married.
“Oh, right, that song,” he says with false laughter. “Well listen,” he continues. “I was sort of hoping we mig
ht get to know each other before the wedding. Maybe have an evening or two out. Maybe we could take a jog along the beach or I could come there, and you could show me where you run.”
I’m not telling an unknown where I run. I don’t care how well he knows Max. Suddenly, it occurs to me that Mr. Piña Colada is taking a lot of liberties with our future. And as far as I’m concerned, we have no future. I’ll admit my mind goes back to Jeff “He’s going to break my heart” Curran. And Simon “Already broke my heart” Jennings. But there it is. Apparently, Lilly did not pass on the information that I already had a date, and I have a feeling it wasn’t a mistake on her part. It’s her editorial on my choice.
“The wedding?” I ask. “You mean Morgan’s wedding?” I clarify.
“I thought it would be nice to get to know one another before the wedding. They tell me that you’re incredibly beautiful, so I hope you’re not too disappointed meeting me. I’m not much of a looker myself.”
This makes my face feel hot. “I think you’re the one who might be disappointed. These are my best friends telling you that, remember.” Come on, Jeff, where are you?
“They showed me a picture. I think that I trust them.”
I feel my stomach tingle at the compliment. But that does not change the fact that I never agreed to any wedding date without meeting the guy—and where there once was none (wedding dates), currently there are two. I may not be a math genius, but this I know to be an issue.
Max jogs on Ocean Beach, the nude one near the zoo. I have to make sure this guy was wearing clothes when they met. But of course, I doubt Max would jog willingly with a naked guy, so that’s probably not a real issue.
“Uh,” I stammer. “Meeting you. Yeah, that would be good. What’s your name again?” I try to ask this as nicely as possible, but it’s always a rude question when you should know someone’s name.
“Jacob Frawley. I’m a scuba diving instructor. Lilly said she told you about me.”
I can tell his voice is tentative, and I’m not putting him at ease, which makes me feel an inch tall. I want to put Jacob at ease, but blast it, I keep thinking about the house in Santa Cruz, the disappearance of my twenty-year-old skirt, and being a bridesmaid yet again. A girl only has so much capacity.
I finally find my voice. “Of course I remember, Jacob. It’s sweet of you to call. I’m bringing a friend of mine to the wedding.” I want to give the man a chance to get a date and not be bullied by Morgan and Lilly. I’m used to it, but this guy is fresh meat.
“It’s not a favor, Poppy. Is that what you think?” he asks. “Does your friend want to come?”
“Jacob, you have a very gentle way about you.” Unlike my friends, who seem to have as much sensitivity as a Mack truck. “Morgan and Lilly can be quite persuasive and I didn’t want you to feel blindsided. I’ve asked a friend to come with me to the wedding and we’re looking forward to it. I’m in the wedding, so I wouldn’t be able to spend much time with you anyway.”
“The truth is,” Jacob says, “I’ve always had a thing for Maureen O’Hara, so for me, this night is like starring in a John Wayne movie. I get the redhead.”
Well, he’s brutally honest, I suppose. A little scary, but honest. And I must admit I’ve heard the Maureen O’Hara thing a few times before.
“So how about it? Running this Saturday, maybe? Then maybe a light breakfast afterwards? Your friend coming to the wedding isn’t a boyfriend, I’m assuming.”
Oh, that I had the ability to lie well. “No, it’s just a friend.”
I can do this, I think, as I frantically search for an excuse. Sometimes, there’s just the knowledge that this isn’t the future for you, and I’m more than confident of that emotion.
However, I can play normal for a Saturday with a friend of Max’s.
Jacob’s probably fabulous and he’ll teach me to scuba dive.
I’m worrying over nothing.
“Sure. A run sounds great. How about a week from Saturday? I have a fitting up in the city this Friday night, and I don’t want to be too tired.” Well, actually that’s not true; I’m actually hoping to find the perfect excuse by then.
“I’ll get directions from Lilly and Max. I’m just stoked to find someone to run with. It’s about time a girl was really athletic.”
Stoked? Athletic? Ugh.
After the stoked comment, Sammy Hagar Jr. hangs up. Without a good-bye. I let my head fall to the desk and groan. If my friends think this guy is me in pants, they don’t think much of me. I am more than the sum of running and a crush on Johnny Depp. I am! And I haven’t used the word stoked since junior high school.
I barely hang up when my cell trills again. This time, it’s Lilly.
“Hi, Lilly.”
“Did he call?” she pants.
“Yes, he called,” I deadpan.
“Did you love him? He is so sweet, Poppy. You’re going to love him. You two can eat at those sprout places you like. It’s going to be perfect. He can teach us all to scuba dive, and we can vacation together with the kids in Hawaii. Morgan and I can be cows on the beach while you see how far you can run. It’s going to be fabulous.” She starts to hum “The Wedding March.”
“Okay, Lilly, you’re scaring me. I agreed to one running date with Nudist Man because you two are nagging, but this is scaring me.”
“Nudist Man?”
“Didn’t Max meet him on Ocean Beach?”
“People aren’t nude there anymore, Poppy. When’s the last time you were there, 1984?”
“Maybe. Regardless, he’s really not my type, Lil. I can tell.”
“How can you tell on the phone?”
“He used the word stoked. And he didn’t know that song ‘If You Like Piña Coladas.’”
“You know, I’m not even going to ask.”
“That’s fine, but do I have to go running with this guy? He creeps me out. Like those guys who drove Camaros in high school.”
“He’s not like that.”
“What does he drive?”
“I don’t know. You’re going running; what does it matter? May I remind you that you’re driving a Subaru? Just have an open mind. You can trust Morgan and me.”
“Can I? Tell me this much: do you think he’s handsome?”
“Since when do you care about a guy’s looks?” Lilly asks.
“So I take it that’s a no.”
“He’s not my type, Poppy.”
“Is Dr. Jeff in the office next door your type?”
“No, too pretty,” Lilly says.
“Do you think he’s handsome?”
“That’s not a fair question. That was a trick.”
“You set me up with a dork, Lilly, who still uses the word stoked. Come on. Isn’t it enough I have a chaperone for the wedding already?”
“Max likes him. We’re thinking about long-term. And quite frankly, we know you and Jeff will fight. He’ll say something about Botox, and you’ll go into your botulism mantra, and it will be worse than if we let you loose on the wedding’s general population armed with probiotics and green elixirs.”
“Did I miss something? I’m agreeing to one date with Scuba Doo before Morgan’s wedding because, apparently, you don’t trust me to mingle. This way I’ll have a date and a spare. People come to my office, Lilly, and they pay perfectly good money for my expertise. You think I can’t mind myself for four hours of my life.”
“Well, you and Jeff fight a lot, Poppy. This guy is really open to all that natural stuff. We know you’ll like him, Poppy. We don’t want to make you miserable. We want you to enjoy yourself. You need to get out more, have more fun, start dressing like you’re friends with a popular San Francisco designer,” she says, referring to herself. “Wait, what do you mean you have a date?”
“I told you I’m going with Jeff.”
“But you weren’t serious.”
“Oh, but I was.”
“Poppy, he’s from the Dark Side. You said so yourself.”
“But I also
dress in a twenty-year-old skirt, and you take what I say seriously? Why?”
“Not anymore, you don’t.”
“Yeah, about that. You stole my skirt, and I want it back, do you understand?”
“Listen, do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do that? You never take it off.”
“Lilly!”
“Do you ever wash that thing? I mean, I know you’re all anti-detergent and everything.”
“I am not anti-detergent. I just believe in using environmentally responsible detergent.”
“I like bleach myself. Sucking in that smell . . . Ah, it’s better than Lysol. When the whole house has the aroma, it announces clean to your neighbors. My Nana would clean the day she made sauce. Now that’s Pavlovian—bleach and spaghetti sauce. It makes me hungry just to think about it.”
“That’s not good for you, all that bleach. You probably made your hair curlier with all those inhalants.”
“Yeah well, the baby doesn’t like all those smells, and I don’t want to hurl every five minutes, so I’ve given up my clean scents, okay? Now I go for manageable. You’d be proud of me. I’m using organic cleaners because I can handle them.”
“I’ve told you a million times, the reason smells bother you is an overgrowth of bad bacteria to your good bacteria. You need more yogurt or probiotics. The baby will probably need them too. You should start now so your baby isn’t born with a sugar issue.”
“And you, dear Poppy, need a life. Which is why I took the skirt. I’m holding it hostage. You go to Morgan’s wedding with said plastic surgeon and you’re a nice girl and you don’t tell the mayor that he needs liver support or that his wife shouldn’t bleach her teeth, we’ll give you the skirt back.”
“Blackmail. And after all I’ve done for you.”
Lilly is a walking bag of insecurities and yet she has the nerve to touch on my confidence. I’m slightly annoyed, but she’s not done yet.
“You stopped me from dating the infamous Colin in college. I’m only returning the favor.” Lilly goes right back to her current favorite subject: my future with Mr. Piña Colada. “Did you have a lot in common with Jacob? Besides the running and health stuff?”
Calm, Cool, and Adjusted Page 15