by Kelly, Hazel
“Aahhh. So that’s how you got my number.”
“I’ll be the first to admit I thought it would be harder.”
“No wonder you sound so smug.”
“Do I sound smug?” he asked. “Must be the scarf. It’s very cozy, and it smells like flowers.”
I laughed. “I’m glad you found it. It was a gift from my brother, and I hate to lose things.”
“I figured.”
“So can I come by the bar to get it or…?”
“Sure,” he said. “How about Friday?”
“Friday?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Seems a reasonable day to meet at a bar.”
“True.”
“Plus, then you can buy me that drink you owe me for saving the day.”
“I suppose I do owe you a drink.”
“You suppose?! You weren’t really going to let me buy all the drinks again this year, were you? What a mooch.”
“I’m not a mooch.”
“Did you say smooch? Because I can bring that to the bar with me, too, if you’d like to redeem it?”
An embarrassing giddiness warmed my belly. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Finn from FedEx.”
“Can you blame me? I achieved my goal for the year before noon on day one. That’s got to be some kind of record.”
Why did his voice fill me with the sudden urge to twirl my hair? “I’m glad your year is off to a good start.”
“Good? Are you kidding? I thought I lost you forever.”
My heart seized in my chest.
“That was a joke, Maeve. Relax.”
“You were funnier last year.”
“Ouch.”
I laughed. “See you Friday.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said.
And if the fluttering in my stomach was anything to go by, he wasn’t the only one.
T W E L V E
- Finn -
Lukas sat on the bench beside me, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground. "I'm sorry, Finn. I'm sure you have better things to do than wait here with me."
"I don't mind," I said, checking to make sure his little beanie was pulled down on his head and that his scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck.
"I'm always the last picked up. Except for one time. One time, Jaime was still waiting for his mom when mine came."
I didn't remember that, but it wasn't usually my job to wait with the kids. Then again, when you're a volunteer, it's hard to know where your duties start and stop. But I liked Lukas. He was a cool kid, and I could tell he really wanted to learn the guitar. Unlike some of the other kids, who I suspect were forced to pick an afterschool activity and chose music lessons to avoid unnecessary sweating and socializing. "Sometimes it's nice to just sit."
He looked at me like I was crazy.
"You disagree?"
"If you think sitting is nice, you should try sitting and playing Smash Brothers."
I smiled. "I'm not really into sitting, per se. What I mean is that the world moves really fast, and it's nice to have an excuse to slow down for a minute every now and then."
"Easy for you to say. You're not sitting here because your mom forgot about you."
"Your mom didn't forget about you. She's probably just stuck in traffic or something."
"I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but I'm not stupid."
"Can I be honest with you?" I asked. "As a friend?"
He looked up at me from between the chunky blond bangs framing his eyes.
"I think you're being too hard on your mom. I bet she does all kinds of stuff for you all day long, stuff you don't even realize she’s doing for you."
He shrugged.
"Being a mom is more work than you think. I bet she makes you nice dinners and helps you with your homework. I bet she got you those cool boots you have on, and she's supportive when you want to practice the guitar."
"She is, yeah," he said, kicking one of his Spiderman boots out so I could admire it.
"I bet sometimes she has something she'd rather do than drive you around, but she takes you where you need to go instead."
He went quiet for a second. "Maybe."
"Definitely," I said. "And someday you'll be a grown-up, and you'll wish you were nicer to her."
"Do you wish you were nicer to your mom?"
"I do. Especially because she lives really far away now, so I only get to see her a few times a year."
His cute little face grew serious, as if I'd shared a deep pain with him. "I'm sorry you miss your mom."
"That's okay," I said. "I only mentioned it because I think sometimes when you're frustrated, it helps to try and look at your situation from another person’s point of view."
"Carly doesn't even have a mom now."
"I know," I said, picturing the little girl Lukas always tried to sit next to. "That's really sad, don't you think?"
He nodded. "Sometimes I worry she's going to be sad forever. It used to be easy to make her smile, but now she doesn't even smile when you play the ‘Smelly Cat’ song."
The thought occurred to me that maybe I should make a special effort to involve her in class, especially since the few times I'd met her dad, he'd come across as cold and corporate. Poor kid. "Maybe you could write a song that would make her smile?"
"Me?" he asked. "I can't write a song."
I leaned back. "Why not?"
"Because I don't know how."
"That's no excuse. You couldn't play the F chord before Christmas either, and now you're the best at it in the whole class."
His blue eyes lit up. "You really think I could write a song?"
"I certainly think you could try. What's the worst that could happen?"
"It sucks."
I shrugged. "Sometimes you have to make bad stuff to get to the good stuff."
"I didn't know that."
"It's true," I said. "I should know. The first song I wrote was about burnt toast."
He scrunched his nose. "That doesn't sound like a hit."
"It wasn't. But if I hadn't written it, I never would've written a second song. Or a third."
"You think I could write a song that would make Carly laugh?"
"Only if you try."
He looked down and started swinging his legs again. "How do I start?"
"Start with something that makes you laugh."
A mischievous smile spread across his face.
"Did you think of something?"
"Yeah," he said. "Farts."
There’s a shock. "What else do you think is funny?"
"You don't like that idea?"
"I like it very much, actually, and I think a song about farts could be hilarious. I'm just not sure if it's the right theme to cheer Carly up."
"Good point."
"She might enjoy a girlier theme."
"Like unicorn farts?"
I cocked my head. "Is that a thing?" More importantly, was he going to get in the car when his mom arrived and tell her I encouraged him to write a song about farts? This conversation was going so well before. "Keep thinking," I said. "Getting good ideas takes practice, too."
A few cars went by, their tires sucking against the wet pavement as they reduced their speed outside the YMCA.
"Hey, isn't that your friend?"
I followed the pointer finger on his gloved hand to where Brian was strolling down the sidewalk on the other side of the chain link fence, salt crunching under his feet as he focused on his phone call. "It is."
"Even you're getting picked up before me."
"No chance. I'm not leaving till your mom comes."
"There she is!" he said, pointing excitedly in the opposite direction as he slid off the bench.
"Hey Lukas." I squatted down to look him in the eye. "Remember not to give her a hard time about being late, okay? It's no big deal. Plus, if you get in the car and you're a jerk, she won't even feel bad you ha
d to wait."
"Good point."
"That's just between you and me, though, got it?" I lifted a closed fist and his thick glove pounded against it. "Good luck with your songwriting. I can't wait to hear how it goes."
He picked up his guitar case and headed for the curb.
"See you next week."
Brian patted Lukas on the head as he passed, his other hand slipping his phone in his back pocket. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "The Corona shipment was wrong again, and I had to be a dick."
"Glad you got it out of your system so we can have a pleasant lunch," I said, hoping he'd read between the lines and realize I didn't want to hear about the incompetent Corona rep for the next half hour.
"Did you ever get ahold of that woman about the scarf?"
"I did actually." I pulled my keys from my back pocket and looked both ways before crossing the street. "She's going to come get it on Friday after my set."
He laughed to himself. "Is she really?"
"Does that amuse you?"
"That you would pine after a grown-up. It does, yeah."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means she's not the kind of chick you usually go for, and I think that's a good thing."
"What kind of chick do I usually go for?"
"Chicky chicks. As opposed to grown-ass hens."
"That's ridiculous."
"If you say so," he said. "But I bet that woman frames the pictures on her walls and has an actual savings account."
"I bet she does, too," I said. "But I'm not going for her. I'm simply returning her lost property."
"Sure you are."
"I am," I insisted. "What makes you think there's more to it than that?"
"Because I saw the look on your face when she left before midnight."
T H I R T E E N
- Maeve -
I wasn’t nervous till the end of the day when I saw Franny Fitzroy in the bathroom. Her makeup bag was exploded across the counter, and she was changing out of a houndstooth jacket into a frilly silk top that seemed at odds with the chunky gold necklaces dripping from her neck.
"Big plans tonight?" I asked as I washed my hands.
"No," she said. "Just drinks with the girls, but no one hits on me when I've got my ball-busting clothes on."
I turned back towards the mirror and wondered if she had a point. Maybe a pantsuit wasn't the best thing to wear to the bar tonight. Not that I wanted Finn to hit on me. Or did I? It seemed a waste of time to pretend a laid-back musician would ever be interested in someone like me romantically, and yet…we did have chemistry.
Then again, my memory of New Year's Eve was probably fuzzy from the post-traumatic stress of Kurt's rejection. More likely, I was pathetically interpreting Finn’s every smile as a lifeline while he was only being kind.
"What about you?" Franny asked before leaning over the sink to deepen the red of her lips.
I cringed as I watched her deliberately apply lipstick beyond the border of her natural lip line and wondered if I was totally alone in thinking it made her look cheap and desperate. At the same time, I used makeup to boost my confidence, too, so who was I to judge her application methods? At least she knew better than to look fish-lipped at work.
"You have any exciting plans?" she asked. "I heard you're on the rebound."
"Pardon?" I asked, letting one hand drip over the sink as I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser with the other.
"I heard about you and Kurt splitting up."
"You did?"
She nodded. "Can't say I was surprised."
That makes one of us.
"I always pictured you with someone more…" She blotted her lips on a paper towel.
I held my brows still, so they wouldn't give away how desperate I was for the rest of that sentence.
"Manly."
I cocked my head as I dried my hands.
"No offense."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what? Never mind.” She waved her acrylic nails through the air. “I shouldn't have even mentioned it."
"No, go ahead. I care about your opinion." All of a sudden. And only because I sense you're going to tell me something I want to hear.
"I guess I've always thought you were such a strong woman."
"Thanks," I said, though I didn't feel particularly strong. If she knew me better, she'd discover my confidence was nothing more than Spanx and a fake-it-till-you-make-it mentality.
"Whereas he's not exactly…remarkable, is he?" she asked. "That’s probably unfair of me to say."
"Not at all," I said, grateful to have an ally. Especially because I hadn't told my best friend what happened yet. She was away with her family over New Year’s, and I didn't think she could possibly pity me properly from a sun lounger with an umbrella drink in her hand. "Did you hear how we broke up?" Should I tell her? Gossiping about my personal life in a professional setting was decidedly against my code of ethics, but the women's bathroom was a sacred space, right?
"Yeah. Maybe that's why I don't care much for the guy. Who dumps someone at the company Christmas party?"
My stomach dropped.
"For what it's worth, he totally disgraced himself flirting with that catering girl after you left."
I swallowed.
"You definitely dodged a bullet there. The guy's a pig like the rest of them."
A bigger pig than I thought, anyway. "Did they…?" God, this was pathetic. "Do you know if anything happened?"
"No idea. I was too busy trying to get in Michael Hooper's good graces."
I smiled. "You have a thing for Michael?"
"How could you not?" she asked. "Just the way he looks in a suit makes me wet."
Well, there's the line crossed. "Can I ask you something, Franny?"
"Anything," she said. "Except for Mike Hooper's number because I don't have it yet."
"Do you think this looks okay for a date?"
She looked me up and down, her eyes no doubt appreciating the immaculate construction of my Ralph Lauren pantsuit and the red blouse underneath. "No?"
Fuck. "Doesn't matter," I said, looking away to hide my disappointment. "It's not really a date, anyway."
"Lose the jacket and put on a pencil skirt."
My eyes found hers again.
"No one looks better in a pencil skirt than you do."
"What?"
"I'm not just saying that. Every guy in the office thinks so."
"Really?"
"Really," she said, folding her arms and squinting at me. "And take your hair down."
"I hate wearing my hair down." I lifted a hand behind my head and patted the outside of my carefully pinned updo.
"Don't get me wrong, it looks nice up. But most guys are suckers for sexy long hair, so if you've got it…"
I nibbled the inside of my lip. "I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard."
"It's your call," she said, lifting her palms. "But when you've got your hair up like that, it looks like you're not trying at all."
I scrunched my face.
"Your turn."
I blinked at her, praying she wasn’t about to ask whether I could see her leopard print bra through her shirt.
"You've worked with Michael for years. Give me something."
I looked up at the ceiling, wracking my brain for some tidbit she might find helpful. "We haven't been on a project together in ages."
She made a face like no one was leaving the bathroom until I coughed something up.
"He's really into sports."
Her doll-like lashes batted slowly like she didn’t appreciate me wasting her time.
"Especially the Blackhawks."
"Oh?" She perked up.
"Yeah. Total hockey nut. Played in college at a D1 school. Pretty sure he wanted to go pro but got hurt or something? I can't remember exactly. But I know if you mention hockey, he’ll never shut up."
/> "Thanks, Maeve."
"Sure."
"Hey," she said as I walked to the bathroom door. “Good luck tonight.”
"Thanks, Franny."
"And remember, no matter what happens, at least you aren't going home with Kurt."
I scoffed as I pulled the door open. "There's an understatement if I ever heard one. Have a nice weekend."
"You, too," she called after me as I let the door swing shut.
Fucking cocktail waitress. For real? At the company party?
What a fool I’d been.
F O U R T E E N
- Finn -
I didn't realize how much I was watching the door until Maeve came through it, her pretty cheekbones floating above the popped collar of her structured coat.
Her eyes met mine a second later, and I kept singing Joni Mitchell as she made her way to the same seat she'd been in the night we met. My seat. I was happy for her to have it, though. Liked it better with her in it. Frankly, I felt the same way about the bar. Which was odd. I didn't even know her, and she'd given me no reason to believe we had anything in common. Apart from the belief that her pretty scarf didn’t really suit me.
That much was obvious from the disapproving look she gave me when she noticed I was wearing it. But there was an amusement in her eyes, too, and I felt encouraged by the fact that I’d surprised her. That’s not why I put it on, of course. I put it on so she wouldn’t grab it from behind the bar and take off before I could say hello. After all, I’d been looking forward to meeting her all week. And if the attention I lavished on my nether regions in the shower earlier was any indication, part of me hoped it would turn into a date.
She ordered a drink from Brian and took her coat off as I started singing the chorus. I could tell by her outfit she'd come from work. Her hair was up, and she was wearing a red shirt that screamed dry clean only along with a pencil skirt that sent me straight back to second grade. That was the first time I ever saw a woman in a skirt like that and realized they were shaped differently from men. But my second grade teacher's body was no match for Maeve's.
The high skirt showed off her delicate waist before flowing out over her hips and ass, which were surprisingly shapely despite her thin limbs. I imagined she had no trouble buying clothes that flattered her. I remember hearing my mom complain about how clothes weren't designed for real women, and I finally understood what she meant. Maeve looked unreal in clothes. So unreal I couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like out of them.