GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “It’s okay I’ll pick up my own.” I try again but refrain from telling him his idea is horrible.

  “Not on a date with me.” He turns, apparently done with our exchange, the decision made. “Add the bag of M&Ms.” He pushes his credit card against the counter a few more inches without even a please or thank you.

  I ask again, was there a time I found this pushy attitude attractive? Am I vitamin deficient somewhere? Aspen hit the nail on the head when she set me up with James. He’s Cody in a different body. Does my best friend think I want to date self-centered assholes?

  James pays for his order and we stand together waiting for the popcorn while I contemplate my life decisions. After a few seconds of staring at two identical ceiling tiles above us, I come to a single conclusion. Men suck.

  An employee in the standard theater black polo shirt slides the medium bucket of popcorn across the counter. I pick it up and follow James to the small area where the soda machines sit ready for people to pour their own. He asks what I’d like, but considering I don’t plan to drink any, his choice doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to share spit with the man.

  “Do you mind if I throw a few M&Ms in the popcorn?” I ask with the bucket held out in front of me.

  “What?” He turns with narrow pinched eyes like I asked to sacrifice a chicken before the movie starts.

  I hesitate but figure I need to see it through. “Just a few. To warm them up.”

  It’s a fine explanation, but James’ accusing eyes become small slits at the bucket of popcorn.

  “Absolutely not.” He takes a giant step toward me and snatches the popcorn, wrapping an arm around the middle protectively. “They'll melt and get chocolate all over the popcorn.”

  The man doesn’t understand the concept of the M&M. My chest tightens in irritation. Soon I’ll lose the ability to discuss this calmly, so I keep my answer short. “Not really."

  I do this all the time. The M&Ms get nice and soft so when you eat them with popcorn they don’t crunch. It’s a perfect combination.

  “It doesn’t make logical sense,” he responds and I can’t help noticing the superiority in his tone. “They’re denser than the popcorn and will fall to the bottom. How would you find them? Do you plan to root around with your hand touching all the popcorn?”

  So now he’s concerned with sharing? How convenient. My whole body tenses the longer he stares at me like I’m an alien moron ready to violate his precious popcorn. I consider ending this whole fiasco now and walking out, but I don't want to cause problems for Aspen’s sister-in-law at work.

  My surrender comes through clenched teeth. “Never mind. I’ll keep them in the bag.” It doesn’t matter. There’s no popcorn in my future without a drink to wash it down with, and he’s not getting any of my straw spit.

  James picks seats in the middle of the theater, which I appreciate, but he takes the aisle seat without even asking for my preference. There isn’t much of a wait for the lights to dim, and the first preview pops up on the big screen right along with James’ first bite of popcorn. An incredibly loud first bite of popcorn.

  I try to tune it out, but by the time the third rating screen flashes away, I fear I’ll soon be forced to strangle him. For the first time tonight I’m happy we’re at an action movie. It needs to be loud to drown out the noise from his spot at my side. What is the man eating? Rocks? Are his fucking teeth jackhammers? His continues to chomp away faster and louder than humanly possible until I fear I’ll lose my mind.

  I excuse myself for a last minute bathroom break and send Aspen a frantic message begging to be saved at the end of this movie. What are best friends for if not to spare you the pain of another bad blind date?

  **

  One hundred and ten minutes of blood, guts, and gun fights later my torture came to an end when the final credits rolled. The only plus for the movie? Repeated gunfire helped silence Chompy McChompson although I could have done without his repeated attempts to push his spittle drink on me.

  I caught a cab out of there as fast as possible thanks to Aspen’s rescue text. With the sweetest smile I could muster, I explained to James how I had to get home to feed Aspen’s new cat Mittens. There’s no cat, but James graciously accepted my best friend as an irresponsible pet owner. Now I have to cross my fingers he never asks Aspen’s sister-in-law about her grey tabby.

  My calves burn by the time I hit the fourth-floor stairwell and enter the code to open the door to my hallway. It’s a few short steps to my wooden apartment door and I let out a sigh when I spot the bright yellow Post-it note stuck to the middle of it. What could it be now?

  I stop in front of my door not touching the note, but standing close enough to read the messy male scrawl.

  This is in violation of rule number six.

  Underneath his comment, my landlord drew a thick black arrow pointing to the floor where my scroll and flower outdoor mat sits in front of my door. I’m glad there’s an arrow pointing me in the right direction in case there was any confusion. There’s no one around to see, but I flip off the note for good measure and rip it off the door as I unlock it.

  The square piece of yellow paper will go nicely with my growing collection. Soon I’ll have one for every day of the week. The last few he left only had the rule I’d been accused of breaking slashed across them, leaving me to figure out exactly what I'd done. Yesterday it was number two, but I haven’t decided if my yelling at the stupid buyers on House Hunters forced him to break out the yellow pad or the alarm clock I snoozed a few times…… okay five times. If only he’d time stamp them.

  I pull the mat in behind me and reposition it on the inside of my apartment. Let him complain about it now. If she hadn’t saved me with her cat story earlier, I’d be more upset at Aspen. “He’s never here,” she said. “Don’t worry about the rules," she said. “It will be all right, Marissa,” she said. Pfft.

  My refrigerator’s empty, but there’s half a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer. Ice cream. The perfect Friday dinner option post bad date. A choice compounded by the fact I get to spend my Saturday at work.

  The tan cushions bounce as I flop down on the couch, the carton of ice cream and spoon in hand. I consider turning on the television, but the remote sits halfway across the room on the corner of the entertainment center. Retrieving it requires more energy than I possess at the moment. Plus, I’d be forced to put down the ice cream. Without a coffee table in the middle, there's nowhere to stick it besides the floor. Ice cream never belongs on the floor.

  The events of tonight’s failed date cycle through my head as I try to savior the first bite of my frozen dinner. It wasn’t the fact I couldn’t put M&Ms in my popcorn or the shared drink. It’s not about the popcorn. It’s about everything else.

  Back when I had my cards lined up in a nice little row, I’d be married by now. Sure Cody never let me mix M&Ms in his popcorn, but he always bought me my own small size to do whatever I wanted with. We compromised.

  Cody and I had tons of plans together. Nights spent envisioning the future and how we’d take over the world. My plans didn’t include him fucking a coworker, probably under a desk, and his did. Silly me.

  The worst part is, Cody isn’t the most despicable guy on the planet. He feels bad for what he did, but his repeated apologies weren’t enough. It’d be easy to hate Cody, and a small part of me will… forever, but the truth is he isn’t a bad guy. He made a stupid, stupid decision and, unfortunately for both of us, I can never take him back. I can’t build a future with someone I can’t trust that future to.

  Although on nights like tonight with only Ben & Jerry’s as company, I wish I could get over it. I miss his lying cheating ass. I’m a moron, I know. But is it wrong to want those special feelings you get in a relationship? Am I horrible to enjoy having a person to share my life with? I can’t remember a time I’ve ever felt so alone. Aspen is off happily coupled up with Finn, and while I couldn’t be happier for her, I can't help asking when it will be my
turn to find the right guy?

  Hell, maybe there isn’t one out there for me. I’ve always been sarcastic, but since the Cody breakup everyone looks to me as the man hater. I’ve sure played the part well enough.

  What would they think of my strong woman persona if they saw me now? I’m anything but strong. Which pisses me off because I don’t need a man to make me happy. With ice cream in my system I’ve moped enough. Being sad all the time sucks.

  I moved to San Francisco for Cody when he received his high-profile job offer in the Financial District, and since our breakup I’ve considered leaving. There are options open to me. Move back to southern California, closer to my parents, or even Boston where my sister Julie lives. Aspen and I haven’t talked about it, but her convenient timing on this apartment makes me question if she suspected. She knew I could never pass up an apartment in San Francisco, even with an insanely hot, but cranky landlord. It’s not in my DNA.

  As I finish the pint of ice cream, my eyes seek the remote. It’s still next to the television and out of arm’s reach. What I really need is a man here to get me the remote. Someone useful. He needs to be tall enough to get jars from the top shelf too. He should understand me and find my quirks cute. Be smart, but not pretentious. Funny. Want kids, but not until I’m at least thirty. He’ll eat Chinese food whenever I want it… which is often. I don't need a drop dead gorgeous guy, but a cute one would be nice, with a good smile and kind eyes. He must get along with everyone in my current friend group, especially the nerdy guys Aspen and Simone brought into it, even Grant when he’s around.

  While I’m fantasizing about men who don’t exist, he also can’t chew his popcorn too loudly. He’ll let me put M&Ms or whatever the hell I want in the bucket. I’ll get to pick the movie at least every other time, even if it’s a chick flick. Oh and he can’t wear sandals with socks. I shudder at the memory of another previous blind date.

  And the most important, when in the presence of other women, he should forget he even has a penis attached to his body. I want to be the only woman in the room my man sees. This time around I won’t accept anything less.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Grey walls. Grey carpet. Grey desk top. Everywhere I look in my office there’s grey. Well it’s not so much an office as a cubical. Okay fine, it’s a cubical. Why are cubical farms so gloomy? If they force employees to work on Saturdays, the least they could do is add a little color. It’s depressing.

  The single highlight of my day thus far came from panicky texts from Aspen over Finn’s talk of marriage. My bestie’s so far gone for her gamer boyfriend I can’t figure out why she fights it so hard. If I had a loyal and loving guy like Finn wrapped around my finger, I’d do whatever it took to keep him there forever. If my past taught me anything it’s to grab on to a good one and never take him for granted.

  “Marissa, do you have last month’s figures for the Cline account?” Scott, another marketing assistant questions from his cubical three down and one over from mine.

  I stand with the forms and turn in his direction. “Yeah, they’re right here. I’m done if you need them.”

  The sheets are covered in yellow from where I marked the client’s ad analysis this morning. It’s the fun activity I get to do every first of the month regardless of the day of the week. Hence my Saturday work schedule.

  “Thanks, I’ll come grab them. Do you want a fresh coffee?”

  There are three of us in the office today, but the other employee has been in the conference room with the door closed all morning. I’m not concerned she’ll tell someone I’m on my third break for the hour.

  I duck down to grab my coffee cup and by the time I stand again Scott’s at my cubical opening. He leans on the side with one elbow propped up on the top. I’ve gone on plenty of breaks with Scott, but I’ve never noticed how tall he is until this moment. I like it.

  His black hair is disheveled, but his dark brown eyes sparkle from the sunlight behind him. He smiles and I look at Scott, really look at him, for maybe the first time.

  His light blue polo shirt fits tight giving his chest definition I’ve never spotted before. His biceps stretch the sleeves of his shirt a fraction. Did Scott purchase a gym membership or I have been unaware of these pieces of him over the last four years?

  “The Cline account went crazy last month, huh?” His eyes take in the yellowed sheets in my hand as I pass them to him.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Scott continues to talk about the account as he scans over each page, and I absentmindedly nod my head in agreement, but I don’t hear his words. My eyes remain locked on his arms as I try to figure out when they started to look like this.

  Scott and I have worked together for years, but I’ve never taken stock of his finer qualities until now. He’s single, cute, dresses well, and isn’t an asshole. So much so he volunteers at an animal shelter on the weekends.

  “Let me drop these off, grab my cup and we’ll head downstairs,” he says and I drop my eyes to the yellow coffee cup I’m holding.

  “Yeah.”

  Wow, Marissa, way to be wordy and intelligent. I fidget, moving from foot to foot the few moments I wait for Scott to return. We’ve had coffee a hundred times in the breakroom on the floor below ours and I’ve never had problems speaking in full sentences before. Scott returns to my cubical and the reason for my monosyllabic vocabulary hits me.

  I might like Scott. Of course once my mind registers this it also turns me into a shy simpering maiden, not the kick ass lady I am. I’m not the only girl this happens to, am I?

  “Ready?” Scott walks past my cubical and I use a few large strides to catch up to him.

  At the stairwell he pulls open the large metal door and allows me to go through first. Such a gentleman. Unaware of my new crush, Scott continues to talk about the Cline account while we walk to the lower floor. I maintain my steady head nodding to pretend I’m interested in every word he speaks. Little does the unsuspecting man know I'm using this time to check him out and decide how tall of a heel I could wear around him.

  “Marissa, watch out!”

  I spot Scott’s panicked expression at the same time my right foot hits the large box placed on a step. Hands fly out to catch me as my body tips forward. To save myself from the inevitably painful fall down the hard staircase, I reach out and grab on to the handrail. My body jerks and I end up planted on my bottom a step above the offending box, but at least I'm not lying sprawled out on the bottom floor and I kept hold of my cup.

  “Are you okay?” Scott bends down until we’re eye level.

  I’ve lived through the experience and my body responds by blushing from the monumental embarrassment of my failed attempt to walk. Perfect. I would decide I have an interest in a guy and then almost fall to my death five minutes later. Aspen’s the clumsy one, but this is my luck in regards to men.

  “Do you need help up?”

  “No, I’m fine.” I pull myself up with the same rail that stopped my fall. My right foot stops on the white step and a shooting pain radiates up my leg. I gasp and almost sit back down, but I place my weight on my left foot and manage to remain standing.

  Scott doesn’t stand when I do, but he watches my face and flinches when I gasp. “Which ankle is it?” he asks.

  “The right one, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I try to play it down. Tears well up at the bottoms of my eyes and I discreetly reach up to wipe them away. If I can get back to my desk, it will feel better before I leave work.

  Scott pulls on the bottom of my jeans and I freak out, shaking my foot at him so he’ll let go. I don’t remember the last time I shaved. He can’t touch my hairy legs.

  “You need an emergency room.” He reaches for my leg once more, so I sit down on the steps and hope it will deter him.

  I lift my pant leg, but stop once I reach the top of my white sock. Scott’s seen all he’ll see today. “I’ll prop it up at my desk.” I wave off his concerns with my words and a hand.

  “Marissa, it
’s already swollen. You need to get this looked at. What if you broke it?”

  My eyes widen at his suggestion I’ve broken my foot. I’m sure Scott’s crazy and over concerned. Before I tell him my thoughts on the matter, I examine the ankle in question and notice how my sock’s puffed out more than normal. Crap.

  He must see the panic in my eyes because he abruptly stands and holds a hand out. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the walk-in clinic on California Street. My girlfriend works there, and she’ll make sure you don’t wait too long.”

  Girlfriend? When the hell did that happen? I allow Scott to pull me up since I’m no longer concerned with my self-respect or dignity in front of him. It must be shock, but not over my ankle. It’s this whole new girlfriend situation.

  “Watch the box this time,” he says with a huge grin on his face and a laugh under his breath. Scott helps me down the steps and allows me to lean on him for support.

  **

  I push twenty dollars through the plastic divider between the front and back of the cab, anxious to breathe air that doesn’t stink of cabbage.

  “No change,” I say as I throw open the cab door.

  My hand catches the crutch tucked under my arm and it swings back almost hitting me in the face. I avoid the black eye from that attempt, but navigating around with these wooden legs will be harder than I thought. I’ve never had crutches before, and I found the three-minute tutorial my nurse gave lacking in a few major details. Like how the hell to walk with them.

  “Do you need help, Miss?” the cabbie asks, but doesn’t leave his seat.

  I wrap my purse with my shoe in it around my shoulder and stick the bottoms of both crutches on the ground outside the cab. “Nope. I’m good. Thanks.” With one large push-pull move on the crutches, I clear the cab and fumble with them on the sidewalk for a minute. Somehow I manage to keep my wrapped foot off the dirty ground.

  The six tiny steps to the front door of my building take more time than normal, but I’m proud to make them on my own. The lobby door presents the next problem. Tired from the maneuvering I’ve had to do, I lean against the brick exterior of the building. How best to open the door when I can’t use my foot as a prop? I also have both hands wrapped tightly around the crutches to keep my ass standing. I must figure something out if I’m to make it the next three to five weeks the doctor said my ankle will need to heal.