A Ring for Rosie

by Maggie Wells

  He shrugged. “I used to be a once bitten, twice shy kind of guy. Now I get hit by a Mack truck of a girl and realize my life is flashing in front of my eyes. Everything’s going too fast anyway, seems easier to go jump in and go with the flow.”

  “How philosophical.” She chuckled at his assessment. “But I think you’ve got things right.”

  “I can’t let her get away from me. Gotta seal the deal.”

  “Between you and me,” she dropped her voice to a confidential tone, “I don’t think there’s much chance of her bolting.”

  “Still, I’m not fool enough to take her for granted.”

  “Glad to hear.” She rapped twice on the wood frame, then pushed away from the door. “You keep plowing through until about two. Your girl is going to come by and pick me up. She mentioned something about wanting to smooch you, so, you know, make sure you have some mints on hand or something.”

  Mike grinned. “Thanks for the warning.”

  * * * *

  James waited ten whole minutes after Rosie left to even crack the door to his office. When he did, he found Mike and Colm propped up against the center workstation, flanking the massive bouquet on display. Narrowing his eyes at them, he asked, “What?”

  Colm took pity on him. “We already ran the message through the translator. Something about how beautiful she is and how she’s sweeter than a flower…or whatever.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “She’s more beautiful than the roses and sweeter than the lilies,” he translated. “They’re from some guy named Manuel, and he can’t wait to sing with her again.”

  The extra inflection he placed on the word ‘sing’ wasn’t lost on any of them. Rosie was talented in many ways, but carrying a tune wasn’t one of them. They’d each heard her warbling away at the copy machine often enough to know nobody would willingly subject their eardrums to such torture.

  “Well, there’s a load of crap,” James scoffed.

  Mike squinted at him. “You don’t think Rosie’s beautiful? You don’t think she’s sweet?”

  James backed off a step. “Of course I do.”

  “Yeah, because the other day you were telling us your feelings for Rosie might be more than professional,” Colm reminded him.

  Annoyed, James snatched the card from its plastic fork and glared at the unfamiliar words. “Listen, I’m not going around with you guys again. I’m doing the thing we said we were going to do with Megan. My mom came over last night and taught her how to make fried chicken.” He shot them each a look loaded with incredulity. “Has my mother ever struck you as the fried chicken type?”

  Mike chuckled. “I have to know how it went.”

  “About as well as you would guess.” James ran a hand over his face as if he could scrub the memory away. “My mother bustled all over the kitchen making a huge mess while Megan stood there scowling and staring at her phone the whole time. There’s grease all over my backsplash, and I have to get some special cleaner to take it off.” He threw his hands up. “I had no idea I even had a backsplash.” At a complete loss, he shook his head. “The kids were thrilled, of course.”

  “Of course,” Colm echoed.

  “After my mother left, I got to listen to an hour-long recitation of all the things wrong with my family. Like Megan’s got any room to talk.” He grimaced, remembering Megan’s family happened to be Mike’s, too. “Sorry, no offense, Mike.”

  “None taken,” Mike replied affably. “A train wreck, is a train wreck, is a train wreck.”

  “A train wreck by any other name…” Colm intoned. “And yet, you seem normal. Sometimes.”

  Mike scowled. “I blame my lack of chemical enhancement—liquid or otherwise.”

  “I have to say, I think the family stuff with Megan is working. She’s getting crankier and crankier. My mother is driving her crazy.”

  “I’m having a hard time picturing your mom going all happy homemaker.” Colm frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought she knew how to cook at all.”

  James and Mike exchanged a glance. Most of the time, they all forgot he and Colm didn’t get to know each other until after James started at Trident.

  “Yeah, well, she was pretty much a full-time homemaker when my father was alive,” James explained.

  “Okay, your mom’s doing her part.” Mike cut in before Colm could get going on his line of questioning. “Are you doing yours?”

  “What do you mean?” James asked.

  “I mean, are you bringing her to the Carson campaign celebration?” Mike persisted.

  “What? No!” James shook his head emphatically. “Why would I?”

  “Because you’re supposed to be getting serious,” Colm reminded him.

  “Right, but, this is a work thing,” James stammered.

  And Rosie would be there. Rosie would have to watch him playing nice to the woman who routinely wreaked havoc on his life. And she’d probably be bringing a date. A real one. One who wasn’t a walking, talking time bomb. Probably the guy who told her how beautiful and sweet she was. How much humiliation was one guy supposed to suck up in a lifetime?

  “It’s a work thing and a party,” Mike corrected. “It’s also going to be one of the biggest social events of the season. If you think my sister is going to appreciate missing this, you’re the one who is nuts.”

  “You have to bring her,” Colm insisted. “Everyone’s going to be bringing a date. You can’t show up stag.”

  As he suspected. But, still, he couldn’t resist asking. “Everyone’s bringing a date?”

  Mike held his gaze. “Yes, everyone.”

  “Who is she bringing? That Charlie guy?”

  There didn’t need to be any clarification as to who the she in question was. Mike shook his head. “No, not Charlie. The restaurant is open on Tuesdays.” He paused as if weighing whether to go on. “Besides, I’m not sure she’s sold on him.”

  Colm glanced from one man to the other. “I’m confused.”

  “What else is new?” James snarked.

  “Nothing new, but I think I ought to be filled in. Don’t you?”

  Mike turned to look at Colm. “Rosie’s dating Georgie’s friend Charlie. She’s also dating some guy named Devin,” he explained.

  “And, apparently, a Manuel,” Colm added, gesturing to the huge bouquet.

  “Devin.” James snorted. “You should have seen the guy’s pictures.”

  “What do you mean, pictures? And how would you have seen them?” Colin persisted, ever the cop.

  “Pictures on some dating site. She met him online.” James glared at each man in turn. “Your fault and your fault.”

  “How is her dating other guys our fault?” Mike asked, instantly defensive.

  “Georgie and Monica,” Colm answered before James could jump them both. “They set her up on the dating sites, remember?”

  “This Devin guy looks like a great big moron,” James continued, annoyance mounting.

  Mike’s eyebrows jumped. “He’s a family law attorney. His practice concentrates on cases involving children with special needs,” he corrected. “I doubt he’s a moron. As a matter of fact, Rosie seems to think he’s a real contender.”

  “A contender? What is this, a prize fight?”

  Mike ignored the defensiveness in James’s tone. “It may not be a fight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not even in the ring, right?” Mike pushed away from the counter and stood toe-to-toe with him. “You didn’t want to be in this fight. You didn’t want Rosie.”

  “I told you I didn’t know what I wanted,” James spluttered, annoyed by his friend’s ability to twist his situation to fit any moment.

  Mike shook his head. “‘I don’t know’ isn’t good enough for Rosie.”

  “But a whole load of bullshit is good enough for your sister
, huh?” James glared at the shorter man. “Shouldn’t Megan be the one you’re defending?”

  “Megan doesn’t need defending. Megan makes her own messes,” Mike said grimly. “Doesn’t make me happy, but I believe people get what they deserve.”

  Colin shifted his weight to step in between them. “The gist is, you need to ask Megan to the party. You need to let her get dressed up, you need to haul her in there on your arm, and you need to pretend you’re into her.” He nodded emphatically when James began to shake his head. “If what you’re telling us is true, she’s got to be ready to bolt. And, if she’s close to the edge, this could be the push she needs.”

  James glared from one man to the other, then lowered his gaze. “This is a helluva thing, don’t you think?” Silence stretched between the three of them for a long moment. “A helluva thing.”

  Mike patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, man, it sure is.”

  James gave his old friend’s arm a punch in return. After all, they were discussing driving the guy’s only sibling out of his life again. “I’m sorry.”

  The blanket statement covered a lot, more than half of which wasn’t being spoken aloud. They were guys, after all.

  Not to be left out, Colm slapped James on the back. “Yeah, let’s get this hellish thing done.”

  * * * *

  “Please pass the rice.” James gestured to the dish on the far side of the table. Megan scowled at the bowl before picking it up and thrusting the rice at him without a word.

  “I got a star today,” Jamie announced.

  “You did? What for?” James chuckled to himself, tickled his mother was handing out actual foil stars as if the boys were in preschool.

  “I did all my letters and numbers,” Jamie announced.

  James gave an impressed nod. “Really? All of them? All of your letters and all of your numbers?”

  Jamie danced around on the seat, toying with the edge of a macaroni noodle. “All my letters, but I only know up to twenny.”

  “Numbers go to ’afinity,” Jeff announced. “Jamie can’t count as high.”

  “Can, too,” Jamie argued.

  “Can not.”

  James silenced the back and forth by raising a hand. “Hey, that’s something, knowing all those letters and numbers.”

  Not to be outdone, Jeff turned to his mother. “I already did mine. Like, years and years ago,” he elaborated.

  “No, not really years, buddy,” James chortled, tickled by the twins’ extreme one-upmanship. “Jeffie did his last month,” he explained to Megan. He gave his younger son’s bright hair a tousle, then high-fived the elder. “Jamie’s been more resistant to the letters and numbers game, but he’s into them now. Watch out, or Uncle Mike’ll be wanting to hire you.”

  “I like to color,” Jamie announced. “I wanna color when I grow up.”

  Megan’s lips twitched, but she didn’t say anything.

  Eager to loop her into the dinner conversation, James nodded to her. “He must get the artsy from you.”

  Megan inclined her head but made no reply.

  Undaunted, James tried again. “How’s are things at the community center? Do you like teaching the class?”

  “The people are horrible.” Megan couldn’t conceal her derision. “Some can’t even draw a straight line.”

  James chose to ignore her harsh tone. “I suppose most of them aren’t really the artsy type. They only want to try.”

  “Not everyone can be creative. You can’t wake up one day and say, ‘I’m going to be an artist. I want to draw or paint or sculpt.’ Art doesn’t magically happen. You have to have the gift.”

  “I wanna draw,” Jamie repeated.

  “And if you’re anything like your mom, you will be able to draw, but not now. Finish your dinner,” James ordered.

  “I don’t know why people think they can sign up for class and all of a sudden have some kind of talent,” Megan complained.

  James frowned. “I don’t think they’re expecting to develop talent overnight, but maybe learn techniques?”

  Megan pushed the food around on her plate. “Well, most of them are hopeless cases.”

  His temper rising, James set his fork down on his plate. “Let’s pray they don’t quit their day jobs, then.”

  Catching Jeff dividing a look between them, he shrugged and forced a lighter tone. “Anyway, maybe they’re trying something they’ve always wanted to try. You know, chasing their dream or something. Good for them.”

  “They’d better have good running shoes, because some will be chasing those dreams for a long time.” She snorted a laugh at her own joke. “Maybe they’ll have better stamina than they do artistic talent.”

  James cocked his head to the side. “I don’t remember you being such a snob,” he commented mildly. “Did you learn that from your driftwood sculptor?”

  “What’s a driftwood sculptor?” Jeff asked.

  Before Megan could reply, James grinned at the boy. “Driftwood is what Mommy collects when she’s not here.”

  Megan dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter. “At least he wasn’t a big horse’s as—” she stopped herself short of saying the word. “Donkey.”

  Jamie looked up from where he’d been lining the edge of his plate with macaroni noodles. “I wanna horse.”

  “I wanna donkey,” Jeff cried with exuberance, desperate not to be left out.

  James turned up the volume on the smile. “Sadly, I am neither a horse nor a donkey. See? Short ears.” He played the reminder up for the kids by tugging on his earlobes. “Keep me anyway?”

  “Yeah,” Jeff replied without missing a beat.

  “Uh-huh,” Jamie concurred.

  Sitting back in his chair, James fiddled with the paper towel he was using as a napkin. “You know, I kinda wish I was a donkey sometimes. I could go around braying and neighing and kicking people. But we don’t get to, do we guys?”

  “No,” the boys chorused in unison.

  “Kicking is bad,” Jeff informed Megan with sober sincerity. “You get in trouble if you kick.”

  “Right.” Uncrumpling the paper towel, James covered his leg, then picked up his fork again.

  They ate in silence for a moment. “Looks like the Carson bandwagon is going to roll right through Election Day.” James dove in before he lost his nerve. “We’ve had to step up security for a couple of events this weekend, but I think Gerry’s going to have smooth sailing.”

  “Of course he will,” Megan grumbled. “He’s a Carson.”

  “You know as well as I do, the family name doesn’t make winning a given.”

  Megan snorted derisively. “Puh-leeze. People like the Carsons win no matter what.”

  Getting the feeling he was fighting a losing battle, James switched tactics. “I can’t figure out why anyone wants the job. I can’t imagine there are too many good days when you’re the mayor of a city like this.”

  Megan’s mood seemed to sour even further. James wondered if his friends might not have been right about her motivations. Taking a deep breath, he launched into his pitch.

  “I was wondering if you might be interested in going to the campaign celebration with me Tuesday night.”

  “Tuesday night?”

  “The election is on Tuesday,” James explained with exaggerated patience. “The election night party would be on Tuesday night.”

  “What kind of party is this?” Megan asked.

  James chuckled. “Well, it’s a gala thrown by the Carsons, so you can bet it’ll be more than a keg in the back room of some local bar.” When Megan failed to rise the bait, he stood and busied himself with clearing the table. He didn’t want to look directly at her while playing out this charade. “The party is at the Carson house. Attire will be everything from business to formal.”

  “Can we go watc
h TV?” Jamie asked, a few decibels louder than absolutely necessary.

  James turned away from the counter and eyed each boy’s plate. They’d ingested about half of their dinner, which was better than par these days. “How do we ask?” he prompted as he dug a stack of see-through containers from the cabinet.

  There was a prolonged pause. James turned in time to see Megan mouthing something to Jeff.

  “May we be excused?” Jeff asked.

  James lined the containers up behind each bowl and started filling the first with heaping spoonfuls of macaroni and cheese. “Yes, you may.”

  He glanced at Megan a look as the two boys scampered off, but she only smirked in return.

  “Jeffie is a suck-up,” she commented mildly. “He must get that from you,” she added, mimicking his earlier remark about Jamie’s artistic talents.

  “Most likely,” James replied, unperturbed. “We are born people pleasers.”

  She made a rudely skeptical grunt, which he chose to ignore. Neither of them spoke. The air in the kitchen hung heavy around them, redolent with the scent of warmed-over pork roast. The splat of potatoes landing in plastic tubs seemed amplified by the tension between them. Desperate to break the current arcing between them, James shifted into conversation sure to light a fire under her. “The boys sure love having you around. Nice to have dinner as a family, huh?”

  A beat passed. “A formal party at Carson house?” Megan sounded as if turning the idea over in her mind. Like she had more glamorous offers rolling in. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  He knew exactly where this train of thought was heading, so he hopped on board. “Buy a dress.”

  “I don’t have any money,” she snapped.

  When James turned to look at her he saw the all-too-familiar gleam of cool calculation in her eyes. Once upon a time, he found her silver-green eyes striking. Mesmerizing, even. Now, he realized their lack of color was a mere reflection of the depths of her soul. “You have a job,” he pointed out mildly.

  “This is your work thing. If you want me to go, you’ll have to buy me a dress.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted you to go. I asked if you wanted to go,” he corrected.

  Snapping the lid on a container, he heaved a sigh as he pivoted to face her. This had to stop. He couldn’t keep letting himself get lured into fighting with her. If his plan was going to work, he had to learn to stop chomping at the bait she dangled.