by M. Mabie
“Hey, did I catch you at a bad time?”
I wedged the cell phone between my ear and shoulder and answered, “I’m just sitting on the floor, working on these damn cabinets. What’s up?”
“Sounds fun. Been there.” He laughed. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while, so I wanted to remind you about the barbeque tomorrow.”
“Yeah, Dean said something about it this morning.” It was always a good time at Hannah and Vaughn’s and I was looking forward to it, as long as the station wasn’t a madhouse. “I’m on tonight and get off tomorrow afternoon. What time are people showing up?”
Their daughter Sawyer was almost two, so they liked having people over instead of going out, and I couldn’t blame them. The bar scene in Wynne wasn’t great, even though I frequented Sally’s more than I should. I had my reasons.
“Not until six or seven. Whenever really,” he replied noncommittally. “Wait. You saw Dean already? Did you get a call this morning? I hope everyone’s okay.”
I wiggled down the row and grabbed another bronze knob, glad I’d spent extra on the nicer hardware. Those damn things were solid and fit perfectly. “Yeah, they’re fine. Need me to bring anything?”
“Don’t worry about that. Just grab your three beers and come over. Hell, I’ve got three you can have.” Vaughn wasn’t the only one who teased me about my drinking habits, or lack thereof, but I didn’t care.
It was what it was, much like everything else in my life.
Then again, I had a job I loved, more money than I needed for myself, a truck that was paid for, and a few good friends. And despite still being strung-out over a girl from my past, she was just down the street, and I knew—for damn sure—she was okay.
Faith was tough.
Things could have been better, but they could have been a hell of a lot worse.
Chapter Two
FAITH
“Mom, I’ve got something to say,” Delaney hollered from the back of the car and kicked my seat to guarantee she had my attention.
I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yes, Delaney, what is it?” She’d had no less than eight things she’d had to tell me that morning already.
My bald-ass tires squealed into the parking lot, and I pulled up next to Mom’s car in back of the diner she owned and where I worked most days.
We had our tag-team routine down to a science. She came in early and got things rolling while I got Delaney up, and we’d come in before the morning rush. I prepped lunches while Mom took her break, before coming back for lunch, the meal we’d work together. Then I’d help her prep for dinner, and Naydeen or Roseanne would show up, and I’d go home.
Depending on the day, I might go to the house and try to get caught up on chores and play with my crazy little girl. Or I’d wait until Mom left the diner and head to Sally’s for a night shift, bartending.
So, although I was terribly entertained by how funny and smart Delaney was getting and loved how she spoke her mind freely, it was still early and I’d only had about half of the required coffee for the beginning of a Saturday morning breakfast shift.
Actually, there was an open protein bar in my purse from the day before, and I considered shoving the uneaten half in my face as we got out of the car.
“Mom, I was trying to tell you. I forgot my cup at home.”
“Delaney?” I cocked my head to the side as I opened the back door. My phone vibrated in my hand, but I knew better than to look at the moment.
She exaggeratedly blinked her baby blues, which was something new she’d been trying lately. I supposed she was pretending to cry, but who knew with that girl. When I held firm, she relented. Knowing I wasn’t falling for it, she accepted an apology I hadn’t given her. “That’s okay, Mom, because I have a good cup here, too.”
“You do?”
“Yep, I forgot my Frozen one here. I can really just use that one.” Her hand flew out to the side as she brokered the deal. “Or we can go home and be back super-fast. Right?” Her negotiation skills were sharper than ever.
“Hop out. We’ll find that Frozen one and get you set up.” I made a mental note to look for the forgotten sippy with the extra-syrup chocolate milk I’d let her have that morning. Those chocolate milk sippys were always the worst ones to find a few days later. My friends and I had just talked about milk bombs the other day and how they were truly, truly, truly gross.
“Did you see that cat on the way here, Mom? In the park? It looked so hungry.”
We couldn’t start walking toward the back door until she had her backpack on—just right—for the forty steps or so it would take to get inside. So I waited.
“What does a hungry cat look like, Del?”
When her bag was in place, she stuck her thumbs under the straps and wiggled her tiny fingers, sucked her cheeks in, and crossed her eyes. “Like this.” She made the silly face again. “We can go to the store and get some food for cats. Right?”
I held the door for her as we stepped into the stock room of my mom’s diner. “Maybe. If we remember.”
“I’ll remember.”
I reminded her, “You forgot your sippy cup.”
She slipped into the cozy breakroom near the back of the kitchen, plopped down on her bean bag, and looked at me as if I’d seriously offended her. “I can’t remember everything, Mom. I’m just a kid.”
Yeah. Four going on fourteen.
“Which movie did you bring?”
“The one Big D bought me.”
She unzipped the book bag and pulled out her iPad, a few random coloring books, and the forgotten extra-syrup chocolate milk sippy cup she’d claimed was at home. She smiled guiltily, finding the cup where she’d put it last.
“I found it,” she sang.
I averted my eyes to the ceiling, tried not to laugh, and prayed I’d make it through another twelve-hour day. “I’ll bring you some cereal.”
“Not corn flakes.”
“You’re too sassy today, Madame.” I shot her a you’re-nearing-the-limit look of warning. Of course, she’d get it twenty more times that day. It obviously only worked temporarily.
Then a familiar pinch ached in my chest, knowing I was the only one—my mom and Big D aside—who got to enjoy her. Sure, she pushed me to my limits, but she was mine. Being her mother was harder work than all the other jobs I had and the one I took most seriously. Not being a good mom scared the shit out of me more than any painful thing I’d ever lived through.
Birth included. Chad included. Aaron included.
If history taught me anything, it was that when you really want to fight for something, you do, and I’d always fight for Delaney. I didn’t have a choice, but even if I did, I’d still choose to.
My hand floated over the stainless steel top of the big grill, checking if it was on and hot. It was. I opened the ovens and smelled the chickens roasting for my mom’s Second Saturday of the Month, Famous Chicken and Noodles. The extra prep table on the far side of the room was already covered in noodles drying in flour.
That woman had her shit together, and—thank God—she was my mom. Pinterest didn’t have anything on Di Clark. She knew everything. I dreamed that someday I’d be as strong as her.
But in my wildest dreams, the ones I only shared with my few close friends over a glass of wine sometimes, there was also a house with a fence and a couple more kids, maybe a few dogs or an ornery cat. In those dreams, I worked nine to five like a normal person, and every night I’d have dinner with my family. We’d cook together, clean together. There’d be unrushed bath times with laughing and playing and time for more than just one book before bed. The house would be quiet, and I’d crawl under the covers and wait for the kind of man who was checking the locks so no one would get in. He’d never go to the door looking for a way out.
Leaving wouldn’t be an option and me and Delaney wouldn’t be either.
As I flipped eggs and stirred the pot of gravy my mom had ready and warm when I got there, I thought about Aaron. It w
as early summer and hot in the kitchen. The heat reminded me of him, too.
He’d also left me, but at least he’d told the truth. Or told me anything at all when he left. He’d said goodbye and that he’d come back, but I hadn’t believed him.
When it got slow, I scrolled through the never-ending chat message I shared with three other moms I’d met online after Delaney was born. We’d all been fans of this blogger, The Hostage Mommy, after we had our babies. When the blogger abandoned her website—who knows why, but we had our theories—we remained close, finding each other on Facebook, and then starting a group chat that had somehow lasted longer than any relationship I’d ever had. They were miles and miles away, but sometimes felt like the only people I was close to. The only people who got to see the real me.
While I’d been busy, Emma, Noel, and Abbey had discussed some kinky thing Emma and her husband, Jason, had tried in bed the night before.
I laughed my ass off, all the way to the end of the thread.
Emma: I won’t be able to walk for the rest of the day, but neither will he!
I didn’t have time to chime in, so after typing about ten ha’s and hitting send, I turned up the volume on the small radio and listened to Sunny’s Saturday Morning Playlist on WDKR.
I cooked and daydreamed, but I didn’t fantasize.
No. Fantasies were for people who had nothing important to daydream about, people who had the time to think about luxury and seduction. I couldn’t afford fantasies.
Besides, in my daydreams, the trash got taken out and new tires weren’t something I saved for. Daydreams were where we had all of the things we needed. Bonus things, things I wanted, were a waste of time thinking about.
That morning, I easily stayed caught up, and after the craziest part of the rush passed, I strolled to the front to get a fountain Diet Mountain Dew. Mmmm. It called to me. Zero calorie, sweet Nectar of the Gods.
As predicted, he was there. It was Chicken and Noodles day, after all.
Me: He’s here.
I typed quickly into the chat. They were the only people I ever talked to about Aaron. They knew how he showed up every day, barely spoke two words, and left.
He was sitting at his usual table, the small one at the end of the pie case where he could see the grill and the back room—and me.
Aaron was a regular, but then again everybody who came in was a regular.
Noel: Stalker alert!
Abbey: He’s not a stalker. It’s the only restaurant in that two-whores town.
Noel: Two-whores town. Good one.
I stuck my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and filled the cup, only slightly tipping my head to the side to get my fix. He was flipping through a magazine, hunched over the table, with a cheek resting on his fist.
Aaron Goodman had changed so much from the scrawny teenage boy I’d crushed on. Gone were his knobby knees. In place of them were thick thighs and muscular calves. His arms were tan and strong, and they hung from his wide shoulders like a set of noble Greek scales.
I’d seen him without his shirt the day before—and about a hundred other times over the last few years—and his hard chest was dusted with the same masculine hair that sparsely covered his arms and legs. Most of his stomach was bare, except for the narrow track of hair that parted his muscles.
The past afternoon, I’d been trying to watch a stupid YouTube life hacks video on Delaney’s iPad, but I was so distracted by him on a ladder outside the window that I had to restart the damn thing three times. I’d even snapped a picture of him and sent it to the girls. It was so wrong Kinnearing him like that, but they had to know what I was dealing with.
Me: God, thank you for hot summer days and shitty gutters next door. Love, a single mom who wonders how dirty her gutters are.
They’d gotten a kick out of it, and—once again—gave me shit for not saying something to him or, as Emma had said, “Not taking advantage of a good dick swinging outside my window when I saw one.”
I’d emailed the picture to myself before erasing it from my phone.
Old crushes died hard, if ever, and we’d been only just friends for a long, long time—our whole lives, in fact. Almost closer once, but everything had a season. Priorities changed. Life got complicated.
Some people went off to the military.
Some people left college after their first year, pregnant.
Topping off the Styrofoam cup with diet soda and thinking about how much he’d changed, I supposed I’d changed a lot, too. I was a hell of a lot more than just the knees and elbows I’d been back in school—before my baby—and I’d all but given up on ever returning to my pre-Delaney weight.
Since high school, my ass had gotten bigger. My boobs were all over the place, and my tummy was pudgy. It didn’t matter much because nobody ever saw the field of stretch marks that damn near wrapped all the way around me from my pregnancy, but they were there. My body had all sorts of fun adult, secondhand things that nobody wanted.
Just like my scarred up belly, I hated looking at Aaron sometimes, too. Sitting there, quietly nearby, not saying anything either.
Then again, not seeing him at all was always much worse. No Aaron was total hell, and the years without him in town were my worst.
Now he was always around, but never really there. Not like before. That was fine, though. I didn’t have much to give a guy like him anyway.
I put my head down, owned the awkwardness—it was probably my fault we didn’t talk much—and headed back to the kitchen. Except right then, I ran into my daughter holding her almost empty, except for the milk, cereal bowl.
“Mom, I’m done with this.”
“Okay, put it by the sink in back.”
She bent forward to look around me. “Hey, does he have his dog?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, stowed the dish on a cart, and slapped her smudgy hands on the back glass of the pie case to look through it. Not seeing what she wanted, she stomped to the end of the display and asked him, “Where’s Smokie at?” Sassy hands on her sassy hips.
Aaron grinned, a welcomed sight, and scratched his clean-shaven chin. He was always sweet to Delaney, and I secretly loved it. She only knew him as Aaron the Firefighter who had a real-life Disney Dalmatian dog, with no clue he was also Aaron, the guy her mom had been crazy about in high school.
He looked around acting like he’d lost his companion. “I guess he stayed home to wait for the mailman.”
She didn’t buy that, firing me a can-you-believe-this-guy expression. Her hips shifted.
I shook my head and my eyes met his for a second before she argued, “Dogs don’t wait for the mailman.”
“Mine does. He barks at him.” He made a few woofing sounds and it sent her into a fit of giggles. What a fun sound.
“No, Aaron. Dogs just chase balls and play tag with cats. Hey! Did you know there’s a hungry cat in the park? A yellow one?”
Aaron leaned in. “I’ve seen it,” he corroborated. “I don’t think it has a collar.”
Sadly, she gave him the sob story. “It doesn’t. It’s nobody’s cat.”
I took a long drink of delicious, yet totally not good for me Diet Dew, eavesdropped on their conversation, and waved goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Caraway when they walked out the door.
She stepped a few feet closer to the mountain of a man and swung on the empty chair opposite from him at his table. “Do you want a cat?”
Here we go.
His foot tapped to the beat of the country song on the radio. “I’ve never had one.”
Delaney pitched to the right, and her long wavy dark blond hair nearly touched the floor. “Yeah, but do you want one?”
Aaron lightheartedly considered it. His mouth to one side, he rubbed his sharp jawline, playing along. “No. I don’t think so. I believe I’m a dog man.”
He looked at me once again, but I smartly didn’t hold the gaze and spun to see my mom peeking her head out of the kitchen. When she had my attention, she said, “Honey, the chicken
is shredded and in the pot, but these noodles need a little more time.”
“Okay,” I answered.
She angled around the corner more and asked, “Aaron, can you wait about thirty minutes? Let ‘em cook together for a bit?”
He cleared his throat. “That’s fine. I’m just killing time until I go in.”
“Come on, Delaney. Are you going home with Gramma or staying here with me?”
She spun around and danced her way around the counter. “Going home. I need a nap.”
Who didn’t need a nap?
“Pick up your bowl and go clean up your stuff, please. Gramma’s about ready.”
“I’ve gotta go,” she hollered back at Aaron. “If you change your mind and want to be a cat man, you should just see if the yellow one likes you. It needs some food.”
“I’ll think about it,” he replied and then did me a silent favor by going back to his magazine.
I pretended to swat at Delaney’s hiney as she went past.
“Don’t, Mom. I’m trying not to spill this. Keep your hands to yourself.”
What a diva.
I CLEANED THE BREAKFAST mess, and Mom and Delaney left.
Honestly, I liked those days at the restaurant when there was time for extra cleaning and busy work. Knowing most everyone would probably order noodles that afternoon, there wasn’t much to prep. So I tidied up the walk-in and made a list of things we were low on.
All the while, he was out there and I had a message on my phone that I both wanted and didn’t want to look at. I shouldn’t have mentioned to them he was in the restaurant because now I’d have to talk about it, about him, and I was running out of excuses for being such a wimp.
I hauled a bag of trash outside and there was a nice breeze, so I propped the door open with a box fan before I washed my hands. Then I headed up front to prop the other door open for the cool cross air to blow through the building.
He’d reclined in the chair with one leg kicked out in the walkway, but moved it as I passed to get around.