Yep, such great stuff. I am overstuffed with its greatness.
Steve watches me and says, “The color matches your eyes. You know I just thought you would look so pretty—”
I place one finger on Steve’s lips to silence him and he kisses it.
I walk back into the family room and gasp for a different reason. Elsa is clearly not as well-adjusted in her new home as we hoped. Everything that was on the coffee table is now on the floor. Elsa is chewing on something. I’m not sure what it is…shit, that’s my purse. I lunge to retrieve it and bang my knee on the lethal metal end table. “Oww!!”
“Are you alright, Love? Elsa, stop it!”
Steve manages to bravely pry open her jaws, and I grab what’s left of my purse strap. On my four-hundred-dollar Coach bag.
“I’m sorry. I guess we have some work to do with her.” I raise one eyebrow and he says, “Okay, I have some work to do. I’ll replace your purse.”
I sigh and flop on the sofa, forgetting that it provides little cushion and no bounce. My ass is probably bruised. So many things are wrong here. I don’t know what to address first. I should run out of the building like I’m being chased by wolves, but then I look at my sweet Steve’s dejected expression and I just want to put my head on his shoulder.
“Elsa, come here.” I pat the sofa next to me. “You, too.” I pat the other side.
“Do you really want to encourage her to sit on the furniture?”
I roll my eyes. Oh, but yes. I do. “Seriously? You think you’re going to stop her? You’re not the dog whisperer and you have to go to work and leave her here alone. Let’s try to make her feel safe and watch something cheery on TV.”
“I’m sure Elsa has lots of favorite shows. Like Vikings? We need to get caught up.” Steve laughs at my distaste for the extremely violent program and I pretend to strangle him.
“Why not? It’s like watching a train wreck. I don’t want to see the carnage, but I have to know what happens next.” In this case, art imitates life.
Steve settles in and I grab one of Elsa’s blankets. She seems happy to be sitting with us and I pet her while she falls asleep. With my head on Steve’s shoulder, I feel peace. Well, as much peace as I can feel in this shrine with a shedding, crazy dog while watching people’s heads getting chopped off. At least the big guy is hot, which reminds me of hotness I promised myself I would not think about tonight.
Fast forward a few hours and there goes that peace right out the window. Which is where I may be soon. Or the dog. Or both of us—hand in paw. Steve weighs too much for me to toss him.
How did I go from a cat loving, single career woman who goes out on the weekends and has fun—to someone who lays on the floor in an insanely sexy nightgown with a dog? While the dog cries for its sister? Mommy? Whatever Megan is. And to make it even worse, the man who should be excited about said nightgown, and taking care of said dog, is SNORING in bed.
We started off well enough, and I thought I was on the way to ending my sexual frustration, when Elsa started whining and thrashing about in her bed. Steve did try to settle her down, but fell asleep when I took matters into my own hands and laid down next to her. I thought he would have waited for me to settle her and return to bed, but apparently sleep won out over a scantily clad woman.
Now I can’t leave Elsa’s side because she will only stay quiet if I am right next to her. I don’t want to bring her in the bed because then we’ll never get her out. I weigh my options and they are pretty light. I could go to the kitchen and find a frying pan, whack Steve on the head and put the dog on the orange couch—solving several problems at once. Grr…my thoughts are getting more irrational as the night wears on.
“Come on, Elsa,” I whisper to the confused dog. I locate Steve’s thick green bathrobe on the hook in the bathroom and carefully open the bedroom door. Steve does have a bike ride planned for early tomorrow morning…I mean this morning, as it is already past three. Even though I am angry, this is not his fault and I would rather deal with it myself. I have been dealing with everything alone my whole life. Elsa is just one more thing on the list.
I guide the fluffy girl down the hall and outside into the backyard. The pond area is illuminated so it isn’t pitch dark. I figure if she has a little time to relieve herself, sniff and run around, she may be able to calm down. I would lay down with her downstairs, if there was a single remotely comfortable couch in this house. NOT! There is a guest room, but I am creeped out enough being here at night without exploring new rooms.
I had also forgotten about Steve’s bedroom set. I ended up in that bed the first night we spent together a year ago, but I had forgotten about the porn star mirror behind his seventies light oak bed. Yuck! The last thing I want to see while having sex is me! And all I can think about is how Noreen saw herself in that mirror. The picture of them sitting on the bed’s shelf, smiling on a beach vacation, doesn’t help the overall mood.
I sigh and rest my weary body on the bench by the pond, while Elsa explores the other side of the yard. I remember the writing on the bench. Should I look? Of course not, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I shift my legs and lean over to read the curvy inscription.
I murmur aloud, “In loving memory of Noreen Callahan Hollis…”
My heart pounds…what was that noise? I feel a presence…I let out the breath I was holding onto for dear life. Get it together, Rebecca. It was just the wind rustling tall oak trees. Elsa’s footsteps. A frog hops in the pond and my heart leaps again. Where the hell can I go to feel safe here?
I jump up and corral Elsa back into the house. I find the dog treats on the kitchen counter and put one near her greedy mouth. She gobbles it and I once again weigh my options. Maybe I need to call my doctor on Monday for a sleeping pill prescription? Fake a dog allergy and go home?
I lean against the oven and imagine ripping the stupid hippie beads down. Now that I think of it, Elsa will probably choke herself on these. My overwhelmed brain is aching, and I can still hear Steve’s snores from the other side of the house.
I will never sleep so I tiptoe into Steve’s study and turn on the small lamp on his desk. He won’t mind me using his computer. I will get back to bed before he’s due to get up, and I won’t mention what hell this night has been. I can nap while he’s on his bike ride. Tomorrow night I will pretend to sleep and let him deal with Elsa. Or knock myself in the head with a frying pan.
My new friend sits at my feet as I sign into my e-mail account and open Luke’s manuscript. My sexy nightgown didn’t work tonight, but at least I can reminisce about the times when it worked very well.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“See, you beat me again!” Steve hugs me triumphantly.
I don’t know how I do it, but I beat him at arcade basketball almost every time. On a real basketball court I couldn’t even hit the rim if my life depended on it. To be fair, Steve is the stereotypical white guy when it comes to basketball. He is athletic in many other areas, as evidenced by his collection of mountain bike racing trophies in his study (each one displayed with a picture of him hugging Noreen in celebration).
“As exciting as these victories are, the band will be starting soon.” I pull my phone out of my purse to check the time. High Fidelity will be taking the stage here at Midtown Lanes in a few minutes. Saturday night is usually a big Meetup event, and all of our friends are already upstairs. Every time we come here we spend at least an hour playing the downstairs arcade games before joining the grown-ups in the bar area. I reply to Gina’s third text, telling her we will be up shortly.
I usually don’t mind indulging Steve’s love of games, but tonight I am eager to shake off some stress. I did get to nap with Elsa while Steve went on his bike ride. I had a long talk with her about her issues, but I’m not sure I got through. I did, however, feel the need to vacuum up the first round of her daily hair explosion. And people complain about cats coughing up hairballs. Gross, for sure, but more contained and isolated. If I wait for Steve to
vacuum we will be swimming in fur.
By the time he got back from his ride, we ate and he got showered and ready to go, there was no time to pick up where we left off last night before Elsa started freaking out.
I did read a good amount of what Luke sent, and OH MY GOD…I need to talk to Gina or Claire. Violet. Somebody. This isn’t really a guide for men who want to date cougars. It’s more like a memoir of the steamier sort, and I don’t want to rehash all of that, especially not for the whole world to see. I feel my cheeks getting red just thinking about it, and it takes a LOT to ignite this veteran single girl’s face.
Steve takes my hand. “Okay, we can stop playing now that I’ve been thoroughly humiliated. I did want to shoot some zombies, but I can always do that at home.” He hugs me, and kisses my forehead. I am just the right height for forehead kissing. I don’t normally wear very high heels anyway, but my relationship with Steve has cemented this habit for good.
I pull back and reply, “I’m sorry, Honey, but the zombies will have to wait. Gina has been texting me constantly. I guess they got here early.”
“They? Is Gina seeing someone now?”
I sigh in exasperation. Why do men never know what’s going on? “Yes, Tony. You know, Tony? The guy you eat lunch with at work? Go bowling with? Your friend, Tony?”
“Ohhh…you know men don’t talk about that stuff. Wow, that was fast. They’re an item already?”
“Well, he has nothing keeping him stuck in the…never mind. Are you ready?”
Steve looks at me with a mildly puzzled expression, but then lets it go. “I just want to look at the prizes real quick.”
Steve loves to find out how many points he has earned in the arcade and then check out the prizes he could buy with his balance. Of course this is something little kids do and I tease him mercilessly about the rubber snakes, Nerf balls and lava lamps. The lava lamps are expensive. We would have to come back eight hundred and seventy-two times to get one of those. He has enough points to get a SpongeBob figurine. By the time he retires he could earn a Lava Lamp by playing Whack-a-Mole.
And frankly, Steve’s house already has enough hippie décor. As a matter of fact, I think I spotted a lava lamp in the guest room on my way down the hall this morning.
Still torn between the gun that shoots little foam pellets and waiting longer to save up for the remote control helicopter, Steve relents and leads me upstairs to the bar area.
Gina and Tony are talking animatedly at one of the high top tables, and I see several other friends milling around nearby. High Fidelity is a popular local cover band specializing in eighties danceable rock and pop. They also do some newer stuff and they keep the bar jam packed. Once they get into full swing the dance floor resembles a swarm of gyrating bees. I suppress a grin at the thought of the wedding bees.
The band should be starting any minute and I would like to grab a drink and talk to Gina for a few minutes before we get dragged into the melee.
Gina spots me and they walk over to greet us. Tony shakes Steve’s hand and of course calls him “Steve-o,” and kisses me on the cheek.
“Where have you been? I wanted to catch up before the dancing starts. You know how Tony is with that.” She beams at him. “He gave me swing lessons this afternoon.”
If I didn’t know better I would think “swing lessons” was a sexual reference, but since I know Tony, I know she means swing dance lessons. Tony is a fantastic dancer. He tried to teach me, but I wasn’t the best student, which earned me the affectionate but obnoxious nickname, “Grace.”
Since Tony and Steve are already blabbing about the bike ride they are doing tomorrow morning, Gina and I can sneak away to the bar to chat and order some wine.
She proceeds to tell me all about Tony and their time together thus far, leaving out the really graphic parts because of our former relationship. Not that I would want to hear them anyway. Some things should be private.
“You’re lucky you’re having sex.” Oops, so much for private.
Gina puts her drink down. “Why aren’t you having sex?” Gina looks at me funny. “And what did you do to your hair? It’s so frizzy. Even more than usual.” She covers her mouth. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
I think Gina has had a few drinks already. I don’t know why Tony bothers. It isn’t like she poses a challenge, and her dance moves will be off now.
“It’s been a bad week.” I explain the house and the dog and all my other stressors. I leave out the part about Steve’s mention of moving in with him because if I say that out loud I may get an aneurysm. At the very least, my eye will start twitching. And I definitely can’t tell Claire. At least Gina is cautious and leery when it comes to men. Claire would get all excited and start planning my bridal registry. FORK.IN.MY.EYE.
“But it doesn’t sound like Steve is sharing in these issues. How could you have pretended you weren’t up all night with the dog?” Gina glares disapprovingly.
I lean forward on the stool and fold my hands on the bar. “I just don’t want to cause him any more tension. He accepted responsibility for the dog and I don’t want to add my displeasure to his plate. His wife died—”
Gina practically shouts, “So what? That was two years ago, and he shouldn’t be dating if he’s not ready. Just because he suffered a loss it shouldn’t mean you have to tiptoe around every problem and not hold him accountable for anything.”
I look over at Steve, joking and talking with Tony, adjusting his glasses, sipping the beer the waitress just brought him. Gina is right. I am not responsible for sheltering Steve from reality. I will talk to him when we get home. If it’s too late, maybe tomorrow. Definitely soon.
The band begins their first song, “American Girl.” I hate dancing to this song. I like Tom Petty, but this song has the worst beat. You either have to sway in place or gyrate at breakneck speed. Claire can do it. In stilettos, all night. That reminds me that we need to go see Brandon’s band, Chain, play again. Brandon is very talented, but the music he plays turns my brains to mush, and they are already in a soggy state.
Gina and I finish our drinks and Tony comes to retrieve his dancing partner. Tony can “partner dance” to any song, so I know he is eager to test Gina’s retention of the lessons. Good luck. She is wearing black platform boots with at least a four inch stiletto heel. I hope Tony is wearing steel toed shoes.
Steve meanders over to my side and rubs my arm. “You look so pretty, Love. I forgot to tell you before we left the house.” He smiles and I can’t help but smile back. Maybe I am overreacting and everything is fine.
I glance at my red jersey dress, clinging in all the right places. The halter top, with the aid of a push up bra, keeps everything in place on top, and the full, empire waist skirt hides my stomach and other flaws beautifully.
Steve puts my empty glass on the bar and leads me to the dance floor. The band is playing The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven.” And Steve pulls me close, rocking our hips to the gentle rhythm of one of my favorite eighties songs. My reverie is interrupted by his insistence upon touching my waist and squeezing my fat.
“Would you stop doing that?” I give his waist a little pinch.
“What?” He pulls me back and gives me an innocent look, almost a pout, with his eyes teasing me.
“I told you not to touch my fat.”
He pulls me close to him and whispers, “We both have it. It’s the happy fat. We created it together, like a baby.”
Everyone I know says that when a couple is happy they both gain weight. Whatever. I would prefer the single “happy skinny” to the coupled “happy fat.” However, when I was with Luke I was quite thin. Hmm…regardless of the reason, my weight has been creeping up and is now bordering on out of control. I need to go swimsuit shopping!
“We’re a little old for making babies, and when you have a baby it goes away. Well, I guess that’s not true, either. I’m sure if I had a baby I would have blown up.” I grin and give in to his argument.
�
�Well, not all women do. Noreen was rail thin after she had Megan. She lost all the weight right away. I couldn’t believe the pictures.”
It’s a good thing he can’t see my face, but he must have felt me stiffen. Luckily the song is over. “I need to go to the ladies’ room.”
I throw open the door and sit on the little couch. There are a few women in there, having meetings about their asshole boyfriends or whether some guy is into them. I don’t want to go back to being them. I should be happy. I don’t think Steve purposely talks about Noreen all the time. And even if he does, he doesn’t know how much it bothers me. And why does it bother me so much? I have to tell him. I also wonder if he’s becoming frustrated with my weight, and grabbing my flesh is a passive aggressive way of telling me that I’m transforming into a blimp.
I do need to start dieting, but we didn’t eat much today. Steve went on his bike ride and then spent the afternoon working on the camper (oh happy day!). I napped while he was gone, but not very successfully. Sleeping alone, or even being alone in his house isn’t easy for me. I ended up taking Elsa for a walk. Well, really Elsa took me for a walk.
I had planned on making dinner for us, but chickened out at the last minute. I ended up getting a rotisserie chicken at the grocery store (I literally chickened out) and some prepared sides. We ate in the family room watching TV while Elsa begged for scraps. It’s hard to eat with those big eyes staring at me, in addition to the many sets of green ones in the face of a little red-headed pixie all over the walls. I feel like asking if I can hang a sheet up, but I think he would want to know why.
“There you are. Did you see me? We did that move where Tony throws me up in the air. He actually caught me and I didn’t throw up.” Gina stops talking for a moment and says, “What’s wrong?”
I wring my hands and stand up. “Nothing, really. I’m just being silly. I’m so tired.” My phone beeps in my little black evening purse. “Hold on, who the hell is this now?” I have a text from Violet.
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