by K. G. Reuss
Carter takes it from my hand, stuffing it back into its spot on the shelf, and tosses two Great Value corn chips bags into the cart, before zooming down the rest of the aisle popping wheelies with the cart. He hands the cart off to Derek to take his turn.
Boys. Show-offs…if only I had my own cart.
“Damn, I could use you in the boardroom when I have a deal going on,” Carter says smiling as he casually walks back toward me. “Feel free to add some food into the cart for yourself.”
“I don’t think they have price tags or buy two for the price of one deals in a boardroom. I wouldn’t know the first thing about that kind of negotiation. What do you do in a boardroom?” I glance at him.
He walks beside me, matching his steps to mine. We turn down the next long row filled with baking items and other sweet products. His arm swings up to point at something and accidentally grazes mine. One brief touch sends a thousand-watt spark through me, heating me.
“Wow. Have you ever seen a can of pudding that big? That would feed a small army of children,” he says, extending his hand to turn the can so he can read the nutrition label. “Yep, twenty-four servings. Just imagine the sugar high you’d get from that.”
“I think it’s meant to make pudding pies. See?” I point to the pie crusts sitting next to the large can on the shelf. “That’s why they’re together in this aisle.”
His plump lips mouth the word ‘oh’.
“You’re the practical type. You stay in the middle lane, don’t you?” One dark brow rises up in question.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I walk over to the bags of nuts hanging on pegs and grab a few packs of natural almonds.
“You know, you play it safe, staying in the middle of the road in case you need to go left or right to get to where you want to go.”
His intensely white smile is making my stomach do flip flops, so I walk in front of him. He walks closely behind, breathing in my ear. “The slow lane is boring and frustrating. There life just hums along at the same speed, but the fast lane is scary and dangerous, causing anxiety over whether or not you made the right decision. So you stay in the middle where it’s practical and safe, going the right speed for any and all of life’s decisions,” he continues with his analysis of my life.
“There’s nothing wrong with the middle road.” I turn and bump into his chest, splaying my fingers across the hard cage of his ribs. “I think most people stay in the middle, to use your analogy.” I pull my hands off him with the quickness of being burned.
“I disagree. I think most people change lanes according to what they’re willing to risk for whatever it is they want.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” I turn and continue walking, gripping my bags of almonds. If I budget them correctly, I can snack on them for a few days and not spend too much of my money. Derek comes around the corner with the cart and stops next to me. He’s piled it high with bread, pasta, dairy products, and manly, fresh meat…otherwise known as ribs and steak.
“No, no point. Just trying to get to know the stranger sleeping in my RV.” He walks back to the massive cans of pudding and grabs one, while extending an arm out and picking up a pie crust to go with it. He adds it to the top of the cart. “I need to make sure you aren’t going to kill us while we sleep.” He and Derek both look at me questioningly.
“I haven’t decided about that yet,” I say matter-of-factly, sauntering between them and moving into the next aisle. I stand there at the entrance for a moment, giggling out of sight, waiting for them to either follow me or bail on me. Nothing would surprise me at this point. All of a sudden, I hear laughing, so I peek around the corner. They’re smelling big bags of different flavored marshmallows and passing them back and forth to each other. Boys.
They are juvenile boys—boys with men’s firm asses that round out their jeans. That’s the view I’m facing when I stroll back up to them. If we were close friends, I’d swat them both on their perfection and cause a stinger to burn.
Carter holds the toasted coconut marshmallow bag up to my nose and shakes it teasingly, so I lean in and inhale. “Mmmm. That actually smells good.” With my endorsement, he dumps it into the cart. I have no idea what we’ll eat them with, but I guess we’ll improvise.
“C’mon. Let’s hit the produce department and call it a day,” Derek announces, and turns the cart in that direction.
“Teddy,” Carter says, his hand sweeping over the cart. “Please put some food in the cart for yourself to eat. It’s on me.” He reaches forward and takes the tiny bags of almonds from my tight hold and adds them to the growing mass.
We settle back into the RV and store the groceries away. Derek and Carter work efficiently together, moving and dodging around each other while I keep Molly out of the way. I mentally note where things go so I don’t piss off my hosts and get kicked to the curb. I’m determined to not ever let that happen again.
I have no idea what I was thinking when I agreed to move in with Richie. He’s a smooth talker and paints a beautiful picture of how fabulous country music stardom can be. I was all too eager to step onto his cloud nine and float along in the dream, until I realized it’s always been just that—all talk and a painted picture from a dream. Stupid me. Naïve me.
Never again.
My father would be majorly disappointed in the life I’m living right now. I can hear him now, “I told you to say in medical school.” It’s a good thing he’s not taking my calls. I’ve been ex-communicated, cut-off, disinherited…officially ousted from the Bruce family.
“Teddy. Hello, are you there?” Derek snaps his fingers and waves his hands in front of my eyes to gain my attention.
“Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”
“Would you like to join us at the table for a little scheduling pow-wow?”
I look over at the table, and Carter has a whiteboard and marker laid out in front of him. He’s busy erasing something on it with a clean cloth.
“Umm, sure.”
I slide into the far side of the bench seat on the opposite side of Carter. Derek boxes me in.
“Here, Derek,” Carter says, pushing the board toward Derek and handing him the marker. “You write neater than my chicken scratch. Add Teddy’s name to it. Then we’ll hash out meals and laundry.”
“You can cook and do laundry, can’t you?” They both look up at me, waiting. Derek’s face is passive while Carter beams a welcoming smile.
“Yes, I-I can cook. Am I…” I swallow down the knot that’s suddenly tightening my throat. “Am I expected to wash your laundry and you w-wash mine?” My words tumble and trip out of my mouth like a dog in skates. Jesus, I sound like an idiot.
“Oh, God no.” Carter’s eyes crinkle in amusement and he winks at me when my shoulders relax. “We do our own laundry, but we schedule the day, so we aren’t wasting precious water and waiting on someone else’s clothes to wash or be folded. It helps since Derek spends most of his time driving and can’t change his loads out.”
“So, at least one day of the week, we don’t travel. Sometimes it’s more than that, like in Nashville, but we’re winging it on this vacation and seeing how it goes. So far, it’s worked out well,” Derek advises, shrugging his shoulders like the concept amazes him.
He sets the whiteboard down on the table, and I see my name neatly written in the previously-empty bracket. Derek has school teacher writing. I wonder if that’s his profession. The top columns are labeled with the days of the week, and then it’s split into two sections, also neatly labeled Cooking and Laundry. A listing of our names separates each section. Yep, organized and partitioned just like a school teacher divvying out classroom chores.
“I don’t care how we do it, but I don’t want Friday.” Carter picks up the pen and puts a big X on Tuesday for laundry and cooking. “I had that last go ‘round, and it sucked. I don’t want to be starting my weekend off with laundry and chores.”
He passes the marker to me, and I stare at the board blankly. I�
�ve never had to do this…not even in the sorority house in college. “Umm, I’ll take Friday. I like doing laundry.” I pass the marker to Derek, but he passes it to Carter instead. “Why don’t you get a turn?” I hold up my hand, confused.
“My days alternate with both of yours. I take whatever is left over, and those are usually our non-travel days,” he explains. “But I also get to switch off with one of you if we need to in case our travel schedule needs adjusting.”
“All right. Here comes the hard part—cooking. Are you allergic to anything? Have a special diet? Tell us what you can and can’t do in the kitchen.”
“Can’t we just cook our own food?” Four large, round eyes blink rapidly back at me at my suggestion. I guess I hit them where it hurts, their stomachs.
“I make a tasty Linguine with Shrimp Scampi. You don’t wanna miss it. You know what I mean?” he teases in his best Godfather impersonation and pinches his thumb and two fingers together kissing them, letting the kiss go out into the air between us.
“I’m trying to eat healthier. You know, more vegetables, less carbs. You may not like the things I cook. Richie never did, so I ate alone most of the time.”
They both look at each other for an extended minute before Carter pulls the cap off the fat green marker and puts an X under my name for Monday. “We’ll have meatless Mondays. How does that sound to you, Derek?”
“Sounds great to me. I love vegetarian food. Man, what I wouldn’t give for some of Uva’s vegan gnocchi right now. That creamy lemon, garlic butter sauce is to die for.”
Carter marks an X on Wednesday and Saturday for himself.
“Wait. Why do you get to choose two in a row?” I reach across the table and swipe my thumb through his Wednesday mark, completely erasing it from existence. “I thought this was a democratic splitting of chores.”
Derek bursts out laughing, but not at me. He points at Carter with one hand and high-fives me with the other. “Thank you, Teddy, for calling him out on his shit. It doesn’t happen often, but I’m always thrilled when I get to witness it.”
“All right, all right. This is a fair process,” Carter concedes, handing me the marker. “Here, choose your day since I assigned the other one to you.”
I take it from his hand, ignoring the burst of electricity that shoots up my arm when our fingers touch. I tap the end of the pen on the table as I think. “I don’t want two nights in a row, but if I go too far out, that still makes it too many healthy meals close to each other. Hmmm.” I circle the tip of the marker over Wednesday, debating on whether or not to take it from him. On a whim, I quickly draw my X on Thursday, making it thick and bold.
Carter’s mouth falls open. “Why didn’t you take Wednesday? What was all that fuss about then?”
I ignore his incredulous squawking and slide toward Derek. He stands to let me pass by and out of the seating area.
I approach Carter from behind and run my hands over his broad shoulders and down his thick biceps, teasing him. “Darling, Carter,” I speak softly in his ear, but loud enough for Derek to hear. My lips graze the tender flesh of his lobe as I speak, “Most women don’t like their decisions made for them. You took away my choice when you gave me Meatless Monday and then again when you chose two days in a row for yourself. This may be your RV and your vacation while I’m a simple hitchhiker on this journey, but it’s still my life, my time, and my body.”
I walk down the hallway and into my room but whistle for Molly to come before I shut the door. I have to get him out of my sight before my brain lets me do something I’ll regret.
Diary
Day 14
New Orleans. Yes, I’m saying it in my mind with a long Cajun drawl to it—Nawlens is how it sounds bouncing around in this thick skull. The Big Easy…or the Crescent City. By either name, I love it. We’ve been here for no less than four hours, and the electricity pulsing in its air hums through me. I’m shaking with uncontrolled excitement. The music, the atmosphere, the French Quarter and Jackson Square...I’ve had a full experience, and it’s only been one day. There are ten more things on my list to do tomorrow. For as much as I’d like to stay here longer, I’d like to make it to the Pacific Ocean at some point.
I will say one thing though—damn, it’s fucking hot here. This is the kind of heat that steals your breath from you. But then again, maybe it’s Teddy in that tank top and those shorty shorts she’s wearing. Temptation is an evil thing sometimes, especially when it comes in the form of powdered sugar on soft lips at the Café du Monde eating beignets. We’re sitting here waiting for our walking tour to begin, and damn, she’s beautiful when she’s messy. She wipes her dusty hands across the ass of her shorts, and that faded handprint is going to tease me for the rest of the day.
Derek seems to love it here too. He takes a picture of something or someone every few inches. I’m amazed we’ve seen as much as we have already. This city is amazing, and this tour guide, Luis, is said to be the best. I wonder if he gives other tours for the rest of the city or just the French Quarter. Guess we’ll find out when this one is over.
Eleven
Carter
I think I might die of blue balls long before this brain tumor does me in. It’s been a few days, and there’s no relief in sight. Yesterday I sported a hard-on all day as I walked around behind Teddy. And when she whispered the word “darling” in my ear the night we divvied up chores, I thought I was going to bust a hole in the crotch of my khakis. I’m pretty sure death by blue balls is a thing.
Add to that my longing to pull her into my arms and show her how a real man treats his woman after hearing about how Richie made her eat all alone—I’m a goner. But then I remind myself that I’m still on karma recovery from my previous Carter 1.0 life, so I decide to leave it alone. I’m more fucked up than she is. If she knew about my past, she wouldn’t have stepped inside this bus.
Teddy is the purest form of temptation to a recovering womanizer and an all out chauvinist pig.
I wonder how she’d take me demanding that she erase him from her thoughts completely—like he was never there and doesn’t exist beyond Nashville.
Today, all I can do is lie here. My head is fucked up, and the pills aren’t helping. I feel really fucking old right now. My hands are trembling so damn badly, I can’t even text Derek to bring me some water. I crawl out of bed and go to the bathroom and get it myself.
Derek lowers the newspaper he’s reading when he hears my door open and looks directly at my drawn and tired face. The drop of his shoulders tells me he knows it’s a bad day. He’ll take care of everything. I won’t have to worry about a thing. Derek always has my back.
Molly follows me back into my room and lies on the bed, curling into me. “What a good girl you are.” I pet her in long, even strokes, and she rolls sideways to give me more access to her belly. “You knew I didn’t feel good, and I didn’t have to say a word. You instinctually honed-in on it and came to share the love. Good girl.”
We both fall asleep, snuggled up in the blankets.
I wake up to the deep bass of Black Velvet thumping through the RV. It’s coming from the kitchen with a sweet melodic voice humming along. The door to my room is slightly ajar, and Molly is missing. My headache is gone, for now, anyway.
I hate missing whole days sleeping, but lately it’s becoming more and more the norm for me. I roll over and sit up, feeling slightly nauseous and woozy from the sudden movement. I need to eat. Guess it’s time to go out and join the world today.
The man in the mirror staring back at me is frighteningly pale. A smudge of darkness colors the skin under my eyes, but it blends in well though with the five o’clock shadow spreading across my jawline. It’s time to feed this ugly ass mug.
I slide the door back into the wall just in time for the second chorus. Teddy stands at the stove, drizzling olive oil into a pan. Her torn jeans hang low on her waist, showing just a hint of her flat belly as she moves. The curve of her ass and hips tease me. I want to touch her s
o fucking badly, but knowing Teddy she’ll take my head off with one swift punch.
She pushes a mound of chopped vegetables into the pan from the cutting board and picks up a wooden spoon to stir it with but uses it as a microphone instead. Her raw, gritty voice scrubs my soul clean.
My knees buckle slightly with the emotion pouring from her during the final notes. It must be one of her favorites, because she starts dancing around lost in the music. The chorus fades into the final verses of the song, and she goes back to humming it until it ends.
I lean against the wall and clap proudly, startling her. She quickly turns away from me, placing the knife and cutting board in the sink and goes through the motions of washing and drying them.
I take a seat at the table and lean back against the wall. “Do you only give solo concerts or is this a special occasion?” Silence passes between us. Her back is straight as a board, but her hands clench the kitchen towel tightly. “C’mon, Teddy. Talk to me. I don’t bite. We can be friends. I promise.”
She finishes drying the cutting board and places it in the cabinet. Her back is still turned to me.
“Teddy,” I say softly.
I get up and stand beside her. Her breath shudders as I stroke her cheek with my fingers and turn her face to me. She refuses to look at me, focusing on an unknown spot on the wall behind me. “I know he hurt you. I don’t know for how long or how deep the scars go, but I want you to know you’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You can stay with me as long as you want.”
Her green eyes darken when she finally looks into my eyes. “You’ll change your mind as soon as you get to know me. I always manage to screw things up.” She turns and stirs the veggies, bumping me so that her back is facing me again.