Single Dad Seeks Juliet

by Max Monroe

  She’s occupied with the task, therefore not really looking at me, so I take the opportunity to pull my phone out of my pocket and text Holley.

  Rachel notices the action, and an excuse pops out of my mouth before I even know what I’m saying. “It’s my daughter. She just texted. I need to answer. Do you mind?”

  She just shrugs off my question. “No.”

  She doesn’t invade my privacy any more than that, going back to taking all the food out of the basket and setting it up, and I’m hit with a strange wave of disappointment by her reaction to my mentioning my daughter. Or that I need to text her back.

  It’s weird. I don’t want her prying into my relationship with my daughter. It’s none of her business. We just met. And yet, something about it, the whole nonchalance of her reaction, her not even asking if everything is okay, sticks out as a negative in my mind.

  Shaking it off, I scroll down to my thread with Holley and type out a quick message.

  Me: Are you sure you’re okay?

  She answers fairly quickly, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Holley: I told you I’m fine. No, not fine. Good. Fantastic. Not fine, okay? Just ignore that, and don’t go reading anything into it because I know you will. P.S. You’re annoying. Do your date thing with Rachel.

  I almost laugh at how well I can hear her ramble in my mind, but I take comfort in the fact that she’s clearly not acting too out of the ordinary. Someone who wasn’t Holley would have just deleted the sentiment of ‘fine’ and started the text over again.

  I put my phone away and bring myself back to getting to know Rachel. The only way to make these dates bearable is to give them the chance they deserve. Rachel is a really nice, normal human. We don’t butt heads like I did with Bianca, and she deserves my undivided attention for at least the next hour.

  I make a promise to myself not to let distractions like my friendship with Holley get in the way of giving this a chance.

  “You’re an elementary school teacher, right?” I ask, leaning back into my hands on the blanket and picking a grape from the container sitting between us.

  Rachel watches my hand and makes a tiny face before quickly clearing it. I don’t know what it’s about, but I give her a pass. I haven’t exactly been the most conscientious date up until this point. She’s probably just giving herself some sort of mental pep talk like the one I just did.

  “Uh, yeah,” she eventually answers. “I teach mostly third grade, but last year I taught a kindergarten class, and that was really fun. They’re still so full of wonder, you know?”

  “Definitely. That’s a great age,” I remark. “When my daughter was that age, she was a real pistol, too. Always asking me the kinds of crazy questions I didn’t necessarily want to answer. Did you get a lot of that with your class?”

  “I always tell my class there are no wrong questions,” she states firmly, and I nod.

  “Yes, definitely. I agree. All questions have merit. I just mean the ones that make you uncomfortable or put you on the spot.”

  “I never want to discourage them from asking me anything.”

  I sigh internally. Okay. Time to move on.

  I grab another grape from the dish, and she watches me the same way, only this time, she doesn’t hide it as well.

  Is she angry that I’m eating?

  I decide to test the waters. “These grapes are delicious. Do you like grapes?”

  “I only eat grapes on special occasions. They’re mostly full of sugar.”

  “Grapes?” I ask, thinking I must have heard her wrong.

  “Yes. Fruit has its place, but it’s not as nutrient-centered as people think it is.”

  “Grapes,” I repeat again. I don’t want to be an asshole, but I’m really missing the bus here.

  “Yes,” she confirms, her eyes narrowing. “They’re sixteen percent sugar.”

  I nod—the slow, exaggerated kind that says I’m really struggling to find a way to continue this conversation without ruffling any feathers.

  I reach for a cube of cheese, and she sneers again. I glance at my watch and sigh. Time of death on date number two? 4:15 p.m.

  Call the morgue; this body is ready for transport.

  Fucks gone, I reach over for the basket of crackers and cheese and pull it into my lap, eating them with both great joy and splendor. Rachel tries to ignore me as she asks me questions, but even my answers have been superseded by my ability to eat a turkey and cheese cracker sandwich.

  We pass the time with small talk, but it’s painful and forced. I don’t bother with asking her if she’s ready to go when she gets done nibbling on some lettuce; I just put all the stuff away and carry it to the four-wheeler. She follows wordlessly and climbs up behind me as I start it up again. Her body sinks into mine, but she doesn’t wrap her arms quite as tightly, I can tell.

  And it doesn’t feel bad. I admit, the physical chemistry between us at the beginning was not terrible. Rachel is a very attractive woman. Long brown hair, bright-blue eyes, and a nice smile. She’s got a girl-next-door kind of look that most men would kill for.

  But now that we’ve conflicted so much on the food, I can’t even think about the rest. Some people might say that agreeing on food standards isn’t all that important in a relationship, but I’d have to disagree. With three meals a day and maybe a couple snacks, food is at the very center of our lives.

  I refuse to be self-conscious about what I eat when I’m a healthy, active guy.

  And, fuck me, I can’t live off kale and lettuce.

  Slightly impatient to get back to Holley and make sure she’s done okay while we’ve been gone, I take the trail much faster this time than I did on the way out. Rachel holds on tightly without complaint, but she is so quiet, there’s no evidence of her enjoyment either.

  I’m not exactly sure what to make of her and her reserved nature. It’s something I would have thought I’d like, but for some reason, it just feels kind of boring.

  We weave around curves and over berms with speed and precision, and the feel of the wind in my face makes me feel alive.

  We make quick work of the distance we covered after leaving Holley, and when I see the bright blue of her four-wheeler through the trees, a knot in my chest starts to ease.

  I ease off the throttle after going around the last turn and look for the gray of Holley’s T-shirt with a little more enthusiasm than I care to admit.

  She’s leaned back flat against the seat, a book in her face once again.

  When she hears us coming, she sits up quickly and slams the book shut like she’s been caught doing something wrong.

  I smirk, but I know for a fact that she can’t see it underneath my helmet.

  I pull to a stop right in the bend of the trail she didn’t follow before and shut down the engine. She climbs off the four-wheeler and walks over to meet us, cranking her face up into a smile I don’t quite believe.

  I wonder if she’s hurting?

  “Hey, you two,” she says cheerfully. “How was the picnic?”

  Rachel and I both mumble weirdly synchronized answers of, “Great,” though I have a feeling neither one of us truly believes it.

  Holley’s smile slips slightly before growing again, this time almost actually reaching her eyes. “Well…” she hums before looking back at her four-wheeler. “I guess it’s time to try to get that thing out of there and ride it back to the lot, huh?”

  “Are you going to be okay?” I ask, and she waves a hand.

  “Oh yeah, sure. I’ll go slow this time. Won’t try to be a hotshot, I promise.”

  I smile then, and with a gentle nudge of Rachel to lean back, climb off and walk over to the abandoned wheeler.

  It starts up fine, thankfully, and I don’t smell any fluid or see anything to be concerned about, so I maneuver back out of the woods and down onto the trail where Rachel and Holley are standing together and waiting. They’re both smiling so fakely it’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t seem like either of them has
really noticed.

  Holley tosses her backpack into the front compartment before climbing back on, and I hold out her helmet. She slides it on down over her ears and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I climb back on my four-wheeler and wait as Rachel does the same, then head slowly back to the parking lot.

  Holley follows me over to the trailer, parks the four-wheeler at the side, shuts off the engine, and pulls off her helmet.

  Rachel climbs off mine and stays close as I start to gather all the stuff I need to load them onto the trailer.

  Holley looks at the two of us a little awkwardly and then backs away, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m just going to…take off. Let you guys finish up here.”

  My eyebrows come together, but Rachel lifts a hand to wave. “See you later.”

  I can’t say anything else because she moves too quickly to leave. Within a couple seconds, she’s halfway across the parking lot and bleeping the locks on her car.

  I watch as she climbs in and leaves.

  Well, fuck. I really hope she’s still coming to my house.

  Holley

  The doorbell rings loud enough that I can hear it through the door as I push the button.

  In some ways, I’m grateful. I’ve stood at a front door one too many times without being able to tell if I’d actually rung the doorbell or not. It’s seriously awkward. Standing at a door, waiting for someone to come who has no clue you’re there, or pressuring someone needlessly with three demon strikes of the bell—either way, it leads to nothing but embarrassment.

  I tap my toes against the welcome mat and wait for the door to open.

  Considering I took my sweet time driving to Jake’s house, even stopped to fill my practically full gas tank, I’m not expecting Chloe, but she’s the one I get all the same.

  “Hey, Holley,” she greets, pulling the house phone away from her ear. “Come on in.”

  I follow her inside, closing the door behind me, and make my way down the hall and into the kitchen where Chloe is very much occupied with the phone.

  Unsure of what exactly I’m supposed to do, I just kind of post up by the massive kitchen island while she skips around the room and chats with her friend.

  “Yeah, of course,” Chloe says into the receiver glued to her ear. Her voice is the kind of chipper only a teenager her age can pull off. “It’ll be fun.”

  She listens intently and then snorts. “I know, but I promise it won’t be bad, Sarah. We’ll get a few outfits your mom likes just to keep her happy, but we’ll mix it up with pieces we know will work…” She pauses briefly, then starts up again, “Exactly. It’ll be the ultimate shake-up. We’ll turn her stuff into the stuff you like anyway.”

  The kitchen goes silent for five, maybe ten seconds, tops.

  Then Chloe’s adorable laughter bursts the dam of quiet.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know what my dad said about that!” She turns her back to the kitchen island, leaning into it and listening intently. “Well, don’t worry about it… No, I know… Your dad told me…”

  Shoving off the counter, she stands again and giggles. “I’m working on it. I have to get my dad to—” She stops abruptly, pulls the cordless phone away from her ear to glance at the tiny digital screen, and puts it back. “Hey, I gotta go. My dad is calling me now.” She smiles. “Bet. See you tomorrow.”

  I wait patiently, still not understanding what’s going on at all or why I’m even in the house, when she answers the other call.

  “Hey, Dad…” She pauses. “Yeah, it’s all done…” She pauses again. “Yeah, I’m meeting them at Cherry Bluff at ten.”

  Chloe looks up then, her amber eyes meeting mine and lighting up. “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  I swallow. Me?

  “Okay, yeah. I’ll tell her.”

  She pulls the phone away from her mouth and puts it to her chest. “He’ll be here soon. He got held up a little with Rachel. Said you’re expecting him, though.”

  I nod, unable to do anything else. What does held up with Rachel mean? When I left, I thought she was about to leave too. I thought the date was over.

  My stomach lurches.

  Are they alone somewhere? Did they meet up to have a quickie or something?

  Is she there now, listening in?

  Is her hand on his leg or…or… Holy hell, stop the madness!

  I expect Chloe to hang up, but she doesn’t. Instead, she segues into one of the key pillars of a parent-child relationship—asking for something.

  “Hey, by the way, I was just talking to Sarah, and I’d really like to circle back to those makeup lessons I brought up the other day. It’d be beneficial for me and her, and really, that makes it worth, like, double the money.”

  She stomps her foot and glares at the nothingness in front of her. “I am not making that up! It’s mathematically true.”

  I bite my lip, immensely entertained by listening to her side of their argument.

  “Come on, Dad,” Chloe whines. Somehow, though, she manages to do it without being one of those really annoying girls. “How am I supposed to have my big Chlo-up if I don’t know how to do my makeup?”

  She rolls her eyes and paces across the wide-plank wood floors. “A Chlo-up,” she repeats. “You know, like a glow up, but for a Chloe.”

  His response makes her snort. “Oh my God, Dad! How do I live with someone who doesn’t know what a glow up is?”

  Her nose wrinkles, making her bright eyes shine with life. “Oh, gross!” She stomps her foot again. “Yeah, I do know. But just because I know you have a penis doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!”

  She pauses briefly, and I lean closer, shamelessly horny for the laughter I’m pretty sure I hear on the other end of the line.

  You want to talk about how Jake has a penis, my mind whispers. You want to talk about it badly.

  Christ. There might be something seriously wrong with me.

  “I can’t learn from watching YouTube.” Chloe continues to plead her case. “I’m not a visual learner, you know this. I need real-life, hands-on lessons.”

  It might make me half crazy, but somehow, I find myself wading into the brink. Of all the things I’ve struggled with in my adult life, doing my makeup isn’t one of them. In fact, I’m kind of a dab hand.

  “I could show you how to do some stuff with your makeup,” I offer, gently chiming into their conversation.

  “Really?” Chloe squeals, turning around so fast I have to dip backward to avoid getting whacked by her long blond hair. To be fair, though, ever the phone-call voyeur, I was following a little too closely.

  “Sure,” I say. “I taught myself, but I think I do an okay job—”

  “Are you kidding?” she shrieks, completely ignoring the fact that she’s still on the phone with her father. “Your makeup always looks fire!”

  “Fire?” I question.

  “Oh yeah,” she confirms without actually explaining to me what she means in the first place. “You’re a low-key stunner.”

  “That’s a good thing?”

  “Bet,” she says confidently, confusing me even more.

  Without pausing to help me wipe what I know must be a look of sheer stupidity off my face, she puts the phone back to her ear to talk to Jake. “You win. I don’t need lessons anymore. I’ll see you when I get back from the movies with Hailie.”

  She doesn’t bat an eye, laughing into the receiver and then holding it out to me. I point at my chest—still confused—and she nods as she hands it to me.

  “Um, hello?” I say tentatively as I put it to my ear. Chloe leaves the kitchen and goes right out the front door. And I’m left standing in their house by myself.

  “You don’t have to teach her how to do makeup.” Jake’s voice is in my ear. “She can learn on the internet.”

  I wave a hand—even though he can’t see it—as clarity finally comes back. “Oh, it’s no big deal. Sounds kind of fun, actually. I will have to take to the internet beforehand, th
ough. I don’t know what any of these words mean. Do you?”

  “Hardly.” His husky laugh bounces from the receiver. “Just tell her to use real English.”

  “Are those words not English?” I ask with a grin.

  “Sure as shit not the version I’m familiar with.”

  I clear my throat and swirl my finger along the top of his marble countertops, trying to sound casual. “So, um, I hear you got held up with Rachel. I, um, thought she was about to leave.”

  I don’t know if I achieve it or not, but it’s in my best self-interest not to analyze it too deeply.

  There’s a smile in his voice as he answers me. “I thought so, too. But when she went over to her car and got in to start it, her battery was dead. She wasn’t sure what to do, but I had my cables, so I gave her a jump.”

  “Ah,” I hum.

  Does the woman not have AAA?

  “Are you still there with her now?” I fish.

  “Nope,” he says cheerfully. “I got her car running and took off. I should be home in about twenty minutes. Are you okay to wait for me?”

  I try to sound important. “I guess I can. I have stuff to get done, but twenty minutes isn’t that big of a deal.”

  “Too much stuff to get done to wait for me to stop and pick up the ingredients for hot fudge sundaes?”

  I scoff. “Be serious. There’s always time for hot fudge sundaes, Jake.”

  He laughs. “Okay, good. That’s what I thought. I’m in the parking lot of the supermarket. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Okay,” I agree, trying not to sound too excited.

  Why is it that I’m so excited exactly?

  This man has just spent the last three hours on a date with another woman. What is it that I think this is?

  No. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I refuse to think about it now. It feels good. It’s necessary in order for my articles to make any sense at all, and that’s it. Period. The end.

  Right?

  Right.

  “See you soon,” Jake says, effectively ending the call. I click the button on the handset to hang up and lay it down on the counter before looking around the kitchen.