Deepen The Kiss

by Willow Winters

  I twist my hands on the steering wheel and absently sing along, thinking about how I can fix my stressful job situation. I didn’t trade a family for a career. I can still have it all.

  As I pull out of the parking lot and into traffic, I’m still trying to convince myself.

  CHAPTER 4

  Charlie

  * * *

  I STRETCH my arms over my head while cracking my back, feeling the exhaustion from working all last night get to me. I couldn’t even sleep more than four hours with all the work that needed to be done before opening today.

  “Pass the gravy,” Pops tells me. He’s to my left, expecting me to pay attention.

  After stifling a yawn, I reach across the table for the white ceramic rooster that holds the gravy. I’m fairly sure it’s supposed to be for milk or creamer. But my sister Cheryl bats my hand away.

  “I’m not done with it,” she tells me. I raise my hands in surrender.

  “Then pour it on your damn plate,” Pops says, staring at the gravy. He’s got a full plate of carved turkey, mashed potatoes and corn, with a fork in his right hand. He’s acting like he’s going to starve this minute if he doesn’t get that gravy.

  “Language!” Ma snaps at him. That makes me laugh. She passes him the gravy though, and makes my sister gasp.

  It’s just the six of us tonight. Ali is at my left like usual, Ma's across from me and Pops is seated at the head of the table on my right. Ali’s fiancé Michael sits on the end next to her while Cheryl sits across from her.

  “I need the gravy, Ma,” Cheryl says with a pout.

  It’s hard to imagine that Cheryl is a grown ass woman with a child from the way she just whined.

  I cut into my turkey and take a bite, not waiting for the damn gravy that’s become such a commodity. Cheryl stifles a yawn as well as she looks over her shoulder at the rocker holding her sleeping baby.

  “I need to eat fast,” she says beneath her breath. She rubs the sleep from her eyes.

  Ma places her elbows on the table, folding her hands for grace.

  “Oh,” Ali chirps up. “Can I say grace?”

  I set my fork down although it clinks on the plate, drawing the attention of my entire family as I try to pretend I’m not chewing.

  Family dinner. Every Sunday. No exception.

  But tonight’s Tuesday. Cheryl needed to get out of the house with Evie. She doesn’t like being alone all day, and I can’t blame her. Ma said it’s family dinner tonight, so that’s all there is to it. I know I’m not going to be able to get out of our normal upcoming Sunday dinner though.

  I never wait for grace. Ma shakes her head at me and nods in response to Ali.

  Her excitement makes my lips kick up into a smirk. She grabs her napkin off of the table. She smooths it out on her lap over her pale blue dress, all the while waiting for everyone to bow their heads.

  “As long as it has nothing to do with the wedding,” Michael says under his breath next to her. My grin widens as Ali’s mouth opens in disbelief.

  Pops chuckles to my right, and I can’t help doing the same. Both Ma and Ali are obsessed over this wedding; it’s all the women in this family ever talk about lately.

  “Hush.” Ma waves Michael away and bows her head. We all follow suit, the room quieting down as we wait.

  “Bless us, Lord. Thank you for these gifts, which we are about to receive... Including my wedding,” Ali says. She lifts her head to peek at Michael. He huffs a small laugh and shakes his head while resting his forehead on his hands. She pauses a minute, waiting for him to do or say anything, but he’s quiet. “May you stay with us through our journey and bless us along the way. Amen.”

  The second she’s done, the forks are lifted and the conversation continues. Michael and Pops are talking about the game last night. I’m half listening, half trying to eat as fast as I can so I can get back home.

  “I can’t believe Joseph had to work,” Ma says… again.

  She’s brought it up about half a dozen times since I’ve been here. Ma has one wish, and it’s for everyone to be home on Sunday. Joseph’s a mechanic and owns his own shop. Usually it’s not a problem, but he’s been working more since little Evelyn came along.

  “We need the extra money,” Cheryl says softly. There are bags under her eyes, and I can tell she’s just as tired as I am, maybe even more so. Pops motions for me to pass her the gravy, but Michael leans over the table and snatches it before I need to. He’s quick with it and then hands it off to Cheryl.

  That white ceramic rooster brightens her spirits as Cheryl sits straighter in the chair and pours it all over the turkey and mashed potatoes. She's practically smothering her entire plate with the gravy.

  Just before she sets it down, little Miss Evie starts crying for the first time since she’s been here. Cheryl’s head whips around, and her face falls.

  “No, no, no,” she says quietly. She walks over and shushes Evie softly while rocking the bassinet. She’s fucking exhausted.

  “She’s still not sleeping well?” Ali asks while craning her neck to see the baby.

  Cheryl presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. Her expression has completely fallen.

  “I’ll take her,” I speak without thinking.

  I scoot my chair out some, the legs scraping on the wooden floor and hold my hands out. Cheryl doesn’t waste a second to round the table with the little two-month-old all bundled up in her arms.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  I’ve got a soft spot for Evie. She’s the first baby I’ve ever held. Her eyes are closed, and her hands are balled into little fists as Cheryl settles her on my chest. She’s so small, such a tiny little thing with hardly any weight to her.

  I shush her and pat her bottom rhythmically as Cheryl takes off back to her seat and doesn’t even scoot in before grabbing her fork.

  My entire body moves slightly as I bounce little Evie, trying to get her to calm down. Her cry isn’t loud and it doesn’t affect me in the least, but I know it’ll calm Cheryl down again if Evie is happy. It only takes a moment before Evie lays her head on my chest and lets out a long yawn. I watch her face as she falls back asleep and I slowly stop bouncing her.

  “Oh, that’s so cute,” Ali squeals before shoveling a mouthful of potatoes in.

  “Aw, it is. My oldest boy.” Ma sounds so proud, but I completely avoid her gaze. I know what’s coming next, and it’s only when she says the words that I regret offering to hold Evie.

  “You need one of your own, I think,” Ma says matter-of-factly. She grabs the gravy and puts a modest amount over her turkey.

  I have to readjust Evie slightly so I can hold her against my chest with only my left arm.

  I ignore Ma and say, “It’s 'cause I’m a heater. Puts her right to sleep.”

  With my right hand free, I cut the turkey with my fork and take another bite.

  “You do need one,” Cheryl says. I practically choke on the turkey. I stare at her down the table, feeling like she just stabbed me in the back.

  “Babies are so wonderful,” she says softly. I don’t even know how to respond.

  “I’d need a wife for that. And I’m good when it comes to that.” I grip my glass on the table and take a quick swig, feeling my body tense up before I set the glass down.

  I keep my eyes on my plate, ignoring everyone else. We’ve had this conversation so many times. Over and over, for five fucking years. Both my sisters are younger, both moving on with their lives the way they should according to this small town.

  But my plans got fucked over. And Ma never fails to remind me that I need to get back on track.

  “You know I saw Susanne’s mother the other day--”

  I cut my mother off, feeling the frustration of just wanting to eat a damn meal in this house without talking about my fuckups.

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” I look her square in the eyes when I say it, and I know Ma immediately regrets bringing her up. I set my fork down and
start rocking Evie again as her tummy grumbles.

  It’s not that she wants us to get back together. I know that. But my mother wants me to be happy again, like I was with Susanne. Or the way she thinks I was with her.

  Ma has no idea.

  This town has a good memory. Susanne and I were supposed to be just like Cheryl and Joseph. High school sweethearts, together through college, married by twenty-five and a baby not long after.

  At thirty years old, with no plans of marriage, I’m failing those expectations.

  But that’s what happens when your fiancée spreads her legs for your best friend.

  Everyone knows what she did, but no one talks about it. Not my family, and not most of the town. It’s why I moved to the outskirts and bought the damn bar. Five years later, and the pain of her cheating on me is mostly gone. I’m numb. But I’m not fucking stupid.

  Not all women cheat. I know that, and I’m over it. It’s been five years since I took that ring back and showed Susanne the door. But I don’t feel like having my heart ripped out again. No fucking thank you.

  For a second, just a split second, I see Grace in my mind. I picture her absently checking her phone with that sad look on her face.

  I close my eyes as I shush Evie, my lips close to her head and my right hand patting her back. I know Grace has gotta be hurting about not being able to have kids. She’s talked about it more than once to me. I don’t like seeing that sadness behind those beautiful doe eyes of hers. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d cheat. A woman like her isn’t interested in a man like me though. She wants a commitment, and there’s no way I’m getting her without promising her one in return. But it’s not happening.

  I’ve made too many mistakes, been burned too many times.

  Evie starts crying a little harder now. Cheryl hops up from her seat, walking over to me quickly with her arms already out. I don’t fight her in the least to pass Evie back to her.

  I’m not ready for a relationship, let alone be a father.

  CHAPTER 5

  Grace

  * * *

  I’M NERVOUSLY SITTING at the bar of The Brick Store Pub, waiting for my date to arrive. All around me, there are people in motion; waiters carrying trays of beer and food out to the tables, customers heading to the bathroom or upstairs to the Belgian beer bar with the chefs peeking their heads out of the back to check out the crowd.

  I’m dressed up, with stylish blood-red sailor pants and a cream-colored blouse. I suck my teeth, a habit that reappears when I feel like I’m at a disadvantage.

  It’s 7:48, exactly eighteen minutes past when Jason and I agreed to meet. I’m officially nervous. I drum my fingers against the arched bar top, shaped like a large horseshoe. I contemplate ordering the drink I’ve been eyeing since I’ve been here for something like twenty-seven minutes.

  Right as I’m about to wave to the bartender, my hand rising, Jason appears. I do a double take while he grins at me. His eyes are level with mine, and I’m five foot four. There’s no way he’s six feet tall, as it says on his dating profile.

  He’s also paunchy and balding a little. His photos must have been REALLY old, like they were probably taken in college.

  I swallow and extend my hand to him as he walks up, reminding myself that looks aren’t everything. Even though my photos are recent.

  “Hi. I’m Grace,” I say, managing a smile although my mouth feels dry.

  “Hey,” he says, ignoring my offer of a handshake. Instead, he crushes me to his body, hugging me forcefully. When he pulls back, his hands still on my shoulders, I’m a little out of breath. “I’m Jason,” he says with a grin, patting my shoulders before finally releasing me.

  He’s wearing khaki shorts and a blue button-up, with fancy sunglasses peeking out of the pocket. He tosses his car keys on the bar, making sure the Porsche insignia is visible. From the look on his face to the air around him, this guy is cocky. I’m so shocked that my mouth is even hanging open a little, but I honestly can’t help it.

  Alarm bells are going off in my head, telling me to get out, right now. He is nothing like the person I’ve been talking to. Jason has other ideas, though.

  “How about a drink?” Jason suggests.

  “Um, okay,” I say, reaching for the menu so I can order the special I wanted.

  “No no,” he says playfully. “I’ll pick something you’ll love. I’m kind of a craft beer aficionado.” He grabs the menu, taking a seat at the bar before turning back to me with a charming smile and saying, “And I’m really good at guessing what people like.”

  “Oh. Well okay.”

  I try to talk myself out of the obnoxious first impression I got. I was just going to order something called a Burial Shadow clock, but maybe he'll know that. Or maybe he’ll introduce me to something I didn’t know I liked. I let out a bit of the tension in my body and take a seat next to him. I just need to stay positive. He’s not quite how I thought he’d be, but I’m sure the same is true for him.

  He skims the menu, then calls the bartender over, ordering two stouts. The bartender asks him whether it’ll be cash or card, and Jason looks to me.

  “What’ll it be?” he asks.

  “Oh! Uhh… Visa, please.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment.

  I turn and get my wallet from my purse, fumbling to get my credit card to start a tab. The tight smile stays on my face as I hand it to the bartender. It’s only when the bartender side-eyes Jason that I realize he’s not reaching for his card. Jason taps his hands on the bar top and looks past the bartender to the television screens behind him.

  The bartender gives me a dubious look, then goes to run the card.

  I’m a little put out that Jason just assumed I could pay for his beer, but unsure how to say so. I look at him, and he smirks.

  “I like to let the woman pick up the tab,” he says. “Not that I can’t buy a drink. It’s just, you know, to put the gold diggers in their place.”

  My lips curl down into a partial frown as I offer, “We could have split the check.”

  “Yeah, but I want a woman who earns, you know what I mean? A woman who knows how to be aggressive about what she wants.”

  I’m a little flabbergasted at that, and I know it shows on my face. Luckily the bartender shows up at that moment, setting two dark beers down in front of us.

  “Oh,” I say, looking at the beer’s dark chocolate color. It reminds me a bit of chocolate milk for some reason. I don’t normally drink beer, but when I do, I’m a pale ale kind of girl, when I do drink beer. I purse my lips a little, feeling my stress level climb higher and higher, wondering what I’m doing here.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason asks, drawing my attention to him.

  Oh so much is wrong. But I stick with the polite answer, “I don’t like dark beer much.”

  “You will,” he says, picking up his pint glass for a toast. “What should we toast to?”

  “How about to new experiences?”

  “No, no,” he corrects me. “To us.”

  He clinks his glass against mine, and it spills a tiny bit of the beer over my hand onto the bar top. I can practically hear him guzzling as I take the two small square napkins and clean up the spilled beer. I try to sit easily on the stool as I take a sip of the beer. It’s indeed like chocolate milk… if chocolate milk is rancid and bitter.

  I take another sip, thinking that maybe I just need to close my eyes and let it wash over my tongue…

  Nope. I sit my beer down and push it away, relegating it to the far edge of the bar.

  “Not to your liking?” Jason asks.

  “Not so much,” I say, reaching for the skinny menu.

  Jason grabs it again before I can get to it. “Let me choose again.”

  I frown, staring at this man and not knowing what to do. I’m not used to being such a shrew on dates, but then again I’ve never been treated like this. I open my mouth to say as much, but he’s already waving the bartender down and ordering another beer.
r />   “I like Belgian wheat beers, if that helps,” I say to the bartender, as soon as Jason’s done talking. I didn't even listen to what he said.

  “Just bring her what I asked for,” Jason says pointedly.

  The bartender senses the tension between me and Jason, so he just backs off and pours another beer. On my tab, I presume.

  “So, first date formalities,” Jason says, as though none of that ever happened.

  I have been on so many shitty dates since I got my job. I look at Jason as he talks and realize this one is probably the worst start. Probably.

  “Let’s see… I’m in finance, but I won’t even begin to explain it. It’s nothing you would understand. I’m from Atlanta, but left for college.” Jason doesn’t look at me as he recites what’s probably a rehearsed introduction, motioning with his hands in between drinking the beer. “I went to Westminster, of course. Followed by Columbia and Yale, for business school. Came back to help my father run his firm. I’ve been everywhere. You name it, I’ve been there. I spend my weekends on my boat. And you?”

  He finally looks up at me. I take a breath, my fingers tangling in my lap.

  “Well… I’m from Atlanta, too. I went to Decatur High School—”

  “A public school?” he interrupts.

  I wait a moment to answer him, my body heat rising. “Yes. I also went to Brenau University—”

  “You went where?” he asks, his nose wrinkling.

  “Brenau? It’s a women’s college—”

  “Oh, a girls’ school,” he says, tapping his hand on the bar top and leaning back some on his stool. I smile thinly.

  “It’s actually a private college.” It’s where I went before Rhode Island School of Design. Both are damn good institutions, and I’m proud of the fact I was able to go to them.

  He actually rolls his eyes as he takes another drink of the beer, the one I paid for, and says, “Yeah, okay.”