Sometimes It Happens Here

by K. S. Thomas

  “Oh.” I laugh. “So, you’re going regardless. Good to know.”

  “So is Mona,” she informs me. “Might as well get on board with our plans, Lilan. Or you’ll be enjoying a day of peace and quiet all to yourself.”

  Generally, I’m not against those, but there is a certain amount of FOMO kicking in, thinking about everyone I know hanging out together without me. “I guess I can get on board with an all-girls day at the cabin.”

  Mama sips the last of her tea and gradually pushes her chair out to get up from the table. “I think I better get myself to bed if we’re heading out first thing come morning.” She takes her empty cup to the sink and rinses it before placing it inside the dishwasher. She dries her hands on the towel hanging from the rack below the cabinets and turns toward me one last time before making her exit. “Also, it’s not going to be an all-girls day. Bodhi and Teran will be there, too.” Then she turns on the ball of her foot and wanders out, leaving me no choice but to simmer in silence with this new information I really should have seen coming.

  Rather than take the time to sort through all the feelings I would undoubtedly have if I allowed myself to dwell on the fact that I’ll be spending all of tomorrow with a man I’m finding increasingly charming and interesting, despite his annoying prettiness and unforgettable celebrity status, I gulp the rest of my tea and finish putting away the last evidence of our midnight tea party. With the last dishes accounted for, I start the dishwasher, take Jax outside for one last bathroom break and then scoop Mona up from the couch to take her to bed.

  My usual bedtime routine is condensed to just brushing my teeth and putting on my pajamas. Then, it’s under the covers for me as well. I don’t even have time to truly soak in the glorious feeling of lying in bed before I pass out, dead to the world until morning.

  I wake to the unusual sound of my child, chatting up a storm.

  “Why are you awake? It’s still dark out,” I mumble, hooking my arm around her and pulling her to me for a morning snuggle.

  “I set my alarm clock last night as soon as I knew we were going out to the mountains today. Auntie Leaha is going to be here in less than an hour. You need to get up!” she declares emphatically. “Grandma’s already in the kitchen. Did you know she was baking cookies for today?”

  “Oh my God,” I groan, turning my face and shoving it into my pillow. “What is this insanity in which you’re all suddenly peppier in the morning than I am?” And Sundays of all days. It’s the only morning all week long that I don’t ever plan on being up before the sun.

  “I’m going to take my sleigh,” she announces, as if I haven’t interjected my concerns with all this morning cheer. “And Bodhi promised to make a snowman with me.”

  My head pops up. “He did?” How did I miss entire conversations last night? I was there for the whole thing!

  “Yep.” She climbs from my bed and runs straight for my closet. “That reminds me, I need to find a hat and a scarf for him.”

  “For Bodhi?”

  “No! The snowman!”

  Yeah, okay. That does make more sense. “The basket in the corner by the shoes has snowman stuff in it.” Pretty sure I even have a stash of oversized buttons in there. You know, in lieu of charcoal. “Did you get your carrot already?”

  She comes zipping by with an armful of snowman loot. “Grandma said she’d pack it.”

  Of course, she did. “Grandma making you breakfast too?” I call out just as she disappears through the door out into the hall.

  “Yes!”

  That’s like five extra minutes of sleep right there. I roll over and tuck the covers tight under chin, squeezing my eyes shut and determined to cash in on the shuteye owed me. Only I can’t, because the second my eyes are closed all I can see are flashes of my kid making a snowman. With Bodhi James.

  “Crap.”

  I throw the covers back and surrender to the inevitable. I’m up before the sun. On Sunday.

  Once I’m up and about, it doesn’t take me long to get into the swing of things. Before long, Kaleaha’s suburban is pulling into our driveway and Mona is running through the house shouting, “They’re here! They’re here!” while Jax tears after her, barking like a madman. Mad dog. Whatever.

  “I’ll go load up,” Mama says, grabbing her cookie bag (yes, she has a designated bag – several, actually, all varying in size depending on how many batches she’s transporting. Today it’s the big bag.)

  “Are you sure there’s room for all of those?” I ask, nodding at her gigantic tote. “When the extra row of seating is down, the trunk isn’t nearly as big as you’re used to.”

  “We’re not using the extra row,” she informs me, picking up a cooler I didn’t even realize she packed.

  “Then how are we all going to fit?”

  She stops moving and stares at me. “You’re taking the truck.”

  “I am?” How long was I cleaning the kitchen last night? Most of it was already done before dessert. When on earth did they have time to make all these plans without me?

  “Yes,” Mama says, like it’s obvious. “Because we need it to load up the tree. Plus, it’ll be easier to store the branches we collect in the back of the pickup too. You never know about spiders and such and who wants a bunch of creepy crawlies loose in their car?”

  “Not me,” I concur. “Alright. I’m driving. That’ll make it easier to bring Jax along anyway. Anything else I need to know before we head out that I clearly don’t?”

  “Oh, honey.” Then she just laughs and walks out.

  Bodhi

  “MIND IF I RIDE WITH you?” I ask, already climbing into the passenger seat of Lilan’s truck, backpack in hand. “Your kid stole my spot when I got out to help your mom load her bag of cookies into the back.” Apparently, all the women in this family take their baking exceptionally seriously.

  “You can tell her to clear out,” she offers. “There’s no reason she can’t ride with me if Kaleaha’s car is full.”

  “I don’t mind.” I tuck my backpack between my legs and pull the door shut before I ask, “Unless you do?”

  “Nope.” But she faces outward and searches the driveway, as if looking for another passenger she can recruit to join us. “I should warn you though, my Mama likes to sing along with the radio. And it’s not the quiet, polite humming most people do when they’re around others. She’s fully committed, putting on a show.”

  I laugh. “Well, I’m sure everyone in the Suburban will enjoy it.” Then, when she looks stumped, I add, “She’s riding with Kaleaha too. Everyone is.” I point at her and myself. “Except us.”

  “I don’t mind driving alone,” she says. “I mean, if you want to ride with everyone else. I’ve got Jax to keep me company, and I know Kaleaha’s got that extra row of seating in the back. If I didn’t have to bring the truck to haul back the tree and branches Hannah wants, I’d be riding with everyone else too. I’m sure it’ll be more fun.”

  I mean, it’s hard not to feel at least a little slighted by her efforts to convince me to get out of her car so she can avoid being stuck with me the next three hours. Alone. But, I choose to take it in stride and plow past it with a smile. “It’s fine. I’m happy keeping you and Jax company.” I reach for the backpack on the floor at my feet. “Also, I stole some of your mother’s cookies. Plus, I packed two thermoses of hot water so we could try some of the specialty tea blends I found at the health food store this morning.”

  “You brought tea?” She looks genuinely surprised. “You’re a tea drinker?’

  My gaze shifts sideways before I admit, “Ha, no. But...you are.”

  “Oh.” Lilan’s cheeks turn rosy and she hurries to turn her attention forward, looking straight ahead as she shifts into drive and prepares to follow Kaleaha from the driveway. But I still saw it. She’s pleased. Even if she’s trying to hide it.

  “You’re not used to people doing things for you.” It’s an observation more than it’s a question.

  “I’m not us
ed to men doing things for me, period,” she says quietly. “I’ve kind of been doing the straight sisterhood thing for a while.”

  “I get it.” I let my bag settle at my feet and hurry to buckle up before we pull out onto a real road. “Hannah’s been all about that independent woman thing since I met her. We used to fight every time I stopped to get a door for her.”

  Lilan laughs. “She’s kind of fanatical about doing everything for herself.” She turns toward me. “I’m not that extreme.”

  “Good to know.” I smile to myself. So far so good. “Onto other things. Like Jax. Does he have any dietary restrictions? Because Hannah had me pick up cat food while I was out, and they had these holiday shaped treats for dogs there too, and I couldn’t help myself.” I reach down to retrieve the bag from the side pocket of my pack. “See? Some of them are candy cane shaped.” I grin. I don’t know why I think these are so awesome, but I do.

  Meanwhile, Lilan has to do a doubletake before she can respond. “Those are too cute!” She turns over her shoulder toward the backseat where Jax is curled up in the seat, clearly a pro at road trips. “Jax, I think you made a new buddy last night.” She turns back to address me, smiling. “He’ll love them. Thanks.” She faces the road again, then adds, “Oh, but only after we get to where we’re going. Old man gets carsick if he eats while we’re driving.”

  “I’m learning all sorts of helpful things this morning.” I slide the treats back into the pocket they came from.

  “Meanwhile, I feel like I’m still missing some major pieces that could help connect the dots between the BJ I’ve heard about for years and the famous Bodhi James,” she says, eyes intently on the road. I can’t tell if she’s truly this focused on her driving or simply trying to avoid eye contact while asking about me. “Because the two can’t possibly be the same person. And don’t even get me started on where I’m supposed to fit the actual you into the mix of things.”

  “Excuse me?” I laugh. “Should I be worried that Hannah has grossly misrepresented me to her best friends all these years?”

  “Depends. Do you get hiccups when you giggle too much? Cut your sandwiches into bite-sized pieces? Have an odd attachment to your desk chair? Oh, and the thing about your awkward flirting phase. What’s that about?”

  I don’t know if I’m flattered or horrified Lilan had so many things about me floating around her head, ready to list on a moment’s notice. “First of all, I don’t giggle. I’m a man. I laugh. I chuckle. Sometimes, I roar with delight,” I emphasize the word roar dramatically, “And yes, when I do this for an extensive period of time, I get the hiccups.” Teran has been using this information against me nearly his entire life. Hannah has been kinder. Few others have ever made me laugh hard enough to trigger this annoying condition. “Second, sandwiches are messy. And it’s hard to bite into one side without everything sliding out the other. Cutting them into small perfect-bite pieces, isn’t weird, it’s genius.”

  “I mean, genius might be a stretch...practical I would have accepted, no questions asked.” She smirks at her own snark. I kind of totally dig how much she amuses herself. “I assume there’s a third? Possibly fourth?”

  “You assume correctly,” I affirm. “My desk chair was the first piece of furniture I could afford. Outside of my mattress, I had nothing else the first three months I lived in my own apartment. My roommates were equally broke. One had a beanbag chair. The other a beach chair. We lived in those. Literally. Ate in them. Watched Tv in them. Did our studying in them, wrote papers with laptops in our lap. It was rough and awesome and for as long as I live, that desk chair will remind me that my needs and my wants are two very different things.”

  I watch her, waiting for a response. When she doesn’t offer one, I prompt her. “Nothing sassy to say about that?”

  “It’s not sass material.” She briefly glances at me, the corner of her mouth curling up in a sweet awkward smile. “I’ll do better with the next one.”

  “Really? You’re going to make fun of me for being shy and lacking in self-confidence? That’s just mean!”

  This time she laughs out loud. “Oh, please! How could you possibly ever truly have been shy or lacking self-confidence around girls? Have you looked at yourself? You’re freaking Bodhi James - prettiest man alive! And don’t try and tell me you recently grew into your good looks, because Hannah has always told us how damn pretty you are.”

  I shift as far to the side as I can so I can face her from my seat. I need her to see the full extent of my dramatic flair here. “Let’s set aside for a moment how pretty you think I am and focus on the bigger flaw in your theory.”

  “Which is?”

  “If I wasn’t genuinely struggling to connect with female human beings on a romantic level, why on earth would I have subjected myself to the endless humiliation of making Hannah practice potential first conversations with women?” I wouldn’t have. Anyone who has ever wound up inadvertently giving Hannah blackmail worthy material, will attest to this.

  Even Lilan seems to see reason. Or, that’s how I interpret her silence. I’m wrong, I realize, when she opens her mouth to continue her argument, “Maybe you weren’t really trying to learn how to hit on other women, maybe that was just your way of trying to get closer to her.”

  “Uh, no.” I scowl. “Gross. Hannah bites her toenails. She was doing it the night we met. I knew going in, I was never putting any part of me anywhere near her mouth.”

  Lilan hits the steering wheel with her palm. “Damn. I forgot she does that so openly.”

  “No shame, that woman,” I agree. “And maybe I’m the one with the issue. Because it’s not a problem for my brother.”

  Her nose scrunches up. “Maybe we should stop talking about Hannah and her weird habits. Now that your brother is part of the conversation, I can see this taking an uncomfortable turn toward fetishes we might never recover from.”

  “Fair point.” I bend down to unzip my bag. All this chatting calls for snacks. It takes some digging, but I find the dried papaya I packed (that health food store was a freaking goldmine) and gesture for her to go on. “You were saying about my reasons for involving Hannah in my affairs of the heart?”

  “Right.” Her eyes narrow as she gazes onward, watching the road as she thoughtfully drums her fingers on the rim of her steering wheel. “Let’s see. If you weren’t trying to hook up with Hannah...okay, I give up. I got nothing. Why did you do it?”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or swear in exasperation, which results in a strange, wheezy coughing thing escaping my mouth and I wind up having to clear my throat before I can even answer her.

  “I already told you why. I sucked at talking to girls. And I wasn’t down with becoming a monk. We were both theater majors. Improv flirting seemed like a great way to kill two birds with one stone. ”

  “You’re serious.” She looks repeatedly from me to the road. “I don’t know which is more ridiculous. The part where you were so deprived of self-confidence you felt you needed to rehearse your flirting, or you thinking you needed to talk to girls. You could legit just walk up and stay and do nothing else. I promise, every female interested in the male gender – and maybe even those into chicks, because hello – those eyes! – would start talking.”

  “I don’t want to sound super sexist here, but you calling me pretty every five minutes or so, doesn’t fill me with the most masculine of feelings.”

  She snorts. “Listen, if you can’t generate your own masculine feelings, you’ve got bigger problems than sounding super sexist. And it was, by the way, super sexist. Being pretty isn’t gender specific. My non-stop talking about it, however, is extremely shallow and, yeah, I’m totally objectifying you, but your masculinity is in no way in question.”

  “Holy shit, woman!” I shake my head, trying to decide if my inexplicable attraction to her, even as she’s verbally demolishing me, is unhealthy and potentially self-destructive behavior, and concluding I really don’t care if is it. “Remind me to make
flash cards next time I agree to enter into an argument with you. I’m having flashbacks of debate club in here.”

  “Got your ass kicked back then too, huh?” She’s so full of glee she can barely contain herself.

  “Only on days I didn’t bring my flash cards,” I reiterate my previous point. “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. I like to be thoroughly prepared. It’s how I succeed at things.”

  She glances in my direction, then down at my feet where my backpack is sitting. With tea. And dog treats.

  Her gaze travels back to the road ahead, but I can see her cock her brow and smirk. “Not even gonna ask what you thought you were preparing for when you packed this morning.”

  I grin. “Starting to think it was a lot of unnecessary effort.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She sounds mildly curious. Probably because we both know damn well what we’re talking about even when we’re not totally saying it.

  “Apparently, given how pretty I am, all I would have had to do was show up and let you do all the talking,” I tease.

  “Oh,” she says, shaking her head. “Yeah, no, I’m like the one female exception to that rule.”

  “Excuse me?” She’s joking. Clearly. Right? Because I actually thought, that maybe just this once, I was going to succeed in winning a woman over despite my previously established lacking qualifications in that department.

  “Sorry.” She shrugs. “I’m not into pretty. Pretty’s not my thing.”

  “Are you fucking with me? Because I notice you like to do that.”

  The car slows to a stop at the light and she turns to face me full on. “I am a little.” She grins. Then rolls her eyes. “The pretty thing does weird me out a little though.”

  “But you’re willing to get past it?” Hands down, strangest fucking conversation I’ve ever had with a woman. Though, if I’m honest, I’m glad I’m having it. Sometimes it’s hard to get close to someone when they’re so enamored with your looks they don’t care what’s below the surface. It would make for a welcome change of pace to be with a woman who isn’t interested in me based on my genetically gifted physical appearance.