The Art of Kissing Frogs

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  I peered around Kev. “Isn’t it?”

  She laughed harder. “No, dear. I run an au pair service. I’ve had a couple of girls leave recently, so today I’m interviewing for new nannies. You really thought I was running a prostitution ring? Me?” She practically doubled over laughing. “Oh, Shilpa is going to love this one.”

  “Who?” Kev asked.

  “Mrs. Banjeree.”

  Kev and I exchanged glances. “She knows?” we both asked in unison.

  “Of course she does. We’ve both lived here over thirty years. I’ve been running my business almost that long.” She smiled widely. “She often helps me when I’m busy.”

  I tried to imagine the eighty-year-old woman helping out with a bunch of au pairs. She probably tried to marry them all off to her grandson.

  I think Kev and I were both blushing tomato red. “Crap.” I muttered.

  “Er. I’m terribly sorry,” Kev stammered. “We, ah, had no idea.”

  The old lady laughed. “Of course not. What were the other guesses?”

  “Excuse me?” Kev looked confused, but I just laughed.

  “Axe murderer,” I told her. “White slaver. Oh, and a strip club.” Now that I’d said it out loud, it all sounded ridiculous.

  The old lady laughed so hard, I thought she was going to wet herself. “Oh, that’s wonderful. To be young and imaginative. You two should visit me more often. Sylvia Cobb.” She held out her hand, which Kev and I dutifully shook. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got twenty girls to interview before tea.”

  With a few more apologies, Kev and I were on our way. We made it back to our flat before bursting into hysterical giggles.

  “Oh, I’m disappointed,” Kev said finally. “I was hoping for something far more exciting.”

  “At least we know,” I laughed. “And I can leave in peace.”

  He closed his eyes. “I wish you could stay.”

  I shook my head and said nothing. I could wish all I wanted, but wishing wouldn’t make it so.

  “My friend left me a message. He said he might be able to help. It’s a long shot, but....” He’d made the argument several times, but it was too late. I was done.

  I shook my head and gave him a sad smile. “It’s time for me to go.”

  A WEEK LATER, AFTER tearful goodbyes with Chloe and Kev, I was sitting on an airplane headed to the United States with my two carry-ons and two checked bags—all I had from my time in London.

  That, and a broken heart that wouldn’t mend.

  Gavin

  THINKING BACK, IT WAS possibly the craziest thing I ever did. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it only seemed crazy because of what came after.

  I was broke as anything, living in a tiny apartment in downtown Portland. I’d had to sell my car in order to afford living on my own. I didn’t want a roommate. I wanted to be on my own. The studio apartment was perfect, with its pull-out bed and claw foot tub and a kitchen the size of a postage stamp. I loved it.

  But I was lonely. I decided to join one of those pen pal sites that was so popular. I wasn’t looking for love, just a friend or two. And I met some great people. But I also met Gavin.

  At first it was friendship with a little light flirting. After all, he was a reasonably good-looking guy, so why not?

  Then the flirting turned serious, and two months after meeting online, he told me he loved me. It’s not that nobody had ever said those words before, but more like I’d never really believed them. He made me believe. He painted castles in the sky. Wove tales of our future together. Told me everything I wanted, needed, to hear.

  I was too poor to visit him, so after nearly a year of long-distance dating, he came to visit me. We screwed like bunnies. He was decent in the sack, better than most. More importantly he knew all the right things to say, the dreams to weave, the tales to spin. But there were things that should have been red flags. His quick irritability when things didn’t go his way. His sneer when I mentioned my writing goals. His dismissal of my job. Little things that should have warned me. Should have, but didn’t.

  The minute he was back in England, he begged me to marry him. “I can’t live without you,” he moaned on the phone one day. “I miss you so much.”

  Have you ever had someone tell you that? Let me tell you, it melted my heart. He loved me. He must. Only someone who loved you would miss you like that.

  A year later he flew to America again, and we were married in my aunt’s backyard. My family was surprised, to say the least. But I was determined to start a new life in a new country with Gavin. I gave up my apartment, my job, and pretty much everything I owned. I arrived in London with three suitcases and a new husband.

  Six months later Gavin was living with the Brazilian chick, and I was alone.

  Chapter 18

  “COME TO KARAOKE TONIGHT.” Angela urged, her voice tinny in my ear. I hadn’t heard from her since the day I’d left America for England. Not a word. The minute I set food on American soil, she was burning up the phone lines, begging me to go out with her. “I missed you so much,” she said about five thousand times. “I’m so glad you’re back.” And then she’d proceeded to talk about nothing but herself. She never asked how I was doing or why I’d come back. She never asked what happened with me and Gavin. It was all Angela, all the time.

  “I don’t know,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “It’ll be fun. We can do that duet again. I’ll even buy you a drink.”

  I could use a drink. Most days I could use a drink, but I was too lazy to get out of bed. My aunt was probably sick of me moping around. If she was, she never said anything. Emma, on the other hand, was very vocal about it, but today she was at school for finals or something.

  “Fine. What time?” Karaoke wasn’t really my thing. I had a moderately decent voice. Better than most of the drunks that spent their weekends at Wei Low’s Steakhouse caterwauling into the mic. But I wasn’t going to win American Idol anytime soon. It just wasn’t something I enjoyed, getting up in front of strangers and belting out songs from the ’80s. Especially now when I felt like I had to fake every smile. Angela was totally into it, though, and since I’d gotten back from the UK, I found myself dragged from one bar to the next just about every other weekend.

  Which is how I found myself at Wei Low’s with my name in the queue to sing “What About Love?” and a drink in my hand. Angela had also dragged along her friends, Tony and Jaimie, from work. They wore black, had severe haircuts, sipped G & Ts, and generally sneered at the entire bar. They reminded me of my old boss Nancy. I wondered why on earth they’d come. Frankly, I wondered why I’d come.

  I was about halfway through my drink when a couple strolled in. She was short, a little on the pudgy side, and blonde. Not pretty, exactly, but not unattractive either. Somewhere in the middle. Ordinary. He was tall, dark, and, well, also a little on the pudgy side. And not terribly attractive. But there was something about him when he walked into that room. A certain sort of... energy. People turned and looked. He knew it, too. I wasn’t sure if he was an asshole or just really confident.

  “Ohmigod, he came!” Angela squealed. “Warren!” She jumped out of her chair to give the man a hug and pull him to our table, his date trailing along behind him.

  “Everyone, this is my friend, Warren. Warren, these are my workmates, Tony and Jaimie, and this is one of my best friends, Kate.”

  I wouldn’t have described myself as one of Angela’s best friends, but whatever. These days I didn’t have the energy to get excited over the little things. I reached over and shook his hand. I felt the zing of chemistry instantly, though it was a little odd since I wasn’t physically attracted to him. Besides, I was still hopelessly, crazy in love with Adam.

  We all shuffled around to make room for Warren and his date, whom he didn’t introduce. I decided to introduce myself. “Hi,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I’m Kate.”

  “Gwen.” She gave me a limp shake and appeared unenthused. S
he pointedly turned her back on me and stared at the stage, where a group of drunk girls were singing something by Miley while striking “sexy” poses. They looked ridiculous.

  “So, Kate,” Warren said, leaning up in my personal space. I felt uncomfortable but unsure how to deal with it. “How do you know Angela?”

  And that was how the rest of the night went. Between drinks and rounds of singing, Warren tried to get rather closer than a man on a date with another woman should get while I tried to be friendly with Gwen. She wasn’t interested, not that I blamed her. After a couple hours, she leaned over and whispered in Warren’s ear.

  “Ah,” he said. “Sorry to cut things short, people, but the lady needs to get home.” There was a round of fake disappointment from Jaimie and Tony and real disappointment from Angela as Warren and Gwen got up and shuffled out the door.

  “So,” Angela said leaning closer. “What did you think?”

  “Of what?”

  “Warren,” she said as if I was thick in the head. Her dark eyes sparkled with excitement.

  I frowned. Why did she care what I thought of Warren? “He’s okay, I guess.”

  “Is that all? Come on, Kate, aren’t you just a little attracted?”

  “He’s dating someone, Angela. Geez.” I’d never told her about Adam, and I wasn’t going to now. She’d only laugh at me for mooning over a man who didn’t want me anymore.

  She snorted, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Gwen? That little mouse? This is only their second date. Doubt they’ve even slept together yet. Did you see what an uptight bitch she is?”

  “That’s not fair.” I’d be an uptight bitch, too, if the guy I was on a date with spent all his time chatting up another woman.

  Angela shrugged, tossing her thick black hair over her shoulder. “Whatevs. I think you two make a perfect couple.”

  “You do? You’re kidding.” I didn’t see it myself. Things with Adam might be hopeless, but that didn’t mean I was ready to date again. Even if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be with a man who flirted with other women while on a date.

  “Yeah. Too bad he left.” She seemed depressed as she stared glumly into her drink. Somebody started a very off-key rendition of Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” I actually felt relief. Until an hour later when Warren walked into the bar alone. “Where’s Gwen?” I asked as he sat down next to me, even closer than before. I felt the urge to stick my purse between us. Or an elbow in his ribs. Anything to get him off me.

  “Took her home. She’s a party pooper.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He asked me a few questions about myself and shucked out a few compliments. I felt myself begin to slowly unwind. I still wasn’t interested, but I let myself enjoy the attention. I accepted the drinks he bought me. I ignored Angela’s smug looks. I even tried to ignore Warren’s wild stories until he hit one I just couldn’t ignore.

  “You were a Navy SEAL?” I repeated. Even I could hear the doubt dripping from my voice.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said warming to the subject. “But I had to quit.”

  Quit? Did you really quit the Navy SEALs? “Why?”

  “Well, they wanted me to stay, but of course I was injured, and the damn brass wouldn’t let me. I had to go with the regular navy then.”

  The regular navy. What sort of injury would be bad enough to get you tossed out of the SEALs, but you could still do “regular navy” stuff? Whatever that meant.

  “What happened?”

  “I was over in Iraq, and I had to jump out of a helicopter. One of my guys was wounded, you know. So I jumped, but it was in the middle of a firefight and something went wrong. I hit the ground, and my leg shattered. Shoved my femur right up out of my hip through the skin. My leg was half the length. I needed major surgery. Lots of surgeries. Took me forever to walk again.”

  I stared at where he indicated on his leg, feeling physically ill at the description. And also extremely doubtful. How the hell could a person break their leg like that and still even have a leg? Be walking about like a normal person with absolutely no limp? I hated to question him too much. I mean, our soldiers gave up a lot to do their duty, but the whole thing just felt off. Really off.

  Warren started pointing out what he called “scars” and claiming they were places where he’d been hit by bullets or shrapnel.

  “How interesting,” I said, peering at the supposed bullet wound. “My grandfather fought in World War II. He has a scar from a bullet in his shoulder. That”—I pointed at the mark—“looks like a mole. You should have that looked at.” I was by no means an expert on scarring or the navy, but I knew in my gut he was lying through his teeth.

  He flushed angrily but managed to keep himself under control. “You should have more respect for those who’ve sacrificed for their country.”

  “I have a tremendous amount of respect for such people. When I meet them.” I stared at him coolly, watching his ire rise. It felt incredibly good to call him on his lies.

  The rest of the evening was awkward. Warren eventually offered to drive me home, but I politely refused. I did not want him knowing where my aunt lived, nor did I want to be in the car alone with him. He asked for my number, and I ignored him, although with my luck, Angela would give it to him anyway. I watched him leave with no little measure of relief.

  Angela wrapped her arm around my shoulders as we staggered out of Wei Low’s. “What did you think? Hot, isn’t he? I knew you guys would be perfect. Did you know he was a Navy SEAL?”

  What did I think? I think I needed to get new friends.

  Chapter 19

  THE NEXT DAY MY PHONE rang at seven in the morning. I peered blearily at the screen. My mother. The woman had no sense of decency when it came to phone calls.

  “Mom. Do you know what time it is?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve been up for hours. It’s time you did the same.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not five years old.”

  She snorted. “Clearly. You need to move on, Kate. You’ve wallowed long enough.”

  I swallowed back an angry retort. What did she know about it? “Mom, I am not discussing this with you.”

  “You can’t sponge of your aunt and uncle forever.”

  “I’m not sponging. I pay rent,” I snapped back. Granted, it wasn’t much. They wouldn’t take it. They didn’t even want to take what little I gave them, but I’d refused to take no for an answer. “This is not your business, Mom. It’s between me and Aunt Charlie and Uncle Dave.” And Emma. It was her house, too, but my mother was of the opinion that Emma was as big a sponge as I was, even though Emma was going to university to finish up her degree.

  “You need to have a plan for your life. What are you going to do for work?”

  I sighed. “I’m going to write.” I hadn’t realized I’d made up my mind until that moment. But that’s when I knew I was going for it once and for all. I had my severance package, which would cover a few months, and my aunt and uncle would probably let me stay with them a bit longer. I’d write the book I’d been dying to write, needing to write. And then I’d see what happened.

  “Oh, please,” my mother scoffed. “You need a real job, not some silly pipe dream.”

  “You know what, Mom? I am sick and tired of people telling me what I can’t do. I’m doing this. The sooner you accept it, the better.” And with that I hung up on my mother, a genuine smile on my face for the first time in weeks.

  I SAT BACK IN MY CHAIR, reading over what I’d written. Each word was like spilling blood on the page. I was only halfway done, and I’d cried so many tears, I’d ended up keeping a stack of Kleenex boxes by my laptop.

  My aunt and uncle had been ecstatic about my plan. “You were always so creative with words,” Aunt Charlie said with a smile. “Even when you were little, I thought, ‘that girl is going to be a writer.’ I’m thrilled to see it finally happening.”

  “Really? You thought that?”

 
“Absolutely.”

  “Mom doesn’t think I can do it.”

  She patted my hand. “Your mom is just scared, that’s all. She wants what’s best for you. She’s very practical. She doesn’t understand us creative types.”

  “But you do.” I smiled.

  “Oh yes. And I have no doubt that whatever you put your mind to, you can make it happen.”

  That afternoon, my uncle had hauled a rickety card table and a folding chair up to my room. I’d set it up as my desk, plastering the wall behind it with sticky notes on which I’d jotted random ideas.

  Initially, I’d wanted to write fiction. Something totally make-believe. Science fiction, maybe. What came out was something entirely different. Instead of aliens and space ships, I’d spilled out my pain and agony. Anger dripped from the pages. Hurt lanced the edges. And finally, hope began to seep through each word, each line, until I realized something.

  I was healing. Moving on. Not from Adam. Never from Adam. I would love him always until the day I died. But I’d moved on in my life. I was stronger now. Braver. The night with that Warren jackass had been a turning point. I hadn’t fallen for his bullshit. I’d stood up to him, to Nancy, and even to my mother. I’d embraced my dreams.

  The rest, I was sure, would follow.

  “KATE?”

  I looked up from my laptop as Emma gently rapped on the doorframe. I gave her a weary smile. “What’s up?” I leaned back, stretching a little.

  She stared at what was in her hand. An envelope. Simple, not exciting. Except I could tell the stamp wasn’t American.

  “Is that from the UK?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I think it’s them.” She was worried, I could tell. I couldn’t blame her. For the first month after I got back to the States, I’d wallowed in self-misery. I’d hardly left my room. I’d cried myself to sleep. I’d gotten weepy at every little thing. But I was stronger now. I had purpose. I took the envelope from her and stared down at the plain white paper.