Dating For Decades (22 page)

“Either way.
We
kissed and then
you
told me the timing was wrong. Now here we are. What changed?”

I should have known this would come up. I thought when I called him and he accepted my invitation with no explanation it was too good to be true. I’m not even sure I know what changed my mind.

A crowd begins to gather around us and the band. The interruption allows a distraction from Keith’s question. Under the sparkling holiday lights and an orchestra of saxophones and piano, a man who must be no more than twenty years old kneels down on one knee in front of a woman with flowing dark hair tucked under a bright pink hat. Her hands cover her mouth and she’s visibly shaking and nodding her head. The onlookers burst into applause as the man stands up and kisses his now bride-to-be.

“How sweet,” I say as I try and pull Keith along. “I wish them luck.”

“You really don’t like marriage, do you?”

“Nope. I mean, it’s fine for other people. I really do wish them luck. The whole thing never did it for me. I wasn’t the girl who dreamed of her wedding day. Not the gown, not the reception, not even the honeymoon.”

“That’s the best part.”

“Hey, I can have sex without a big party beforehand.” I blush when I say this, but it makes him laugh.

We come across a bench and sit down, huddled in close together. I like this. We’re connecting, and it feels nice. I’m not used to this, this closeness, and even though it’s new and scary, I’m not shying away from it.

“You never did answer my question. What changed?”

Here we are again. I doubt he’ll let it go until I respond. I lay my head on his shoulder. “I don’t know when it changed. It just did. I enjoy time with you. I miss you when you’re gone. You’re easy to talk to. You make me feel … wanted.”

He kisses the top of my head. “That’s nice to hear coming from the woman who turned me away from her group.”

I lift my head and shove him away. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“So am I! You kicked me out!” He holds his hands up in surrender, and as he chuckles, his breath meets the air and I can see it. “So, what is this, what is this between us?”

“Do we need to give it a name? Do you want me to officially ask you to go steady?”

“No, and even if I did, that’s the man’s job.”

“Whoa! If you’re some sexist man who can’t stand a woman taking control and being successful, this will never work.” He may think I’m joking, but I’m quite serious. I spend my days fighting for recognition in an industry dominated by men, and I’m not about to do so in a relationship. Yes, a relationship. “I want a partnership. I want romance and I want conflict. Like you. I don’t want to be bored.”

“And married?”

“Never.” He was engaged once, so it may be something he’s not willing to give up. “Are you okay with that?”

 
He takes my hand and interlaces our fingers. “Yes. I loved my ex, but I only proposed because I thought that would make her stay. I can get married, I can stay single, or I can live in sin my entire life. It doesn’t really matter to me, as long as I’m happy.”

“I like that.”

 
He inches toward me and touches his lips to mine. He’s slow to pull away, and when he does, it’s as though an invisible force has to pry us apart. “But…”

 
It can’t ever be easy. There has to be something that will throw a wrench in my happiness. “But what?”

“It’s just that I thought that she and I were on the same page and after years together, it shocked me to find out that we weren’t. I’ve had a thing for you since the second you tried to shove me out the door at your meeting. I’ve been patient waiting for you to come around and realize we’d be great together. When you told me it wasn’t a good time for us to start anything, as much as I hated to, I accepted it. I know it seemed as though I didn’t care, but I did.”

Our hands are still stuck together and I’m squeezing his so tight I’m afraid I may break a finger. “I thought you didn’t.”

“When my ex left me I was devastated. I couldn’t go through that again.”

“You won’t. I want this.” I let go of his hands and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me. “I want you.” As quickly as I shoved him away last time, tonight I close the gap before there’s any chance of anything coming between us. He covers my ears with his hands, and within seconds, I’m losing my breath as we both hold on for dear life, our kiss consuming us, fulfilling an emptiness I’ve had inside of me for years.

Right now, in this moment, I’m whole again.

•••••••

The shelf right next to my television is the perfect spot for my award. It sits nicely there, dominating the space as it should. I can see it every day when I walk through the living room and catch glances of it while watching
Dancing with the Stars
. I could bring it to work and put it on my desk, but Terrence will surely be crushed since we didn’t win the Innovation Award and displaying my award at work may be like a slap in the face for him. I never understood his obsession with awards, but now that I have one, I kind of get the desire for validation.

I wanted to go home with Keith. I really did. All of our kisses and hand holding brought me back to my high school years, and I didn’t want to ruin that feeling. This time, I’m taking it slow.
We’re
taking it slow.
 

I’ve missed a few Dating for Decades meetings, so I think it’s about time I show up. I’ll go on Thursday, but I’ll need to explain my absence to everyone. I’m sure they’re pissed, and I can’t blame them. Attendance at the meetings has always been a big thing for me. And now here I am, hiding behind my own shame and fears when they’re the ones I should be looking to.

 
I kick off my heels and trade my slinky evening wear for a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. After the night I just had, I still feel beautiful, even in these frumpy clothes. I pull the clips out of my hair and let it fall to my shoulders, the slivers of gray sneaking within my eyesight. I twirl a few strands between my index finger and thumb. How long does it take for your entire head to turn gray? Will they fill my hair like highlights? Will they eventually turn all white and I’ll prance around work with a cotton ball on my head like Olympia Dukakis? My mom’s hair isn’t a solid color, so maybe I’ll be lucky. With my fortieth coming up, I wonder if I should dye my hair a natural shade of brown, embrace the grays and leave it as is, or say screw it and put on a hat. I drop the hair from my fingers. I have a few more months to think about it.

 
My phone vibrates again and this time, it’s a phone call and not a text. Like I’m really going to answer the phone? I glance at the screen and it’s Sasha again. She really refuses to give up. I’m sure she’s festering with anger that I’m not responding. I had a wonderful evening; albeit, it started a little rough, but the ending has been perfect. I don’t want her to bring me down off this high. I haven’t responded to a text or phone call from her for quite some time. I guess I owe her that much. I ignore the phone call and click to send her a text instead. I thank her for her last update and to let me know if anything changes. I can at least give the impression over a text message that I’m somewhat sympathetic.

 
I toss my phone onto the coffee table and at the same time, sirens blare outside. My neighborhood is fairly quiet and any type of siren is rare. The lights are flashing practically right outside my window when the siren stops. I find my boots and rush to get my jacket on and race outside.

 
I’m not the only one who has come outside. Almost every resident on the block is standing at the end of their walkway watching whatever drama is unfolding across the street. An ambulance is parked outside the house and paramedics are rushing inside.

 
To the left of me, my neighbor watches with her children. I waved to her before, but I realize I don’t even know her name. I slowly make my way to her driveway and asked her if she knows what happened.

 
“Mrs. Clarington. I think she had a heart attack.” There is a kid on each side of her, and neither can be much older than six or seven.

 
I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t even know who Mrs. Clarington is. The best I can gather is she lives across the street from me, and she’s a woman. That’s about the extent of it. “That’s a shame.”

 
“She’s well over ninety. I’m surprised she’s not in a nursing home. I don’t see her outside very often, and people come to mow her lawn and plow her driveway. She’s weak and she lives alone. I suppose her kids didn’t want to foot the bill, though.” She tightens the belt on her robe. She must be freezing. “Her kids should be ashamed of themselves, letting her live alone, and probably die that way too.”

 
I resent her words. She’s not talking about me, but I can’t help but feel though she is. Maybe Mrs. Clarington wasn’t a great mother. Maybe she pushed her kids away. Maybe she was mean and was never around. She shouldn’t judge unless she knows the facts. And even then she shouldn’t judge. She may know this woman, but she doesn’t really
know
her. There are many things I want to say to this neighbor of mine, but then I suppose I’m not being any different than I think she is.

“Either way, I hope she is okay and pulls through.” I mean that, I really do. I don’t know Mrs. Clarington, and from the outlook of things, I probably never will, but it’s sad to see something like this.

 
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t even have to look and I know that it Sasha. Again.

Things are looking bleak. Please come see her. They don’t think she’s going to make it.

As the sirens start up again and the ambulance takes Mrs. Clarington away, I shudder, thinking of my mom in the hospital, possibly taking her last breath. If Mrs. Clarington were a bad mother, would her children want to say goodbye? Would they mourn her death and be sad at the loss of their mother? Or would such a tragedy instead be a blessing in their eyes, free of all of her wrongdoings and harmful ways?

Months ago, before any of this happened, Sasha told me I should work towards forgiveness. Forgiveness is freeing, she said. How can I offer forgiveness to someone who hurt me so badly? Do I want to have some sort of closure before it’s too late? And if I try, will I succeed?

 
The ambulance turns off the block, and all of my neighbors retreat back into their houses. They rejoin their families and I’m sure will spend the next moments of their lives discussing what they just witnessed and how much they mean to each other, how each day isn’t guaranteed. I live every day of my life lately despising my mother and wanting to hold onto my anger towards her. Do I want us both to be at peace with each other before I no longer have a chance?

The truth is, I don’t know.

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

After a very eventful weekend, Shannon invites me over for Jake’s birthday on Tuesday. I haven’t heard a word from Sasha, so I assume there hasn’t been a change with my mother. Keith landed a job, so he’s keeping pretty busy too. I’m glad I can spend the evening with Shannon and her family and celebrate Jake’s birthday. At least it isn’t mine.

Jake is into video games, like any boy his age I’m sure is, so I went to the easy route and picked up a gift certificate to Game Stop.
 
This way he can pick out whatever he wants, especially considering I have no idea what games or even what gaming system he owns. I don’t doubt he’ll be happy with the $100 gift card.

I arrive shortly after they finish dinner, but right before cake. “Happy birthday, Jake!” I give him a big hug as I walk in the door and he pushes me away.

“Auntie Cassie, I’m too old for hugs.”

“Maybe you just don’t get this then.” I hold up the envelope with my card and the gift card inside. He tries to snatch it from me, but I go in for another hug. When he finally gives in and lets me squeeze him tight, I hand him the card. “Enjoy.” He takes off into the other room.

“Thanks for coming. Even though he doesn’t show it, it means a lot to Jake.”

“Of course. I had to clear my busy dating schedule, but I fit it in.”

“Are you still dating
both
those guys?” I follow Shannon into the kitchen so she can put the candles on Jake’s cake.

“I never was dating Lucas, but I
am
dating Keith now.”

“When did this happen?”

“Yeah, when did this happen?” Ben touches my back and offers that as a hello.

“Ben! I haven’t seen you in such a long time. How are you?” He rests against the counter next to me. I think he’s gained a few pounds since the last time I saw him, and I can now confirm I’m not the only person I know turning gray.

He shrugs. “I can’t complain.” He and Shannon exchange glances, and I can’t quite interpret this secret code in their eyes. “I wanted to say hello. I’ll let you gals get back to it.”

“I’m sure there’s a football or basketball game or something on.” Shannon picks up the cake and sets it in the center of the table. “Give us five minutes and we’ll blow out the candles.”

Ben exits the room with a salute to his wife. The vibe in the kitchen makes me shiver, but before I can say anything, Shannon is on me again about Keith. “Tell me! Details!”

“There isn’t much to tell. We went out the other night, and I really like him. We’re going to see how this goes.”

“Oooh, Cassie may get
married
.”

“Um. No. We’re both in agreement on that. But, I think it may be time to give this commitment thing a try.”

“Good for you!” She searches the drawers for something, slamming them open and closed. “I have no clue where the lighter is.” In a matter of seconds, she’s gone from happy to aggravated. I’ve never seen her this way before. “Anything new on the Sasha front?”

This is her roundabout way of asking about my mother. “She won’t stop texting me. My mom is in the hospital with pneumonia.”

“Is she going to be okay?” She finds the lighter and sets it on the counter.

My eyes glaze over and everything becomes a blur. “She tells me no, that I should go see her and possibly say my goodbyes.”