Authors: Portia Moore
“I-I’m sorry,” Michael murmurs.
“Michael, get the hell out!” Ryan yells.
“I’m sorry, Ryan, and I’m sorry to you, too, Jason,” Michael glances at them briefly before scooting quickly out the door, escorted by Steven and Dan.
“Jason, I am sorry about this, mate,” Ryan says, dusting Jason’s suit off.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jason utters, rubbing his eye, which is already purple.
“I’ll be back,” Ryan says angrily and walks out, cursing Michael under his breath.
“I’m really sorry again; he can be a douche sometimes,” I tell him sincerely.
“Don’t apologize. You aren’t the one who punched me in the eye,” he says.
“I know. But still...” I feel bad about the entire situation.
“So is it always this hard to ask you on a date?” He laughs slightly.
“Y-you’re asking me on a date?” I chuckle.
“Yeah, I was about to when that guy—who I take it is your ex-boyfriend?—attacked me.”
I stuff my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. This has been a busy week; two
sober
guys ask me out in the same week.
“I-well,” I’m thinking hard about it. This could be fun. Another date wouldn’t hurt. I mean, this guy did just get punched in the face for me. I can’t turn him down after that. And Cal hasn’t called, so...
“I would love to,” I tell him.
“Well, maybe this day won’t turn out so bad after all,” he smiles broadly.
“I can’t Friday night, but how about Thursday?” I ask.
“My eye should be down by then. Hopefully,” he laughs.
“That’s great. I’m sure it will,” I agree. Well, I’m sure the swelling will be down, at least. Whether his normal color will be back, I doubt it, based on the way it looks now. I’m still shock. Michael hit him. He’s studying to be a police officer; you’d think he would know better.
“Great!” he says his excitement apparent.
***
It’s 11:00 pm. I can’t sleep. That is what working the night shift will do to you' Z ur days off. I had planned on catching up on my sleep, but I’m utterly restless. Switching on the lamp beside my bed, I pull out the sketchpad I keep under my mattress and start to draw. The phone rings, suddenly, startling me.
“Hello?” I answer hesitantly.
“Hey gorgeous.”
The voice is a familiar one and it immediately awakens the butterflies in my stomach. “I guess that would be me,” I say a smile spreading across my face.
“I’m not calling too late, am I?”
“No it’s fine. I’m a bit of a night owl myself,” I tell him.
“Note this: me working on the asking thing,” he chuckles. I think back to his earlier promise and smile.
“Look at you, sir. I am so very proud of you,” I tell him playfully.
“Well, you’ll have to show me how much.” He flirts back. I bite my lip at the thought. “I was going to text you. I didn’t know if you’d be at the club or not.”
“No, today’s my night off. But yesterday I was. I restocked the bar, had to help clean the stock room… watched an innocent man get punched in the face over the stunt you pulled with my cell phone the other night,” I chuckle.
“Really? This is a first, me causing a fight I didn’t get to be in. Well, maybe next time.” He laughs. “And you said that I was trouble. It seems trouble follows you, Ms. Brooks,” he says playfully.
“Ha. Ha,” I say dryly.
“Listen,” he goes on, “if you’re not too busy breaking up fights around Chicago, I wanted to ask if you were going to the AIC opening Saturday?”
It takes me a few seconds to register he’s talking about the Chicago Museum’s 80th Anniversary charity ball. I wish I was, but unfortunately, it’s an exclusive, invitation-only event. It’s the only thing my classmates have been talking about the past month. They’re furious that Crest Field Industries, one of the largest companies founded in Chicago, weaseled their way into sponsoring the event and privatized the entire affair.
“I wish. It’s invitation-only,” I tell him. Too bad I’m not rich or famous, since those were the people on the invite list.
“Well, I guess you’re going to have to come with me,” he sighs.
“Wait. Are you telling me that you have an invitation?” I ask, my voice rising with excitement. I hear him laughing now.
“How did you get that? You’re not screwing with me are you, Cal?” I ask him cautiously. I don’t want to sound like an art geek, but it would be an absolute dream come true to attend.
“We’re on the phone, you know—what would be the fun in that?” His voice deepens with insinuation, making my skin tingle.
“I would love to go!”
“I’ll have you picked up at eight,” he says.
Have me picked up? Is he not coming? “You aren’t picking me up?” I ask curiously.
“Well, I’m in New York, and I won’t be getting back until that night, so I’ll have a limo pick you up and then it’ll swing by the airport to get me, is that okay?” he says. Of course, it’s okay. I’m going to the Chicago Museum’s anniversary!
“Yes, it’s perfect.” I tell him. “I can’t wait!” I really should tone down my enthusiasm just a few notches.
“Look, I’ve got to go. But, I’ve been thinking about you, Lauren...” he quietly trails off. I grip the phone a little tighter, feeling my heart rate speed up. I didn’t expect to hear that from him.
“I-I’ve been thinking about you too, Cal,” I say sincerely.
“Good,” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice and one spreads across my face as well.
After I hang up the phone, I twirl around like a seven-year-old on Christmas. I rush to my closet and start to rummage around, hoping there’s something there. I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to get off work. I’ll have to trade shifts or something.
I sigh, disappointed with the contents of my wardrobe. Jeans, jeans, and more jeans, along with a few dresses I used to be able to wear to work. Nope, nothing seems worthy of the occasion. I come to the conclusion that I’ll have to buy something. I have a Visa card for emergencies with a couple of hundred dollars I’ve never used. Cal has been thinking about me! I want to make sure my dress leaves a lasting impression.
I wonder if he's he been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him? I rush to the door, ready to tell Hillary all of the details. Then I remember her telling me to keep it simple and fun with him and the thought stops me in my tracks.
What if Hillary is right? He said he was thinking about me. He didn’t say in what way. I ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Well, right now it doesn’t matter; it’s just a date, to one of my favorite places on earth, and on the arm of a incredibly handsome man. And here I am trying to find something wrong about it. I’m not going to let anyone ruin this for me, not even myself.
May 5th 2011
“Saginaw, Michigan.” I can’t help but feel a little nostalgic as I read the sign welcoming me back to my hometown. It’s as if I’m watching a home movie, picking up random memories as I drive.
It’s been a while. The last time I was here was right after Cal and I got married. I sigh driving past the endless rows of cornfields. In fifteen minutes, I’ll be at my aunt’s doorstep, lying about why I’m there and putting up with her well-meaning bullshit. Well, maybe ten if I rush it, but speeding through Saginaw in a Mercedes isn’t the best idea.
When I come to a stop sign I rifle around in my purse for my cell phone before I remember I dropped it out of the window. My stomach’s growling. I’ve only eaten a bagel all day, and that was four long hours ago. I see a gas station a few blocks down and decide to stop for a bite. I turn off my car and lock the door. Even though there’s really no need to lock it, living in Chicago has changed my habits. Walking in, my eyes gravitate to my favorite sweet strawberry shortcake roll up. I walk to the counter and wait for the clerk to come to the front. She approaches the counter with a warm smile, reminding me of the friendliness of Saginaw.
“Good afternoon. Is this all you’ll be having?” she asks.
“Yes, that’s all,” I smile and hand her a dollar. She puts it in the register and hands me back a quarter.
“Have a nice day,” she replies.
“You too,” I tell her, leaving the store while opening the wrapper of the cake. I break off a piece and pop it in my mouth before stuffing the rest in my purse and getting into the car. As I drive off, my thoughts drift to Cal. I wonder what he’s doing right now. He’s probably pissed, or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he doesn’t care that I left. I’m usually clueless as to how he feels.
I hate the fact that I’m thinking about him at all, or even considering his feelings. I shouldn’t, but how do you stop loving someone in an instant? It’s almost ludicrous, how many times I’ve tried to do that. It never works because the feelings just pop right back to the surface moments after my anger has subsided. It would be so much easier if he weren’t so complicated. Cal is the most complex person I’ve ever met. He always has this air of mysteriousness to him which is beyond frustrating after all these years, but that’s what attracted me to him. When I moved to Chicago it was a totally different world from Saginaw. In my town almost everyone knew each other or at least of each other. I had grown up with most of the guys I guess I went to high school with so there was never the excitement of meeting a new person, or having to learn someone from scratch.
When I transferred to school in Chicago my sophomore year it was like the men there could smell fresh meat. I was asked out by so many different types of guys especially when I started working at the club. There were some with tattoos and piercings, others who wore expensive suits and glasses, black, white, tall short, it was so much to take in.
Thankfully I had Angela and Hillary to guide me through the dating scene which got old really quick. I started to miss the familiarity that Saginaw had. I ended up only kind of dating Steven who is now a really good friend and Michael who turned out to be the exact guy I should have been avoiding, good looking, closeted douche bag. Other than him being attractive I think it was just familiarity of working around him that caused me to convince myself there was something there that wasn’t. It was always something missing, and whatever
it
was Cal had more than enough of
it
. He always has had this way of exuding this sexy confidence without appearing conceited, a way of making mundane things seem exciting and new, so Cal has been my gift and my curse. Curse more often than gift, I suppose. When we first met I couldn’t have known I was only scratching the surface of the mystery of Cal, an enigma in him self. Unfortunately one I still haven’t solved.
I always pictured him being the man I wanted him to be, and yet now I wonder is it fair he’s not my expectation of the husband that I thought he’d be? I assumed after marriage he’d open up, let me know the secrets that were hidden behind his smile; that I’d understand why when we’re alone his presence is peaceful but why I look into his eyes I see something completely different. I thought I would get answers to all of these questions when we married, but it only seems that I’m getting more questions.
I arrive at my aunt’s house and memories instantly start to flood in. I remember Raven walking out onto the porch, successfully ruining the goodnight kiss at the end of my first date. She cleared her throat and stared at me until all I could do is kiss him on the cheek and say, “Good night.”
I smile now, but in that moment I was angry and embarrassed. She was both sweet and sour. She had to play mom and dad to me growing up, a woman who never wanted kids, but did a better job than she could have imagined. She always made sure to let me know how much my parents loved me and how proud they’d be of me.
Raven never married so I’ve never felt comfortable asking for advice about my own marriage. I often wonder what advice my mother would give about Cal and I. My dad would probably wring his neck for the stress he gives me. I turn off the car, and grab my purse, stepping out and heading towards the porch. I leave the suitcase because I really don’t feel like getting the third degree at the moment. I’ll find a way to slip it in later on during a conversation. I’m sure I’ll get an opening. “Lauren, I found the most wonderful sweater,” she’ll tell me, and then I’ll say, “Oh really, because I have a ton of sweaters in the car, since I’m leaving my husband.” Yep it’ll be really simple, really quick. I ring the doorbell and check my appearance in the reflection of the window, making sure I look presentable. Raven always stresses that if the day is bad, you have to dress better to hide it.
I ring the doorbell again, this time adding a knock. I still have a spare set of keys, but I don’t want to intrude. It doesn’t seem like she’s home. I take a seat on the top step of the porch. She’s probably gone shopping, hopefully not for clothes because that could take hours. I’m really regretting that little fit of rage that sent my phone over the balcony railing this morning. I look at my watch, realizing it’s only one o’clock. Raven could be out all day.
I decide to go ahead and let myself in rather than waiting on the front porch like a FedEx package. I find the spare set of keys at the bottom of my purse and open the door. As I step inside, the radio is on, and I can’t help but smile. Ever since I can remember, 91.3 has always been Raven’s favorite radio station, and it plays a constant soundtrack in the house. I lock the door behind me and set my purse on the table. This place still brings me comfort—a real home rather than just a place of residency, which is how I feel when I’m alone at the penthouse. I walk upstairs and find the doorway to my old bedroom. Another smile spreads across my face as I walk into the room, still the same way I left it. I sit on the bed and breathe deep as I face the window and let the sunshine wash over me through the curtains. On my dresser sits awards, ribbons, and medals aligned in the same place they were when I was in high school.
There is one new addition, though. My eyes glide over to my wedding photo with Cal, and I feel a sense of jealousy towards my past self. The couple in the picture no longer exists; they are light years from where Cal and I are now. I pick it up, and turn it downward. If only I could see into the future. A door shuts downstairs; Raven must be home. I give myself a little pep talk:
I can do this; just don’t let anything slip
. I take a deep breath and walk out of the room. From the top of the stairs, I can see Raven setting down her bags. I knew she’d been shopping. She looks up at me, a huge smile spreading over her face.