“I feel horrible about what happened, Josie, and I would be here making sure you and Emma were okay regardless, but the driving force pushing me is because I want to learn more about you.”
“Me?”
“You have no idea. Do you?” he asks around a grimacing laugh, but he’s the only one who gets the joke. “I hit you because I was staring at you when you were standing in the parking lot. I can’t sleep at night knowing I almost hurt Emma and did hurt you.”
“Excuse me?” How did he hit me if he was checking me out? “What?”
“I ran into you at the grocery store about three weeks ago. You didn’t even glance in my direction. The day in the lot I saw you standing next to Winnie and I couldn’t believe you were talking to someone I’d met. Small fucking town. My eyes were glued to you. I couldn’t pull them away and then you ran right out in front of my truck. It was like my worst nightmare happening in slo-mo.”
He takes a deep breath before continuing. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted. Which I don’t. “You’ll hate me after telling you this and you’ll probably kick me out, but I need to get it off my chest. The guilt is eating away at me. Because I was stupid and wasn’t paying attention and I could’ve seriously hurt Emma or you. I want to help you get well because I take responsibility when I mess up, but the selfish horrible part of me saw it as an opportunity to get to know you better, too. I am a terrible person and deserve to go to jail.”
It takes me longer to figure out exactly what he’s saying since I’ve been sluggish the last few days. The story still doesn’t make total sense. Regardless, I believe Nate… likes me.
Wow.
At least he finds me pretty. How long has it been since someone admitted to almost hitting a woman because they were so taken with her that he couldn’t stop looking at her?
“Why didn’t you just talk to me at the grocery store?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “I tried, but you never even looked up in my direction.”
“You could have gotten my attention and said hi.” Thrown a pineapple or something. Nate is good looking, like hella good looking. He could have smacked me in the face with a piece of fruit and I would have gladly asked for more.
His smile grows but not necessarily in a good way as it resembles a grimace. “I hit you with my shopping cart.”
“That was you?” I can’t believe he’s the man who hit my shopping cart so hard I thought he cracked my big jar of pickles. I’d been so furious. I’d almost told him off, but I was late to pick up Emma from daycare and didn’t want to face the five-dollar-a-minute fee they impose when you’re late. Plus Barry had called to give me crap about dressing Emma in too much pink and my mother wanted us to come for a visit. I’d kept my head down and scowled the whole way to the register mumbling about assholes with penises.
It’s absurd, but as I picture Nate pushing his cart into mine in the middle of the grocery store and then hunting me down to hit me with his truck, I laugh. “Stop hitting me with things!” I yell with a smile on my face and toss my ripped-up napkin at his forehead. He catches a few pieces of paper an inch before they connect his face.
“Then start paying attention to me,” he says back, a hesitant smile across his features.
“Momma!” a loud shrill comes from the bedroom. Emma is upset. She’s never had a problem waking up before, but since moving into the apartment she’ll get scared if she wakes up alone after a nap or in the morning. I’m hoping it goes away when she gets used to our new life.
Nate’s laughter fades and he eyes my crutches with one perched against an empty dining room chair and the other on the floor. “I’ll get her,” he says jumping up and not waiting for me to offer. It’s a good thing because I wouldn’t have. I need to process a lot of things while he’s gone dealing with Emma and I prefer to process them alone.
Less than a minute after he left the phone rings, and even though I hear it, I can’t see the ancient cordless model I keep somewhere in the apartment. I would never have considered a landline for myself, but my mother insisted. She said it was for safety. So each month I write a check of wasted money to the telephone company. I didn’t want to press any more of my mother’s buttons than I did by moving so far away, so I agreed to get the service installed. But ever since then it’s been a pain in my butt. Who even calls a landline phone anymore these days?
The phone stops ringing and I shrug, giving up on whoever had been trying to call — probably a telemarketer.
“Yeah, it’s no problem. She’s right here.” Nate comes around the hallway corner with the phone clutched between his shoulder and ear with Emma resting on his opposite hip. Where did he find the phone? And what is he doing answering it for me? First keys and now this?
Emma reaches down to the floor, trying to get her dolls, and Nate puts her down before bringing me the cordless contraption I try to lose.
“Hello?” I ask. I hope he’s smart enough to hang up on a telemarketer.
There’s static on the other end of the phone and then the voice of my realtor cuts through so I can hear her. “Josie, I tried your cell first, but I didn’t want to text this. I’ve got bad news.”
That crappy clench in my stomach forms again. “What happened?”
“The little house you were interested in already has an offer. They offered full price and agreed to waive the inspection so the sellers took it.”
My mouth falls open, distraught. “But I thought they said they’d give me and a week to get the paperwork?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. You didn’t draw up the paperwork yet, and you didn’t put any earnest money down to secure the spot.”
“So that’s it, then?”
A horn honks and I wonder where in the hell the realtor could be standing. There’s never been this much traffic in Pelican Bay. “There are lots of fish in the sea, sweetheart. Every day someone lists a new house. We’ll find you something. I’ve got to go. I have a showing but wanted to make sure you heard so we could resume the search. Your house is still out there.”
The two of us share a quick goodbye and I hang up the phone, taking a minute to myself staring at my empty plate. I love my realtor, she’s not much older than me and super chipper. She’s a girl who was definitely a cheerleader in high school, but she’s been around the block. She didn’t love the house I wanted to buy. It’s easy for her to say there are lots of other houses in the sea, but we both realize that’s not necessarily true. Few houses come available in Pelican Bay and even fewer of them are in my price range. It could be months or even years before something else comes on the market. If I want to get Emma and me out of this apartment, we must look for something away from the cute little downtown area I fell in love with during my first drive-through so many months ago.
“Bad news?” Nate asks, sitting on the floor playing with Emma and her blocks.
I don’t turn in his direction, worried if I do I’ll lose the tight grip on my emotions. Forced to hold it together for so long already, I refuse to get upset about this. I’m not going to cry over it again.
“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. Can you bring me a lot of Oreos, please?”
He stands and I don’t have the heart to tell him the package he hid on the top shelf in the kitchen is gone. Fingers crossed he has other boxes stashed in the small apartment. “Can you get a glass of milk, too?” They’re better dunked.
“Sure, Josie.”
I’m eating the whole box so I can get fat and I can be on one of those shows the TLC channel runs. Where people are addicted to eating weird things. They could call me the Oreo girl. They’d probably give me a free package.
“Here’s your cuppa tea. Dipped not saturated to make the weakest tea I’ve ever seen,” Nate says, passing over the large mug of light brown water. It took him a few days, but I taught him how to make the perfect cup of tea. I don’t drink coffee, so it’s my only go-to in the mornings.
I take a sip and let the warm water soothe my throat. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
He smiles at the compliment. “You seem happier today. Feeling better?”
I take stock of my ankle and realize he’s right. My spirits are higher. I no longer want to earn a free package of Oreos for being highlighted on TLC, so that’s a plus. “Yup, I haven’t even had a pain pill today. Before you know I’ll be up and walking around all on my own.”
“Let’s not get too far ahead of yourself. You don’t want to get back to normal activity too soon. It could re-aggravate the injury.”
“Right. I didn’t mean I was excited to do stuff. Just that I could.” Ever since Nate’s admission yesterday regarding the grocery store and his truck, things have been awkward. I’m not sure what to do. I don’t have experience in this game. Do I tell him I like him too? That seems like the easy approach, but I didn’t do it after our conversation yesterday and now the time for declarations has passed. His went by unanswered, making me a heel. The only way to tell him now is if I shouted it out randomly in the middle of a conversation. And considering the man has seen me cry, cleaned up toilet water from Emma, and searched through my underwear drawer to help me pick out clothes, he’s seen me make a fool of myself enough for one lifetime.
I have to work it into a random conversation. The problem is that I’m the least smooth person you’ve ever met. I’m a highway the state hasn’t paved since the Reagan years — full of bumps and potholes large enough to swallow a bus when you aren’t paying attention.
“Have you heard from your office?”
I shake my head. “No, I left another message, but no one called back.” I can fill out my time off paperwork online and I’m not in a super rush since I don’t qualify for anything yet, but I’d be happier if I talked to someone. Maybe Nate will drive me over there in a couple of days. Let me get out of the house and smell fresh air.
In reality I should be ready to go back to work in a few days. I’m getting around with my crutches much better and as long as I keep my foot propped up during the day, I’ll be okay. There’s been no major swelling today. My bruises went from blackish to a weird green hue. I’m down to just using Advil as a pain pill. But I’m also in no rush because I fear that going working again means an end to having Nate around as often. If I’m able to work, why would he need to be here assisting me?
Watching the towering man was his tight T-shirts and his big open smile care for Emma are images I hope I’ve seared into my brain. He’s so gentle with her. And me.
Yesterday, while eating dinner, she managed to get pizza sauce up her nose. I’ve been around the block once or twice, so I did my best to wipe it out and let it go. Not Nate, though. He took the time to make sure she was clean, letting her splash around in the bath for a good twenty minutes and then afterward cleaned up the gallon of water she’d sloshed onto the floor. Not once did he get mad or raise his voice—all things I’m guilty of doing at least once a day.
“Here she is,” Nate sing-songs as he walks out of the hallway with Emma. She follows with her cute little wobbly walk a few steps behind.
At first I don’t notice, but eventually I look up. That’s when I spot the hair. Nate has mastered the top of the head ponytail and even managed to get pigtails almost in line, but everything else is way above his skill level. This morning he’s attempted a braid, but only about a quarter of the hair had gotten in. The rest of her thin blonde tresses blow in the breeze created with her speed demon steps. Worse than the hair may be the outfit. Her afternoon attire consists of her adorable pink dress with a lacy bottom meant only for special occasions matched with a pair of fuchsia purple socks—the pair I keep meaning to throw away because there’s a hole in the heel.
I cringe. Thankfully we aren’t going in public today, but I appreciate his help nonetheless.
“Look, mama. Stocks,” Emma says pointing to her socks, losing her balance and tumbling back on her butt.
“You look so beautiful.” I clap my hands together once and wait until she runs over to where I sit on the couch.
“I’m gonna run to the hardware store and pick up the nails for the lock above the bathroom door. Do you want me to put her in her highchair so she is easier to watch?”
I level a steady eye on Emma and she looks up at me, smiling and giving me all the answers I need. I can’t trust that expression. There’s no way she’ll give me peace while Nate makes a hardware trip.
“Let’s let her rest in the pack and play.” Emma hears and her face turns into a scowl. But once she’s situated, I’ll turn on the TV and she’ll forget all about it. When I’m back on my feet, we’re going back to TV-free days, even if I’ve learned to love the distractions.
“I won’t be gone long,” Nate says after putting a few toys in the play pen to keep Emma busy. “Do you need anything else?”
I don’t, but my answer’s stymied when he stops by the couch and leans down, almost as if he’s a boyfriend giving me a kiss on the forehead goodbye. However, before his lips make contact he realizes what he’s doing and pulls back. Rather than a kiss, he taps me on the shoulder as a friendly form of comfort.
I lied when I thought things couldn’t get more awkward in this apartment. Nate needs to hear how much I like him before our relationship ends up in a place I don’t want it to be. Like the friend-zone.
“No, I’m good. Thanks. Umm… We’ll be here when you get back.” I’m forced to yell the last part as Nate waves goodbye and rushes out the door as fast as possible, not looking back once. Damn it. Why didn’t I just blurt it out when I had the chance?
In an attempt to keep Emma from causing any more expensive plumbing issues by flushing her toys, Nate agreed to install a lock above the bathroom door. I’m just hoping it won’t cut into the security deposit when we move out. If I even still stand any chance of getting something back, anyway. He was all set to go until we realized the lock package didn’t include nails and I don’t own any. Nails for sure went to Barry in the divorce.
At least three minutes of silence passed as he stared at me trying to figure out why I didn’t have a small container of nails in the apartment. I spent the same time staring back at him, wondering why he thought I would have any nails in my apartment.
Emma squeals in the pack and play and I turn on PBS, hopeful since it’s still morning they’ll air children’s shows for younger kids playing.
There’s a knock on the door. I groan when it doesn’t open and I realize I must get up and answer it. Nate’s in a lot of trouble for forgetting those keys he made himself. If he’s going to hijack my place, he can at least remember to take them with him.
Using only one crutch — see I am getting better — I work my way to the door as soon as possible. I’m smiling, ready to laugh at the puzzled expression he’ll be wearing afer he realized he got to his truck and had no way to start it.
“I can’t believe you made me get up because you forgot your keys,” I say opening the door as my mouth falls open and I’m left standing face to face with the last person I expected to see today.
My mother.
“Well that’s not a way to greet your mother,” she sputters already annoyed, which isn’t a good sign.
I step back. “Hello, Mother. I didn’t expect you.” In fact, didn’t I call and tell her not to bother coming because I had it under control? Why would she listen to me now when she hadn’t all the times before in these situations? Why would she drive here now?
She pushes her way past me, much like someone trying to break and enter, and stops about five feet in scanning the apartment. “I told you I was coming to help.”
“Yes, but then I told you I had everything under control.” Twice. I told her twice!
My mother shakes her head in disbelief and clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “And you always were a horrible liar, Josie. I knew there was no way you could get by without me. I’m only sad it took me so long to get here. I can see from the state of things you haven’t been holding up well.”
“If you had told me you were coming, I would’ve picked up more.” I face the same direction she is and look around the apartment. Emma’s blocks are on the floor and one bowl sits on the kitchen counter from breakfast this morning, but she can’t see the other few items hiding in the sink. Given the situation, I don’t think the place looks bad, especially considering I have done nothing in days and Nate does his best to keep us all up and moving.
“I told you I’d be here this morning.” She doesn’t waste any time and walks right over to Emma, almost recoiling when she sees the way her granddaughter’s dressed.
We must have had this conversation on a day when I was still taking pain medication because I’m sure I’d remember if my mother said she was planning a visit. I would’ve taken action beforehand.
Like moved.
“Who did her hair like this? And the socks… You can’t let her go public like this. What will the neighbors think?”
“We’re not going out in public,” I say once back in my spot on the couch, leaving the crutch against the arm rest.
If I wasn’t injured, and I cared more about what my mother thought, I’d be busy cleaning up the house as she ranted about what I’d done wrong. But I’ve heard so much of it since the divorce I’m building up immunity. Don’t get me wrong, she still annoys the crap out of me, but I now realize I can never live up to her standards. The only person who lives up to Samantha’s standards is Samantha.
“You don’t have a candle burning. If the neighbors can’t smell how much nicer your place is than theirs, then what’s the point of living in an apartment?”
I roll my eyes but make sure she can’t see. “My neighbors don’t care if there’s a candle.”
“The hostess guideline does. Your home should always have a welcoming smell when someone enters. Yours smells like…” She sniffs the air crinkling her nose. “Toilet water.”
Good to see old age hasn’t cost her any of her five senses.
“And my god, Josie, there are Oreos on the kitchen table. Getting divorced is one thing, but letting yourself go altogether is another. I refuse to sit around and watch you throw away your life like this.”
I should’ve taken a pain pill this morning to prepare for the headache I will get after a few minutes with my mother. If only she had warned me, I would have refrained from answering the door and spared us both the trouble.
“I doubt a few Oreos will be the demise of my life, Mother.”
She clicks her tongue again. “That’s what you think. A few Oreos here, and then you’re eating pizza for dinner there, and before you know it, you’re on drugs.”
Please, Lord, don’t let her see the pizza box of leftovers in the fridge. She’ll have me in pepperoni rehab.
This is why I don’t invite my mother over more.
“Is this the only bottle of Pine-Sol you have?” My mother peeks her head out of the kitchen, sloshing back a half-full bottle of brown liquid.
I nod. “Won’t that be enough?”
I’ve only washed the floors once since living here, and the kitchen’s not that big. The bottle should be plenty.
“It will have to do,” she says going back to her job of scrubbing the kitchen floor.
By hand.
I’m sure she saw a crumb down there from the previous renters, but now she can go to all her friends back home and tell them how she saved my life by cleaning my kitchen floor. Thank god she’s not on Instagram. She’d post before and after shots.
I will go insane soon if she doesn’t leave.
It’s been almost two hours since Nate went to the hardware store and he hasn’t come back. I’m starting to worry he picked up word my mother is here and knows to stay far, far away. He’s a deserter in my biggest time of need.
“Where’s your required bottle of bleach,” she calls from the kitchen.
I swallow, knowing she won’t like my answer. “I use less abrasive products now that I have Emma.”
It’s not above my daughter’s thought pattern to lick the kitchen floor, so I buy cleaning products that won’t make me scared if she should get a small sampling. At least I try to use them when I clean, which isn’t all that often, but no way in hell am I telling my mother that tidbit of information.
The door opens and closes as Nate comes into the apartment like he’s running from something on the other side. “I’m sorry it took so long, Josie. The hardware was full of women and everyone was asking questions of Hank so I couldn’t figure out where the nails were. I swear that place isn’t put together in any logical order whatsoever.”
Nate continues to rattle on, not noticing my open-mouth shocked-faced mother holding a bottle of Lysol standing at the edge of the kitchen.
“What is this? Why is this man in your apartment, Josie?” My mother stares at me like he’s here to rob us. As if having a man near me is the worst thing she’s heard all year. Obviously, she’s forgotten the Oreos.
“Mom, this is Nate. Nate, my mother,” I say, like everything is fine and the situation isn’t crazy at all. I turn around and go back to the TV, trying to pretend that entire side of the apartment doesn’t exist anymore.
“Well, what is Nate?”
Nate sputters. “I’m her boyfriend.”
I whip my head back around, trying to give him a “what the hell are you doing” look, but his smile is as large as the Cheshire cat. He must think it’s another fun game like the one he played with Barry, but he’s never met my mother.
She leans her head back and laughs. “Josie would never date a man who wears jeans.”
Everyone’s eyes fall to the dark-washed jeans that hug Nate’s legs and ass so well. I swear even Emma takes a second to admire. I don’t know where my mother gets her crazy ideas, but Nate and a pair of jeans go together like peanut butter and jelly.
“Mother!” It’s one thing for her to make ridiculous comments when she’s alone, but not in front of someone — especially Nate.
But as usual he doesn’t act the way I expect him to. Nate’s smile gets bigger as he saunters over to the couch and leans down over the armrests, giving me the biggest kiss I’ve ever experienced.
His lips are warm and after the first second passes, where I worry he’ll pull away but he doesn’t, I grab onto his shirt getting him closer. The sensation of him against me warms my body, and my heart stops beating, trying its hardest to remember each and every second of this moment together. It’s a kiss unlike anything I’ve ever felt — one of those kisses you know you can only experience once or twice a lifetime. One I never want to end. If possible, I’d spend an afternoon kissing Nate. His breath fills my empty soul as his lips move over mine with sweet possessiveness.
But as all good things do, this kiss ends when my mother clears her throat loudly. “Excuse me,” she says before going speechless.
I laugh. I’ve never seen her wear her current expression in my life. This will be a story for her friends back home. Her face looks as if she’s taken a shot of whiskey while sucking on a lemon.
“Just in case you were wondering, that was for real,” Nate whispers in my ear before he straightens and stands next to the couch.
My eyes widen and I mouth the word, “What?” But he doesn’t answer.
If you had asked me two days ago what I thought of couples who were lovey-dovey, I would’ve made a gagging sound and told you they were the worst. I would have been wrong. They are the best.
Over the last few hours, Nate and I have thrust ourselves into the most over-the-top sweet and loving couple I’ve ever seen. I’d say you couldn’t make this shit up, but we are. It’s all natural.
It’s wonderful to see the look on my mother’s face. Best. Day. Ever.
“Here’s a glass of water to take your pill,” Nate says handing me the glass with just a few inches of water and a pain pill. “Is there anything else I can get for you, snookums?”
I smile widely while taking the glass. “No, thanks, lover.”
From behind Nate’s back I watch as my mother rolls her eyes, thinking I can’t see her. If she does it too many more times, they’re liable to stick that way.
He stops for a second, staring into my eyes smiling. It’s the new trick we’ve started, which evolved throughout the day. The prolonged silence and intense stare are driving my mother insane. Every time we do it, she huffs and I have to stop myself from laughing out loud. It’s all fun and games now, but if she figures out we’re messing with her, there will be hell to pay.
Until then I’m relishing how much I love playing house with Nate.
My personal hot man walks back into the kitchen with my empty water glass, and my mom huffs, standing up and brushing a few invisible lint pieces from her pants.
“Since you’ve moved on from Barry so quickly, I don’t know why I’m here.”
I don’t either, I say, but only in my head.
“I’ll give Emma a bath.” She picks up the clean child from the floor and straddles her on her hip.
I smile. It makes me a horrible person that I’m doing this to my mother, but I can’t help myself. “Would you like Nate to help you? He’s got bath time down pat.” Lies.
My mother scowls and I secretly laugh as she refuses the offer. Nate has no clue what he’s doing when it comes to bath time.
“No, I have it under control.” She and Emma stomp off to the bathroom and I’m left hiding a giggle under my breath.
Tomorrow I’m sure there will be guilt for how upset she is, but she’s being rather ridiculous. What mother is upset her daughter found happiness? Frankly, if this thing with Nate were true, I’d be pissed.
The room heats… Or more so it smells hot. Like someone left a curling iron on a little too long.
“Nate?” I call to the empty living room, hesitantly standing.
There’s no response, and so with a single crutch I walk into the kitchen where I find Nate bent over the open oven. A few tendrils of smoke rise to the ceiling as he pulls out a pan of blackened cookies.
“Oh no,” I say watching the smoke rise higher and higher. “Get the batteries out of the smoke alarm. Quick!”
Nate listens and, without having to use the chair, grabs the alarm from the kitchen wall and dislodges the batteries. The alarm makes a small beep, but it’s more of a warning the batteries are out than an alarm over the smoke. I think he made it in time.
“What are we going to do with these?” he asks, hitting one a cookie with the spatula. It doesn’t dislodge from the pan.
He looks so crestfallen, like these cookies were his life’s mission. I can’t let him go down without a fight. The man’s a saint. He can’t lose his mojo over burnt chocolate.
“Let me find my cell phone and I might have an idea. Hide the evidence and keep the oven on warm.”