I’m still amped from seeing Reed, especially since he talked to me. We practically flirted, and I totally caught him checking out my boobs. If I were just a bit creepier, I think I could legit become his stalker. But I have a modicum of self-respect left. Once that bit goes though, all bets are off. If Daria really trains me in some badassery. I’m betting I’d be a good stalker. But not if I have to train for three hours a day.
I finish wiping down all the tables from after the lunch crowd and head to the back, where I find Daria in a corner texting on a phone I don’t think is hers.
“Did you get a new phone?”
“No, this is one of my burners,” she answers.
“Oh, are you sending out a kill order?” I rush to peek over her shoulder.
“Keep your voice down, and no. I’m just telling Mack about these shoes.” She holds the phone out so I can see the photo he sent.
“Oh, those are so cute. God, I can’t wait to have money again so I can buy some shoes.”
“You can’t wear shoes like that here.”
“I know, but I can wear them on my date with Reed.”
“Ohmigod, did he ask you out? Did I miss it?”
“No. But I’m certain he will soon. He looked at my boobs today. And I’m fairly sure we flirted.”
“Oh, that’s great, honey. Real progress.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I pull her by the arm into her office and close the door. Then I push her back into her chair, and stand straighter, crossing my arms over my chest, doing my best to look authoritative. “Speak,” I command.
“It’s just the same old shit, Q. I tire of it sometimes.”
“Assassin shit or Mack shit?”
“Mack shit.” She sighs.
I lean over and give her a hug. “Why don’t you just get back together but be careful or something?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“Well, it can’t be that this is the answer, Dar. I mean, Mack is your one. And when you find the one, that’s it, you get the happy ever after, the end, close the book.”
“Apparently not.” She sulks. She’s always like this after Mack leaves. Or after she talks to him. Or thinks about him. In fact, she’s like this a lot.
“Daria, this is no way to live your life. You can’t just be perpetually unhappy.”
“I also can’t put Mack or his career in danger.”
“Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?”
“You sound like him.”
“Great minds think alike.”
“Pretty sure he’s thinking with his dick.”
“He doesn’t just want you for sex. He loves you. You’re his one. The great sex is just a perk,” I argue.
She sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. In fact, you can leave if you want to. There won’t be much more for you to do today, anyway.”
“Want to go do something?”
“No, I’ve got to head upstairs. Alyssa will be here soon; we’ve got to pull some info on D—”
I look at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence. “On? Dead guys? Dangerous dudes? Damsels in distress?” I throw a couple of suggestions out, knowing that none of them are right, it’s more to make her laugh than anything else.
It works.
“It’s not important,” she says. “I can use you tomorrow during lunch and we can go over a few more things, get you familiar with back of the house.”
“Look at you, pulling out the restaurant lingo, luckily I know what that is.” I give her a hug and kiss her on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything.” I take a step back, but keep my hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye so she knows I’m serious.
“I will,” she says.
“Okay. Love you!”
“Love you.”
I think about it on my way home and realize I’m excited about the prospect of working my way up at Daria’s bar. I know the servers make good money in tips, and since my other two jobs are barely there, I could use an income that is more regular than that. I do a little dog walking by day and on-call answering service support by night. Neither of which are consistent nor pay well.
But the answering service almost pays my bills and dog walking keeps me in shape, so I can’t complain. Plus, I love dogs and my apartment doesn’t allow them. So, when I walk them, it’s almost like having one of my own. This isn’t at all where I thought my life would end up though. I was the president of the drama club throughout high school and really thought I’d be an actor after graduation. But I quickly realized I’d have to move to Los Angeles or New York if I wanted to take it seriously. And I have no desire to leave our little coastal town in the Pacific Northwest. It may be small, but it has everything I need.
And love.
(Read: Reed Roberts.)
My phone alarm dings—it’s time for me to walk my neighbor’s dog. I head next door to Mrs. Sawyer’s house to walk Fifi; her poodle mix. Who hates going for walks and spends the entire time alternating between sitting and refusing to move, or biting the leash as we go.
I spend the rest of the night watching how-to videos on the internet for being more badass. Believe it or not, there are videos and articles on badassery and how to achieve it. Though, none are as simple as I would have liked. It seems most badassery comprises being able to do something spectacular really well. Considering I have to hold the handrail when descending a staircase or I’ll fall, I’m guessing general badassedness is not in my wheelhouse.
I remember watching old movies with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire when I was younger and being amazed that not only could they go down the stairs without holding onto the railing, but most times there was no railing and they’d be dancing as they went.
I tried it once.
I’ve been holding onto the handrail ever since. They are there for a reason—a damn good reason.
When I tire of the internet, I spend the next hour selecting outfits for my fictitious date with Reed. This is not the first time I’ve entertained myself for an entire evening this way. I figure I’ll have a ton of options for consideration once it finally happens, thus taking the pressure off myself then to find something.
There are times, like tonight, when I wish I had a pet, a roommate, or a spouse. It gets lonely being by myself, but I get a decent deal on my apartment—a studio style above a detached garage and the owners are a genuinely nice, middle-aged couple. It allows me to live in a nice neighborhood I could never afford otherwise. And there are a few neighbors with dogs needing walks, win-win.
As I get ready for bed, I wish for the millionth time that Reed had social media accounts so I could go online and see what he’s doing or where he’s been. There is literally no way to cyber-stalk the man, it’s frustrating. But it gives me another reason to want to stalk him in person. And then I have to wonder about my sanity, since one, I’m so preoccupied with this guy. Two, I really want to stalk him online or in person, I don’t care which. Three, I can’t imagine either numbers one or two are healthy behaviors.
I’d ask my therapist about it except I don’t go to therapy anymore. I’d ask Daria about it, but she’d probably give me some kind of blanket statement encouragement about him and me. That’s mostly because she doesn’t get it. Daria has never been on the unrequited end of love. Anytime that she’s wanted someone they’ve either wanted her first or wanted her back.
She’s exquisitely beautiful, like for real—thick, dark hair, porcelain skin, and dark eyes. She doesn’t even need makeup. I look at her sometimes and wonder what it would be like to have that face looking back at me in a mirror. Not that I’m insecure. Much. If I didn’t love her dearly, I’d have to hate her. I mean, men fall for her all the time, especially guys that come into the bar. If Reed liked her, Daria and I would have to stop being friends. For real.
I’d miss her though.
Also for real.