Thankfully, I now had a couch, which hadn’t been the case last week. I had chosen to rent a place until I found time to shop for a house or condo and settle in more permanently. My mother, of course, had offered my old room. Yeah, not gonna happen. And I would have considered staying temporarily with Bailey but then I remembered that she was Bailey and I concluded that my own place would be just fine.
Most of my furnishings and belongings were in storage back in Austin where I lived for the last two years. When I’d gotten the tearful call from my mom about my dad, I dropped everything and got on a plane. Luckily, a job I’d been working was just wrapping up, so I wasn’t leaving a bunch of loose ends. But there was still two years’ worth of my life I just left hanging.
Some of my buddies back there kindly offered to move my stuff into storage for me and I had to break my lease, but the landlord liked me and was a big-time family man himself, so he hadn’t penalized me like he could have. It didn’t hurt that I’d helped him put a deck on his house last summer and his wife was always giving me cookies and stuff. We had a good relationship. In fact, I had several good relationships and a pretty sweet life in Austin. I was sad to leave.
After watching the game with my dad this past weekend, I had moved a couch and a few other old furnishings from their basement to my apartment. I figured it was enough to tide me over until I found a new place and could get my things from Austin moved permanently. Hopefully, once things calmed down a bit, I’d have time to search for a better place. This one was kind of a shithole, but it was cheap. And for the moment I was content with borrowed furniture, beer, and TV.
Halfway into my IPA and an episode of Ice Road Truckers my cellphone rang. I glanced at the screen.
Shit. Reagan.
I muted the TV and answered the call, “Hey Reagan, what’s up?”
“Nate! Oh my God, it’s so good to hear your voice!”
“Yeah, you too. What are you up to? How are things back in Hippie Haven?”
Her voice lost its initial excitement. “They suck without you, Nate. I miss you.”
And that right there was what I’d been afraid of. It was the reason I’d avoided her calls for the past week, although I kept promising myself I’d call back when things lightened up. Reagan was a really nice girl. Honestly. And she made it clear she found me to be a nice guy too. But I suspected she also thought I was the guy. Reagan was sweet and pretty hot, she was definitely not the girl. Who even knew if any such girl was out there, but I knew for sure that Reagan was not it.
We met at a bar a few months before I’d moved away, and we’d been casually seeing each other since—casual being the key word. I was very upfront with her because the last thing any guy wants is girl drama. But then I started noticing some big fucking red flags. She left some of her things at my apartment, and when I mentioned them she tried to laugh it off. Then I heard one of her friends ask about her boyfriend and at first I thought, oh shit, is some guy gonna jump me for banging his girl? Until I realized they had been talking about me. I tried to back off and I even sat her down for a conversation about it, but nothing stuck. I’d been planning to break things off completely when my dad’s heart attack hit and all hell broke loose.
“Aw, that’s sweet.” I didn’t know how the hell else to respond. “Oh hey, I’ve been meaning to thank you for sending those boxes. You really didn’t need to trouble yourself.” She had evidently shown up at my place while my buddies were packing up my shit. She implied to them that I’d asked her to send some of my clothes and personal items, which I most definitely hadn’t. She packed up a few boxes and sent them my way. It was nice to have some of my own stuff, no doubt, but the way in which I’d received it signaled nothing but trouble.
“Of course! I knew you’d want some of your stuff and I wanted to do something to feel like I was helping out. How is your dad?”
See? Really nice girl.
“He’s doing a lot better, thanks.”
“Oh good. So, listen, I was calling cuz I really wanted to hear your voice, but also because I was thinking of coming out to see you …”
Christ on a bike, there it was.
“Oh, Reagan, wow.” Why didn’t I break things off before I left? “Uh, that’s really nice of you to think of me. The thing is … work is really crazy right now.” Just tell her the truth, asshole! “I mean, I’m working all sorts of late hours and between that and checking on my folks … I don’t think now is the best time,” I finished lamely like the big fucking coward I am.
“Oh. Sure, I mean, I understand. It’s just, you know, I was thinking I could maybe combine it with a trip to the beach too—you know, soak up some rays before the summer is completely over and all that,” she tried again.
I started to sweat.
“I just don’t think it’s a great idea right now.” Or ever. Just say it—or ever.
Silence.
“Okay, no big deal. It was just a thought!” she finally replied, her discomfort evident. “Well, you let me know if I can send anything else or if you need something.”
“I will. Thanks for calling, Reagan. And for all your help. Really.”
“No problem.” Her voice was quiet. “Bye, Nate.” She hung up.
God, I’m such a douchebag.
Chapter Five
Wanted: One Playdate – Willing to Beg
LANEY
Suffice it to say, my talk with Rocco regarding a potential playdate did not go well. In fact, it didn’t even go at all. I waited a couple days after Mellie’s phone call to broach the subject, and like a moron I’d chosen to do it as I was getting him ready for bed one night.
“What are you looking forward to doing at school tomorrow?” I opened with, helping him pull his pajama shirt over his head. Why we even bothered to put PJs on every night when they just ended up on the floor twenty minutes later, I don’t know.
“I don’t wanna go to school tomorrow.” He frowned and twitched his nose.
“You don’t? Why not?”
“I don’t like school.” His eyes started filling with tears and there was that nose twitch again. What in the hell was that all about?
“But school is fun,” I tried. “You get to see your friends and play with toys and run around on the playground. You love all that stuff.”
“I wanna stay home with you.” He sniffled and I dabbed at his eyes with a tissue from the box by his bed.
“But, buddy, I won’t be here. I have to go to work.” Kill me now.
“Then I wanna stay with Uncle Gavin.”
“Baby, Uncle Gavin has his new job, remember?”
“I miss Grandma and Grandpa!” Out came the full-fledged wail. “And I hate school! I’m not going anymore!”
Whose brilliant idea was it to do this at bedtime? It’s like I was a damn rookie or something.
Since that had been an epic fail, I decided yesterday to send a quick e-mail to Mellie asking if she could suggest a good candidate for a playdate. I was surprised when I received a response almost immediately (again with these daycare teacher genes—the e-mail even had a winky smiley face emoji and an inspirational quote at the end of it).
Tucker Peterson, she’d suggested. I had my mark.
My alarm went off ten minutes earlier than usual in the morning and I managed to get Rocco to school several minutes early, thank you very much. A Tootsie Roll had provided sufficient motivation to get him in the car that much faster than usual. As every parent knows, bribery is an essential tool useful in preventing the explosion of one’s head.
I stood by the classroom door, determined to find my target. I had a vague recollection in my mind of Tucker’s mom from the first day I’d brought Rocco to school. If memory served, she had blond hair and was fairly tall and thin. Aha, there she was! And there was Tucker at her side.
Good God. Of all the rotten luck.
The child wore a polo shirt with the collar popped and, I kid you not, seersucker pants. Oh, I’m sorry, slacks.
What five-year-old even owns— Okay, don’t judge, Laney. They are probably great people. Super, even. I gave myself an inner smack to the head and approached with a smile.
“Hi, are you Tucker’s mom?” I did my best to gush.
She turned to me and smiled in return. “Yes, I am.” See? This was going well already. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“I know. I’m Laney Monroe. My son, Rocco, just started here a few weeks ago.” I gestured to my son who was—wait, what was he doing? He appeared to be cramming his entire body into his cubby. Shit. I quickly looked back to her, hoping she hadn’t noticed my kid being, well, weird. No such luck.
“I’m Bess Peterson,” she responded, a little less brightly than before, but she did extend her hand which I enthusiastically shook. Ugh. She did the limp-fish-partial-shake which made my very firm—and very normal—shake come off as trying way too hard. My left hand began its ascent to my cheek for a good rub but I stopped it, thank God, before things got even more awkward.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Bess. Listen, I know you probably have to run, but I wanted to invite Tucker over for a playdate this weekend with Rocco.” I glanced down at her son with a smile that was probably coming off as a little crazy at this point. But he wasn’t paying attention to me. He was busy with a finger up his nose while the other hand played with his crotch. See? Our kids have so much in common already!
“Oh, that’s really sweet of you to ask, but I think we’re all booked up this weekend,” she said, with what really did sound like genuine regret. All right, let’s not give up yet.
“Oh, I understand. Things can get a bit crazy trying to cram everything in after the work week.” I made some odd zinging sound—or maybe it was more of a whistle—either way, I was sounding like an absolute moron. I couldn’t have stopped my hands from coming to my cheeks if you’d paid me a gazillion dollars. Still, obviously not satisfied with my current level of humiliation, I continued, “How about next weekend?”