I was always in love with him, from the moment we first met. We had our ups and downs; the fights were fierce and the make-ups were even more intense. But we always managed to make it back. Until we didn’t. For years, I only saw him in dreams or in glimpses of a passing stranger. So, when he called and asked to see me again, I didn’t hesitate. We met in a dingy dive bar, ominous I suppose. He sat waiting for me, his hands wrapped around his usual bourbon neat. I slid into the seat beside him and kissed his cheek. We fell into an awkward silence and it was quickly apparent that we would never be the same. Sometimes you have to go back to realize how far forward you’ve gone.
Author: Susan Jarreau
Break-ups and Make-ups
“You broke my heart. How can I trust you?” He had called me the day before and arranged to meet. After a year and a half apart I was surprised to hear from him. Shocked would be a more appropriate word. Now here I was, in his kitchen, the heart of his home. Listening to him ask for a second chance.
“I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? I was stupid. I’ll say whatever you want to hear.” The look of anguish on his face told me more than his words could ever convey, but my heart still hesitated. He had smashed it into so many pieces it had taken months just to gather them into one pile, never mind putting them together again. Still, when I looked at him I melted.
I never meant for it to happen, but I fell for him. Hard. I tried to keep our relationship light and casual. We had fun, we raised hell, we laughed and we loved. But we always told ourselves we would stay free and clear. And still I fell. I never told him, until it was too late. When he left I was devastated. And he didn’t understand why. Really, I didn’t either.
Now, here he was, asking me for another chance. And I, not wishing to risk heartbreak, only wanted to turn and run. “Please, I’ll do anything if you’ll just give me another chance.” He walked towards me and I felt my pulse quicken in anticipation. My head and my heart were at odds, fighting a silent war he couldn’t possibly understand. He stood before me, mouth drawn, eyes cast down in defeat, waiting for my response. My heart pounded until I thought it would beat out of my chest. I grabbed his shirt, pulled him towards me and kissed him squarely on the mouth. His hands on my hips, pulling my body into his was the only response I needed.
Masquerade
She wore a mask to hide the pain and fear and loneliness she felt every day. The smile on her face was a constant reminder of her deception. Fake laughter, constant jokes and witty sarcasm all aided in her masquerade. And nobody knew that the center of her universe was crumbling before their eyes.
Miracle
“We’re having a baby?” Henry said it out loud for the fourth time, a bewildered look on his face. Elizabeth calmly smiled up at him from her seat at the table. “Yes honey, we’re having a baby.” She returned to the crossword puzzle she was doing. Henry wondered how she could remain so calm.
He had returned home from work to the smell of pot roast in the oven and half a dozen pregnancy tests spread out on the table, Elizabeth quietly working on her puzzle.
“Beth, what is all this?” She looked up at him. “They’re pregnancy tests. Six of them. All positive. We’re having a baby.” Then she flashed a brilliant smile.
They had tried to have a baby for more months than he cared to remember. Two rounds of IVF had only wiped out their savings. So they decided to take a break from thinking about children and focus on being a couple. And by some miracle, this had happened.
Henry gently pulled Elizabeth from her chair and wrapped her in his arms, looking down at her adoringly. He spoke, this time not a question but a definitive statement. “We’re having a baby.”
A Long Night
He came up behind me and I felt his warm breath on my neck, his words falling out of his mouth in a slur. “You always thought you were better than me.” His mocking tone was full of contempt that only came out when he drank. Normally sweet and gentle, Paul was harmless until he had a few drinks. Then his insecurities and fears surfaced and he inevitably directed them at me. I stood still, afraid to move or say anything. I never knew what might further agitate him. I had learned the hard way that silence was best.
He circled me, fingers pulling at my french twist until it unraveled and my honey locks spilled against my shoulders. “You and your fancy hair, your fancy dresses, always acting so prim and proper.” He leaned in closer and the sickly sweet smell of bourbon on his breath made my stomach turn. “But we both know the real truth don’t we? We know exactly how far you’d go to get what you want. All the way down to your knees, right baby girl?” I fought the urge to slap him. His use of humiliation always took me to a dark place and I knew he was pushing me for a reaction so he would have an excuse. I wouldn’t give it to him. I refused to be his punching bag tonight.
Waves
I sat on the beach, my toes curled in the warm sand and fingers drawing lazy figure eights while the late March sun broke through the wispy clouds and shone on my face. I took in a deep breath of the salty sea air and smiled at the beginning of spring, my favorite season. In a way, it was a new beginning for everything in my life. Starting over was never easy, especially when it wasn’t your choice. He had left on a rainy January night when the wind howled and the shutters clattered against the house, creating an eerie loneliness that I hadn’t been able to shake. Today was the first day I had ventured out and sought refuge at my safe harbor – the beach. There was something so peaceful about the rhythmic waves surging and ebbing, crashing against the shore without end. A timelessness, a faithfulness that only nature could command.
Crazy Little Thing
It’s funny how life seems to go by so slowly, then you turn and look and see that it’s passed in a blur. One day you’re twenty years old with hopes and dreams and your whole life ahead of you. Idealistic, enthusiastic, inspired. You know exactly what your future holds. Except it doesn’t turn out that way. It twists and turns in ways you never saw coming. Sometimes it’s better than you expected, sometimes not so much. If you persevere, you may find that through it all, though the best of your plans may have been cast aside, you still end up in a better place than you ever imagined. Life is funny that way. It can pass in a blur, but it allows you to freeze frame the important moments, to experience them over and over again in your mind. This is the true magic of life.
Voices
Alone again
Body left to its defenses
My soul constructs a wall
Around my heart
Strong and sturdy
Thick and tall
Protecting me
From pain
And misery
And heartbreak
But the wall
Could not prevent
My memories and thoughts
I closed my eyes
And heard the sound
Of his voice
Calling my name
First Date
The expectation is always better than the reality. So, when he asked me on a date I reluctantly accepted, not wanting to ruin the fantasy I had built of him. I had spent an evening watching him, memorizing his gorgeous features, fantasizing. A week later here we were, sitting across the table from one another, his sapphire blue eyes trained on me, lips pursed into a heart shape, his turn to memorize every one of my features. I was intimidated.
His mouth curved upward into that now familiar grin, forming apple cheeks, and I was mesmerized by the lush red lips and the thought of how they would feel on mine. His lips seemed to dance when he spoke, his deep bass drawl sending fire coursing through me. His words didn’t matter as much as how his voice made me feel; tingly, breathless, alive. I noticed that when he spoke his eyes twinkled like stars, his hands moved animatedly and his voice came alive like a storyteller. He was all in, no holds barred, absolutely captivating. I sucked in a deep breath and smiled. Sometimes the reality is better than the expectation.
The End
Steam wafted from the bathtub as I dipped my toes into the water, testing the temperature. It had been a long week and I needed to wash it away. I sunk into the deep, hot water and closed my eyes. It didn’t take long for my mind to wander to him. My bottom lip began to quiver and I fought back tears. It seemed more like seven years than the seven days that he had been gone. Our final fight had been spectacular and the hatred we spewed that night had lingered in the air of our shared apartment for days after he walked out. Every night I waited for a phone call with an apology that never came. It didn’t occur to me that he might be waiting for the same thing.
A lone tear slipped from my eye, snaking down my cheek and holding tightly on the edge of my jaw, defying gravity, a stubborn streak to rival my own. When I finally felt it lose its grip and drop it was as if a dam let loose within me. Everything I had kept bottled up was suddenly unleashed and wave after wave of emotion hit me with the force of the churning ocean in a hurricane. I relived every moment, every joke, every smile, the laughter, the love, the passion, every kiss, every touch, the tears, the anger, every raised voice, every fight, the fear, the resentment. I pulled my knees to my chest, bowed my head and sobbed, my salty tears mixing with the bath water, unaware of space or time.
An involuntary shiver ran through me, I assumed from my thoughts of him, of us, of our failure, until I realized the water had grown lukewarm and my skin was shriveled. I slowly rose, goose pimples forming on my skin, and wrapped a towel around myself protectively. The chill reached my bones and I couldn’t decide if I was shivering from the cold or the pain. No matter, the cure was the same for both – my well-worn pajamas and a stiff glass of whiskey.
ME
I’ve always thought I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Let me give you an example. When I was a teenager I listened to Linda Ronstadt backed by the Nelson Riddle Orchestra as she crooned classic jazz tunes like I’ve Got A Crush On You, My Funny Valentine and Someone to Watch Over Me. I admit I had my classic Ronstadt rock days in my very early youth listening to my older sister’s albums, but when Linda went old-school, that was my jam. So while my friends listened to the hottest top 40 songs, I sang of living “the lush life in some small dive” and “hanging my tears out to dry”. These were the words that resonated with me. Nobody understood me.
I guess I’m one of those old souls. I’ve always related to odd things – rather, things that people my age would find it odd to relate to, because I don’t find them odd at all. I think this is why I’ve never quite felt like I fit in anywhere. The square peg, round hole thing. Whether it was my family, my friends, my school – everywhere I went just seemed . . . off. When I was younger it bothered me. Now that I’m older, more experienced, more comfortable with myself . . . I embrace the odd. I’m an old soul in the wrong place but always at the right time.
Crush
I watched him across the room, careful to avert my eyes whenever his gaze moved anywhere near me. I’d been secretly admiring him all night. Who could blame me? His chestnut hair was just long enough to add a bit of danger and mystery to an already intriguing man. Hypnotic blue eyes were perfectly contrasted by the dark fringe that framed his face. He had a distinctively strong nose with nostrils that flared when he laughed and a square jawline that was emphasized when he smiled. His strong facial features matched his sturdy build. He wasn’t muscular in the traditional sense, but I sensed that underneath his well-fit button-down shirt and blazer, his arms and chest and torso would feel firm and solid under my fingers.
He took a drink from his hi-ball glass and his head moved in my direction, forcing me to look away. Nervously lifting the champagne flute to my lips, I subconsciously licked them before drinking. I paused a few moments to be safe before returning my gaze to him. He was smiling at the woman next to him and a brief thunderbolt of envy shot through me before I got lost again in his eyes. They shimmered like blue sapphires when he smiled and his closed-mouth grin made his cheeks look like ripe apples; the effect was genuinely enchanting.
His pink lips were full with a prominent cupid’s bow that drew my focus every time I looked at him. I couldn’t help but stare. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him – surely his lips would be soft and moist, but firm and full of purpose. I imagined that in contrast to the rough scruff of his stubbled, unshaven face and felt a warmth build inside me. Another long, slow sip of champagne helped to calm my senses as I looked around the room. So far, I had been left alone, allowed to indulge in my fantasy world.
As I glanced back in his direction I saw he was moving, walking towards me, his eyes now locked onto mine. I froze in place and felt my hands tremble in anticipation long before he reached me. All I could do was watch, wait and wonder as he made his slow approach. When we finally stood almost toe to toe, icy blue eyes pierced through me. My fingers grasped tightly around the glass in my hand. The corners of his lips turned slightly upward, forming small, red apple cheeks, and his eyes took on a devilish sparkle. A deep Southern bass voice rumbled from his chest.
“Darlin’, I’ve been watchin’ you watch me all night.” My jaw fell slack with the shock of his words. The champagne flute slipped from my fingers and in one smooth movement he captured the glass and my hand in his own. His smile opened fully, lips forming a perfect plump heart shape, to reveal brilliant white teeth. A soft sigh escaped my mouth before I could stop myself and he let out a gentle chuckle. The way he looked at me I didn’t even feel self-conscious. He glanced down at the empty glass that we both held, then one eyebrow shot up. “Would you like another?” I was afraid to speak, afraid anything that came out of my mouth would be mere unintelligible noise, so I nodded instead. As he took my hand and led me away, he stopped, turned and flashed another radiant smile. “I’m Christian.”
Pieces of You
I looked down lovingly at the bundle in my arms, 6 pounds and 8 ounces of heaven wrapped in a blue blanket. A blue knit cap covered the soft, dark fuzz on the head of my newborn son. His pink face and miniature hands were the only things visible from the swaddle of blankets. I gently ran my fingertip along each of his tiny fingers, marveling at their microscopic size. When I stroked his palm, his fingers curled around mine and my heart surged. I looked beyond his misshapen head and slightly squashed nose and focused on his pursed lips, curled into the shape of a heart just like his father’s. My breath caught in my throat when his eyes slowly fluttered open, revealing the blue pools that were so familiar, but lost to me forever. A tear slipped down my cheek. I knew that even though Spencer was gone, he had left behind a piece of himself that I could hold onto forever.
Morning Song
The morning sun peeked through the blinds in the window, casting a glow across his stubbled face. Lying on my side next to him, I took advantage of his peaceful slumber to appreciate the sheer beauty of the man. His short, dark hair was tousled and mussed and my fingers ached to reach out and play. Long, dark eyelashes closed together hid his piercing blue eyes, the color of the wild cornflowers that grew in his native Texas home. My eyes trailed down his nose, focusing on the small bump which he had gotten in a long ago fight years before he met me. I had heard the story many times but it never failed to charm me.
Moving my gaze down I rested my attention on his plump, red lips; the cupid’s bow creating a natural pucker even in sleep. I took in a deep breath and marveled at the perfection before me. I couldn’t resist any longer. My finger inched forward and traced along his bottom lip, while I subconsciously bit my own. He stirred, eyes fluttering open slowly. I moved my hand from his lips to his hair and allowed my fingers to weave through the silky strands. “Good morning.” A sly grin crossed his face and his strong arms pulled me against his chest, encircling me in his arms. A deep, soft southern drawl filled my ears. “Mornin’ darlin’,” as I felt those plump lips press against mine.
Whiskey Siren Song
He was gone again, chasing his dream. Another four months on the road playing in smoky bars and clubs in front of nameless faces. Singing his bluesy-country mix in that deep whiskey siren voice that always called me back no matter how long the separation. I grudgingly rolled out of bed and reached for his worn flannel shirt, deeply inhaling and savoring the lingering scent of his cologne and sweat. I closed my eyes and imagined him on stage, playing his guitar as sweetly and gently as if it was my body, singing words written for me but shared with strangers, and I felt a pang of jealousy. I wondered if there would ever be a day when I had him all to myself. If he would ever stop searching for the adoring, screaming masses and be content with just one hopelessly devoted fan.
The New Me
I didn’t want to go to the party. I knew I would run into him and I knew he would bring her. My replacement. How could he move on so soon when I still hadn’t filled his side of the closet?
The Simple Truth
You were my world. The sun rose and fell on you. My eyes reflected the goodness and the light that I saw in you. You were everything to me. And I was just an afterthought to you. It was simple. You didn’t love me the way that I loved you. In fact, you didn’t love me at all.
Hide-And-Seek
A Gods of P B & J Story
Hiding behind a bush, I felt my knee joints stiffen in the crisp late March air. I had somehow gotten roped into an early (annoyingly early) Saturday morning game of hide-and-seek with my children, Noah and Hannah, and my bestie Adam and his daughter Katie. Adam and I had forged a platonic bond since my ex-husband practically disappeared from our lives and Adam stepped in to guide me through the early stages of single parenthood, being a widow himself. The five of us spent a lot of free time together. Which I didn’t generally consider a bad thing. Adam was quite unaware of his attractiveness. All the moms in Noah and Katie’s kindergarten class admired his broad shoulders, his muscular build, his Romanesque features, his perpetually tousled, slightly longish brown hair, his chocolate colored eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. These were things I, of course, had never fallen victim to, being besties and all. I mean – awkward, right?
A cascade of water droplets from an overhanging tree branch rained down on my purple and grey beanie and broke me from my thoughts. “Gotcha mommy. This was so easy. You’re it!” Noah danced around while his animated voice rang out, calling everyone else from their hiding spots. I stood slowly, stretching my groaning muscles. Apparently, every single part of my body was in open rebellion because my first morning cup of coffee was still sitting on the kitchen counter, likely cold and the cream congealed. I silently mourned the loss of caffeine. The gods of peanut butter and jelly were clearly not smiling on me today.
We all gathered around the large oak tree in the middle of the park – base camp. Noah continued his dance, pleased with himself for getting the jump on me. I let him have his victory, telling him what a good hunter he would make. “You know kid, you could be an FBI agent. Track down the bad guys, find their hiding places. You’re a natural.” I playfully ruffled his hair and he beamed a bright smile at me. “Okay, I’m it. Everyone find a place to hide. And this is the last round. Then we go for breakfast.” Cheers erupted from the girls, who were already bored after the first round.
I closed my eyes, leaned into the tree and began to count. “One, two three.” I could hear footsteps scurrying away from me. There was no use in trying to figure out where the sounds led. Without my morning dose of caffeine, my mind was in a fog so concentration was pointless. “Four, five.” I let out a deep sigh and rested my forehead against the tree, wishing I was back in my warm bed, snuggled under the comforter. I loved my kids with all my heart but this single parenting gig was taking its toll. Doing it all, all the time, alone – that wasn’t in my life plan. “Six, seven.” Adam had been kind enough to watch my kids a couple of nights to give me some ‘me time’. Still, it wasn’t so much about having time to myself as having only myself to lean on. Well, except for my bestie. But I couldn’t impose on him forever.
“Eight, nine.” I jumped when I felt strong hands grasp my sides. I turned and, in one smooth movement I found myself encircled in Adam’s arms. “Shhh.” He put his finger to my lips and grinned then bent his head down and softly kissed me. My immediate reaction was to freeze. No wait, wrong game, this was hide-and-seek. Wait, this wasn’t a game. Was he serious? His lips felt warm and soft against mine, pressing gently with no sense of urgency. He was serious. I relaxed into it and my lips parted slightly, allowing the kiss to deepen. I let out a soft moan and felt a crimson blush creep over my face, which thankfully he couldn’t see since he was kissing me. I’m not certain how, but my hands ended up resting against his chest and for just a moment everything in the universe felt right. For just a moment.
“Mommy, you gotta count all the way to ten.” Noah’s voice called out from his hiding spot. Adam and I tried to fight the laughter. He kissed me again. “I’ll go hide. Come find me.” He winked and trotted away. I closed my eyes, silently thanking and cursing the gods of peanut butter and jelly. I wasn’t sure what kind of trouble they had just gotten me into but I was certain I was in for a wild ride.
Catch-22
Writing frees me, not being able to write confines me. The simple act of putting words to paper, feelings strung together in letters and phrases, is a catharsis that I’ve grown accustomed to. When I go too long without being able to write I feel the weight of my emotions from deep inside, crushing my heart and soul. The quandary is that often times, it’s the same emotions that keep me from writing.
A Force of Nature
He came into my life like a soft spring rain, calm, refreshing, a new beginning of sorts – and left with the force of a late summer hurricane, strong, deadly, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake.
The Race
I thought love was a marathon.
He looked at it more as a sprint.
Is it any wonder we never crossed the finish line together.
Torture
The way you looked at me, it was as if you could see into my soul. When you touched me I felt shock waves travel through my skin. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to allow someone to get so close. Loving you was such exquisite torture.
Kryptonite
I stood against the wall holding a glass of wine in my right hand, my left hand resting between the wall and the small of my back. My legs were crossed at the ankles and now I wish I’d been brave enough to wear the three-inch raspberry heels that would have set-off the silver scoop neck dress I wore to the fundraiser. Staring across the room I saw him, my kryptonite, Alexander Jenkins. No matter. To him I was unseen. A fly on the wall so to speak. After a very casual encounter eight months earlier it was clear to me that I would only fall prey to his deadly charm and love-em-and-leave-em ways. Still, a girl must hope to be noticed, admired, desired. Even if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell it will lead anywhere.
I continued my unabashed visual assault on his perfect body. Jesus. It was as if Adonis himself had passed his genes along. His dark blonde hair was long enough to run his hands through – a subconscious habit that left him with tousled looking after-sex hair. Sapphire blue eyes that were no doubt plucked from the heavens. Perfect facial features that were the envy of every plastic surgeon on the Upper East Side. He had a rigorous pre-dawn work-out schedule that kept him looking more like a superhero and less like a business savant. My mouth did it’s half wolfish grin thing just when he turned and caught my eye and my heart skipped a beat.
He locked eyes with me, returning a devilish grin of his own, and strolled over to where I stood. “Victoria, you’re looking,” he took more than a moment to look me up then down then up again, “scrumptious.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Alex.” I tried to keep my voice even, sipped from my wine to steel my nerves.
“What are you doing standing here on the fringes? A gorgeous woman like you should be the very center of attention.” He took my hand and led me forward into the crowd. Whispering into my ear, he gave me shivers. “I’ve missed you darling. Eight months I’ve looked for you. You’re quite the mystery. Don’t think I’ll let you slip away that easily this time.” I smiled with a mixture of apprehension and gratitude.
Stepping Back
The last few days I haven’t been capable of stringing together more than a few words, maybe a sentence at most. Every futile attempt has ended in a puddle of frustration. I struggle to find a story at every turn. So I give up today and look forward to tomorrow with hope that I will find my inspiration. Perhaps like a butterfly, if I give up the chase and just sit still, it will alight on my shoulder.
Home
I’ll let the porch light shine just a few weeks more. Maybe he’ll return in the middle of the night. I won’t ask him where he’s been or why he left. I’ll take his hand and lead him to the bed and show him how much I’ve missed him.
Dark Roads
An AU Dean Winchester Fanfiction
WARNING: Adult Content
Hannah saw the flashing red and blue lights in her rear-view mirror and cursed under her breath. Looking down at her dash she noted her speed was just under the posted 45 mph speed limit for the dark two lane road. “What the hell?” she thought as she slowed and pulled over to the gravel shoulder. Her heartbeat sped up. Taking one last glance in the rearview mirror she saw the door of the sheriff’s car behind her open and an imposing figure exit and stretch to his full height, a little over six feet tall.
Infinite
There are infinite ways to love me.
But only one way to capture my heart.
Liar
“Where were you last night?” I heard his voice as I tip-toed across the living room floor in the early dawn hours. I thought I had been quiet when I came in the door at 5 am. I took off my red stilettos before I entered our apartment. The sun had yet to break the eastern horizon and his alarm wouldn’t sound for another 45 minutes. I thought I would be safely in bed by then. Until I heard his gravelly voice call out from across the darkened room.
I stalled for time, searching my mind for an excuse. “Can you be more specific?” Standing still where I had frozen when I first heard his voice, my heart raced with fear. I had come close to being caught before and the feeling had been exhilarating but this, this was something altogether terrifying.
“How much more specific shall I be?” His voice sounded calm on the surface, but I detected the razor’s edge on his words. “You went out with Margo and Jillian at 8 last night. It’s 5 am and you’re sneaking in the door holding your heels in your hands. You look like you don’t want to get caught. The question is, what have I caught you doing?”
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could just make out his face with the moonlight through the window dancing off his profile. He was classically handsome, with short brown hair and green eyes. His face looked almost as if it had been carved of marble by one of the masters, but had enough flaws to make him human – relatable. The stubble on his face was amazingly sexy and, were it not for the circumstances, I might have crawled to him on my hands and knees and allowed him to take what he wanted.
This was a damn fine time to decide he was worth staying for. Lie or truth? Which would better work to my advantage? “Margo had way too many. I took her home and she was sick. Everywhere. I stayed to hold her head while she was sick, cleaned her up, tucked her in bed then cleaned her house.” I made a mental note to talk to Margo as soon as possible. Crossing the room, I knelt before him and stroked his thigh. “I took off my shoes because I didn’t want to wake you. I’m sorry if I worried you.” As I laid my head in his lap I closed my eyes, the flash of guilt tearing through me like a knife. I’d learned my lesson. This time.
Waves
I float on a sea of emotions. Untethered, anchorless, tossed about on the waves. Powerless, I ache for calm but only get caught in the swells. An endless swirling vortex from which there is no escape.
Adventures in Plumbing
A Gods of P B & J Story
“Mommy, there’s water in the toilet.” Noah came running from the bathroom, crashing into my legs as I rounded the corner from the kitchen. “Of course there’s water, silly goat. There’s supposed to be water in the toilet.” I ruffled the short blonde hair on his head playfully.
“No, I mean LOTS of water. It’s going over the sides.”
No. No, no. This could not be happening. Not again. I ran full speed to the bathroom to see the toilet overflowing, water puddling on the tile floor and creeping perilously towards the doorway where the new wood floor started.
Think Kim, think. Trying not to panic I strained to think of what to do first. Normally I would yell for my husband. Except he had moved across the country with his colleague-slash-girlfriend, leaving me alone with our 8-year-old daughter and 6-year-old son. Bastard. Okay Kim, focus. I bent down and gripped the shut-off valve. It was stuck so I grabbed a towel and put all my force into it, falling forward on my knees and soaking my last pair of clean jeans in the process. At least it moved and, thankfully, the water stopped spilling over the edge of the bowl.
I sighed a quick breath of relief before I realized the lake on the floor was millimeters from the wood floor. Reaching into the cabinet, I grabbed a stack of freshly washed towels and threw them at the advancing pool. Once I had used my supply of towels the bulk of the water was gone, leaving only a slick sheen glossing the tiles. Careful not to slip, I went to inspect the toilet. I was tempted to stop and call Adam.
Adam had been a godsend. His daughter Katie was in Noah’s kindergarten class and he was a widower. Having been unexpectedly thrust into single parenthood, Adam had stepped in and helped me navigate the rough waters early on. Several times I had thanked the gods of peanut butter and jelly for sending him my way. But it was time for me to stand on my own two feet so I fought the urge and peered into the swirling waters of the clogged toilet.
Luckily Noah hadn’t gone Number 2 so I could stomach what I saw. Which was water and toilet paper. A lot of toilet paper. An awful lot of toilet paper. Again. I looked down at the empty roll on the holder. Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten before I screamed his name. “Noah!” There was no response. “NOAH ALEXANDER PIERCE, you better get your butt in here now!”
His innocent angelic face peeked around the corner and he held up one hand as if to signal STOP. “Mommy, I can esplain.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing because he was kind of adorable but he had nearly destroyed my floors and my toilet so he wasn’t getting a pass. “Go get the plunger from my bathroom.”
“Um, about that mom.” Was he serious with this? Adorable would only take him so far. “Noah what did you do?”
He defiantly put his hands on his hips, a habit he had recently picked up from his older sister Hannah. “We were playing Avengers and I was Thor and I needed a hammer and my stupid cheap toy hammer that Kyle sent at Christmas broke so I took the plunger and then it broke when Ben turned into the Hulk and tore it apart.” I tried to keep up with his run-on sentence and didn’t know where to start – calling his father by his first name (Kyle), insulting his father’s choice of toys (which I secretly kind of enjoyed), taking the plunger without permission or ruining it without telling me.
Of course, this left me in quite a pickle. I had no plunger, but I had already consumed a glass – okay, maybe two glasses (a tad bit oversized) of wine that evening so I clearly couldn’t drive to the store to buy a new plunger. I was going to have to call someone. Shit. The gods of peanut butter and jelly hated me.
I picked up my cell phone and scrolled to his name. Adam. My finger hovered on the call button. I really didn’t have much of a choice. I counted the rings. One. Two. Maybe he wouldn’t answer. Three. Four. I could call Kelly’s husband. Five. I let out a breath of relief. “Hey Kim, what’s up.” Shit.
“Adam. Hi. I wasn’t sure you’d answer. I’m not bothering you am I? Are you busy?” As usual my mouth just kept making words. “I’m not busy. Is everything okay?” I could hear the warmth in his deep voice and a blush crept over my face. This wasn’t good. What had started as an innocent friendship with Adam showing me the ropes of single parenthood had evolved into spending more and more time together. I couldn’t deny his good looks, impeccable manners, respect for women, the way he smelled like he had just stepped out of the shower no matter what time of day it was, even when he was sweaty he smelled like soapy sweat. Stop Kim, focus.
“Um, well, the thing is, uh, Noah sort of stopped up the toilet and I went for the plunger only to discover that he also ruined that playing Avengers so I have a toilet full of water and toilet paper and God knows what else.” I was grateful he couldn’t see the crimson color that was covering my face and chest. “Um sorry, too much information.”
I heard a low chuckle. “It’s okay. I was going to order pizza for Katie and me. How about I bring a plunger. I’ll fix the toilet and you can call in a pizza delivery order. I like sausage with extra cheese.”
I was glad he couldn’t see my goofy teenager grin through the phone line. “Sounds good. And Adam . . . thanks.” I looked up and thanked the gods of peanut butter and jelly for coming through once again.
Susan Jarreau - Of Dreams and Disasters 