Chapter 3
What. Just. Happened?
I’m no stranger to rejection, but usually it’s not so physical. I’ve never been pushed out of a freaking emergency exit!
Running through my veins is a confusing mixture of intense desire and unbridled contempt. Both aimed at the same person.
If he wasn’t a detective, I’d kill him. Just for the kiss. Because it was entirely inappropriate, even though I might have indulged, a tad. But that was the kiss I’ve been waiting my whole life for, and he threw me away like it meant nothing.
I’m disgusted with myself. But mostly him.
Screw that. I will kill him. How dare he push an innocent woman into an alley. There could be criminals out here.
A tiny part of my brain tries to tell me that there was most likely a criminal in there and he was getting me out of harm”s way. But I tell that little thought to suck it. Because I’m going back in there, bad guys or not, and he’s going to get an earful. And then I might kiss him again, out of spite.
I reach for the door, but it’s locked.
Of course it is. Because people aren’t supposed to throw their dates out into the alley, that’s why!
I freeze. But…he wasn’t my date, was he? I don’t even know who he was. Because what kind of cop would set up a date while they were on a sting? The answer is none.
I sat down with the wrong Chad.
I inhale, regaining the shred of confidence I still possess. It may be coming straight from my baby toe because that’s about as big as I feel.
“Are you okay?”
I jump at the voice of our waitress. A pretty but intimidating brunette who is nearly a foot taller than me. She has the kind of intensely dark eyes and lashes and perfectly bronzed skin that means she probably gets hit on all the time and has never in her life been thrown out of a back door.
“Oh, yeah.” I straighten my shoulders like this is basic first-date territory. “Weird date mishap.”
“I saw, you poor girl. What a jerk.” She puts an arm around my shoulders, enveloping me with compassion and the slightest whiff of B.O. I assume she’s going in for a side hug, which I could use, and go to wrap an arm around her but instead, she nudges me forward out of the alley.
“Oh, he wasn’t my date.” I try to pull away, but this waitress must work out because she keeps pushing me toward the parking garage with the arms of Thor. “I need to go back and find the right one.”
“What you need is some chocolate.”
She makes a point. I slip off the curb, glancing both ways to ensure a car isn’t coming at us as she propels me across the street.
“But what about—”
“I’ll tell that guy off, don’t worry. It’s one of my favorite parts of this job.” Her smile looks genuine.
“Can you spit in his food too?”
“And his drink.”
“Perfect.” As far as revenge goes, that will have to do for tonight. Justin used to call me reckless, and until this moment, I’ve never truly believed him.
I went on a date with the wrong man, then proceeded to kiss him with an impulsive passion I’ve never known before.
Which makes it all the worse that it was simultaneously the most embarrassing, yet most life-changing, kiss I’ve ever experienced. What’s worse? I think I bit him. Not on purpose. It was a knee-jerk reaction to being shoved out of a building. Karma, really.
My heels click on the concrete of the parking garage, and I assume the waitress will drop her hold, but she continues on. It’s kind of weird. But also oddly comforting after this strange night. I’m not sure if she’s leading me, or if I’m leading her, but one way or another we end up at my car.
This wasn’t the date ending I had in mind.
“Well, thank you,” I say as she finally releases me. But she must be worried I’m going to run back to the restaurant and toss a plate of spaghetti over the jerk’s head, (believe me, I’ve considered it) because she stays put, watching me walk around the car, and waving as I drive off.
Pulling out of the parking garage, I realize that I didn’t even get to eat my food. Which makes me seventeen kinds of angry. So, I stop at a taco truck and buy seven tacos before heading back home.
I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I’m wobbling on my heels by the time I make it up to the third floor of my apartment building, the aroma of tacos tempting me the whole way. The apartment complex isn”t much. It”s closer to a glorified motel, but at least I have an outdoor entry which means more natural light, and natural heat for me. Yay. My brother wasn”t too keen on me staying here. He only relented because I had the dogs. Criminals are less likely to attack houses with dogs. At least that”s what my dad said once.
“Darla, is that you?”
I smile at my older neighbor, Gary. Half of the time he thinks I’m his late wife. The other half he remembers my name and everything I’ve ever told him about me. Which is impressive since I only moved to this apartment a month ago.
“No, it’s Amelia,” I say, ignoring the fact that his shirt is inside out, and backward.
“Amelia.” He runs a hand over his unshaven cheeks. “I know an Amelia. Where do I know an Amelia from?”
“I’m your neighbor. And friend,” I say. “I brought you dinner.” I hold up the bag of tacos.
“Ah! Amelia.” He breaks into a grin, his eyes clearing up. “I knew it. It was right there on the tip of my tongue.”
Gary is in his early sixties, and also in the early stages of dementia, but dementia doesn’t care how old its victims are. His memory comes back quickly, but I worry about what will happen when it stops. Gary says he has a son, but I’ve never seen anyone visit. Should I ever meet him, I’ll make sure he knows what an awful piece of offspring he is to abandon his father in an apartment complex with zero help.
I take out four of the seven tacos and hand them to him.
“Mmm.” He smells the foil-wrapped goodness. “Thank you.” He opens one up right there in the walkway and takes a bite. The smell engulfs me, making me lightheaded.
“Come on, Gary. You’re my date tonight since my first one was a dud.”
I lead him three doors down to my own apartment.
“Kids these days,” he scoffs. That must be his favorite saying because he uses it like a curse. “Should I teach him a lesson? I used to be on the police force, you know.”
So he’s said. Depending on the day he’s also been a Navy Seal, a governor, and a Scottish sailor.
I think he watches too much TV. He does sing an impressive Scottish sea shanty though, so I wonder if he grew up in Scotland.
The second I unlock the door, my five-month-old boxer dogs come tumbling out into the hallway, jumping over the top of each other to get to the food and us. I usher them back inside and Gary pets each of them before sitting at the table.
Grabbing two cans of Coke from the fridge, I join Gary, ready to dive into my tacos. I devour the first one as quickly as I can inhale it. Has any food ever tasted so good?
Gary passes one of his tacos back to me with a cheeky grin. He doesn’t have to twist my arm.
“What happened with the date?” he asks, a tiny piece of lettuce stuck to his chin.
I absently rub my own chin with a napkin. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.”
“They never are. Back in my day, you had to call a woman up or visit her to ask her out. We didn’t do anything without respect, or flowers.” He winks.
“I believe you.” Oh, to be born in his day. Or maybe not, I enjoy all my unnecessary technology.
He finishes his last taco and leans back in his chair, resting a hand on his stomach.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the large package leaning against the wall beside us.
“Oh.” I take a drink, clearing my throat. “It’s, um, from my parents.”
His hairy brows scrunch together creating a fuzzy caterpillar across his forehead. “I thought your parents died.”
I swallow again. “They did.”
“In Italy, right?”
I shift in my seat. Seems his memory is keeping up tonight. My parents were big travelers. They lived out their dreams instead of paying for them, which is how my younger brother, Connor, and I got stuck with their debt. But that trip to Italy over four years ago was their last. They crashed on one of the most dangerous roads in the world.
I finish my soda, welcoming the fizzy burn down my throat. “Well, apparently they sent something home from Italy on an ocean freight. It got lost in several different countries but finally arrived last week.”
Gary sits up straighter, eyeing the box with fascination. “It must be something special to send it all the way from Italy.”
“That’s what I thought until I opened it,” I say, remembering the pang of hurt that hit when I realized how wrong I was. “It’s the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen.” I stand and move to the corner of the kitchen for the box. My gaze drifts over my mother’s familiar handwriting on the label addressed to herself. Lynette Quinn. What were the thoughts going through her head when she sent this home? Was she blissfully happy? Did she know what was coming?
Gary clears his throat and I blink away the tears, gently easing the 16x20 painting out of the Styrofoam in the box because maybe it’s expensive. That’s the only reason I could come up with for them buying such an ugly piece of “art”. Connor had taken one look at the painting and told me I could keep it. And though it’s absolutely hideous, I can’t bear to part with the last thing my parents purchased. It’s nothing but random colors, smeared across the canvas in no particular order. But the worst part is the hideous green face in the right corner, I swear the eyes move with me. I thought art was supposed to make you feel something, this one makes me feel like my parents got ripped off.
The second the image is in view, Gary barks out a laugh, then winces. “It’s uh…I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “Did they buy it from a child?”
“It would make more sense if they did.” I laugh at his reaction. “I think my brother drew something identical on his first day of kindergarten.”
Gary chuckles. “Maybe it’s better up close.” He takes the painting from me and turns it this way and that, running his fingers over the ornate wooden frame. Which is quite beautiful when set apart from the painting. I guess I could replace it with an old family photo and the painting can live under my bed where it belongs.
“Nope. Still ugly.” He hands it back and shuffles to the door. “Well, I better get to bed, big day tomorrow. Darla’s coming over.”
My stomach sinks. All good things end much too soon. “Let me walk you home.”
“I never say no to the company of a pretty lady.” He holds out his elbow to escort me back to his place.
A true gentleman right here, unlike the man I met tonight.
I leave the dogs inside because they like to pee in Gary’s potted flowers outside his door. I walk with him, making sure he gets to the right apartment before walking home.
Shawn and Gus are as excited to see me when I come back as if I was gone for hours instead of seconds.
“You goofs.” I toss them each a treat, then open my phone. Maddie has texted me twice to check-in. For one blissful moment there, I almost forgot about my weird date.
The story is too long to explain over text so I hit the call button.
She answers immediately. “You’re calling. Is that good? Or bad? I’m going to say bad.”
“You tell me,” I say, before launching into the story. From the beginning to the…kissing, and the stinky alleyway in which my date concluded.
She’s silent as I finish up.
“Wow, that’s…hilarious…and awful?”
“That’s the problem, it wasn”t all awful. It was the best date I’ve ever been on,” I whine. I slip off my dress and drape it over my closet door, then pick up the sweatpants I was wearing before my date and put them on.
“But…he wasn’t your date.”
“Semantics.” I pull on a shirt. “I’m talking about how he was a police officer. It was exciting being in on a sting scene.”
She snorts. “I think it’s just called a sting.”
“I’ve heard it both ways.” Walking back to the table I slide the painting back in the box. Then plop onto the sofa between my boys, kicking my feet up on the cheap coffee table.
“I’m sorry, Millie.”
“Don’t be. Justice will be served. I will find the man, and you’re going to help me.”
Maddie’s dead silent. “Nope. Sorry sis, not happening.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve already been on the bad side of the law. I quit.”
I roll my eyes and rescue the remote from becoming Shawn’s chew toy. “That was severely misleading and I’m mildly disappointed now that you only got fired from a law firm and not arrested for something wilder.”
“I don’t want wild. I’m happy as I am.”
“Come on Mads, don’t be the only Cheerio in the box full of Froot Loops.”
“I happen to like Cheerios.”
“You would.”
“Stop going all Shawn Spencer on me. I’m not stalking a cop!”
“That could be a great movie title,” I muse.
“Are you going to go into screenwriting next?” she asks with a laugh.
“I could.” I’ve only had thirty-nine jobs since I graduated high school. I owe it to myself to make it an even forty. I think my friend Zara is a screenwriter, actually. It can’t be too hard.
“You’re right, you can because you can do anything. You’re amazing like that. I mean, you went from being a gravedigger to a zombie.”
“Wow, remind me to hire you for my presidential campaign speech,” I snort. “I was a zombie extra in one movie, and I never actually got to dig a grave, apparently they do it with tractors now and I didn’t have the correct license.”
“I just mean you can do anything,” Maddie continues on.
I feel like I’ve tried everything. Cosmetology has paid the bills for two years now…and I love it. I think. I love being able to talk to and make friends with anyone who sits in my chair, helping them feel better about themselves if only for a moment. But some days I get that itchy feeling under my skin, like what I’m doing isn’t enough. That’s usually when I start googling new job opportunities. The only thing that’s held me longer is the volunteer class I teach once a week at my dad’s old school during the school year. That school was my dad’s passion and Connor and I couldn’t let it die with him.
Maddie finally finishes her pep talk and I jump back into the conversation.
“So, was that a yes or a no to hunting down a detective with me?”
“No,” she sighs. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“Then why am I so excited to do it?”