3. Hayworth
THREE
HAYWORTH
“You’re lifting more than usual,” Jason says.
I put down my weights to rest before my next rep and turn to my friend. “No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. Are you trying to impress someone?” He scans the gym looking for anyone I might be interested in but I sigh and start my next set.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Ah! I know. You’re trying to be in top form for tonight,” he finally turns around and chuckles.
“I’m just trying to up my game.”
Jason blows raspberries.
“You should probably focus on your stealth skills, dude because if Agnes or the rest of the committee catch you tonight, you’re a dead man,” he says.
“If they catch us , you mean,” I raise an eyebrow at my accomplice.
“Uhm…no. Don’t drag me into this.”
“Aren’t you already dragged into this? You’re a club member.”
“I’m not. You only made me a member because I bought your T-shirt.”
“Ergo, club member.”
“Anyway…” he says and adjusts the weight on the lat pull-down and takes back his seat. “I’m still not coming tonight.”
“What! Why?” I drop my weights and focus on my friend. “I thought you were a friend.”
“I am a friend. And because you’re my friend you’re not going to force me to go through that again. Once was enough.”
I sigh. “What happened to we’re in this together?”
Jason narrows his eyes and grimaces. “Sounds like a drunken Jason,” he says. “But even drunken Jason knows better than to help with your club activities.”
I scoff and grab my towel to wipe the sweat from my forehead. And to swat at my traitor of a friend. “I’m not sure I like you much anymore.”
He shrugs. “And I’m sure you can live without my maple syrup supply.”
My eyes go wide and I bite my lip.
“You wouldn’t!”
He stops and raises an eyebrow. “That depends. How much do you love me again?”
“A lot. So much. So much it makes me sick. So much that if it was sexual I’d be running for the hills.”
Jason smiles and hums in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. Friend.”
“Does that mean I still have unlimited maple syrup for life?”
Jason purses his lips and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, of course you do. Does that mean I can skip tonight because I don’t want to make a fool of myself and get caught by Agnes and suffer the consequences?”
I let out a long breath, and with a heavy huff I nod. “Fine.”
Jason stares at me.
“Don’t tell me you, the big, bad, fearless Anti-Valentine are scared of frail, little Agnes?”
“Agnes is anything but frail and you know it. She’s scary!” I wag a finger at his face.
Jason laughs. “Tell that to yourself. You’re the one that wants to risk her wrath.”
I shrug. “I’ve got a foolproof plan. I’ve tipped Conall generously to let me in through the back door and sneak me in a badge. Agnes will stay in the front as usual. Besides, I’ll be wearing a cap so she doesn’t recognize me.”
“A cap?” he asks and I show him by putting on my cap that holds my keys and phone. “Hayworth? Hayworth? Where did you go? Do I know you, sir?”
I roll my eyes and take the cap off. “You know, I don’t think I appreciate your mocking me,” I tell him.
“It’s what best friends do to save their best friends from humiliation.”
“You say humiliation, I say liberation.”
Jason raises an eyebrow.
“Think how many poor souls I’ll liberate from the prison of love tonight.”
“Millions, I’m sure,” he answers.
“That’s the hope. But I’ll settle for a dozen.”
Jason grimaces. “My friend, if I were you, I’d settle for just one.”
“But why not shoot for the stars? Why settle for one?”
“Ever heard of the expression crash and burn? That’s why.”
I sigh. “Fine. I’ll settle for one. If I can make one convert I’ll be happy.”
“There’s my guy! Building his Anti-Valentine Club one hopeless member after another,” he says and pats me on the back.
I nod along until I realize what he said. “Hey! Who are you calling hopeless?”
Jason bites his lip and looks around the gym. “Erm…that guy?” he points at an unsuspecting gym user with his ear pods on doing squats.
I cock my head to the side and slide my gaze down his body.
“He’s not that hopeless. Nice ass,” I mumble.
Jason groans in desperation and throws in the towel. Quite literally. “I’m going home.”
“Fine. Go. Leave me alone. All alone,” I shout.
“You’re not alone,” Jason shouts back at me. He turns and points to the other guy doing squats. “You’ve got nice company over there.” His stage whisper is ridiculous but thankfully the other guy is listening to his music so he doesn’t react as my friend walks away and leaves me to work out alone.
At least the view is good.
Not that I’ll do anything about it. I’m in Club Mode tonight. I can’t think of anything other than my mission and think of every possible way I can make people realize love and dating and meeting “the one” is unrealistic trash and it’s only going to hurt them in the end.
This world would be so much nicer if people stopped obsessing over romance and dying of old age together.
* * *
“Dear Lord, tell me, where did I go wrong?” Mom says when I repeat my mission statement later that evening as she pours me a cup of coffee.
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t go wrong anywhere, Mom. If anything you created a beast.”
“You can say that again.”
“Hey!”
Mom chuckles. “What? You said it,” she says.
“I meant a beast of fortitude and purpose.”
Mom passes me a cup and hums. The hazelnut flavor permeates the room, awakening my senses before I’ve even managed a sip.
“Aah, well, you didn’t specify.”
I groan and taste the coffee. It’s so good. So rich. And for some peculiar reason only Mom can make it so. Which is why I spend every morning and evening with her for a cup or two of that sweet, sweet heaven.
“Why do you want to waste your time ruining some poor people’s evenings instead of…I don’t know? Pick up a job or something and at least make something of your night?” Mom asks after she puts her cup down.
She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Her color for the week is a soft pink but I’m sure by the next time I see her it’ll be something new and exciting. Can’t expect any less from an art teacher who can’t conform to expectations. I took all my best qualities from her.
“Because it’s my duty to the people of this town to make them see the light.”
Mom sighs. “You haven’t managed to make them see the light in three years. What makes you think this time will be different?”
I smirk. “Because fourth time's the charm.”
“Hm…” Mom narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m sure that’s not how the phrase goes.”
“It is now. And I’ll prove it to you. I bet you this time next year we won’t be talking about Season of Love and such bullshit. There will be no chubby winged baby in sight. No hearts will decorate the streets of this town and everyone will be happy as fuck.”
Mom slaps her forehead and lets out a long exhale. “I shouldn’t have done so many mushrooms when I was young.”
“Hey!”
“What? It’s true.”
“I thought you stopped doing drugs when you got pregnant.”
Mom adjusts her glasses and nods. “I did. But it seems that didn’t stop them from altering your genes and making you…like that.”
“I am perfectly fine,” I tell her.
Mom bites her lip and sips her coffee with raised eyebrows which make me believe she doesn’t really agree with me so I make sure to remember that next time she needs my big strong arms to help her with her garden.
Not that I love her any less. I couldn’t hate her if I tried. She raised me all by herself and she never complained, never backed down even when things were hard, and she was always there for me when I needed her. She’s been a mother and a father since my sperm donor decided to bounce as soon as he found out Mom was pregnant. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How was work today?” I ask her because I’m sick of talking about how fucked up in the head I am for not believing a winged little shit can shoot someone with an arrow and help them find their forever after.
“Work is fine. I may have discovered this town’s next Picasso.”
“You say that every year.”
“But this time I mean it. Elsa might only be nine but you should see her with a brush. She can make masterpieces.” Her smile reaches her eyes like it often does when she talks about her passion.
And boy does she love finding anyone with the barest hint of talent and helping them nourish it into a full-blown love for the arts.
“Did she become a genius overnight? How come you didn’t know she was great until now?” I refill my coffee, fully aware I need to get going in two minutes if I’m going to sneak in at The Striped Maple, but I can’t resist another cup.
“Oh she and her family just moved to Maplewood before Christmas.”
“Great,” I huff. “Just what this town needs. More married couples.”
“Oh shush you. Don’t be so bitter. I raised you better.”
I glare at my mother with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think you did.”
Mom gasps and throws a muffin at me. It catches me on the forehead and she might as well have hit me with a brick.
“Ouch! What the fuck is in that thing?”
Mom eyes the muffin. It doesn’t even crumble when I squeeze it.
“Oh those? They’re from the guy that bought Special Blend. He makes excellent coffee but his baked goods are…”
“An abomination?” I frown and knock the muffin on the table.
“Yeah. That. He’s so sweet though. I didn’t have the heart to tell him about the muffins. Besides, Catherine’s bakes more than make up for it.” She winces at the sight of the unbreakable muffin but my gaze lands on the piece of paper under the plate of indestructible muffins.
“What is that?” I ask, pulling the piece of paper toward me.
It’s all red and pink with hearts and rainbows across the top and Secret Admirer Gift Exchange in bold, bubbly letters across the midsection.
“What?” Mom asks.
“Did you design this?” I lift it and turn it toward her.
“What if I did?”
“Mom! You’re helping them now? That’s crazy.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?” Mom pouts.
“I do. But that’s not the point. Why would you help those people bring more sickening love in this town.”
“Because I’m an artist?”
“Well, yeah but what about me?”
“You are not an artist,” she says pointedly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Mom groans.
“I know what you meant, but I can’t keep having this conversation, sweetie. You turn so annoying every January and February.”
I gasp. “How dare you!”
“Well, you do. Why can’t you just accept people love love even if you don’t?”
“Because! Love is a?—”
“Scam. Yes, I know. But not everyone sees it that way,” Mom says.
“Well, that’s why I’m trying to…”
“Be insufferable? Well that’s fine, sweetie, but it doesn’t mean I have to do the same. What happens when you get over yourself and finally fall in love again?”
I scoff. “That’s never going to happen!” I raise my voice only because I’m fed up with people telling me that.
What part of love-sucks-and-I-want-nothing-to-do-with-it don’t they understand? Do I have to paint it on my forehead ‘til they get the memo? My forehead is not that big to fit it all in.
“Have I ever told you the story about the boy?” Mom asks.
I frown because I didn’t understand. “What boy?”
“The boy that said never. You know what happened to him?”
“Did he die?”
Mom laughs. “No, sweetie. He bit his own hand because he said never. But never came back at him like a boomerang.”
“For an artist, your storytelling sucks, Ma,” I grumble and down my coffee.
Mom giggles to herself as I gather my things and lean down to kiss her cheek despite her pissing me off.
“I’ll work on my storytelling. You work on letting someone in.”
I stare at her. “The only way I’ll accept this sentence is if you mean it in the sexual way, in which case, ew, Mom!”
Mom slaps my arm and shoos me away. “I’ll remember this conversation on your wedding day.”
“I won’t remember this conversation at your funeral.”
I rush to the door and close it behind me just as a Kevlar muffin crashes against the other side of the door. It makes me jump. But it doesn’t deter me.
It’s time to sign up some new members to my Anti-Valentine Club and convert some desperate lovers into some serious haters.