6. Stella
CHAPTER 6
STELLA
“I haven’t had sex since Jessie was conceived.”
She clutches the edge of the counter. “What? You should’ve told me to sit down before springing something like that on me! Seven years! Are you kidding me?”
“I’ve been a little busy, Ana, and it’s not like I’ve had men lining up for it.”
She slides back into her chair. “You had two of them at the store this morning who wanted to get in line.”
“Only one of them asked for my number, and trust me, they weren’t the right type of guys.”
Her perfectly-manicured brows lift. “No? Something wrong with gorgeous and sexy?”
“Need I remind you of their cart full of marshmallows? They were like boys. I already have one child; I don’t need another. When I date, I’m going to be looking for a serious man. Someone who’s mature enough to be a good father figure for Jessie.”
Ana takes a long drink of water and appears to mull this over. “Considering you haven’t been with a man for the better part of a decade, don’t you think you ought to go out and get your wet on, and then get it filled real good before you think about finding someone to settle down with? My god, I think you qualify for virgin status again!”
Get my wet on and get it filled? Why did I enter into a conversation with Ana about dating? Before she even said a word, I could have predicted that her advice would be to go out and have sex. She makes it sound so easy, but sex is complicated.
I know better than anyone that a simple night of pleasure can change your life, and I’m not talking about the flowery happily-ever-afters that neatly wrap up all the smutty romance books that Ana reads. Sex can have lifelong consequences, and even if you don’t unintentionally end up pregnant like I did, there are also complications of the heart. I don’t think I’m the type of person who can have sex with someone without having my feelings get involved.
What’s important right now is getting my life on track with my new job and our new home. Making sure Jessie’s environment is stable and safe will always be my top priority.
On top of all that, I haven’t had the best luck picking men. Jessie’s dad let me down in spectacular fashion, and the couple of men I went out with after that turned out to only want sex, even though I was determined to learn from my mistakes and take things slow.
“I don’t think virgin status works that way, Ana, and anyway, I’m just not interested right now. Maybe when we’re more settled here.”
“Or maybe, love will find you when you’re least expecting it.”
“Oh, now you’re talking about love? I thought this was about sex.”
Ana’s smile is knowing. “Sometimes, when we’re really lucky, the two things coincide. That’s when it’s the best. You should open yourself up to that possibility.”
As I’m considering her words, my phone buzzes with an incoming text, and I catch sight of my manager’s name on the screen.
“I’d better get back to work,” I tell Ana. “Let’s get together again soon. Jessie would love to see you.”
“Oh! That reminds me.” Ana fishes around in her tote and pulls out a wrapped box. “This is for Jessie.”
“You don’t have to bring a gift for her every time you see her. I still feel bad about you and Marissa paying for her dance classes and buying her a tutu, and now she’s not even interested in dance.”
“That’s okay. She should try a little of everything and figure out what she likes. Good advice for her mom, too.” She nudges my arm with zero subtlety, then pulls me into a hug. “Don’t worry about any work you missed. I’ll put in a word for you with those big grumpy men who run the company.”
I’m laughing as I walk her to the door. G, who’d fallen asleep after all the excitement, wakes up to say goodbye to our guest.
With my spirits lifted after the visit, I get back to work, first responding to my manager, who was texting to tell me about a virtual meeting this afternoon about the company’s new app that’s launching next week, and how it will impact customer service.
She scheduled the meeting so that it fits with my availability. I have to leave to pick up Jessie at 3:30, and then I do a bit more work after we get home. I’m so grateful for the company’s flexibility and their consideration for my schedule, and I’m especially grateful to Ana for setting me up with the job. Most working moms aren’t nearly this lucky.
Diving into my emails, I do my best to make up for lost time, and things go smoothly until the app meeting. I’m in the midst of it, and taking a lot of notes, when the dog scratches on the back door, asking to go outside. I gesture for him to wait, but he gives me a look and paws more insistently. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go!
I carry my laptop to the back door, so I can stay present in the meeting, and balance it with one hand while I pull the door open with the other. That done, I return to the dining room table just in time for a question from the office manager.
About ten minutes later, when the meeting’s starting to wrap up, a flash of movement catches my attention. G is still outside—oops!—and I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to be let back in. He typically only stays out long enough to do what he needs to do. Occasionally, he sniffs around a bit, but he never just hangs around out there all alone.
Splitting my attention between the summary points from the meeting and my limited view of the back yard, I catch sight of the dog again. His head is down, nose to the grass, but then he lifts up, his jaw working on something.
Oh no, what has he gotten into? Just as I’m saying goodbye to the other meeting participants, poised to log off as quickly as is acceptable, something white flies through the air out back.
As soon as the meeting ends, I rush to the back door, where I find the lawn dotted with small white balls. It’s a sunny day, so it’s not hail, and the balls are bigger than a typical hailstorm, anyway, but there are a lot of them.
And G is eating them. What in the world!?
I slide into the clogs I keep by the back door and hurry out, yelling for him to stop, but he just looks up at me, pauses for a second, then continues chewing.
There are dozens of balls in the grass. Several dozen. As I kneel next to G, I discover that they’re not actually round; they’re more like little white cubes … no, more like short cylinders.
I pick one up and it squishes between my fingers. Is it a marshmallow? I sniff it, and it smells sweet. Looking around, I confirm that all of the white objects look the same, except that there are smaller ones too. Mini marshmallows.
What the hell is going on? It’s like something from the twilight zone. A cart full of marshmallows at the store this morning, and now a yard full of marshmallows? Either we’re heading into some kind of sugary Armageddon, or Ana laced the coffee with hallucinogens this morning.
I pick up the dog, because he clearly has no intention of stopping eating these things, and carry him back to the house. As I’m walking, a marshmallow zings by me and skids onto the back patio.
Where are they coming from? The sky is completely clear, though what would I expect—a cloud raining marshmallows? A plane flying by, dropping sweet samples throughout the neighborhood?
Another marshmallow comes flying in, and I finally see where they’re coming from: directly over the back fence. Are there kids over there having a marshmallow fight? Are they intentionally throwing them over the fence, trying to feed the dog?
Still in my arms, he makes a gagging sound, so I quickly set him down on the patio, keeping a loose hold on him so he can’t run back to resume binge eating. He stiffens and retches.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
After a moment, he licks my arm and wags his tail, letting me know he’s okay.
I set him inside the house, close the door, and return to the yard to try to figure out what’s going on. The fence is too tall for me to see over, but it’s built with alternating wooden slats, so if I stand close, I can see beyond it at a hard angle. This limited view only offers grass and shrubs.
Looking from the other angle, I see the corner of a house and more shrubbery, but no kids. At first, I don’t hear anything, either, but then there’s a thump, a click, and a whizzing sound, just before another marshmallow lands nearby.
There’s scratching at my own back door, where G is watching me, wanting to return to his marshmallow feast. When I go to check on him, there’s a spot of white vomit on the floor next to him.
I’d like to be able to put him outside, so he can’t make a mess all over the house if he continues to be sick, but the yard needs to be cleaned up, and there’s still an occasional marshmallow flying over the fence.
Luckily, there’s still time before I need to leave to get Jessie. Hurrying to the front door, I clip the leash onto G’s collar and set out for a walk around the block.
Our house is the third from the corner, so I go to the next street over, count three houses down, and ring the doorbell.
When the door opens, a very familiar face appears. “Hey, it’s the strawberry jam woman. How’d you find us?”