Chapter 3
Angie
A friendship between a man and a woman
was what you called it
when one had been pursuing the other
for a long time and never gotten anywhere.
~ Joe Abercrombie
Laura stares at me. I set the bag of takeout on my station chair and finish straightening up, avoiding her eyes.
“Mm hmm,” she says, her smile coming through in her tone. I don’t even have to glance her way to see it. “Well, I’m not saying a thing, but Rob won me over with lasagna.”
“Nobody’s winning anyone over around here tonight,” I protest.
“Mind if I grab a burger, then?” she teases.
“Yes. I do.” I lift the bag off my chair and set it on the far side of my station.
“That’s what I thought.”
I look at Laura. “I can’t.”
“Can’t what, exactly?”
“I can’t date. I’ve got two four-year-olds and a full-time job.
My life’s a mess. I love my life—love my boys.
But I’m in no position to date or … even accept this bag of food.
I’m tired, stretched thin, and this body …
” I wave my hand up and down myself. “... has given birth and fed babies and … is not what it used to be.”
“So?”
“So, I’m not a young single woman. I should have told him no thanks. He could have taken the food home and eaten off it for a week.”
I stare at the bag, secretly glad I took it, but equally guilty that I might have led EJ to believe anything could develop between us.
“Looks like that ship has sailed considering EJ’s truck already pulled away and you are the woman in possession of quite a large order from Mad River.”
“I couldn’t tell him no after he went to all those lengths.”
“If you were single with no kids …?” Laura presses.
“I don’t wish away my boys. Not ever.”
“Obviously, but if you were single? Would EJ be the type of guy you’d consider dating?”
“If I were single? And he just brought me a meal at the end of a long day, and smiled at me like he still thinks I’m something to look at after cutting hair and sweeping and standing on my feet for ten hours?
I’d definitely let him take me to dinner.
I’d probably even cook him dinner. But I’m not single with no kids, so that’s not even a road I want to travel in my imagination. ”
Laura nods. “He’s obviously got a thing for you.”
“He’s sweet. And funny. But, I can’t.”
“I get it. Sort of.”
I can’t make her understand. Laura and Rob are still childless—by choice, mostly. Though she said they’re considering adoption down the road. You can never fully understand the sacrifices a parent willingly makes until you’re a parent yourself.
“Well, I’d better get going,” I say. “I’ll have just enough time to feed them and get to the meeting if I leave right now.”
“Get going then,” Laura says. “I’ll lock up.”
We say goodnight and I carry the bag out through the back of the shop to my car. Then I drive home and surprise my boys with burgers and fries. They’re ecstatic. I rarely get takeout. We practically inhale dinner, then I load them into their car seats and we drive to the Community Center.
I give them each a drawing pad, crayons and some Hot Wheels and they play at my feet while I sit in one of the chairs at the back of the room, trying to focus on the details of the meeting.
I sign the salon up to run the kettle corn booth.
Weber represents the firefighters. EJ’s nowhere in sight. Not that I’m looking.
If EJ were here, I’d have the boys thank him for dinner.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
I don’t want to make EJ seem significant to them. As far as they’re concerned, he’s just one of the Bordeaux firefighters.
Then again, it’s important for children to learn to be grateful. I don’t want them taking gifts for granted.
Ugh. I shouldn’t have taken that bag of food.
But it was delicious. I skipped lunch today. My stomach would have been growling loudly enough to disrupt the planning meeting.
And it’s been ages since I had a burger.
Unfortunately, EJ probably thinks I’m laying out the welcome mat now that I accepted his gift.
I’ll just say no if he tries to push for anything more. A man doesn’t get a date just because he buys me dinner.
Is that wrong? I don’t even know the lines when it comes to things like this anymore.
“Angie?” Shannon’s standing over me.
“Huh?”
“You were in a trance, girl.” She looks down at the twins. “Hey, boys.”
Levi says, “Hi, Miss Shannon,” While Jack holds up a very vividly-colored page and shouts, “I drew a caterpillar!”
“My dinosaur is gonna eat your caterpillar!” Levi says, making gobbling noises and moving his paper toward Jack’s.
“No!” Jack shouts, pulling his paper back. “No eating my caterpillar!”
“Shhhh,” I tell the boys. “No one’s eating anyone tonight.”
“Let me see your drawings,” Shannon says to the boys.
They both lift their papers in her direction.
“So talented. I bet the caterpillar and dinosaur could be really good friends.”
“No they can’t,” Levi declares.
It’s too close to bedtime. Their routine is off. And this is a hill he’s definitely willing to die on.
“It’s okay. They can make other friends,” I tell Levi. “Pick up your cars and crayons and put them in Mommy’s bag.”
“Okay,” both boys say in unison.
Jack starts singing the cleanup song at full volume. Then Levi joins in.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Shannon says.
“Neither do I,” I confess. “I’m pretty sure love has a lot to do with it. Love and caffeine.”
“That should be on a T-shirt,” Shannon says, laughing softly.
I stand and grab the bag.
“Let’s go, boys. Time to head home.”
Thankfully, they don’t put up a fight and we make it to the car seats in the van without a struggle.
After the boys are in bed, I pad downstairs to find Mom in the kitchen eating cold fried chicken.
“When did you have time to go to Mad River?” she asks.
“I didn’t.” I consider the rest of my explanation before opening my mouth.
Mom just stares at me, waiting.
“A friend ran by for me.”
“A friend, huh?”
She’s on to me. If it were Shannon or Laura, I would have said their names.
“Don’t get too excited,” I tell her. “He’s knocking on the wrong door.”
Mom smiles softly at me. I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say.
“Just because the hinges are rusty and the jamb sticks doesn’t mean you shouldn’t open that door.”
I laugh, grabbing a drumstick out of the to-go container and plopping onto one of the chairs.
“Well …” I say with a sigh. “... when you open the door, there are two adorable, rambunctious, needy preschool boys, threatening to eat one another’s caterpillars.”
Mom’s face scrunches in confusion.
“The twins, Mom. I can’t date right now. Besides, what man wants to take on a whole family? Men are simple creatures. They want their own children. And they may see a woman and think they want to date her. But they don’t want an instant family.”
“Any man from around here knows your situation.”
“Knowing I have the boys is not the same as committing to be a part of their lives. And I’m not starting a parade of men through their lives. If I date, I need to know he’s serious. And if he’s serious, he’s taking on more than I think most men would—or maybe even should.”
“Or …” Mom licks the tip of one of her fingers, setting the bone on her plate. “You could just let a man take you to dinner.” She pauses and smiles at me. “You know. For fun?”
I finish the drumstick and take Mom’s plate and mine, scraping them into the trash and rinsing them. Then I kiss my mom on the cheek and tell her goodnight.
“Fun, Angie,” Mom says, looking me dead in the eyes. “You deserve some fun. Don’t make it such a big deal. You can go out with this man and not tell the boys. Explain to him that you aren’t getting serious right now. Go have some fun.”
I smile at her and say, “Goodnight, Mom.”
“Fun!” she shouts after me as I walk out the kitchen.
Do I think about her words? Yes.
I might enjoy a night out with EJ.
I probably would.
I sigh, remembering the way he looked when he came to check up on the dryer. And then the way he stared into my eyes when he handed me the dinner he went out of his way to buy for us.
Yes. I’d enjoy dinner with EJ. More than I want to admit.
I walk upstairs and into my bathroom.
But then what?
And isn’t going out for fun just leading him on?
More importantly, is there a support group for overthinkers like me?
I laugh to myself as I squirt toothpaste onto my toothbrush.
The next day at the salon, Laura continually asks me how the burgers were.
“And he added an order of fried chicken?” she’s asking me after lunch.
My customer’s eyes volley between me and Laura. I’ve been doing Sylvie’s hair for years—like most of my clients. And she’s definitely listening for any details she can gather about my love life—not that I have a love life. I don’t. I won’t. I had a nice take-out dinner. The end.
“Yes. Do you want me to list out the entire menu?” I glance at Laura and we exchange smiles.
“Yes, please. I want to hear how bad he’s got it.”
“He who?” Sylvie asks.
As if I’m telling her.
“Rob,” I say before my brain catches up to my mouth.
“Rob?” Sylvie asks. “Laura’s husband?”
Laura looks at me and then tells Sylvie. “He’s a giver!”
“Here I thought I was getting some juicy gossip,” Sylvie pouts.
“Nope,” I say. “No gossip here. Not today.”
I look at Laura from my spot behind Sylvie, making sure I’m not visible in my mirror, and silently mouth, “Thank you.”
Laura smiles.
And that’s one more reason I can’t get tangled up with EJ.
Not that dinner out is tangling up with him.
We’d sit across the table from one another.
Very untangled.
Still. I can’t have townspeople speculating and talking about us.
I lift the cape off Sylvie and she says, “Thank you for squeezing me in, Angie.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Let me pay you extra,” she offers.
“No, it’s fine. Just pay what you usually pay.”
She places some cash on my station and leans in to give me a hug. “You’re the best.”
My cheeks heat.
I smile at Sylvie as she walks out the door.
Laura grins over at me.
“What?” I ask, busying myself wiping down the chair.
“Is there a sale going on that I don’t know about? Haircuts and styles at fifty percent off?”
“Her husband is between jobs …”
Laura keeps on smiling, shaking her head at me.
Then she says, “Oh, I put an appointment in your book for three.”
“An appointment?”
“You were in the back. A customer called in. I wrote it in your book.”
She looks like the cat that ate the canary.
Shannon walks in, ready to give manicures at her table near the front window.
And right behind Shannon—is EJ.
“EJ?” I ask.
“Your three o’clock,” Laura says, so pleased with herself and not even trying to hide it.
“I’m here for a haircut,” EJ explains.
“In the middle of your workday?”
“It was slow.”
“Okay, well, have a seat at one of the bowls in the back.”
While EJ makes his way to the back of the salon I shoot Laura a scolding look. She just smiles all the wider.
I cut EJ’s hair every six weeks or so. Sometimes more often. Today, I feel like a schoolgirl walking onto the dance floor at the Sadie Hawkins.
I straighten my spine and walk to the back of the salon. I put a cape on EJ, then turn the water on and test the temperature before I start spraying it across his hair.
“Thanks again,” I say quietly, hoping the rest of the customers don’t hear me.
“You’re welcome. I hope the boys found something they like to eat.”
“They each had a burger,” I tell him. “And Mom had some cold chicken as a late-night snack.”
“Good.” He smiles up at me, and I smile back.
“Did you eat?” he asks, his voice soft and low.
“Last night?”
He chuckles softly.
I turn off the water and dispense some shampoo into my hands.
“Yes. Last night,” he says.
“I had a burger … and some chicken with Mom.”
“Good.” He smiles wider.
I lather the shampoo and run it through his hair, scrubbing his scalp.
His eyes drift shut. His hair is soft to the touch, his scalp warm.
I rub my fingers in firm circles, focusing on the mechanics of the job, but my unhelpful mind keeps thinking this is EJ.
I’m washing EJ’s hair. He’s got a nice head of hair.
Thick, dark, slightly wavy, but not unruly.
I move my hands back and forth. His head grows heavier, his shoulders relaxing.
The air grows quiet between us. We don’t speak.
The tropical smell of coconut and vanilla rises from the bowl.
I massage EJ’s head, bringing the shampoo to a lather.
I don’t dare look around the salon. My breath feels louder than usual. My skin tingles. I clear my throat and focus on simply washing my customer’s hair.
EJ opens his eyes. “Angie?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out brighter than usual. My hands still. I clear my throat.
“Give me a chance to take you to dinner.”
“EJ …” I practically beg him to understand my situation.
He smiles wider as if my plea is somehow an admission of a lingering desire to say yes.
And maybe it is.
But, regardless of what I want, I can’t.
“It's not a marriage proposal,” he practically whispers, obviously aware of the eyes and ears around us. “I just want to take you out.”
“I can't do casual.”
His smile grows even wider. “Then let's do formal. And serious. Very, very serious. I won't even smile the whole meal.”
I finish running my hands through his hair and turn on the spray to rinse the shampoo.
“I doubt you can keep a straight face for five minutes, let alone a whole date.”
“Is that a challenge?” He smirks. Then he says, “Challenge accepted.”
I huff. “EJ.”
“You didn’t say no,” he says.
I glance around, grabbing a towel to dry his hair.
I don’t correct him. I will. It’s just, looking down at him—the way he’s smiling—I want to enjoy his reaction for a few moments longer.
EJ behaves himself the whole haircut, talking about the festival and telling Laura and me about Decker getting stuck in the Corny costume.
When he’s leaving he says, “I’ll be back to collect on that challenge.”
“EJ,” I say. “I can’t.”
“You’re not the one being challenged here, Angie,” EJ says with a wink. “And I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.”
I shake my head and he turns to leave, doing an admittedly cute victory dance all the way out the door, shuffling his feet and wiggling his hips, bobbing his head and saying, “Challenge accepted. Yes, it is.”
“Did I just agree to a date?” I ask Laura.
“That's what it looked like to me,” Laura says with a smile.
I grimace, but inside, a part of me is secretly hoping EJ follows through—even though I know things can’t go anywhere between us.