9. Somewhere. Nowhere. Anywhere
CHAPTER 9
Somewhere. Nowhere. Anywhere
Mace will not stop crying.
I shake his maraca to calm him, but he flails his arms and lets out another ear-splitting cry. I try to rock him, but it doesn’t work. Frustrated, I exit the room with the crying boy in my arms.
Soft music booms from Amelia’s speakers. I hurry to the living room, where she sits on the floor while working on her laptop. I clear my throat. She looks at us, then the music goes off.
“What happened?” she asks.
All attempts to pry Mace off me are futile. He won’t stop crying, and he won’t let anyone carry him. I sit on the couch, and she follows suit. He stops crying long enough to catch his breath.
“Cathie? What happened?” she asks.
“I don’t know, Amelia,” I whisper. Tears coat Mace’s lower lashes. He blinks, and my heart breaks. “Mama doesn’t like it when you cry, Macey. Please, don’t cry. Stop crying, okay?”
Amelia squats beside the couch. “Macey. What’s wrong?” she asks. His face wrinkles, and I know he’s about to tear my eardrums with his cries. I wince when he bursts into a new round of crying. Amelia throws me a disappointed look. “Jesus, Cathie. What did you do to him?”
“I did nothing,” I cry out. Amelia coos at Mace, and his teary blues lock on me. I wanted to feed him before going to get some groceries, but he won’t quit. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Should I call my mum?” she says. No. I almost have a whiplash from how fast I shake my head. “What about your dad? He might have an idea what to do. Did you check his diapers?”
“It’s dry.”
On a sigh, Amelia reaches for her phone. I watch her, hurt and confused as she taps on her screen. Soon, a familiar song plays from her speakers.
“Amelia.”
It’s the same song that lured me to sleep. Calum’s song. I don’t want to hear his voice.
“What?” she snaps. “It’s working.”
Our heads turn to Mace. His eyelids droop. He yawns, and I clench my fists.
“Seriously?” I whisper-yell. The boy doesn’t notice me. He makes a chewing sound, and Amelia scoops him into her arms. “It’s my voice he should listen to, not that… that…”
“Cathie,” Amelia warns. But it’s unfair. “You are heading out, right? Go. I’ll watch him.”
“Amelia.”
Mace makes the sound of a happy child, and she smiles down at him. “It’s fine. Go.”
“But you have work to do,” I say.
Amelia’s laptop screen has gone to sleep from lack of activity. There are sheets spread over the coffee table. I’m not as helpful as I should be for a company that profits both of us.
“Mace and I will spend some time bonding. Isn’t that right, Macey?” He doesn’t stir. I’m glad he’s asleep, but it hurts to know what power his father’s voice holds over him. Amelia nudges me. She deserves everything good in this life. “It’s fine, Cathie. Off you go now.”
“All right.” I sigh.
Giving them one last look, I hurry upstairs and grab my tote bag. Amelia is singing along to Calum’s song when I arrive downstairs. The sight of godmother and godson enjoying his music tears my broken heart in ways I didn’t think possible. I clear my throat to announce my presence, and she smiles. Her hand goes over her scalp to pull her hair back in place.
“I’ll just go now,” I say, more to myself.
“Have fun. Me and Mace will.”
They will have fun listening to the songs of a heartbreaker. I step out before my emotions get the best of me. Sliding my hands into my pockets, I begin the walk to the bus stop. Amelia has a car. We share it, but I mostly let her use it since she does most of the running around.
The air is warm, so I tuck my scarf into my tote bag. A few people sit at the bus stop while others stand. We all mind our business, watching cars hurry past us. A bus pulls to a halt in front of us. I get on it alongside the others and keep my head down throughout the journey.
At my stop, I hop out. Cars line the sides of the roads. If he were here, he would have insisted I used Amelia’s car or volunteered to drive me. I head to the store without fully processing my environment. Sometimes, it feels like I’m in a bubble, and I see the world through a lens.
Cries from the entrance catch the attention of some shoppers. I frown at the man trying to separate a leashed dog from a Chihuahua. As more people crowd the trio, I move further away from them to use the other door. Once inside, I grab a trolley and head to the baby’s section. Mace will be four months old soon. I want to do something different for him.
He’s my Valentine’s baby, born only five days short of my birthday.
I shove items into my basket, bringing out my phone once or twice to check the list I have on my Notes app. We need chicken. I turn towards the meat section, cutting into the corner at the same time as a man who bumps into my trolley. He looks up from his phone and apologises. Once his eyes meet mine, I click my tongue. He has blue eyes. One big sign he spells trouble.
“Sorry.”
“Save it,” I snap.
The man dares to laugh. First, he bumps into me, and now he’s laughing? What did I expect? He’s a man. They are all up to no good. I walk away without another glance at him.
At the chicken section, I shove multiple packs into my trolley. After a last peek at my list, I start for the ice-cream aisle to get Amelia’s favourite. Blue Eyes round the aisles at the same time I do. We watch each other from opposite ends, and the fool flashes me a megawatt smile.
Who does he think he is?
People walk past, unaware of the ongoing battle. My hands tighten around the handle of my trolley. I push it forward and stalk to the freezer. Blue Eyes follow. You must be kidding me. His long legs give him an advantage. He arrives before me and opens the freezer. Catching up, I scan it for the vanilla chocolate chip ice-cream. There are other flavours and brands in the deep freezer, but there’s just one of the types Amelia loves, and this guy is reaching for it.
“Wait,” I scream.
Blue Eyes pulls out the ice-cream and skims the details on the bowl. “Yes?”
“Nothing.” I tear my eyes away from the big bowl secured in his palm. I’ll have to get her something else. Maybe plain vanilla. Amelia has no idea I wanted to surprise her. “Sorry.”
“Do you want this?” he asks, holding out the ice-cream. My gaze runs over his chocolate brown hair, down to his face, then the set of tattoos peeking from his sleeves. “Do you?”
If I say yes, and he gives it to me, he might make that the perfect opening for a conversation. I’m off men. I shake my head, flashing him a fake smile. “No, thanks. Thanks for offering.”
Heavy footfalls sound behind me as I turn around to scour the other aisles. I push the trolley faster, but he only quickens his pace. He doesn’t listen, does he?
“If you want it, you can have it,” Blue Eyes calls out from behind me. I wait for him to catch up. When he’s close, I offer my best polite smile. He tries to drop the bowl in my trolley, but I push it out of his reach. “I can do without the ice-cream. You really look like you need it.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Thank you. I don’t want it.”
“Cool,” he says. His blues grab my attention once more. He stretches a hand, and I trace the extended limb to his face. He has a boyish innocence around him. If I had to guess his age, I would say late twenties. “Sorry about earlier. I wasn’t paying attention. My name is Jason.”
“I have a son,” I tell him.
“Nice name.”
“I have a son. A kid,” I repeat. He shrugs. Seriously? Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I pinch my fingers together. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say or offer, all right?”
“You haven’t even heard what I want to say?” Jason mutters. My lips pull into a thin line, and he offers me another one of his smiles. “Not like I have any offer. I think you’re pretty.”
“I think you should leave me alone.”
Without waiting for his response, I head to the register. It’s his audacity. I thought coming to the supermarket during the week meant a lesser crowd. There are four queues, so I join the shortest line. It eases fast. Soon, it’s my turn. I grip the edge of the counter as the cashier runs through my items. The beep of her scanner annoys me each time, but I mask my irritation.
Done, she smiles and tells me the amount. I retrieve my wallet from my bag. Opening it sends the air out of my lungs. I’m short by half the total, and my card is missing. Embarrassment colours my cheek as I slap the three notes left in my wallet on the counter. The cashier lifts a thin brow. Well, it will have to do. Next time, I’ll check my wallet before leaving the house.
“Can I take out some items?” I say. Though every item on that counter is important.
“There will be no need for that,” someone murmurs behind me. The cashier and I turn in unison. Blue Eyes. He looks past me to the red-haired cashier. “Add it to mine. I’ll pay.”
“No need for that,” I start, but Jason sends me a look that shuts me up. I swallow my pride and let him pay. The cashier attempts to slide my money back to me, but I glare daggers at her. She takes the hint and accepts the balance from Jason. Heat burns my cheeks as she shoves my items into the bag provided. “I’m not always like this. I forgot to check my…”
My throat goes dry, and I stop talking when I see no one is listening. The cashier snorts at something Jason says, and I’m tempted to sprinkle the baby powder on her face. While she packages his stuff, they chat like old friends. I drop the powder, sidestepping to give them privacy.
He’s a smooth talker. His stupid smile is the first thing I see when he turns. “So… shall we?”
We shall not , I scream in my head, but my pride is already bruised. Jason pushes my trolley towards the entrance. I follow him like a stray dog, no idea what to say. He keeps the door open for me with his shoulder. I walk out and reach for my trolley, but he doesn’t budge.
“Are you getting the bus?” he asks.
“Yes.” He’s wearing brown boots. Mr Dissick has a pair like this, but not as worn-out as his. A heartbeat later, my head raises. “Thanks. I didn’t know I was short. Didn’t check my wallet before leaving the house. I’ll pay you back, okay? Jason, right? I’ll pay you. Just—”
“You can pay me back by telling me your name,” he interjects.
A weight sneaks its way to my shoulders. “Cathie. Short for Catherine,” I tell him. Jason stretches his hand again for a handshake, and I have no choice but to accept it. His palm is rough, his fingers calloused. I let go at this realisation. “Do you play any instruments?”
“The guitar. Nice to meet you, Cathie.”
Blue eyes. Tall. Plays the guitar. Red flags.
“I can’t say the same for me,” I mutter under my breath.
Jason must have caught my words. He throws his head back and laughs.
“Blunt. I like it. We will be great friends,” he says. Never. He grabs my items from the trolley. I stand in his path to block him from leaving. “You think I’ll run off with your stuff?”
“No. Not that.” My hands glue to my sides and the dent between his brows grows as he stares at me. “I’m fine, Jason. I don’t need your help. Thank you for helping me back there.”
His face loses some of its laughter, and I accept my bags from him with a smile of gratitude. I am not the delusional Cathie from last year. As I walk further away from him, my shoulders weighed down by the bags, my conscience nags me. I should have been nicer to him. But that soon becomes the least of my worries when I realise I don’t have any money left for the bus.
It’s Mace’s fault. If he hadn’t distracted me, I would have had time to check my wallet. I won’t be stuck here. How could I forget to check my wallet? My feet rap against the concrete surface. Cars zoom past me with not as much as a glance at the girl at the empty bus stop.
A blue car slows beside me. I step back, seeking refuge from the walls of the bus stop. The driver rolls down his window, and I pray for the ground to open and swallow me. Why him?
Jason leans across the passenger seat, his smug smile as vivid as his blue eyes. “Need a ride?”
“Maybe,” I reply. He laughs. My insides burn. I’m mortified but grateful to see him. He helps me by dumping the bags in the backseat, and we enter the car. “What if you are a killer?”
He drums his fingers on the steering. “What do you think? Can you judge by my looks?”
Long hair veils his brows. The laughing lines around his eyes make me think otherwise, but the sharp curve of his jaw and emotions lurking beneath his eyes tell a different story. I clear my throat. He helped me once. He’s about to help me again. I need to be polite and careful.
“I’m going to take a picture and send it to my best friend in case I don’t get home,” I say. I drag out my phone from the tote bag. The messages I sent her since I got to the bus stop are unread. “As long as you don’t mind. Well, even if you do, I need something to give her.”
The idiot poses, flashing me his nearly perfect dentition. I take two pictures of him, stepping out to take two more of the car and its plates. I send the photos to Amelia with a summary of my ordeal while blaming her for not picking up her calls. Back in the car, I click my seatbelt into place. Jason doesn’t. Unsure how to ask, I stare at his chest, then the seatbelt hanging by the door.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
I am not okay. My chest is closing. I roll down the window and swallow the air that sweeps into the car. He needs to put on his seatbelt. When I turn around to tell him that, his seatbelt is tucked in. I send him my first genuine smile since meeting him. His lips tilt in reciprocation, nothing at all like his usual smug smile. I’m such a mess.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“Home.” I give him directions to the house, and Jason makes a joke about Yorkrinth City houses looking the same. I relax a bit during the ride home. “You are not from around here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
From his accent? Yes. But I don’t mention it. We continue the next half of the ride in silence. A few metres away from my house, Amelia calls. I tense immediately.
“How’s Mace?” I ask as soon as the call connects.
“Fine,” Amelia answers. “I missed your call. We were busy.”
Mace can keep anyone busy. “Um, I wanted you to come get me,” I tell her. Jason spares me a glance. I shrug. He slows down to get directions for a turn, and I nod. “It’s fine now.”
“Are you sure? What happened?”
“I left you some messages. You can check them,” I whisper. The car slows down completely. I didn’t want to give Jason the exact address. I stare at the bag on my lap. “I’m almost home.”
The call ends, and silence fills the car. I clear my throat and tip my head to meet his gaze. A lot of questions swim in his eyes. He sizes me up, and the other part of me searches for an escape.
Jason offers me a small smile. “Do you really have a son?”
“Yes, I do. Mace,” I say, hoping this would scare him off from whatever plans he has. He undoes his seatbelt. I wait a second and add, “Mace will be four months old in a few days.”
“What about his dad?”
“Somewhere. Nowhere. Anywhere.”
A strange smile touches Jason’s lips. When his eyes meet mine, there is no judgement in his blues. It must be why I unlock my phone and show him pictures of my little boy in different poses. On his knees, tucked away in his crib, sitting, smiling, eating, just being Mace Dissick.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“Very. As cute as his mother, maybe more.”
“I’m not cute. I’m pretty.” A superstar , in Mr Dissick’s words. Why am I thinking of him now? Jason says nothing. I cough to clear the air and possibly the tension that settled over us.
The street is empty. Houses up ahead call to us. I point at one. “My house is just over there.”
We resume the drive in a more comfortable silence. On my instructions, he parks and steps out. I don’t refuse his help to carry my bags. Before we head to the entrance, I stop him.
“I was rude earlier,” I say from the other side of the car. He places one hand on the roof, his key in his grip. “I was having a bad day, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. And thank you.”
“Thank you too, Cathie. I came off strong earlier, and I apologise for that,” he says. We share a smile. He helps me with my shopping bags, and we wobble to the front door. He drops the bags on the bottom stairs and slides his hands into his front pockets. “Can we be friends?”
Jason sounds like a great guy, but I don’t have any interest in guys. I open my palms to start an explanation, but the words glue to my throat. What’s wrong with me? I climb to the top stair to even out the height difference. He plants his hands on his hips, his smile far too kind.
“Look, Jason. Thanks for helping me out today, but I’m emotionally unavailable. I don’t need a man. My son and dad are the only men I care about right now. I hope you can understand.”
“I do. I’m not asking for—” he stops himself. Running a hand through his hair, he exhales and nods. “It’s hard to make friends around here. But I understand you. Thank you, Cathie.”
Amelia and Mace are in the living room when I enter. The bag in my grip drops to the floor, announcing my presence to the house. Amelia throws me a look over her shoulder, pouts, and resumes dancing for my son. Mace giggles again, showing off the growing tooth on his gum.
“Let’s go greet Mama Mace,” she murmurs.
I hate that name, but I’m stuck with it. Bridging the gap, she hands him to me, and I draw a line over his chest area. Amelia walks back in when I’m on the couch with Mace in my arms.
“So…” she starts.
“So,” I finish for her.
Pointing to Mace, she says, “I fed him.” My son yawns to show agreement. “So…” I wait for her to speak. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and offers me a mischievous grin. “So…”
“I swear, Amelia Greene. What is it?”
The silence lingers. I start for the stairs with Mace tucked in my arms. Amelia follows. She wants something. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t want to find out. She opens the door to my room and drags Mace’s crib beside the bed. My steps falter. What is wrong with this girl?
Amelia sits on the bed and smoothens the spot beside her for me. I shouldn’t have texted her. I take my time to tuck Mace into his crib, but he falls asleep as soon as his head hits his bed.
“Cathie. Come sit,” Amelia growls. I push one foot in front of the other, but there’s nowhere to hide. To her dismay, I put a pillow between us when I settle down. “Don’t be like this.”
“Don’t be like what? You’re acting weird.”
“No, I’m not,” she says. I raise both brows. She clasps her hands and giggles like a newly crazed banshee. “Okay. Well, you met a guy. How was he? From the pictures, he was…”
“Nothing, Amelia,” I finish for her. “He was nothing.”
“Seriously?” Amelia spits out. “You didn’t collect his number? A nice guy offers you a ride, pays for your groceries and you don’t give him your number? That’s so mean, Catherine.”
“Nice guy name is Jason,” I begin. Her blonde hair cascades down her shoulders, but she’s too focused on her fake anger to pull it back into a bun. I raise a finger to show that’s one point. “Two, you don’t have to give your number to every nice stranger. It’s inappropriate.”
“If he looks like Jason, you should.”
We engage in a stare-off. I wait for that typical twitch at the corner of her lips to signify this is a joke. But holy shit, it’s not. I scoot out of the bed, my finger pointed at her in a warning. She’s not Cupid. She’s not my fairy godmother. She needs to stop playing matchmaker.
“I’m not interested or ready for a relationship, Amelia,” I tell her. She slants her head, and I plant my hands on my hips. Her stare seems to intensify. No. “Besides, he has blue eyes. He’s not my type. Maybe you should give him your number. You are the one who needs a man.”
Her face morphs into something of utter disgust, like she ate spoilt baked beans.
“I. Do. Not. Need. A. Man. I do not need a woman.” Dragging me by my ear, she pushes me down to the bed. This time, she’s the one standing while I’m seated. “You can’t go through life judging every man you meet like they are Calum. So what if this guy has blue eyes? He’s nice, right? And he helped you without asking for anything. I’m not asking you to date him.”
“Oh, shut up, Amelia Greene.” Waggling her brows, she inches closer to me. I fall back to the bed, my arms raised in defence, but she’s too smooth. Giggles escape me as she tickles the hell out of me. I’m wheezing, panting as I tell her, “I don’t need any more friends in my life.”
“You do.”
“No, I don’t. I have you, Dad, Rose, and Taylor. I have Mace. That’s enough.”
“You won’t always have us, Cathie,” she says. I tug her to the bed. Our legs dangle from the edge, and she rests her head on my shoulder. “We may get married. Grow busy, you know?”
“I’ll worry about that when it happens,” I say while patting Amelia’s head. She looks up with a pout, and I switch the topic. “Let’s go see a movie, yeah? Mama Mace needs to relax.”
Admitting I’m Mama Mace to her has the same effect a new toy would have on a child. She glows like a lightbulb. I pull her up, check on Mace one last time, and we head for the stairs.
The doorbell rings, and she volunteers to get it. Minutes later, the movie is all set up, but she’s still at the door. I stomp my feet on the rug. “What’s taking so long, Amelia Greene?”
No response. Dumping my blanket on the couch, I grumble all the way to the door.
Amelia doesn’t notice me behind her. Clearing my throat doesn’t do the trick. I frown at her back, but it dissolves once I see who has caught my best friend’s eyes. Jason. Her lips remain wide open in a smile. I have never seen an awestruck Amelia, let alone one struck speechless by a boy. This is a first. I cough twice. They break from their trance, and Jason runs a hand over the back of his neck. Bells ring in my head. I let myself play matchmaker for a second.
“Do you need—”
“I came to drop—”
Jason and I say together. Amelia steps back into the house, her cheeks bright red. She’s blushing because of a man. What happened to I don’t need a man ? I’m telling the girls.
“You go first,” I tell him.
Jason holds up a familiar bowl. The ice-cream. Amelia’s favourite.
“I came here to give you this, but she answered the door.”
All my reservations about him fall away. Maybe he’s not so awful.
“It’s fine,” I say. Do you like her ? I almost ask, but that would seem too forward. I open the door wider. “Do you want to come in? Give her the ice-cream yourself. It’s her favourite.”
His eyes smile. “You don’t mind?”
There is more to his question. It’s not just a reply to the invitation. My only reply is a smile.