2. Misely
two
Misely
P atti was a remarkable woman. As planned, we met at the office foyer and walked down to Bean’s. The small shop was named after its owner, Agatha ‘Bean’ Doyle, who also happened to handle all the baking in house. I’d been coming here every day from the first week I started at Chicago Children’s, in a sad attempt to recreate the routine I’d held in Wisconsin. It was never quite the same because my routine before had included Birdie.
I’d had to get comfortable quickly with being on my own, my best friend thousands of miles away and in another time zone—most days, when I was grabbing a cup of coffee and breakfast, Bird was still fast asleep. I couldn’t even pretend to myself that she was nearby. That adjustment had been the hardest one thus far.
I made do by getting to know Bean and her staff and I certainly appreciated how welcoming they all were, but it was a hot spot—especially at seven in the morning when many of Chicago’s people were rising and heading off to work. Bean and her people were quickly sucked up by the success of their shop and I was left to sit at my quiet little corner bistro table by myself, sipping my macchiato, and inhaling the delightful blueberry lemon scones that were hot and ready every morning.
When I entered the cafe for the second time that morning, this time with Patti at my side, Bean visibly lit up from over the counter. There was a lull in the morning traffic, many of her patrons seated in the cozy booths and tables with laptops or books in front of them, trying to avoid the bite in the winter air outside.
“Oh, Miss Misely! You’ve brought a friend!” Bean called out, tossing the towel she held over her shoulder, a bright smile plastered across her softly aging face.
I nodded, holding back the blush that was creeping over my cheeks. The last thing I wanted was for everyone in the establishment to think I was some kind of loner. “Yes, this is—”
“Miss Patti!” Bean had come around the counter now, her hands cupping each of Patti’s cheeks. “It’s been too long!” The two women embraced each other while I gaped.
They knew one another? Okay, that was news. Patti hadn’t hinted that she knew anything about Bean’s when I’d mentioned getting coffee, but there were so many coffee places in the area, I guess she could have thought it was any of the others. I watched the two as they quickly got caught up, taking in their postures. They were close in age, likely their mid to late fifties, each with kind eyes and gentle features. Briefly, I allowed myself to wonder if that would ever be me and Birdie. Aging so delicately, embracing one another in a soft affection whenever we had the chance to come back together.
Grief threatened to swallow me up right where I stood. I missed her. I missed my best friend terribly and wished so deeply that we could see each other. It was painful knowing that we could, that she was still here, on this planet, in this country, breathing, alive, and still we couldn’t see each other. That we had to keep our distance for her safety and mine, and for the safety of her boyfriend, Milo.
“Misely?” Patti’s voice was gentle as she drew my attention away from my thoughts. There was a knowing look in her warm brown eyes, like she could tell that the things on my mind were heavy. I shook myself and forced my lips into a halfhearted smile.
“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts.”
“That’s all right,” she said, her own mouth quirking. “Happens to me all the time. Why don’t we grab a table?”
Like I said, Patti was remarkable. While we sipped hot chocolate espressos and dipped biscotti, she told me about her life leading up to Chicago Children’s. She’d grown up in an impoverished community on the South Side with her mother who worked three jobs just to keep food on the table for her and her neighbors. Her father had passed away when she was a baby while deployed overseas in the military, so everything depended on her mom.
Growing up, she’d watched her mother take care of everyone around her, working herself to the bone just to provide. Patti didn’t have any siblings, but you wouldn’t know it by the amount of kids that were always piled around the kitchen table. Her mother was always inviting the neighbor kids to come eat, knowing they didn’t have hot food at home. Knowing their parents didn’t care enough to go get it for them, or simply couldn’t afford it.
That was what had driven Patti to work with children. She wanted to provide for them in the same way her mother had. It didn’t matter where they came from or what they’d done, they were kids and they deserved love and the chance to feel true compassion. She’d dedicated her life to giving back to the same types of communities as the one she’d grown up in. That’s how she’d met Jobe. They’d gone to college together, much like me and Birdie. The difference was that they’d both had a passion for rescuing kids. They became fast friends, and eventually, a little bit more.
Things hadn’t worked out on the romantic front, but their friendship had held strong throughout the years. And when Jobe came to her and asked her to come work with him at Chicago Children’s, she knew he must’ve really needed her help. I hadn’t realized that Patti was so much more than just Jobe’s assistant—they were partners, and Jobe relied on her to help keep things above water. They had plans to elevate Chicago Children’s to the same level as Found Family, really pushing to make a difference in the community for these families, and the determination to see it through.
A new respect for Jobe caught me off guard as Patti told her story and I let some of my bitterness toward his attitude fade. I still didn’t really like the way he spoke to her, but it seemed the two had an understanding between them that I might not be privy to. Besides that, we were all on the same team—Team Save The Kids —and he was my boss regardless of my feelings.
We were wrapping up our lunch and exchanging personal numbers to plan another when Brantley’s text came through.
Brantley : Dinner tomorrow night?
I stared at the text for a long time, my fingers frozen over the keyboard. Patti must’ve noticed I was acting weird because she said my name softly, drawing my attention away from my phone.
“Everything okay?” she asked and I smiled shyly at the concern in her eyes.
“Yeah, just wondering if I should accept a date or not.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to tell her the truth—I could’ve easily just said the expected, ‘yeah, I’m fine’ and we would’ve moved on.
Patti gave me a knowing look and breathed out a laugh. “Oh, been there done that. If you want my opinion, though I know you didn’t ask for it, if you have to think too hard about it, he’s not the one.”
“I’m not really on the lookout for the one right now anyway,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat as I spoke. “He’s just determined.”
“Determined? Or can’t take no for an answer?” Her brows were quirked like a scolding mother’s.
“Maybe a little bit of both.” I shrug. “He’s a nice guy. We have great chemistry.” That was half a lie. The chemistry only lasted as long as it took for him to roll off of me. “And in another life, he would be exactly my type.”
Patti considered this for a few moments before answering. “That was another life, though. If you’re not sure about him now, it’s probably your gut clueing you in. And Misely?”
“Yeah?”
“‘No’ is a complete sentence. You shouldn’t have to keep telling him to respect that.”
At that, she hiked her purse strap up on her shoulder and gestured to the shop’s front door. Taking the hint, we closed the conversation and made our way back to the office.
Patti’s words stuck with me throughout the rest of the day and well into my evening. I was pacing my living room, phone in hand, tapping it against my chin. I’d been at it for hours now, my thoughts a frantic whirlwind in my head. On the one hand, Patti had a point. A strong, reasonable point. I’d told Brantley no, multiple times. I’d told him, very clearly, that I was not in a good place to be dating and even then, I didn’t owe him any sort of explanation. I’d been clear in the casual nature of our situationship, and that I was not looking for anything outside of the bedroom. He should respect that.
On the other hand, I had always been a hopeless romantic at heart. And what did it say about Brantley that he was willing to wait for me? That he would treat me as though I was worth fighting for a single, measly date? And what if he was right? What if I did accept the date and things progressed? What if Brantley was the one I could spend my life with?
The thought didn’t settle right in my chest and tasted like acid on my tongue. I tried hard to picture us ripening with age together, rings on our fingers and I just couldn’t see it the way I had with James. Would there always be the comparison to James? Brutish features muddied the picture of him that I held so dearly in my mind; tall, tattooed and scary, and I cursed. There was that . There was him .
I would never be able to commit to anything with anyone so long as I held those thoughts and images and god —fantasies in my mind. It wouldn’t be right or fair to Brantley or anybody, for me to try to fake it. No. I couldn’t do it, not even for a single, measly date. My pacing halted and I unlocked the device in my hand, fully ready to type out a quick and polite, ‘No, thank you,’ when a loud pounding on my door had me jumping so hard my phone flew from my hands, landing on the rug in front of my sofa with a quiet thud.
I swore, resting a hand over my pounding chest as if it would settle at the touch. I’d ordered pizza tonight instead of throwing a ramen packet in the microwave, and a neighbor must’ve let the delivery person up instead of making them hit the buzzer. I charged over to the door, grabbing my wallet off the buffet table beside it, flipping it open and rifling for some bills as I unlocked and opened the door with my other hand.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I said, still not looking up as I fished out a couple twenties.
“My apologies, ma’am.” That voice .
My face snapped up and I felt the blood drain. Before I could scream, a large hand was pressed over my mouth, and I was crowded backwards into the apartment.