33. Now
Now: February 4th
M y mom’s birthday is in ten days. I’m well aware that in ten days I will not wake up to the smell of her butterscotch maple pancakes. I will not be greeted by loud, overplayed 90s bands. I will not enter the kitchen to warm aromas, dancing, and laughter. I know exactly what I will be greeted with instead. But, that’s in ten days. Today I’m going out with Wendy. Today she’s more than my editor, she’s my best friend.
I still have not attempted to contact Denver, and he has stopped trying as well. I know it’s all my fault, and it feels stupid, but a part of me wishes he hadn’t given up so easily. I’m not entirely sure what I would have done had he kept calling or shown up at my door, demanding to know what the heck was wrong with me.
But, if he had done that, at least I’d have gotten to see him again. Now, I’ve blown all hope of that happening away. I look and feel like a sad, mopey Eeyore. I have my long, straight strands tied up into a high ponytail, and I’m wearing boring clothes today. I have on a large, gray hoodie and jeans. I’d originally tried to leave the house in sweatpants, but Wendy took one look at me and sent me back into the house to change. At least she didn’t say anything else when I came back outside wearing the same boring sweatshirt. The smallest of efforts seemed to suffice.
I’m in this strange state because I’m not even sure we dated long enough for this to be considered a break-up. We’ve only gone on two dates and called each other a handful of times. Does that count? Wendy had asked questions of course, but she was careful never to push me for more than I was ready to give. I gave her the bullet points, the highlight reel. She’d simply nodded and all she had to say was, “Yeah, men suck.”
Which I suppose can be true, but that isn’t the case with Denver. He didn’t suck—I’m sure he still doesn’t. I am the dummy who sucked everything up. Wendy is just too nice to tell me that to my face. And now, well, here we are.
We pull into the lot of a local craft store and park. I’m not here for anything in particular, Wendy asked me to tag along, promising me coffee afterward. I think she was surprised how quickly I agreed this time. I’m not a total snoot, and I reminded her that she’s got to quit bribing me with drinks and want to have a coffee with me because we’re friends. She blushed and agreed.
We walk inside and I’m surprised to find it full of people. I mean, it’s a Monday, and people do go places every day of the week, but it’s also a Monday . Wendy’s grabbing supplies to decorate Valentine’s Day boxes for her girls to take to school and she’s got a list. Of course, always a list.
“I can’t believe your book comes out next month,” she chimes in beside me, her arms already full of supplies.
Honestly, I can’t either. I think this last piece in the series means more to me than anything else I’ve written thus far. Something about it is just so personal. I haven’t discussed that bit with Wendy yet, but I think somehow she knows. She knows me better than anyone, maybe even myself at times. It’s a little scary.
“Me neither, but I think I’m ready,” I say, picking up a card off the shelf in front of me. It’s a Valentine’s Day card. I flip it open, scan the words, and place it back where it belongs.
“Yeah?” she asks. Her arms are getting full. I could offer to help her carry some of her things, but it might be best to grab a shopping cart instead.
“Yeah. Hey, let me go get you a cart, you’re about to have a landslide there.” I laugh and she glances over at me, her eyes creasing with a grin. She nods her head and mouths a thank you.
I make my way back to the front of the store where they have all their carts lined up in a neat row. I grab the first one I come to and pull it out. Great, this one has a squeaky wheel. Before I have a chance to trade it for a new one, a group of teenage girls saunter in through the front entrance.
There’s at least five or six of them all together. I’m terrible at guessing ages, but they look like they could easily be high school students. I look away and pull out a different cart, this time without a squeaky wheel.
I’m heading back toward Wendy when I feel someone tap gently on my shoulder. It’s a different touch this time, it’s not coming from a strong man’s hands ( his ), but someone else’s.
I start to turn my head but they walk around the side of the cart, facing me. At first, I’m annoyed. It’s one of the teenage girls that just walked in. What does she want? Does she recognize who I am? Every now and then when I’m out in public someone will recognize me and ask me for my autograph. I always say yes, and thus find myself reaching in my purse for a pen out of habit. My hand is already halfway buried inside my bag.
Before I can ask if she needs me to sign something she speaks, and the words that come out have nothing to do with me being an author, but everything to do with me being me .
“Nicki? Is that you? ”
Now that I’m facing her head-on I see it. I know exactly who she is. I’ve only met her one time, months ago now, but she has one of those faces that isn’t easily forgotten. I remember her blue eyes and soft, long blonde hair.
“Yep, it’s me. What are you doing here, Marvel?” Denver’s daughter is here. Here in the craft store with me and Wendy. Of all the places, out of all seven days in a week, what are the odds she’d run into me here, today?
Okay, I’m overreacting. It’s a craft store for crying out loud. She probably got out of school and is stopping by with some of her friends. No big deal. She’s allowed to shop here as much as anyone else. I’m instantly reminded of the man I’m trying hard to forget. But it isn’t working. It isn’t working at all.
She laughs softly. She’s got a beautiful laugh, just like her father. I’m standing here like a fool with a girl I barely know when I should be helping my friend out instead. Yet there is something, something so painfully familiar about her that I can’t place. What is it?
She must notice me staring. She laces her fingers together in front of her and offers me a gentle smile. “Um, how are you doing? Dad’s uh, mentioned you… Like a lot.” She laughs again. Pure gold.
“He does? I mean did?” I sound too eager, too hopeful. She probably means in the past tense. He used to talk about me, but not anymore. Now there isn’t anything to talk about.
“Yeah, of course. He’s still crazy about you, ya know?” she says.
No, I don’t know. I don’t have a clue.
I shift a little on my feet, left to right and back, like my dad does when he’s nervous.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t called… I just, I have some things I’ve got going on,” I tell her. It isn’t exactly a lie, I definitely have some stuff going on—but it isn’t true either.
She nods her head in agreement. “Yeah, that’s alright. We all do at times. He’s pretty understanding when it comes to that stuff. Anyway, it’s good running into you.”
She starts walking back towards her group of friends.
“Marvel?” I call out to her, before I can stop myself.
“Yes?” she returns.
“Do you think he’d answer if I tried calling him again sometime? When I’m ready, that is?” I’m terrified to know the truth, but not knowing is so much worse. It’s all I can think about. He said he’d wanted me, but does he still? Has that changed?
“I do. I really do.” She doesn’t hesitate. “In fact, you should come over for dinner sometime. It’s always the two of us, and I mean, he’s cool and all, but he’s my dad, ya know?” she adds.
Yes, I do know. Believe me.
“Oh… I don’t know… I’m not sure that’s a good ide—” I start to say, but she stops me. Something in her eyes tells me she’s serious. She’s a confident kid, I’ll give her that.
“Look, I’ll have him call or text you. Whichever you want. That way it’s coming from him and not me, okay? Let’s say Friday night at six. Does that work for you?”
I suddenly love this girl. I don’t know her yet, but I want to. Her smile is contagious. Bright like summer sunshine.
I blink a few times, processing this conversation. Is this really happening? Will he even say yes? What if this all turns out wrong and…? Stop. Don’t go there. It’s going to be fine. Breathe.
“Are you sure he’s going to go for this?” I ask, hesitating. I trust her, but I still have my doubts this is going to work. She wants me there, but does he?
She nods her head as she digs inside her purse, pulling out a folded-up receipt and a pen. She scribbles something quickly on the paper and hands it to me. I look down, it’s her address.
“Friday, at six?” She cocks an eyebrow, waiting for me to confirm.
Okay. Let’s give it another shot. “Okay, I’ll be there. But only if he invites me as well. ”
“Deal.” And she sticks out her hand for me to shake. I gladly shake her hand, and we seal the deal.
After Marvel and I part ways I finally meet back up with Wendy. She said she’d wondered if I’d forgotten or wandered off somewhere. When she went to check on me she saw who I was talking with. She’d ended up grabbing her own cart and finished her shopping without me. I feel a little guilty but not too guilty. I’m floating. The very thought of seeing him again is just… everything. It would be everything. I hope it all works out, because I’m not sure how well I’d take disappointment right now.
Wendy and I spend the next hour cozied up in a coffee shop along the same shopping strip. We talk about her family and what she’s got planned this year, and we talk about the prospect of my upcoming date. It feels good to have her in my corner. I don’t even want to think about what I’d do if she wasn’t.