8. Vivian #2
Reading between the lines, I suspected there had been abuse involved, but she never elaborated.
Not that I could blame her for not wanting to revisit the trauma.
All I’d gotten from Claire was that she’d been making plans to leave Paul when she learned she was pregnant.
Her conservative hometown was small, the kind of small where everyone knows everyone else’s business, and did not look kindly on divorce.
If she split from her husband, regardless of how he was hurting her, she wouldn’t have the family support needed to raise Raelynn on her own.
It sounded like a risk she couldn’t take.
The irony was with Paul dead, raising her daughter alone was exactly what she had to do.
Her sister-in-law helped out some, looking after Raelynn while Claire worked, but they didn’t keep an eye on her sugars the way she really needed.
A few hours was fine, but a full day with her aunt and uncle could be disastrous for Raelynn (and by extension, Claire).
It was nerve-wracking to be sure, so Claire tried to align our schedules as much as possible so that Raelynn was with one of us.
My experience with my childhood bestie meant that Claire had more faith in someone she had known for only a short time versus family she’d known for years.
Shitty family that wasn’t willing to learn what it took to keep a sweet little four-year-old healthy.
As for me, I’d gained the best possible friend a girl could ask for, and I was still close by so that my mom didn’t have to worry about how fibromyalgia affected my ability to be independent.
I’d lived with Claire for a while now, and things were a lot more stable for me.
My fibro was under control as much as a chronic condition could be.
I had a manageable car payment, money in the bank, and was looking at going back to school.
A relationship was not a requirement for success.
I wrap my hands around the hot coffee cup, remembering how Claire had 100 percent supported my decision to take a break from guys and relationships.
And then encouraged me—was it only just last night?
—to have fun and take a chance. A few months of celibacy did help clear my mind, now that it wasn’t clogged up with guy drama.
But I was still apprehensive to tell her about meeting Michael.
I knew she wouldn’t judge me, just like I knew she would be able to read everything on my face if I tried to downplay how he’d made me feel.
How just thinking about him was causing my face to flush and those butterflies to spin around in my stomach.
“So,” I take a fortifying sip, “I met someone last night.”
“I knew it!” she crows, throwing her fist up in the air.
“I just had a feeling about it. I knew something good was going to happen to you.” She grins.
Claire’s always had a sixth sense about things happening, good, bad, or otherwise, so I take this as a good sign.
“Or someone,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Stop it.” I gesture helplessly, faking a punch in her direction.
“Tell me alllll about him and don’t leave anything out. Start with his name.”
“His name is Michael,” I begin.
“Good strong name, I like it,” she encourages me. “Go on.”
“And he’s…” I falter. How do I put into words how wonderful he made me feel last night?
“He’s just… amazing.” That one word that isn’t enough to encompass Michael.
Or how my heart flips just thinking about him.
“I don’t know how to describe it. He made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
Like I mattered, you know? We talked and danced and I could have spent the whole night with him. I mean, that’s kind of what happened.”
“How did you meet him?” she asks, propping her chin on her hand as she watches me with sparkling eyes. If you ever need a cheerleader, someone in your court who wants the best for you, Claire is your girl.
I smile and tell her how I spotted him—or rather, how he spotted me—and the way his eyes pierced me.
How I thought I might melt from the heat of his gaze.
How I thought he was about to walk past me and I grabbed his hand to stop him.
“And then he just pulled me into him and we started dancing. It was so… nice,” I finish.
“Nice?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “You don’t really do ‘nice,’ Vivian.”
“You’re right. Nice is probably not how I would describe him. He was confident as hell. But also attentive. Like, he took the lead and everything.”
“He what?”
“Yeah,” I go on dreamily. “He took my hands and made it look so natural when it was so obvious I had no clue what I was doing.”
She snorts. “Like you’ve ever had any issues dancing.”
“I’m serious, girl, this is nothing like what we normally do. And definitely not like our line-dancing bars.”
“Okay, so what’s so different about it? You’re still moving to the music.”
“It’s everything. The way the rhythm flows, the beats, the people…
oh, my word, the people! You would not believe how different it is!
There are seniors, and youngins who are barely out of high school, and everything in between.
” She shoots an eyebrow up, because, yeah, that would probably include me.
If it didn’t feel like I’d already lived three decades, that is.
“I’m telling you, it was really awesome to see them all dancing together.
You can tell they’ve been doing it a long time.
Michael said he grew up with his paquita dancing in the kitchen. ”
“His pa-what?”
“He said it’s a Spanish nickname for his grandma.”
“Is he Spanish?” she asks, her eyes glinting. Like Skittles, she knows I’ve tasted the rainbow, but this would be a new flavor for me.
“Half Cuban, half German, actually.”
“That sounds like a whole lotta heat going on.”
“Oh, there was.” I wink.
“So was he a good dancer?”
“Oh, hell yes,” I gush. “He could totally tell I was lost and then he just turned me and twirled me and expertly moved my body on the dance floor. It was incredible. I’ve never felt so in tune with someone.”
“Ooh, that must’ve been… ‘nice,’” she teases and I roll my eyes.
Never should’ve used that word to describe Michael.
But Claire knows what dancing means to me.
And how many times I’ve had to bail on going out because of a fibro flare up.
So each time is special, and even better if I find someone who actually knows how to move… It was like a dream.
“It was, was it?” she smirks.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“You said it was like a dream.”
Dammit, I need to break this habit of speaking my thoughts aloud. “He was definitely a dream. He knew exactly what to do and wasn’t afraid to push me around to do it. I mean, to move my body where he wanted,” I add when her eyebrows go up.
“And we did this thing called bachata. I don’t know how to explain it besides saying it was like doing you-know-what to the music.
” I lower my voice a bit so Raelynn can’t hear.
Elmo is singing the ABC’s so I think we’re safe.
That girl picks up on way more than her four years should, and I don’t want to put Claire in a position of having to explain things before she’s ready.
She’s already smart enough to sound out the words we spell, so saying s-e-x would not go down well at her preschool.
We’ve already gotten one phone call from her teacher asking why Raelynn was telling some kid to stop “pissing her off.” Even though she insisted that he was being a “butthole”.
“Really?” Claire’s eyes go wide as she claps a hand over her mouth, and I’m reminded it’s been a very long time since she was with someone.
At least besides her battery-operated boyfriend, that is.
I’ve never even known her to go on a date, although plenty of numbers wind up in the tip jar when she bartends.
She’s got her hands pretty full with Raelynn and the restaurant.
And I know she’s been hesitant to bring anyone else into her life, especially with Raelynn getting older and voicing her opinion more.
So I guess those discreet Adam & Eve packages that come in the mail occasionally must be enough for her. For now.
“Tell you what. You can come back to the club with me one night, and we can find a hot Latin guy to, ahem, ‘bachata’ you .” I give her a cheesy grin.
“Uh-uh, you’re not going to change the subject on me that easily,” she shoots me down. “Tell me more about… Michael .” She drags his name out with soap-opera level flourish, giving me a pointed look.
“Claire, I can’t explain it. I mean, dancing with him was great and talking with him was too… well, we didn’t really do that much talking…” She outright laughs at this and I blush. “It wasn’t like that! We were just too busy dancing and smiling and laughing. He has a really nice smile.” I sigh.
My heart warms just thinking about how he looked at me. Like I was someone special.
“It was just… comfortable. Like I could be myself with him. It was exciting and new and also felt like we’d been doing this forever,” I finish.
My words are all over the place and completely inadequate to describe the emotions Michael elicited from me.
But that one big feeling remains, that certainty that he’s right for me .
Makes no sense whatsoever, but I can’t shake it.
“You’re doing it again,” Claire says, interrupting my musing.
“Doing what?”
“Talking in your head but saying it out loud. You just said he’s right for you.”
Ugh! I slap my hand to my forehead. Ugh , again. That hurt and I rub the spot.
“Hey, hey, I’m just teasing you,” she reassures me, placing a hand on my forearm and squeezing. “You must really like this guy,” she says softly.
“I do,” I admit, looking up at her. “I like him a little too much. And that scares the hell out of me. Single life is just simpler.”