Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Molly
“Hey, kiddo,” I greet Matty as I close the door. He doesn’t look up. I drop my bag on the table and kick off my heels. Why did I wear those things tonight anyway? It’s not like I’m trying to impress anybody. Oh, shut up.
“Hi!” I try again, this time padding onto the living room carpet and approaching the sofa where Matty has sprawled himself. When he still doesn’t respond, I realize he’s wearing the earbuds Blake got him for his birthday. I reach out and tug one from his left ear, startling him and bringing him to his feet in a snap.
“Hey! What was that for?” He scowls at me.
“No headphones when there are other people in the room. You know the rules,” I remind him.
“I was here by myself. Jeez.”
He holds his hand out, and I drop the earbud into his palm, but not before delivering a one-word warning. “Tone.” He has a point, but not if he’s going to cop an attitude about it.
He mumbles an apology and turns toward the hall. His slumped shoulders have my brow knitting and that sinking feeling returning to my gut. “Hey, you want to watch an episode of The Office before you go to bed?” Introducing my son to one of my favorite shows has been an unexpected bonding opportunity since the divorce.
“Nah. I’m good,” is the only response I get before his bedroom door closes behind him.
God, I feel like a failure as a mom. I shouldn’t have gone house hunting with Bobby tonight. I should have stayed home and had dinner with my son instead. But working is how I put a roof over his head, I remind myself.
My phone chimes from my bag in the kitchen and when I pull it out, there’s a notification from that app Coco signed me up for. I meant to delete the damn thing but completely forgot. It’s time to remedy that oversight.
When I click it open, there’s a new message from @ PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer . I have no idea what that name is supposed to refer to, and I’m not sure I want to.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: So, any luck on your quest?
@singlemomcatlady: What quest? The getting laid one? Nope. How about you?
It’s weird talking to a stranger about my non-existent sex life, but it’s not like I’m ever going to meet this person.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: The girlfriend one? Not really. Although someone has definitely caught my eye.
@singlemomcatlady: That sounds promising.
I drop into a kitchen chair and start removing the hairpiece from my head.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Not sure she’s into me.
@singlemomcatlady: Did you ask her out?
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Well, no. I’m afraid it will make things awkward because we’re kind of working together.
@singlemomcatlady: Ah. A workplace romance. That can definitely be tricky.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Tell me about it. How about you? You getting the hang of the app yet?
@singlemomcatlady: God no.
I press send before thinking.
@singlemomcatlady: Sorry, that sounded bad. I’m just not sure dating apps are for me.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Sometimes it’s easier to talk to somebody online instead of face-to-face. Just saying. The anonymity can be kind of freeing.
@singlemomcatlady: I guess I can see that. I mean, it’s probably good that the guys on here don’t know I’m a two-time Olympic gold-winning sumo wrestler. Wouldn’t want them to be too starstruck.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Seriously? Me too! What are the chances?
I laugh and check the time, seeing it’s after nine.
@singlemomcatlady: Ha! Well, nice chatting. I’ve got to get my kid to bed. Good luck with the coworker.
@PitterPatterLetsGetAtHer: Thanks. And, sumo wrestling fame aside, I hope you find what you’re looking for. Goodnight, cat lady.
I grin down at the phone as I close the app, but when my finger hovers over the Catnip logo to delete it, I can’t quite bring myself to do it.
“Matty! The bus is pulling up!” I shout from the front porch early the next morning where I’m standing watch.
I hear his shoes clomping on the entry floor before I see him. He whizzes past me as the bus brakes squeal and hiss to a stop.
“Matty! Your lunch!” I thrust the insulated lunch bag at his retreating back and he turns to grab it.
“It’s Matthew , Mom. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Right. Sorry! Go!” I shoo him toward the waiting yellow bus, and he barely makes it on before the doors close. I’ve been doing my best to use his preferred name, but it’s hard to break a twelve-year habit. To me, he’ll always be Matty.
“Another close one,” comes a voice from behind me. I turn to see my neighbor and best friend, Ramona, approaching with two steaming mugs of what I know to be the nectar of the gods. Coffee. I accept one with greedy hands as she stops at my side.
“I seriously don’t know how I’ve kept the gray hair away.”
Romona dips her chin and eyes me over her glasses. “I just assumed you’ve been dying it like I do.”
“You think I’d pick this color if I were dying my hair?” I ask her. I’ve always hated my hair, wishing I had been born a blond bombshell or a raven-haired temptress instead. Red. That’s what my mom gave me. Or auburn, as it has luckily darkened into over the years.
“How are things with Matthew this week?” Ramona asks before bringing her mug to her lips.
I groan. “Well, let’s see. He’s still avoiding sharing breathing space with me, and his response to pretty much everything I say is, “I know , Mom. Jeez .” I do my best adolescent boy voice, one that sits somewhere between boy and man but can’t commit to either. “But I did get one smile out of him yesterday, and he hasn’t gotten in trouble at school in almost two weeks, so that’s something, right?”
Romona reaches over to rub my bicep with a pitying smile. She may not be a mom with all the magical answers, but she’s a damn good friend. “How did the talk with Blake go? I forgot to ask.”
I shrug and try to muster a smile. “Meh. He said it’s probably just hormones. Matty still refused the counselor idea when I brought it up again.” I drop my eyes to my mug, mentally adding calling the counseling center again to my list for the day.
“You know I’d ask Amir for his advice, but the man was born forty years old. I’m pretty sure he popped out with chest hair and that deep bass of his.”
I cough out a laugh, but she’s probably not wrong. Ramona’s husband is not only incredibly analytical and even-tempered, he’s the epitome of stoic masculinity. It’s a good thing, too, because Ramona can be a handful and a half.
“And probably his giant dick too, though I’d never ask his mama that.”
This time I choke on my coffee, which makes Ramona outright snort-laugh. I guess I can always count on her to lighten the mood.
“Jesus, Ramona,” I finally manage, but she only pats her head wrap with a smug grin.
“Speaking of big dick energy,” she continues, “Anything new happening with that hockey player you’re working for?”
I shake my head, turning to let us both in the front door. I can’t possibly talk about Bobby on my front stoop. “No. I told you it’s just business.” The conviction I meant to instill in those words falls a little short.
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
I spin around once we reach the kitchen. “Don’t you have to get to work? I know I do.” Which is a lie. Bobby won’t be picking me up for almost an hour. Plenty of time to drink my coffee and chat before getting ready. I have no idea how he got me to agree to his plan to chauffeur me around, much less pay for my car repairs–no matter how overdue they are.
Ramona purses her lips at me and invites herself to sit in one of my kitchen chairs. “The man is a professional athlete. A tiny crush is inevitable. Amir knows Tommy Fury and Jalen Hurts are both my hall passes.”
“Both?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Do you know how many erogenous zones women have?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“This is worse than I thought.” She straightens her glasses. “Woman, you need to know your body. You’re forty years old, for god’s sake!”
I sink into the chair next to her before dropping my head into my hands. “I know, okay. But can you cut me some slack? I was married to a gay man for fifteen years. Neither one of us was very good at knowing how to please a woman.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Molls.”
“It’s fine.” I let my hands fall back to the table and straighten in my seat as I inhale the lovely coffee aroma. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about getting back out there.”
Ramona beams at me. “That’s great!”
“Coco signed me up for a dating app.”
“Shut up! I love that old broad!” My bestie gives me a hand-it-over gesture. “Let’s see it.”
“No way! Coco already gave me a username suggesting that I’m a stripper. I’m not letting you get your hands on my profile too.”
She rolls her lips between her teeth to keep from laughing.
“I did start talking to one guy, though.”
“I’m so proud of you. Go get it.” She covers one of my hands with hers.
“He’s more of a practice test though. He’s interested in somebody at his work, so we’re just...buddies.”
“Hey, it’s a start. And who’s to say he can’t change his mind? Work relationships are the worst. Best to avoid them.”
I cock my head and stare. “You and Amir met at work.”
“Yeah, and he almost got fired for spending too much time banging me in the supply closet!”
“Whatever. This guy is just a harmless acquaintance. A guinea pig, if you will. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out there.”
“Well, I think it’s great. Keep talking to dating-app guy and add the hockey player to your hall-pass list. You wouldn’t want to date a professional athlete anyway. They get so much tail, you’d get eaten alive.” She points at me. “And not in the good way.”
I fling my hands out in mild panic. “I refuse to even think about developing a crush on Bobby Rhodes. He’s over a decade younger than me! Can you imagine? So embarrassing.” I can feel my skin heat, giving me away.
Ramona doesn’t directly call me out, instead replying, “Oh, my imagination is conjuring up something, all right. I’m gonna have to look this guy up.”
“You won’t have to. He’s picking me up in...” I glance at my watch and spring to my feet, mild panic switching to hysteria. “Thirty minutes! Shit!”
Ramona jumps in her chair. “I thought we weren’t crushing on him?!”
“I’m not!” I slam back the remainder of my coffee, not caring that I may have just scorched my larynx. “I still need to be presentable, don’t I?”
I ignore Ramona’s skeptical look as I rush from the room to get to my shower.
Thirty minutes later, as Bobby opens the passenger door of “Wolverine” for me, I can’t keep my eyes from darting to Ramona and Amir’s house. Which I immediately regret when I spot Ramona through her big picture window, mouth gaping. As soon as we lock eyes, she lifts one hand in the air and rolls her hips like she’s riding a fricking bronco. I groan.
“Did you say something?” Bobby asks, beginning to turn his attention to follow my gaze.
I quickly haul my ass up into the passenger seat and paste on a bright smile. “Nothing!”