Maybe Maby

  They launch into a couple of hilarious stories about the dives Jade sings in. We quickly lose track of time. They’re kind, funny, beautiful, smart women. I sort of want to be their best friend forever.

  My mom must be working some kind of deal with the big guy up there. Men, and possibly friends. Now, if she could just work out a job for me, that would be too good to be true.

  SOMETIMES THERE’S AN in-between place between being asleep and awake where I forget. I feel at peace. There is nothing clouding my mind. No numbers, no crazed need to clean or organize or declutter. My mind is an open field of possibilities. And then suddenly, it hits me like a bomb detonating deep inside my chest.

  She’s dead. My mother is dead. I can’t breathe. It hurts too much.

  I do this over and over and over. You’d think I would realize by now that she’s gone, but it’s like it’s a new revelation every day. I wonder if that will ever go away. It’s like even my grief has OCD.

  ON SUNDAY, I jog to the corner and pick up a paper. When I get back, I settle into my comfy chair and study the options. I decide to go old school with it, circling jobs that sound even halfway interesting with my pink highlighter. Most of them still sound like duds. I enjoyed my job. Minus Anna, it was a great job. I loved finding merchandise that was unique, especially from local vendors. Anna left all of that up to me. I’m not even sure what she would pick out at this point.

  I mull over the ads for an hour, sipping coffee and picking at a bagel. After a while, my skin is twitching. I’m anxious and feel that oh-so-familiar tug. I put on my tennis shoes and run out the door before I can give in to my urges.

  Four miles or so later, I get back to my apartment, dripping with sweat and sore from being out of shape. I shower and look around my apartment like a lost dog. Sometimes the loneliness is so thick, it threatens to choke me. It seems like I should be set for a while after my fun night out, but it’s almost worse. Now I know there’s life out there being had without me.

  On a whim, I text Coen.

  Did you have a nice weekend at home?

  His reply is quick.

  Coen: I did. Would have been better if you’d come with me, though.

  I type a smiley face back and stare at my walls. They’re closing in on me. I look at my bed longingly and shake myself. I can cave and get in bed and cover my head, or I can fight this depression that’s threatening to eat me up alive.

  Coen: Any plans today? I’d love to see you.

  I pause for a minute, simply so I won’t seem too eager and type: Let’s do something.

  Coen: OK. :) What did you have in mind?

  I have nothing in mind and am too sore to do much more than sit around, but I don’t tell him that.

  Uh … anything?

  Coen: Well, that leaves our options open. I like it. Anything.

  I giggle and it bounces around the room.

  I know! Let’s go to one of those wine & paint places. I’ve always wanted to try that.

  Coen: Do guys really do that? I mean … okay. I did agree to anything, after all.

  I’m already looking online to see if we can even get in somewhere still today.

  Oh! Perfect! Party Paint is painting a “Pretty Peacock” today. See? Meant to be.

  Coen: Pretty Peacock. Have you been drinking?

  I giggle again and look around, embarrassed, like my walls are going to rat me out.

  Noooo. But I will at Party Paint! It starts at 3. Can you make that?

  Coen: Oh—that’s soon! I’ll pick you up in 30?

  Perfect.

  I scramble to the closet and throw on a short black skirt and black t-shirt. I try to find colorful jewelry, but my jewelry is seriously lacking, so I loop a thin pink scarf around my neck instead. Paschal gave me some new hair product to try and I like how it spikes my hair and makes it piece-y … something I never knew was possible when my hair was long and fuzzy.

  Coen buzzes exactly 30 minutes later, and I run down the stairs instead of inviting him up. I suck in my jiggle as I run, hoping it can substitute as sit-ups. My new fitness phase is already annoying me, but I’m determined to get back in shape. Besides, I don’t want to scare Coen if my belly runs ahead of me. So far, he hasn’t seemed to mind that I’m not a size 6. Maybe he’ll appreciate it when I am, though. If he’s telling the truth about liking me all this time, he’s seen me tiny.

  I wonder again what in the world it is that he sees in me.

  I have to stop this train of thought or I’ll have to turn around and go to bed.

  Coen looks edible with his jeans and wet hair. He kisses my cheek and we grab a cab.

  We’re nearly to the place when my phone starts going off like crazy.

  “Geez. Sorry. I need to turn it off.” I look down and see Dalton, Dalton, Dalton. Five missed messages from Dalton.

  “Must be important. Check it. We’re not there yet.”

  Dalton: You really hurt me with all those insensitive remarks the other day. We had a history together. I thought that counted for something. You didn’t seem to mind how short I was when you lived with me for TWO FUCKING YEARS.

  Dalton: Courtney has kicked me out, thanks to you. I hope you’re happy.

  Dalton: You deserve to be alone. It’s not like you’re even all that special. Acting like you’re better than me while you’re counting all the days you’re alone…

  Dalton: And as you’re going to sleep alone, AGAIN, I hope you remember that you’ve fucked up everything you’ve ever done. You can’t keep a job, can’t keep a man, can’t keep your sanity…

  Dalton: I was a fool to get caught in your web again. I’m going to enjoy my time as a free agent and when the baby is born, I’ll be there for Courtney. She’ll take me back. You haven’t cost me anything.

  My hands shake as I read through the texts, but I feel a wave of hysterical laughter building in my gut.

  “Everything okay?” Coen asks.

  “Oh yeah. Fine.”

  We pull up to Party Paint and when we get out, I grab Coen’s arm.

  “Take a picture with me?” I ask him.

  He smiles down at me. “Of course, gorgeous.”

  I pffft his comment and he holds the camera out and clicks. We look at the camera. Click. And then at each other. Click. Coen leans down and kisses me. Click. His tongue reaches out for mine. Click. I giggle. Click.

  “Okay, okay, give me that.” I laugh and take the camera.

  We scroll through and our smiles get bigger and bigger with each picture.

  “There you have it,” he says and taps on the kissing picture. “You can’t deny that magic, Maby.”

  I look at it intently. No, I cannot. I give him another quick kiss and wish I could just take him home with me and keep him there. There’s just something about him that makes me feel … free.

  I subtly forward the kissing picture to Dalton and say: Not suffering at all over here, believe me. And FYI: I always minded how short you were.

  I wish there was an emoticon with the middle finger up… maybe that could be something I look into next: creating foul emoticons.

  “YOURS TURNED OUT way better than mine.” I hold my painting up to Coen’s. “My peacock looks angry.”

  Coen tries to shake his head, but he takes another look at mine and bites his bottom lip. “Yours is very … expressive.”

  I snort. “That’s one way to put it. Mine looks more like a raptor.”

  Coen’s dimple curves in as he gives up. “I guess it’s true what they say about interpreting art differently.”

  “You’re so nice. Are you ever, ever mean?”

  We’re holding our paintings carefully and step outside the store. He looks down at me and shrugs.

  “That whole ‘nice guys finish last’ thing just always seemed like a crock to me. I personally think it’s a waste of time to be anything else. Nice isn’t always boring—I like to have fun. It takes up too much bad energy to be mean.”

  I nod. “I agree, but I think it c
an be really hard to be nice. I don’t like people as much as you seem to.”

  “You’re nicer than you think,” he says, leaning down to nibble my lip.

  It makes my stomach drop.

  “There is nothing boring about you,” I tell him.

  We stop walking and hold our paintings out as we kiss each other’s face off.

  “Get a room!” someone shouts.

  “Why would I when I can do this?” Coen yells back.

  I laugh and cover my mouth with my hand.

  “Being with you makes me forget who I really am.” I say it with a smile, but then get serious when I realize the gravity of my statement.

  He crinkles his face, a little frown forming between his brows. “Maybe I just remind you of who you want to be … who you are when you’re not trying to be something else.” His hand sweeps across my cheek and I lean into it, closing my eyes.

  I wish he was right. When he looks at me the way he is right now, I can almost believe him.

  THERE’S AN AWKWARD pause when we get back to my building. I clear my throat, wishing he’d come up and stay a while, but not wanting to be the one to say it.

  He chuckles again as he looks at my painting. “Are you going to hang that in your apartment?”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “No way. I’ll be dumping it before it ever goes inside.”

  He scowls at me. “You can’t! It’s a memento of our night!”

  “Oh, would you like to keep it then?” I poke his side and he jerks away, laughing.

  “Thank you, but I have my own memento.” He holds up his flawless painting.

  “Nice work, Mr. Brady.”

  He gives a slight bow. “Thank you, Ms. Armstrong.”

  I look at mine again and can’t stop smiling. “Maybe I will keep this guy. He is pretty amusing.”

  He opens the door and walks up the stairs with me. When we reach my apartment, he clears his throat and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I had a great time, Maby. I’ll see you this week?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I unlock my door and step inside. When I turn to look at him, he gives me a little wave.

  “Night, Maby.”

  “Night.”

  I TOSS AND turn, disconcerted by the way the night ended with Coen. The next morning, I wake up and feel so strange taking my time on a Monday. I consider getting coffee at La Colombe, but am not sure if I should go see Coen so soon, after we ended on such a weird note.

  The sun is blinding and it’s finally warm outside. I put on my camo shorts and start walking toward the coffee shop. I’m nearly there when my phone starts ringing.

  “Hey, Saul. Whatcha doin?”

  “I’m at Whatnot Alley and Anna is flipping out,” he says. His voice is muffled.

  “Are you hiding?”

  “No! I’m just … look, she’s had a rough week trying to handle all the vendors without you. Some have pulled out of the new shop because they’re worried about the risk. They don’t like the way she runs things. Do you think you could … smooth things over with Retro Mod?”

  I close my eyes and breathe to 20.

  “Maby?” he whispers.

  “Are you serious right now? She’s had a rough week? Saul!” My voice bites into the air and passersby turn around to see who’s yelling.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Maby. It just … it affects my job too. If the big vendors keep pulling out, I’m afraid she’ll lose the new building—I’m not sure she’ll pay me if that happens.”

  “You can sue her if that happens!” I snap.

  A door shuts and his voice gets louder. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” he finishes.

  “This is a shitty thing you’re asking, Saul, just so we’re clear.”

  “I know, Maby. It is. And I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

  “Retro Mod is wanting out? Vintage Textiles will want out too then.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s talking to them right now. Wasn’t sounding good when I stepped out.”

  I roll my eyes and tug the top of my hair. “Ugh, Saul. I’ll think about it.”

  “Please don’t think about it too long, okay?”

  I hang up on him and shake the phone in the air. Then I dial Cheri from Retro Mod. She picks up on the second ring.

  “Hi Cheri. It’s Mabel.”

  “Mabel, hi! I was gonna call you today. What’s going on with Whatnot Alley?”

  “Well, I’m taking some time off, but the plan is still to expand the mother store and the new shop will be ready soon. We’re really counting on your merchandise in both stores! What’s this I hear about you pulling out?”

  “I heard you weren’t there anymore. Mabel, you know I can’t work with Anna! And when I’ve called this week, it’s been one disaster after another. When are you going back? Because I don’t feel confident moving forward with the way things are now.”

  “I understand. Anna has had a rough week, I hear.” I fist the hem of my shorts in one hand and take another breath. “She’s pregnant—did you hear that?” I say it conspiratorially, like Anna might hear me if I say it any louder.

  “No, I hadn’t heard. Well, that makes some sense. But still, I’d rather not deal with her.”

  “The new shop is going to be spectacular. I really hope you’ll reconsider.”

  “As long as we can work with you, we’ll reconsider. Elaine agrees with me on this. We’ve always worked with you, and it needs to stay that way.”

  I bite my lip, not sure what to say. “I’ll talk to Anna and give you a call sometime next week.”

  “Thanks, Mabel.”

  I hang up and exhale. I could have told her I’d call back sooner, but Anna and Saul can both squirm for just a little longer. The more I think about it, the madder I get. Anna would flip if she knew Saul called me, and that does a little something evil to my insides, but the fact that he would even ask me to help her—I want to shake him until his teeth rattle.

  ON A WHIM, I grab a taxi for the few blocks to Anna’s Soho location. It’s a prime spot. If I could pick anywhere to have a shop, it would be this place. In fact, I had been the one to suggest this location. I saw it in the paper, went to check it out, and called Anna that night to tell her she needed to open another shop here. That was what stung the most about getting fired—I did all the grueling work and she continuously reaped the benefits. And for what? So she could fire me over one mistake? A mistake that I could have fixed in one conversation? It just wasn’t right.

  The windows are mostly covered, but I can see in through a tiny flap that was left open. It’s nearly done and is already beautiful. It seems like it could be open within a couple of months, at most. I wish I’d asked Saul how much is really left to do.

  I pace the sidewalk and chew my lips, trying to decide what to do. After much thought, even though she’s been cruel to me, I decide to give her a chance. I call her cell before I can talk myself out of it.

  “Hello?” Even her hello is snappy.

  “Hi, Anna, it’s Mabel. Got a minute?”

  “What do you want, Mabel?” She sounds frustrated before I’ve even said a word.

  “I’d like to take over the Soho location,” I say, more confident than I really feel.

  “Have you forgotten that I just fired you?” She laughs. “No, you’re not taking over the new Soho location.”

  I grind my palm into the brick wall and breathe. “Okay, I thought you might say that. I just hoped you would say something different.”

  “What do you want me to say, Mabel? I can’t lie to you—getting rid of you was the best thing I ever did.”

  “Really? Then why are vendors calling me? Why do they say they’ll go with me wherever I decide to go? Why do they say they’ll never work with you, no matter how hard I try to convince them to?”

  It’s quiet for a moment. “Who said that?” she snaps. “You’re lying.”

  “No, Anna. I can’t lie to you either. Since I’m the one who made thei
r business what it is, I have some really loyal partners. I’d think about it, if I were you, Anna. Otherwise, both of your shops just might go under. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Or, you could let me take over the Soho store and we’ll call it a day.”

  “Who, Mabel? Who said that? What do you—”

  I hang up on her before I’m tempted to say anything else. Let her wallow in that a while.

  I head back to my apartment and spend the rest of the afternoon on the phone. I don’t beat around the bush, I say exactly what I’m planning and the help I need. It really isn’t that hard to convince them.

  That night I take a long look at my money situation. I haven’t made much, but I don’t spend much either, and I do have a small savings that I’ve left alone. I’ve made a couple investments that I also never pay any attention to, but I open an online account and look at all the numbers. I have more than I thought I did; not enough, but I’m not as poor as I thought. Still, it will take people who trust me to make this work—and a business loan.

  I’M SHUTTING MY laptop when the door buzzes. I push the intercom.

  “You up for company?” Coen asks.

  “Come on!” I buzz him up.

  He seems shy when I open the door. His smile isn’t as bright as usual.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  “Sorry to drop in.” He holds out a takeout box. “Thought we could share this.”

  I open the box and inside is enough carrot cake for a giant. I squeal and then grab his arm and pull him into my apartment.

  “You are always welcome with carrot cake. I will eat anything with cream cheese frosting … always.” I hurriedly get two forks out of the drawer and practically skip to the couch.