Crave: A BWWM Romance (7 page)

W
hen I had told
Sonia that my Mom was moving out of her condo, she kept commenting on how ‘sad’ it was. I never thought about it being sad. I mostly thought about how little I approved of everything that was happening. I supposed that, in the movies, when the parents fly the coop, it’s sad for some people. Childhood memories get relegated to storage or sold to strangers. Pieces of the life you had before you were an adult are no longer preserved like a museum exhibit. That wasn’t my experience. I’d never lived in this condo. Mom bought it seven years ago after Kaila and I had gone to college. It wasn’t even sad then since we had moved so many times as children, chasing that most mythical of beasts, reasonable rent.

Helping my mother move was, therefore, not a particularly emotional experience. Unless the emotion in question is frustration. Right now, Kaila and I were packing the last of her boxes while she made half-hearted attempts to help us. To her credit, she had done most of the work over the weekend and I knew that she was very excited to move. However, the moving truck was due to arrive in less than two hours, and her kitchen wasn’t finished. I was tempted to yell at her that if she wanted to move in with this stranger so badly, she should try harder to get the job done.

“Mom, help me with these glasses. If you wrap them in the bubble wrap, I can work on fitting them into this box.” I tried very little to conceal my irritation.

“Of course, sweet-pea.” She picked up a glass and began wrapping it with one of the pieces I’d torn. As her fingers traced the design on the side, a far-away look crept into her eyes. “Oh you remember these?”

“Yes Mom.” She had asked me if I remembered something about three thousand times this morning already. That was why she was incapable of being productive. I found it best, at this point, to just say yes whether I remembered or not.

“That was such a lovey gift. Oh that party was fantastic wasn’t it? Best Christmas party I’ve ever thrown. Sherrie and Tucker from downstairs both got sick over the balcony. You remember that?”

“Yes Mom.”

“And they’d been drinking from different eggnog bowls? Sherrie liked it spicy so he had the one with the red dye and Tucker had the green one? They’re vomit was red and green.”

“It was very festive if I recall.” Kaila called from the dining room where she was carefully laying out decorative plates.”

“Mom.” I placed my hand on hers to draw her out of memory lane. “You’re not leaving the glasses behind. They’re coming with you.”

Mom laughed and settled the glass gently on the counter. “I know. But, Sherrie and Tucker aren’t. Neither is the balcony.” She turned toward the sliding door, indicating the balcony with one hand. Pausing there, she seemed to consider it for a long moment. “Do you think Francis’ place will have a balcony?”

“Maybe,” I replied. “It won’t have a Sherrie and Tucker though. Not to worry. These two will travel.”

I watched my mother closely as she pulled herself away from the balcony and started working on the glasses again. I couldn’t help but feel for her a little. True, she’d only been here seven years. But, that was a long time for some people. Seven years was as close to having a stable home as she’d ever gotten. I made a mental note to be more sympathetic. She was making a significant change. Hopefully, this guy would be worth it.

My sympathy was finite though, as soon as she started in on the corner of carpet that she had seared when one of her candles had fallen from its perch, I rolled my eyes and tried to focus on the box at hand. Reminiscing wasn’t going to get us any more ready for that truck.

“Oh. I still can’t believe I did that. That’ll be a hole in my security deposit for sure. Do you two remember how that happened?”

“Yes Mom,” we said in unison.

“Julie and I had too many of them lit and had too much wine. Oh that’ll do it. That was the night after her split with Frank. She really does have abysmal taste in men.” She placed a hand against her cheek, gazing at the scorch mark as if it were her child graduating from High School. “It could have been this weekend; it feels so recent.”

“But it wasn’t this weekend,” I reminded her. “This weekend you packed your apartment so you could move in with some guy you’ve known for little more than a week. And you’re not getting there any faster standing around and cooing at burns in your carpet.” My tone was so frosty, it gave my sister a chill.

“I won’t even have carpet in the new house.” She continued as if I’d never spoken. I felt deliberately ignored. “All hard wood flooring. Maybe that’s for the best.” She said that like the choice of whether or not to have carpet was on par with choosing to put your pet down.
Maybe it’s for the best
. Please. I looked at her scornfully and imagined her thinking about what a carpet-less life will be like.

“Mom. If you’re just going to reminisce, can you reminisce while getting more packing peanuts from the van?” I tried to make my sigh as audible as possible.

As she went in search of more packing material, Kaila stole back into the kitchen. She turned to the cupboard for more plates. Holding a stack firmly in hand, she adopted a whimsical look and traced the edges of the dishes.

“These plates.
These plates
!” She cried.

Grabbing my shoulder, she spun me around and I almost lost the glass I was holding. “Kaila! You could have…”

“Do you remember these plates? How we used to eat off of them? They would hold our food so
proudly.
Then we would put them each in the dishwasher and they would get clean?”

I wanted to tell Kaila we didn’t have time for this, but the simpering look on her face made me erupt in laughter. I allowed myself a moment of repose as I enjoyed Kaila’s little joke.

Encouraged, she continued. “Then we would stack them, one right on top of the other, in the cupboard. They stacked so perfectly. Almost…well, almost as if they were designed that way.”

“Stop.” I was choking with laughter. Kaila had succeeded in getting me to make the high wheezing noise that she cherished so much. I sounded like a cartoon foghorn.

“Stop.” I managed to make the second one more audible.

“Why? She's not going to.” Kaila rolled his eyes and turned back to the plates.

“I know. Which is why I need you more than ever right now. You know how those moving guys get. If we’re not ready to go it’ll be an earful and probably a billion dollars in bullshit fees. We are so close to finishing. Can we
please
just get this done?”

“I know I know. Hey, I’ve been working in here. This is the last of the plates. Then I’ll help you with the glasses, we’ll give the place a sweep, and we’ll be golden.”

I still had the tears of laughter in my eyes when Mom returned with the peanuts. She paused and gazed at me suspiciously.

“Been making fun of me have you?” She lifted my chin with her fingers, the way mothers do.

“Not me. Kaila.”

“
Thanks
sis,” we could hear from the farther room.

“That’s what you get for wasting time,” I called back.

“Whatever. Laugh all you want. I’m moving in with the man I love. You can’t bring me down today.”

I glanced up to apologize and caught the smile playing on her lips. It was such a perfect, small smile. Her face was like the Mona Lisa, happy with a secret, happy but not caring who knows, not showing it off, just experiencing it. Her happiness wasn’t the kind of happiness I recalled from late nights out with Sonia or exchanging quips with Kaila. It wasn’t even the kind of happiness I recalled from the other night when Cole had me bent over a counter. It was the kind of happiness that lasts, a contentment, a profound joy. Suddenly, I was incredibly jealous of my Mom’s happiness. I couldn’t judge her. I wasn’t even in the same league as her when it came to living life.

There was a knock at the door. The moving truck was here early.
Shit.
I put down the glass I was holding and firmly instructed my mother to finish the packing while I made my way to the door. All the while, I was preparing a speech about how rude it was to be too early. Didn’t these guys work on a timetable? I was all ready to begin scolding when I opened the door to my mother’s condo and saw Cole Saunders standing on the other side.

“What are
you
doing here?” I blurted out. I immediately felt the heat of embarrassment wash over me for having been so blatantly rude.

“What am
I
doing here? I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” Cole paused, checked the apartment number, checked a pad in his pocket, and turned back to me. “Do
you
live here?”

“No. My mother does. Look, I don’t know what is happening here, but it can wait until tomorrow. My Mom is moving today and we’re expecting the truck any minute.” I made a show of glancing over his shoulder, as if the moving truck might be waiting behind him, and he was blocking it with his big, annoying body.

Cole chuckled and rested one hand on the frame. Leaning over me like a greaser from the fifties might lean over a lollipop chick in a poodle skirt. I was acutely aware of his presence. All of the feelings of Friday night came back in waves as I locked eyes with him. Even the low down feelings. I squirmed a little, embarrassed by the idea that he might guess what I was thinking.

“Sweetheart, I
am
the movers.”

“Oh.” I scanned him for evidence of this. He wasn’t wearing a moving uniform. He was dressed the same way he dressed to work on the restaurant, faded jeans and a t-shirt. “You’re not wearing a uniform…and
hey
. You told me you couldn’t work today because your Dad was sick! Using your Dad as an excuse so you can sneak a second job as a mover is beyond pathetic. Why do you need this job anyway? You charge me an arm and a leg.”

I broke off at the sight of his grin. I wanted to smack it…then kiss it. I wanted to pull at the tendrils of hair that were falling in front of his eyes, twirl them around my fingers, and drag him in close.

“You done?” He asked, breaking the spell. “I don’t work for the movers. I’m here for my Dad.”

As if on cue, an older gentleman in similar attire as his son, walked up to the door with a wide smile and an open hand. He introduced himself as Francis Saunders. I shook his hand numbly, slowly assembling the mystery that lay before me.

“And this is my son, Cole Saunders.” He added.

“How do you do?” Cole reached out a hand to me.

I shook it automatically. I was in shock. When you’re in shock and are incapable of processing things, you shake the hands that are offered without giving them much thought. As I started to return to myself, I could see the amusement on Cole’s face that I had actually shaken his hand. In fact, he seemed generally amused by the entire situation. I felt angry that he wasn’t as bewildered as I was.

Cole and his father moved past me into the condo. Cole offered a light slap on the bottom has he went. I was too overwhelmed to be angry. I heard many voices in the distance as I settled against the door frame. As if through a fog, I could hear Francis introducing Cole around. I could hear my mother apologizing that the packing wasn’t finished yet and Cole offering to take care of it for her. I could hear the blood in my ears, pounding away from frustration and anxiety. Cole's smirk filled me with rage as I realized that my plan of putting him behind me was officially screwed.

“Well. Well. Well, Kaila’s shit-eating grin was the last thing I wanted to see. “Looks like our newest family member is your dreamy contractor.”

“Please Kaila. Just don’t. Not now. And he's
not
family. Mom is only living with this guy, we both know how
that's
going to end.”

“Jeeze, what’s crawled up your butt? He’s not that bad a guy. I think Mom is really happy.”

“I’m begging you to stop.”

“Well OK. What’s up anyway?”

“Nothing. I just, I’m tired and I want to get this day over with.”

Still leaning in the doorway, I gazed across the condo. Boxes were piled in one corner of the living room; furniture was disassembled and stacked as neatly as could be expected. The rest of the place was bare and filthy. It would need a vacuum when we were done.

There was something a little sad about it. A memory of my Mom and I drinking wine and watching the Academy Awards washed over me. Kaila would pop in and out to lament whom ever had just won. She never liked the winners.

I remembered us sitting at the bar that connected the living room and the kitchen. We conducted culinary experiments. Often, it involved my mom challenging me to make a meal in 30 minutes that made something bland like cream of wheat or mashed asparagus taste good. I wondered if we would do any of these things in the new place.

And if we did, would Cole be there? Looming? A constant threat to my happiness?