Settling Up (3 page)

T
hat night after work
, I did a little more online dating searching. I added a profile on two more sites, hoping for better odds. This however, only seemed to make things worse and before too long I found myself standing and pacing, counting again. Before I could even get past sixty-seven, my phone rang out from the table next to me. Seeing my sister’s name on the screen, I picked up the call.

“Hey.” I sounded like I could’ve played a pretty convincing Eeyore.

“Oh no. Have you gone completely bald? Am I too late?”

I sighed. “No. Same amount of baldness. I’ve just been online and I’m getting depressed.”

“Laur! I told you never to look up symptoms online. You need to let me do that.”

After a fateful night in college when I found a weird rash on my arm in the shower and after just fifteen minutes on the internet had convinced myself I had legitimately contracted scabies, Betsy didn’t allow me to look up symptoms any more. Likewise, I was the only one allowed to look up anything ailing her.

“No no, don’t worry. It wasn’t anything like that. I was updating my dating site profiles.”

“Dating? You haven’t been on a date in…”

“Exactly, Bets. Like I told you before, finding out I may be losing my hair made me realize that I need to get serious about dating again. I know I put it aside for a while, but I obviously can’t wait any longer.”

“Okay. Alright. Calm down.” I heard a scuffle as Bets moved the phone away from her mouth. “False alarm. She was on dating sites, not WebMD.” There was another rustle and she was back. “Josh was getting ready to come get you.” She chuckled. “You sure you’re okay?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile that pulled on my lips. Boy, did I love my sister.

“I’m sure. I’m good. Just, was everyone so abhorrently un-dateable when I was on these sites before? There’s seriously no one I would even feel comfortable serving me food let alone having a relationship with.”

Betsy laughed. “I don’t know. Have you added more to the list that I don’t know about?” My sister was one of the people who knew the list and knew it well. She didn’t stop to let me answer her question, though. “I honestly think the guy that fits that list isn’t going to be anywhere online. His name is something like Gustav and he’s sipping port out of a tiny glass in a bistro in Paris or something. You’re not going to find that on the internet, or if you do, he’s most likely lying.”

I pulled in a deep breath as I let her words settle over me. “I think you’ve got your cultures mixed up there. Gustav? Port? Paris?’ I chuckled. “Well, what do you think I should do?”

“Josh knows this guy from work…”

“No.”

“Come on, Lauren. Just this once.”

“Absolutely not.”

I hated being set up. It was part of the reason I had gravitated toward those online sites. At least I knew what I was getting myself into that way. The only set-ups I’d ever been on had left me scratching my head, wondering who people thought I was. Did they really know me? Obviously not if they thought I would get along with the characters I’d been set up with.

As much as my frustration with dating sites was causing me to become all hot-and-bothered, I wasn’t yet at the point where I was going to entertain people’s pity set-up suggestions. That was a slippery slope. It seemed once you accepted a date with one wacky far-removed relative or former co-worker, the scent of the set up was all over you and everyone you knew had someone you just-had-to-meet.

No. I may have been getting desperate, but I wasn’t yet ready to stamp it on my forehead in bright red ink.

“Okay.” Betsy sighed. “Well, do you want to hear what I found out about your balding at least?”

I told her I did and spent the next few minutes listening to Betsy list what she thought we might be dealing with (most likely stress shedding) and the shampoo that would help with this and the cream that would combat that.

“Anyway, let’s start there and we’ll see if that works. But pretty much the best thing you can do is to stay calm, Lauren. De-stress, sister.”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks for looking that up, Bets. You’re the best.”

“I know. Talk to you later.” She hung up.

After continuing my list of counting from where I’d left off, I was feeling a tad better. At least stress seemed to be the problem, which definitely sounded temporary. If I could lower my stress level, maybe those hairs would come back. I looked down at the sticky note where I’d written the names of the stuff Bets had told me to grab at the store. Yep. I needed to take a break, go pick up this stuff, and grab an ample supply of red wine and chocolate before I was ready to tackle those dating sites again without getting stressed.

I took the sticky note, stuck it on my phone, picked up my purse, and headed out the door.

My town’s drug store was seriously the cutest thing ever. It was more like a gift shop that just happened to also carry medication and physical hygiene paraphernalia. But for all of the cutesie crap they carried, the owners, Wanda and Steve, did a pretty good job stocking the important stuff, too. I was able to find both Betsy’s recommended cream and shampoo.

I was about to head up to the checkout counter, when a woman walked past me. Her almost-halfway-down-her-back dark hair bounced as she swished by and turned down the stationary aisle. I found myself following her, eyes glued to her thick locks, wishing oh-so-fervently mine could look like that. I fiddled with a notebook on a shelf as I watched her from a few foot distance. There was a part of me (a much bigger one that I want to admit) that became jealous of her thick hair, that started to get narrow-eyed mad at her for being so selfish, hoarding all of that hair to herself.

Next to the notebooks, I saw some scissors hanging on pegs.
What harm could it do to just snip some of her hair off and add it to mine? You know, thicken it up a bit.
A sad sigh escaped me as I realized how crazy my thoughts sounded, even to me.

The woman, alerted to my presence by the sigh and startled by my now-closeness (I had been inching closer as I had been thinking my evil thoughts), bit her lip and sidled away from me.

Oh god. Had I just been considering stealing someone else’s hair? Seriously, what would I have done with a stranger’s hair? Taped it onto my scalp?
My head hung low as I pictured myself, eyes wide and crazed, different colored patches of hair being held onto my head with wayward pieces of Scotch tape.

Shuddering at the sight, I turned on my heel and headed up front to buy this damn cream. I needed to try to fix my own hair before I started to think about stealing someone else’s.

I
was
feeling bolstered in my confidence as I walked from the store back to my car, until… the wind picked up and made my hair whip around my face, flopping it to one side, completely undoing my careful comb-over. My hands flew up to correct my locks, patting them down like an old man guarding his toupee from torrential winds.

I caught sight of myself in the reflective surface of my car windows as I stood there clutching my hair, pasting it back onto my head. I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.

Choosing action rather than self-pity, I jumped into the car to avoid any other wind gusts, pulled the cream out of the package, and started slathering it onto the top part of my scalp. I sighed, took a deep breath, and began to drive. This was going to be fine. I was fixing it, treating it. The hair would grow back. Heck, maybe I’d start growing too much hair and become one of those people who complain about how thick their locks are.

I let my mouth pull into a full smile at the wonderful thought. I could picture it now. This cream would help. It was already feeling tingly. That meant it was working, right? Yes, I decided.

Oh, wow. It was VERY tingly. Was it supposed to burn? My cheeks heated up and my heart began to race. The area where I’d put the cream began to pulse as if under pressure.

“Ow, ow, ow ouch.” I yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled into the nearest parking lot, grappling with the box of the evil cream. The car lurched as I brought it to a stop, slanty-ways, probably taking up two parking spots. I scanned the warning labels.

Discontinue use if scalp begins to burn. Wash the affected area carefully to remove all residue.

Holy crap! What? It would take me a good ten minutes to get home from here. The burning was increasing exponentially each second that ticked by. In the time it would take me to drive all the way home, I might not have any scalp left to speak of.

I needed to get this crap off my head. Now.

I looked in my rear view mirror to see which parking lot I had pulled into and almost laughed as I recognized the red and blue neon sign of the casino. My heart settled a tiny bit as I smiled, grabbed my purse, and headed inside.

Taking a quick left, I went straight into the bathrooms instead of going out onto the floor, and after taking my glasses off and placing them on the counter, I dunked my head into the too-tiny sink immediately. The stream of cold water that cascaded down my scalp felt like the most glorious thing I’d ever experienced. I could see globs of the evil burn-your-skin-off cream being sucked down the drain. I laughed in victory.

Just as the door opened.

Oh gosh. If a chick sticking her head in a small sink wasn’t weird enough to walk in on, I had added a maniacal laugh on top of that. By the time I could lift my dripping head up to look, the woman was gone, scared off. She must’ve decided she didn’t have to pee
that
badly. I shrugged and got back to business.

My fingers massaged the burned area. The cool water seemed to be doing its job. I leaned into the counter and closed my eyes, soaking it all up (somewhat literally, I suppose).

That’s when the door opened again.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to wash your hair somewhere else.” A deep voice rumbled through the empty tiled room. “If you need a place to clean up, there are some other options in town. I can help you —”

I snapped my head up, flicking water everywhere, slapped my wet hair out of my face, and then pawed at my watery eyes so I could see.

“Lauren?” Mack’s voice echoed too-loudly around me and I winced.

I peeked out of one eye and then slowly opened both as the water drained enough for me to see (well, as much as I could see without my glasses). My neck felt immediately hot. I was sure the red rash was currently spreading down toward my chest.

“Oh, hey Mack!” I laughed and leaned nonchalantly on the counter and faced where the blurry outline of Mack stood at the entrance of the women’s bathroom, probably not wanting to venture too far in. Water dripped down my nose, splashing loudly on the floor beneath me.

“What are you —? Some lady thought there was a homeless woman…” He shook his head (at least, I think he did. I saw some movement).

“I… uh… well… It’s kinda a long story.” I cringed.

He chuckled, a sound that immediately loosened the tightness in my shoulders and sent a warm tingle through my chest.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got some time on my hands.” He paused. “You want me to come in there?”

Just hearing the concern in Mack’s voice made something in me snap. Maybe it was the fact that I resembled more of a drowned rat than a woman. Maybe it was the fact that the water drops plopping all over me and onto the floor wouldn’t relent. Maybe it was the fact that this guy was so nice, even when he thought I might be homeless, he wanted to help, not just kick me out.

Whatever it was, it unleashed everything I’d been dealing with the last few days. I broke into sobs and sunk down into a wet heap on the floor of the bathroom. And as the cool tile of the floor began to pull all the heat from my body, I felt a strong arm wrap around my shoulders.

“
H
ey
, it’s okay. You’re alright.” Mack’s voice wrapped around me almost as tight as his arm as I bawled.

At first, I’d tried to say a few things, explain, but they just came out all slobbery and incoherent, so I just put my head down and let everything out that (apparently) needed to come out.

Mack’s hand rubbed up and down my back as the tears began to slow to a small trickle. He leaned up and grabbed a paper towel, holding it out to me. I patted my face with it before blowing my nose and tossing it toward the garbage a few feet away. I missed and the snotty thing bounced onto the floor. Figured.

I let out a squeak of laughter and shook my head when Mack moved to stand, to go get it. I put a hand up to keep him in place and stood up, grabbing my own snot rag and placing it in the bin. Then I swiped my glasses from the counter top and glanced quickly at my reflection in the mirror (thank the gods of good makeup choices that I had gone without mascara or I would have been looking like some sort of Goth queen right about then) before sitting back down, this time facing Mack. His blueish gray eyes held me as his jaw tightened in concern.

I sniffed and then said, “I’m so sorry. I’m not —”

“Don’t apologize, Lauren. Really it’s okay. I’m just worried about you.” His forehead creased as he watched me.

I swatted the air in front of me about to make light of the situation, but I stopped, realized that I wanted to tell him everything, that I didn’t want to pretend like everything was okay. I pulled in a deep breath and as I let it go, my world-as-of-late spilled out. “I just can’t seem to catch a break! I’m balding and the thing that’s supposed to help me burned the crap out of my skin, which is why I had to wash it off in the sink, and if I keep losing my hair at this rate I’m never going to find a guy who will want me, so I guess I’m dishonestly trying to snag someone into my web while I still look mostly normal which is pretty much like selling a used car to some nice family even though you know it’s a lemon, and… well, I guess that’s kind of it.” I let my shoulders relax. It was as if talking about the problems lightened their weight on my shoulders.

I smiled weakly at Mack who didn’t look overwhelmed or scared or like he was going to run away (which, after what I just spit out, he had every right to do/look like all of those things).

He blinked a few times, nodded, and then said, “So hair falling out, trying to find a date, and there aren’t any good guys out there on the Internet.”

“And now I’m some crazy lady who follows women with lots of hair around and thinks about cutting it off so I can paste it onto my head. What guy is going to want that?”

Mack’s eyebrows lifted slightly as he took in my words. “Lauren, I’ve known you for two days and while you might be a little neurotic, you seem like a nice person. Plus you’re funny as hell. If you find the right guy, he’s going to care more about that than the state of your hair.”

I feigned a smile at the guy, thanking him for trying to be kind, but knowing that he was completely, one-hundred-percent just saying all of that stuff to make me feel better. I mean, I was snotty, wet, balding, and had just finished having some sort of reality-television-star level breakdown in front of the poor man. But he was here, and he did seem to want to talk. So I went on.

“The other problem is that I don’t just want any guy.” I looked down at my fingernails and picked at a hangnail. “And… in order to make sure I’m making an informed decision… I sorta have a list of stuff the guy has to meet in order for me to consider him.” I cringed as the words left my mouth. My eyes crept up to Mack’s face, fearing the judgment I might find there.

Why had I just told him about my list? Rachel didn’t even know about the list, and other than Betsy, she was my biggest confidant.

When I finally looked up at Mack, he didn’t seem disgusted. There was more of a thoughtful look creasing his rugged features as he rubbed his hand across his stubbly chin.

“I guess knowing what you’re looking for isn’t a bad thing. But, you do realize that you just used the phrase ‘informed decision’ in a sentence about finding love. I mean, to me it sounds like you’re in the market for a dependable vehicle, not a man.” He shrugged.

I kept it to myself that I had made a very similar list when buying my car a few years back and my forehead wrinkled as I thought about what he was saying.

“But love is too emotional. I’m a statistician. It makes me nervous to let emotions rule my decisions. Numbers calm me, ground me. The list gives me a way to get back to that kind of dependability, to take a normally emotion-filled decision and assign numbers, values, an algorithm.”

Mack leaned his head back, turning it slightly to one side while still keeping his eyes on me. “Wait. Numbers? Algorithm? Do you have a point system or something?”

Heat rushed to my face. “Er — well, it’s more of a percentage-based equation really.”

Mack let his head fall back in a deep rumbling laugh while he slapped his hand down on the tile floor. “Lauren. Really? That’s why you’re not finding anyone. What’s this list look like?”

Just like how I had told him the list existed in the first place, my tongue adopted the same traitorous tendencies once again and I spit it all out. All nineteen stipulations. Some of them made Mack nod. Some of them made him squint and study the ceiling. But by the end, he was simply shaking his head over and over.

“There’s your problem. Sure, emotions are scary, they can take over and cause us to make decisions we never would in our right mind. But emotions are what makes life exciting. They’re what makes Romeo and Juliet continue to fall into each other’s arms again and again when they know in every other rational way they shouldn’t work.”

There was a light in Mack’s face that I hadn’t seen before. A spark of something that (and I don’t know how, I just got the feeling) told me this man had experienced love. My eyes flicked down to his hands again. I was sure he hadn’t been wearing a ring the other day (I had been looking at his hands a lot as he was dealing, so I was positive I would’ve noticed something like that), but after hearing the passion in his voice, I checked once more. Nope. No ring, not even a visible tan line or indentation that might signal a recent divorce. With great love usually came great tragedy.

“Plus,” Mack continued, not being privy to the thoughts rollicking through my mind. “Your list basically sounds like you want to marry yourself.”

I let out a high-pitched, “Hey!” and swatted at him.

“No, seriously. You followed up almost everything on the list with a ‘Because I’ or ‘Just like me’. Did you realize that?”

I couldn’t deny that he had a point there.

“Haven’t you heard of opposites attracting? If you’re just searching for someone who’s exactly like you, there won’t be any spark. Any passion.”

His deep gray eyes had come alive, almost seemed to change into a brighter hue of blue as they held me, pleaded with me.

I bit my lip in thought. “But I like my life. Is it wrong that I don’t want it to change too dramatically when I settle down?”

Mack didn’t even seem to hear my question, though. He snapped and pointed at me. “There it is. You need to stop looking at it as settling down. It sounds like you’re going in for a long, boring sleep. Why not think of it as an unpredictable adventure? Why not think of it as settling up?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sounds a lot more like I’d just be plain old settling.” (I know, I was sounding immature, but it’s in my nature to pout a little when I’m proven wrong. This was why I liked math so much. I was rarely proven wrong.) “You sound like you just want me to lower my standards.”

Mack shook his head. “No. Not at all. Just change what’s important to you. You had some good stuff on there. Like number eight, the one about treating people well. That’s a great thing to look for. Keep those kind of things, the things that are about his character. What’s in his 401k? That’s not going to matter in the long run.”

I held my tongue and didn’t mention that it would matter a whole lot when we wanted to retire someday, but I was starting to see Mack’s point; his passion was contagious. I also couldn’t help but recognize the fact that he had treated me with such kindness when he had thought I was homeless. He was right. That kind of stuff was more important than what kind of car the guy drove.

The nod started small and slow, but then it took hold of me. A grin followed.

“Okay, sir. I will take your advice and do some recalculation with my percentages. And not only because I am literally having zero luck going about it my way.” I flashed him a teasing smile.

Mack clapped his hands together and stood up. “Good! I don’t think you’ll regret this.” He pulled me up with him and held me close to his body until he was sure I was steady on my feet. He smelled of the outdoors, which was weird since I was pretty sure he hadn’t left the casino in the last forty-eight hours. “We should probably get out of here before someone else walks in. Can I buy you a drink?”

I smiled and nodded, but then stopped. “Wait. Aren’t you at work?” I looked at his black pants, crisp white shirt, and red vested outfit. “You can’t drink on the job. And you’ve been in here with me forever. Oh my gosh, I’m totally going to get you fired. I’m sorry.”

Mack shook his head and let his hands drop from my arms once he could see I was steady. “I’m not on a shift right now. I was heading out to… well, I was heading out, when that lady caught me. I help out at the local shelter, so I thought I might know whomever it was who had her head in the sink and if I didn’t, I could give her a ride out there.”

“Oh.” My mouth made a little o shape as I listened. I realized that I had probably misjudged this guy quite a bit. My forehead wrinkled as I thought about his hesitation just a moment ago. “Wait. Were you on your way somewhere important? I’m sorry! I hope I didn’t keep you from anything.”

His mouth pulled into a smile, but there was pain behind his eyes. He waved a hand toward me. “It was nothing. I wasn’t even sure if I was going to go in the first place, so…”

I stood up. “No! Please don’t let me be the reason you don’t go.”

“I don’t know.” Mack dipped his head from side to side. “I was going to try going climbing at a local gym tonight…”

“Vertical Universe?”

He nodded.

“Oh! Yeah, you should totally go. Please go.”

Shrugging, Mack said, “I’d probably just embarrass myself.”

I pressed my lips together as I thought. “Not if I go with you. I’m terrible at sports. I’d make anyone look good.” I didn’t have plans, and as much as climbing sounded a lot like something I’d hate very very much, Mack had just helped me and I wanted to return the favor.

“Really? You’d come with me?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling up in the corners.

Between the odd pained expression he’d had earlier to his need for emotional support, I kinda felt like I had to say yes. Also, I really wanted to spend more time with Mack, felt kind of drawn to him.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you out in the parking lot. I’m just gonna…” I motioned in a circle around my head. “Get this under control.”

Mack chuckled and nodded, disappearing through the door. I pulled a bobby pin out of my pocket, turned myself toward the mirror, sighed, and got to work.

After some pinning, putting up, and patting under my eyes, I was ready (well, as ready as I was going to be).

“I’m beginning to think you’re kind of a liar, you know.” Mack said as I walked up to where he waited for me in front of the casino. He had taken off his red vest, white dress shirt, and bow tie uniform and now just wore a white t-shirt and black pants.

I scoffed. “Um, why?”

He started walking, motioning for me to follow. “You’re not a regular here at all. You said you come on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the morning. Sometimes Fridays if you need to, but so far I’ve seen you Monday morning and now, Wednesday night. That’s not very regular of you.” His lips tugged into a smile as he stopped next to a gray truck.

“Well
you
seem to never leave.” I cocked my head to the side with attitude. “Except for right now.” I mumbled that last part.

He chuckled. “I’m picking up some extra shifts.” A tightness took over his features for a split second, but then it was gone and he pulled the driver’s side door open, climbing into the truck.

Even though he pulled his mouth back into a smile as I climbed in the passenger side, I couldn’t seem to forget the look that had passed over his face. It was a lot like the one he’d gotten when I’d asked about his love life. Was he okay?

Worry burrowed into my gut and I squirmed uncomfortably. I know that I barely knew this guy, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I’d known him forever and I cared if he was going through something just like he seemed to care about what I was going through.

“You don’t mind if I drive, do you?” Mack interrupted my thoughts as he turned the key in the ignition and buckled his seatbelt. His gaze shifted onto to me.

My eyes wandered around the impeccably clean interior of the new truck. I smiled. “Not at all.”

He ducked his head, and started to back out as I secured my seatbelt.

“I’m sorry about falling apart back there. I really do appreciate you listening to me.”

Mack placed a hand on my arm. “It’s really alright, Lauren. Don’t beat yourself up.”

I watched him for a second and then said, “Okay.”

“So, let’s talk about something a little more up-lifting,” he said. “What books have you read lately?”

My lips parted slightly at the chance to talk about books, one of my favorite pastimes (other than debating mathematical proofs). “Really?” I asked.

Mack laughed. “Yeah, I read books. Just finished Stephen King’s newest.” He raised his eyebrows but kept his eyes on the road. “What about you?”

I bit my lip and smiled. “I’m in the middle of
All the Light We Cannot See
. It’s very good.”

Mack nodded. “I love World War II books. I’ll have to pick that one up next.”

We pulled into the climbing gym parking lot and Mack shut off the car. I noted that the man took an extra deep breath and seemed reluctant as he pulled the key from the ignition.