There's Cake in My Future (33 page)

“Actually, in this case, you’re being crazy,” Scott clarifies. “As in ‘girl the next morning who has all these thoughts in her head of what she’s expecting of me now that we’ve had sex and there’s no way I can live up to it, so I get to be the bad guy,
bat shit
’ crazy.”

“Wow,” I say dryly. “Bat shit crazy. Nice. So not only do you make me feel bad about myself when I’m not sleeping with you, apparently I get to feel even worse about myself now that I am. Perfect. I’m hanging up on you now.”

“Oh for God’s sake, I knew you would pull this!” Scott explodes. “I knew it! We should have never slept together!”

“Agreed!” I yell back.

“You don’t get to agree!” Scott yells. “You kissed me, remember?”

“I knew you’d say that!” I spit out.

“Oh, you did, did you?” Scott answers back sarcastically.

“Yeah. It’s why I’m not surprised you snuck out on me this morning, and why I needed to get out of there.”

“I snuck out to buy you breakfast!” Scott yells in exasperation. “I never would have bailed on you.”

“You just did. Because you thought I was going to be bat shit crazy this morning.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It most certainly is.”

“No. I said
please
don’t act bat shit crazy.”

“I’m sorry. And the difference is?”

“Well, apparently, there’s no difference, because you’re acting exactly like I thought you’d act!”

He may have a point (sort of), but now I can’t figure out a way out of this fight. I go with a soft (yet begrudging), “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Scott says, his voice softening a bit as well. “I should have known when you kissed me that we would—”

“There it is again!” I interrupt. “I kissed you first. What kind of passive-aggressive Los Angeles single-male bullshit is that?! You started it with your whole ‘I love you because,’ and if you really felt that way, you should have had the balls to kiss me a long time ago.”

“Why? So we could be at this moment earlier in our relationship?” he asks dryly.

“I’m gonna go,” I say angrily.

“Wait,” Scott says. “Why don’t you come back, and we’ll have breakfast?”

I know that’s a bad idea. I should quit while I’m behind. Nothing good is going to come from the next hour.

But I can’t help myself—I desperately want this to work out. “Okay,” I say.

So I come back, and we head out to brunch at a funky little downtown diner that under normal circumstances makes me happy to be alive and in the company of bacon.

Only we don’t talk. Instead, we avoid each other’s glances, and stare at other people in the room. I can’t eat—I think I ate two bites of bacon before my stomach rebelled.

Scott asks me several times if there is anything wrong with the food. I say no. Other than that, there is no talking. Just awkward postfriendship silence.

When we get back to his building, he doesn’t ask me up. Hoping to find a way to salvage this, I decide maybe a little time and distance could do the trick. “So I should let you work,” I tell him as he puts his key in the lobby door.

Scott looks beaten down. “Probably a good idea.”

“All right,” I say awkwardly. “So, um, can I call you?”

Scott shrugs. “Sure.”

I nod. “Okay then,” I say, and I turn to head back to my car.

As I beep the alarm, Scott asks, “So does that mean I don’t call you? Or is this girl talk for ‘You better call me’? What?”

I think about the question. It’s a fair question. “Um … this is
uncharted territory, one of us should call when we know what we want to happen next
I’ll call you,” I tell him.

Scott nods grimly. “Fair enough.”

I get into my car, and we wave good-bye to each other.

When my car comes to the first red light, I burst into tears.

This isn’t what I thought would happen. It’s even worse. It’s bad when everyone is yelling. But when no one has anything left to say, it’s over.

Forty-three

Mel

Danny is laughing aloud as I continue my story, “So then I end up answering, ‘Pi. 3.14159265.’ ”

As Danny continues laughing, I say, “Okay. Your turn. What’s the worst question you’ve ever been asked on a blind date?”

“ ‘Have you ever been with a man?’ ” Danny says without hesitation.

“Oh God! How did you answer?”

He gives me a look like I should know the answer. Then he tells me, “I said, ‘No. Although I will concede that if Bono serenaded me, I might at least let him get to first.’ ”

“Ew!”

“Yeah, she didn’t think it was funny either. I was kidding. I have no desire to be with a man.”

“Not that! You like Bono? Ew! What is it with guys and the man-crush on Bono? His voice sounds like a cat in heat scratching up against a chalkboard.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re wearing a Spice Girls T-shirt. You can say nothing.”

This is true—I am wearing my old Spice Girls T-shirt. Nicole insisted we not dress up at all last night, that we not put out any effort whatsoever before we went out. Nothing says “No effort” quite like a Spice Girls T-shirt.

Danny has taken me to Santa Monica, where we plan to spend the day at the beach. But first, he brings me to a brunch place on Main Street, where the omelettes are huge and the coffee is excellent.

“So, is Spice Girls your favorite group?” he asks me.

“No,” I say as I take a big bite of ham and cheddar goodness. “Although if they were an all-male group, they could be, and I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed telling men I like their music.”

“What? Is this another one of your theories on dating?”

“No. I just have a theory that bad music by women disappears over time, yet bad music by men seems to stay with us forever,” I say, taking a bite of hash browns.

“Not true.”

“Please. Otherwise, why do men still listen to Sir Mix-A-Lot?”

“Because we like big butts, and we cannot lie.”

I laugh, surprised at his sudden singing rendition.

“Oh, I got another bad first date question!” I say, snapping my fingers. “How many people have you slept with?”

“Yeah. See, as a guy, I would never answer that. I can’t win.”

“You can’t win? Try being a girl. If you answer ‘Three,’ to some men that means you’re just some innocent who’s lousy in bed. Yet fifty percent of women in this country have only been with one or two men, which means statistically you’re a slut.”

Danny smiles. “So, you’ve been with three?”

“I didn’t say that,” I respond quickly.

Although in reality, yes, it’s three. Wait, no, I guess now it’s four.

Danny continues to smile. “You didn’t have to.” He has a sip of coffee and says, “If I were to admit to seventeen I’d be in trouble one way or another, too.”

Gulp.

“I’m at four,” I blurt out, then take a nervous sip of my coffee.

Danny smiles at me, looking positively charmed. “I think four’s the perfect number.”

I smile back, surprised by his acceptance. It’s been so long since I wasn’t defensive about my choices in life. It’s nice to be able to blurt out something about myself and not have the man look at me with quiet disapproval.

“Oh! I just thought of another bad question,” I say to Danny. “How come you’re still single?”

“Oh, now, see, I don’t think asking a girl that is so bad.”

“Sure it is. It’s another way of saying ‘What the Hell is wrong with you that no one wants you?’ ”

“Huh,” Danny says, considering my statement as he takes a bite of eggs Benedict. “As a guy, I don’t see it that way. I see the question more as an incredulous, ‘What the Hell is wrong with the last guy that he let her get away?’ ”

“Really?” I ask him dubiously. “Why are you still single?”

Danny pauses.

“Hah!” I say, pointing to him. “See? Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You know what? I’m being silly not wanting to tell you. I broke up with my girlfriend because I wasn’t in love with her. She was great, and I loved her, but she wasn’t who I was supposed to be with. So we broke up.”

I shake my head. “Man, I wish I could give a breakup speech like that. So cool, so loving, so nonjudgmental. Plus you get to be the windshield.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know. Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug. I was the bug.”

“So, what happened? Why are you single?”

I take a deep breath. I don’t want to admit this. Not to a guy I’m trying to impress. But here it goes. “He was cheating on me.”

I watch Danny watch me, which is making me self-conscious.

“What?”

“He was an idiot.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe if you dated me for six years, you’d cheat on me too.”

Danny shakes his head slowly. “No. He was an idiot.”

As I open my mouth to say something else self-deprecating, Danny leans in and kisses me.

It’s such a sweet kiss. We begin to make out a bit.

Maybe this chili pepper was onto something.

“Didn’t take you long to bounce back, did it?” I hear a voice say bitterly.

I break the kiss and look up to see Fred, standing at our table, by himself. “Fred! What are you doing here?”

“Having brunch and watching you make a spectacle of yourself.” He glances briefly at Danny, then asks me, “So who’s this?”

“Fred, this is Danny. Danny, this is my ex-boyfriend, Fred.”

Danny stays cool and pleasant, even putting out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Fred glares at the extended hand, then turns to me. “So while I’m proposing marriage and wanting us to spend the rest of our lives together, you had this asshole just waiting in the wings.”

Danny starts to stand up. “Dude, there’s no call for that—”

But before Danny can stand up, I’m already on my feet screaming at Fred. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You cheated on me with not one but like, twelve HUNDRED women, and you’re going to try and turn this around on me?!”

Fred gives me the same condescending look that he gives me every time we have a fight. Like I’m the crazy one, and he’ll indulge me in my little fantasies, but that, truly, this is beneath him. There’s a patronizing tone of voice that goes with the look, and I hear it now as he says to me, “Oh, please, I made one mistake…”

“One mist…” I turn to Danny. “This is the idiot,” I say, angrily thrusting my thumb in Fred’s direction. “This is the one who dumped me.”

Danny, now standing, puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I know. And he’s not worth it. Let’s get out of here.”

Fred pushes him backward. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Hey man,” Danny says calmly but warningly. “It’s over. Walk away.”

Before I even realize what’s going on, Fred takes a swing at Danny, who blocks it effortlessly, then punches Fred in the stomach.

Fred goes down hard. I cover my mouth. “Jesus!”

I start to bend down to help Fred up, but I stop myself. Fred doesn’t deserve my help. He never did. I turn to Danny and weakly ask, “Can you take me home now?”

*   *   *

A while later, Danny and I are parked in front of Seema’s house. “He’s an asshole,” Danny tells me for the fortieth time.

“I know,” I agree sadly.

After we left the restaurant, Danny asked me to go to the beach with him, but I said no. I can’t do this. Fred has me all screwed up about myself. I don’t feel worthy of Danny’s attention. I feel like if he got to know me for six years, he’d do the exact same thing to me that Fred did.

The person who knew me best in the world eventually realized I wasn’t good enough. I can’t go through that pain again.

“Thanks for the ride home,” I say to Danny.

“Offer for the beach is still open,” he tells me, trying to sound upbeat.

I shake my head. “No. But thanks.”

Danny keeps his tone light and cheerful. “Movie? Picnic? A quick jaunt to Las Vegas, perhaps?”

I laugh politely. “I really did like meeting you. I’m sorry it was the wrong time for me.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll call you later this week. Then maybe it’ll be the right time.”

“Okay,” I say to him, halfheartedly.

I already know I’m not going to return his call.

If he even does call. Which he probably won’t. If I were him, I wouldn’t call me.

Danny leans over and kisses me good-bye. It’s a very nice kiss, but a lot sadder than our other kisses.

“Last chance for Vegas,” he says.

I laugh. “How are you single again?”

He smiles as I get out of the car. I close the door and wave good-bye.

Then I watch him drive away.

I open my purse and look for my house key.

And there, mocking me, is my silver chili pepper.

I walk over to Seema’s big black trash can at the side of the house and throw it away.

Forty-four

Nicole

That Monday morning, I wake up a little extra early and take the time to brush my teeth, throw on some nice clothes, and even put on a little perfume. I have to admit, I am a little excited to see Kevin for coffee.

First, I wake up Malika and send her downstairs to breakfast.

Then I begin the half hour dance routine that is waking up Megan.

I walk into Megan’s room. She is completely under her covers. “Megan, wake up.”

Megan throws off her blanket, rolls over, and looks at me through half-closed eyes. “I don’t feel very good. My stomach hurts.”

“Please don’t do this to me this morning,” I beg her. “We’re already late. I put out your uniform.”

“Nicole!” Malika yells from downstairs.

“Ye-ah?” I yell back.

“I had an accident with the milk!”

God, can’t we have one morning where things go smoothly? I run downstairs to see Malika holding up a half gallon of milk in a one-gallon plastic milk jug. The other half gallon of milk is in her cereal bowl, on the table, and all over the floor. “Malika?” I sigh, my shoulders sinking. “I told you I’d do that for you.”

“But I wanted to do it myself,” she explains.

Then she bursts into tears. “Honey, don’t cry,” I say, giving her a hug with one hand as I grab a dish towel and begin cleaning with the other. “It’s just milk, it’ll be fine.”

Two minutes later I have raced upstairs and back into Megan’s room.

Megan’s eyes are shut tight, and she is grabbing her stomach. I feel her forehead, which is hot to the touch. “You’re burning up. How long has your stomach hurt?”