Why I Love Singlehood: (21 page)

Min.

I sighed loudly and buried my face in my hands, then brushed my hands through my hair and let them linger, holding my hair in place like a ponytail. Kenny was at The Grounds yesterday and I’d missed him? Why didn’t he mention it this morning at the beach? He didn’t even offer a hint. Then again, I’d been less than forthcoming about my own situation.

Damn.

Drained, I wrote back.

E-mail To: mbrunswick@ncla_alum.edu

Subject: Re: They’re on to you.

Min-

Shitters. I don’t even know where to start.

I could just call you, but dammit, the phone is all the way on the other side of the room—not house, mind you, but room. Yes, I am that tired. As in my-body-is-a-hunk-o-jello, tired. And I’m going it alone tonight, if you know what I mean.

Well, there goes my illusion of customers not talking about me behind my back. Holy crap. And here I thought I was doing so well, playing it so cool. Geez, have I really been that oblivious? (Don’t answer that.)

And what’s up with Jan and Dean lately? Is there ever a time when Jan isn’t mad at Dean anymore? And what’s with the lucky bastard comment? Please don’t tell me he’s a member of the Club.

So what should I do? Should I make some announcement, like Joel and Maggie did on
Northern Exposure
, when they announced to everyone at the Brick that they just had sex because they figured it was written all over their faces? Or should it be like on
Gilmore Girls
, when Lorelai gets through saying that she’s not ready to let the town know that she and Luke are dating, and then proceeds to walk into the diner to get some coffee, thinking it’s still closed, and walks in—wearing nothing but Luke’s flannel shirt—to find it full of customers? (Good grief, I have got to stop watching so much TV.)

Sigh. I’m too tired to think about any of this right now. And Scott’s not here to massage my neck (he’s pretty good at it…). And by the way, you think you’re not 100% sure what’s going on between me and Scott? Neither am I. I’m maybe 60% sure at best, but those are still pretty sucky odds.

Say hi to Jay for me.

Eva

I sent the e-mail knowing the subject of Kenny had not been addressed. I wished I had an answer for that. I wished I’d been the one to tell him about the blowout and going home with Scott. But mostly I wished he’d said something to me about it earlier at the beach.

I’d barely had a minute at The Grounds to tell Scott not to come over tonight, that I was simply wiped out and needed to be alone. But I was missing him, too; we’d already gotten into a pattern of him coming to my place (I had more room, and it was furnished with more than milk crates, an old couch, and stereo equipment), renting movies from Netflix, and vegging out on the couch until one of us (usually me) fell asleep, or skipping the movie and going straight to bed and having sex.

Despite my eyes growing heavier by the minute, I logged on to WILS and stared at it. I’d not posted anything new for close to a week, telling myself that The Grounds had been busy and I was too tired to write. But the truth was that I’d been at a loss for what to say. Was I even still single? Did I want to be anymore?

Leaving WILS blank, I shut down my laptop and placed it on the end table beside me, turned out the light, closed my eyes, and fell asleep in my reading chair.

20

The Bigger Fools

MY FOUL MOOD
began after Norman’s call from The Grounds, shortly before closing. I was at home, watching
Julie and Julia
. It’s hard to be in anything but a good mood when watching
Julie and Julia
, but Norman managed to kill it quite effectively.

“Eva, it’s me. Listen, the coffee people delivered a shipment today.”

“The ‘coffee people’? You mean International Organics?”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, distracted. “They were running late, so it just got here two hours ago, and we were slammin’ busy, and I would bring it in and inventory it, but I’m taking Samara out for dinner tonight, and it’s already late enough, don’t you think?”

I let the silence hang long enough for him to become uncomfortable.

“I mean, I really don’t want to keep her waiting, you know?” he said.

“Yeah, no, um, it is…late.”

I tried not to stew about the fact that this was as late as both of us ever left, that Scott waited for me and maybe Samara should learn to do the same, that he’d not found the time in the past few hours to do the shipment, or even about the fact that I just plain didn’t like Samara.

“Thanks, Eva. I know you don’t like to leave such things unfinished, but she’s already here and she’s been waiting for hours anyway…”

Those very same hours you couldn’t find the time to bring in a few boxes of product?

“…and since you open tomorrow, I thought I’d let you know it’ll be here waiting for you.”

He sounded excited and oblivious. I, on the other hand, sounded pissed. “Great,” I said. And I was sure he knew it, too, although he pretended not to.

“OK, well, thanks again. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, sure. You too.”

I turned off
Julie and Julia
and went to bed sulking. And no one ever sleeps well feeling bitter and wishing they’d skewered their coworker and friend with a line about responsibility and dedication and relationship expectations and making exceptions and…and…and…

The radio annoyed my eyes open with a terribly perky song when my alarm clock went off. I woke up feeling more than bitter—I downright
hated
everyone and everything. I bashed the clock into silence but couldn’t fall back asleep.

It all went downhill from there.

I burned my store-bought bagel. The butter dripped down my hand and onto my carpenter pants, which was when I noticed I’d gotten deodorant on my shirt. I had to change my outfit entirely, and nothing looked good. I was late and crabby, having settled on crappy jeans and a faded NCLA T-shirt, and I smeared mascara beneath my eye while fighting with my hair, effectively giving myself a stunningly bedraggled look in one moment of brilliant clutziness.

Blasting the Clash as loud as my ears could handle them remedied my mood somewhat; I took a little perverse joy in Joe Strummer bleeding out of my open windows before seven a.m. I even came close to smiling—that is, until unexpected roadwork at the intersection before turning onto The Grounds’s street delayed me even further. I could’ve gotten there faster if I’d hoofed it.

By the time I got to the shop, I was seething. Five boxes of fair-trade Columbian coffee beans awaited me in the narrow hallway separating the café kitchen from the back alley exit. I wondered how much time I had to plot Norman’s death—could I have him successfully killed and disposed of by two this afternoon? Or did he come in at three on Wednesdays?

I was being irrational and knew it. Still, the extra hour of plotting would be helpful.

One by one, I dropped the boxes next to the island in the center of the kitchen. It had rained most of yesterday and overnight, and they were crusted with dried mud from the delivery guys leaving them in the alley.

Would getting pummeled by a rolling pin be too cliché for Norman? How ’bout if I rigged the microwave to blow up when he went to heat up someone’s muffin?

I smeared the mud across the linoleum with my sneaker. Let Norman sweep it up. Or maybe I’d just leave the entire shipment there for the God of Romance to inventory when he got in, since he was supposed to do it last night anyway. Or maybe Samurai would come in and he’d tether himself to the front counter—well within ogling distance—all day, thus distracting him from his duties, which was what likely happened yesterday, I was willing to bet.

Fine.

Jerk.

I slumped against the counter and surveyed the damage.

Who was I kidding?

It wasn’t Norman’s lack of motivation the night before that had gotten under my skin. It wasn’t even Samurai’s never-a-strand-out-of-place hair or the way her shellacked nails always matched her shoes. It was watching Norman swoon over someone who spent her days prattling to a friend named Kiki (or Gigi, or whatever the hell her name was) on her cell phone in public, who convinced Norman to stop wearing his Chucks simply because she didn’t like them, who just plain didn’t deserve a second look from him.

And it was watching him be so overt with his attention to her while she remained unimpressed, while Scott and I continued to sneak around like teenagers who’d been forbidden to see each other.

Suddenly I wondered who the bigger fools were.

The thought was still nagging me when Norman came in just before noon. He met me behind the counter.

“You’re early,” I said.

“I felt bad about sticking you with the shipment.”

Ahh, Norman—one minute I was plotting his death, the next minute I wanted to hug him. My foul mood began to dissipate.

“That’s OK. Forget about it. So how was your date?” I asked.

He turned to the sink and washed his hands. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I took a breath. “I’ll tell you how my date went if you tell me about yours.” It was the first time I’d said anything about Scott and me in public, let alone to Norman. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say,
Might as well
.

“’Bout time you fessed up to that. Not like it was a well-kept secret. About as obvious as a bald guy wearing a toupee.”

“I kinda thought maybe Scott already confided in you.”

“Yeah, he caved. Scott’s a crappy liar. He tried his best to be evasive, though. When are you both gonna totally come out?”

“I don’t know. I guess keeping it secret is pretty pointless by now.”

“Post it on WILS,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” I said.

As if on cue, Scott walked in.

“Or you can announce it together right now.”

I gave Norman a threatening glare.

Scott walked up to the counter. “What’s new?” he said, feigning nonchalance, but giving me a look that said,
I am so dying to kiss you
. I returned the look with a flirtatious grin—I couldn’t help myself. And yet, I suddenly became self-conscious, realizing how stupid I was to think that I was fooling anyone when my face revealed all.

“So,” I said to Scott, a little louder than necessary, “what’ll it be?”

“Surprise me,” he said as he tossed a ten on the counter with a wink, “and keep the change.”

I turned away from Norman’s huff in an effort to hide my goofy grin, not wanting him to see just how much I enjoyed Scott’s cheeseball playfulness when it was one of the few things I’d heard Norman tease him about.

Plating a turkey chipotle wrap and apple muffin to accompany an extra-extra iced mocha for Scott, I stole a glance at Norman. He was staring into the parking lot. I followed his gaze but saw only parked cars and a mother trying to wrestle her toddler into a car seat.

“You OK?” I asked. “You look tired.”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

I laughed. “I’ll bet.”

He smiled weakly as I crossed the counter to bring Scott his snack. I allowed myself to linger at his table for a moment to watch Tracy migrate from Dean’s table to the empty chair next to Dara, who was nursing her coffee and regaling the other Regulars with stories about a stray kitten she’d adopted two nights before.

When Dara left, Tracy brought a few empty plates to the dish bin. “There’s one woman I don’t envy.”

Norman raised his eyebrows. “Looks like it’s really taken a toll on her.”

“Apparently she’s high maintenance…and talkative.”

Norman let out a sharp laugh.

“The kitten,” Tracy clarified, “not Dara.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets as Tracy turned back to Dean’s table. “Just my type,” he muttered. “I like her already.”

I studied him: his collar was rolled in on one side, dark bruise-like circles tugged at both eyes, and a thin stubble roughed out his chin.

“Are things OK with you and Samara?” I always had to pause for a split second to keep myself from calling her “Samurai” in front of Norman.

“Things are good with
me
,” he answered. “And that’s all.”

The comment took a moment to register. “Oh, Norman, I’m sorry.” I gave him a quick hug that he didn’t return. “When?”

“Last night. Should’ve seen it coming. Apparently it’s been shit for a while.”

“Are you kidding? You guys seemed so…” Surgically attached? Smitten? Disgustingly gooey? “…good.”

He shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving, I guess. Anyway, let’s not make a big thing out of it.” He glanced at my hand. I hadn’t even realized that I’d left it resting lightly on his arm.