“Yeah, me, too,” he said, looking into my eyes. “I live at my mom's. Mostly to help her out. She is always drunk. She needs somebody around the house.” He went back to looking at his menu.
“That's nice of you,” I said. “Where's your dad?”
“Your guess is better than mine,” he huffed. “Never met the dude. I hear I look like him, though.”
“Oh,” was all I could think of to say.
“After dinner, I'd like to go bowling,” Carl said enthusiastically. “Is that cool with you?”
“I guess it has to be,” I said with a smile.
He smiled back.
When the waitress came, I ordered a glass of wine. Carl ordered a soda.
“No drink for you?” I said playfully. “I won't take advantage of you.”
“Nah, I don't drink. Watching my mom struggle made me decide I would never start drinking alcohol, and I never did. Probably never will.”
“Are you seeing anybody?” I boldly asked.
“You,” he said simply and sincerely. I couldn't help but notice how nice he looked in jeans, a red t-shirt, and a casual black jacket.
“Anybody else?” I asked again, just to make sure.
“There is nobody else,” he said, totally serious. “I like you. And when I like somebody, that's the only somebody I want to see.”
“What about you?” he inquired, clearly happy that I had made this question easy for him to ask.
“What about me?” I said, bashful.
“Anyone
special
?” he asked again.
“No,” I replied.
“Ah, you failed the test!” he said, gesturing with his fork. “That's where you are supposed to tell me how special I am.”
We both laughed.
My phone vibrated and instinctively I checked it. It was a text message from Professor Alexander. I had texted him earlier in the week to let him know I was still considering his offer. Now, he wanted to know if I had decided. According to the text, one of his partners had a niece who was recently unemployed, and his partner wanted to offer the job to her.
As I sat there staring at my phone, Carl gave me a funny look.
“Uh oh,” he said in mock tragedy.
“What?”
“I just lost you to something else. What are you thinking about?” he asked. “Ny, are you here?”
“I do have something on my mind,” I said, although I had no intention of telling him what it was. I did not feel ready yet to enter into such a complicated topic with Carl.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he urged nicely.
“Not really,” I brushed him off. “It's not important . . . Listen, I'm going to the restroom.” I abruptly stood up and strode off.
When I got to the restroom, I called Professor Alexander from my cell phone. I don't know what made me feel that I needed to call him at that moment from the ladies' room, leaving Carl a bit abandoned. It was a ridiculous thing to do. But sometimes I act impulsively. I got his voicemail, rather than him, so I left a message. I told him I'd accept the job, and also that I'd go to lunch with him the following Friday.
“You look nice,” I remembered to mention to Carl when I returned to the table.
“Thank you,” he said. “I try.”
After dinner, we went bowling. Carl was a good bowler; me, not so much. I kept getting gutter balls. After bowling, we went to the marina and walked. Predictably, Carl eventually stopped walking and turned to look at me.
“I like you,” he said gently, holding my hands.
“I like you, too,” I replied, looking into his eyes.
He leaned in and kissed me. I kissed him back, and it felt good.
“Wow!” he said. “It was even better than I thought.”
“What?” I asked.
“Kissing you.”
“Oh, so you've thought about kissing me?”
“Since the moment I saw you,” he said and kissed me again.
It was a wonderful date. When I got home, I plopped down on my bed and saw an appointment postcard there from Judy. I had an appointment in a few days, and boy did I have some news for her.
T
he next day, I was sitting in my room just after work, contemplating getting my books together to go study back at the office. Suddenly, Sophie walked into my room. Surprised to see her, I sat up on my elbows and gawked at her.
“What's up?” she said. Her skin looked dry.
“Nothing. What's up with you? I've never seen anybody your complexion look ashy. Where are you coming from?”
Looks like you've been in a hole somewhere.
I got up and started hanging up some clothes that my mom had washed and put on my bed. I had told her that she didn't need to wash my clothes anymore, but she did it anyway. I made a mental note to thank her.
“I'm just tired,” Sophie said.
She looked it, and so did her jeans.
“You're really breaking in those Blue Cults fast, aren't you?” I said.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
“Just working and school. You know my routine. The question is, where have
you
been?” I asked.
When she didn't answer, I thought perhaps that I had struck a nerve. But when I looked over at her, I saw that she hadn't answered because she'd fallen asleep.
While Sophie slept, I called Sophie's mom Carmen, but only got her answering machine. Getting in touch with her was like trying to reach the president of the United States. I had called her at least three times in the past couple of weeks. She could have sent me a return text or e-mail or somethingâbut she hadn't.
She can't be that busy.
I tried Sophie's dad Terry, too, but it was the same thing. I had been calling them for weeks, but it seemed that they had both decided not to take my calls. The worst part of it was that I had left messages saying that I needed to talk to them about Sophie. You would think they would have called back immediately.
Leaving Sophie asleep in my bedroom, I walked downstairs to the kitchen, where Mom was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. The first thing I noticed was that she seemed to be really concentrating. The second thing I noticed was her gray hair; she hadn't touched up her roots. That wasn't like Mom. She didn't play around with gray hair. The third thing I noticed was the dark circles under her eyes.
Roscoe was snoring in the living room. He only snored that loud when he had been drinking. There used to be a time when I would try and figure out what triggered his drinking. Each time I tried, I came up with plenty of reasons. Then one day, I realized they weren't reasons, they were excuses. As I looked at my mom, I couldn't help but think she had come to a similar conclusion. Sometimes enough truly is enough.
Is Mom really concentrating on the paper, or is she thinking
about something else?
I sat down at the table next to her. She smelled like
Kors
by Michael Kors. Aunt Marie had told Mom that she shouldn't put perfume on her clothes but, as usual, Mom had ignored her.
As I sat down next to her, she looked up from the paper and took off her glasses.
It's so weird how much Mom and Aunt Marie still look alike,
even after Aunt Marie's nose job.
“Where's Sophie?” she asked.
“Upstairs, sleeping. You saw her when she came in?”
“Yeah, I let her in. She gave me a hug and went straight upstairs to your room.”
I didn't say anything because I didn't want to worry Mom about Sophie.
But her clairvoyance kicked in. “You're worried about her, aren't you?”
“Roscoe's drinking again,” I said.
My response wasn't what she expected.
She sighed and put the palm of her hand on her forehead. “I know,” she said.
So, what you gonna do?
“Is he gonna get help again?” I asked, intentionally adding the
again
.
“I don't know what he's gonna do.”
She started to fiddle with the newspaper. At first, I thought she was going to start reading it. But then she got up from the table.
“Where are you going, Mom?”
“To bed. I'm not feeling well.” She shuffled off to her room.
What? She always has her nose in everybody's business, so why
is she letting Roscoe drink again without a fight? And why isn't she
stopping Ava from congregating with that Jim Jones cult without
snooping around even one service?
As I sat there, tapping my fingers, my head started to pound. I went up and checked on Sophie, who was still fast asleep. I tried calling Catie, but only got her machine. I hung up on it and called Carl.
“Hey, pretty girl,” he said cheerfully.
“Hey yourself,” I said.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing, I think I'm just going to go and study,” I said.
“So responsible. You want a little something to eat to fuel you?”
“Um, okay,” I said.
“Let's meet at the sandwich place near campus. I promise not to keep you. I know you want to study.”
That was the best offer I'd had all day. I grabbed my books and hurried off to meet him. Carl arrived smelling like he just stepped out of the shower. He looked a little worried.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah, it's just my sister,” he said, letting his voice trail off.
“You want to talk about it?” I asked gently. I didn't want to pry, but I wanted to be there for him if he needed me.
“She's got four kids, no husband, and no money. She leans on me pretty heavily. Most of the time it's okay, but sometimes it drains me. Today I'm pretty drained.”
“Oh,” I said. “Is everything okay?”
“If she gets herself together, then everything will be fine. She thinks I'm her personal ATM. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to talk about how good you look today.”
I blushed. Carl was nice. I had the feeling he liked me a little more than I liked him, though. After sandwiches and a fun, two-hour conversation with Carl, I went to the faculty office to study.
Someone was already in the office when I got there. I unpacked my things as quietly as I could, but then I heard footsteps.
“Hi, Anaya,” a familiar voice called from the door.
“Hi.”
Instinctively, I smoothed my hair down.
“Preparing for finals?” Professor Alexander asked, walking into the room.
“Yeah,” I groaned, turning my cell off. I don't like distraction when I study.
“Well, I have to say, you are disciplined. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks. Working late again?”
“Yeah, I'm trying to get a few things taken care of before the end of the semester. Been busy at the firm, so I need to catch up here.”
I smiled.
“I got your message,” he said.
I sat down and smiled again. There was an awkward pause.
“Well,” he said, “I'm gonna let you get your work done, and I'm gonna do the same.” He started to walk out, but then he turned around. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, sure, I'm good. Just exams and . . . stuff.”
My attempt to make light was weak.
“All right. Well, stay diligent and those A's will come,” he predicted, a grin under his moustache.
“I was wondering if I made the right decision . . . to work in your office, I mean.” I blurted out.
He walked back toward me.
“What are your concerns?”
My trepidations tumbled out. “I've never worked for a law firm before, and I don't know
anything
about the law.”
“Those are fair concerns, but most of the work is administrative, and that's pretty much what you do here. Except in the law office, you'll get great pay and terrific benefits, and here on campus you get low pay and no benefits.”
“I didn't quite think of it that way.”
“Well, now you can.”
“Thank you,” I nodded.
“I was right,” he said.
“About what?”
“That something was bothering you.”
I smiled again, but I didn't say anything, and he went into his office.
I still hadn't given my resignation to the university. I knew that at the least, it was time to tell them that the assistant wasn't doing well, so I e-mailed Professor Klein, explaining that the new assistant didn't seem very interested in learning how to run the office.
After two hours of studying, I decided to call it a night. When I turned on my cell phone, I saw that Sophie had called me three times, twice from her cell and once from her house.
Aha! Sleeping Beauty decided to come out of her inebriated
slumber.
On my way out, I peeked into Professor Alexander's office.
“Hey, Professor,” I called. “I'm outta here.”
He was packing his briefcase.
“You sound a little too happy about that,” he said.
“Enough is enough,” I said. “See you later.”
“Anaya, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Call me Jeff.”
We both smiled.
“Good night, Jeff,” I said.
As soon as I got to my car, I called Sophie. “I'm on my way home,” I explained. “Are you still there?”
“No, I came home,” she said dryly.
“Oh,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“Just sitting in my closet, trying to decide what to wear to the movies.”
“The movies? Girl, it's the middle of the night. What movie are you planning to go to this late?”
“Oh,” was all she said.
“I'll come to your house, then,” I said.
“Where are you?” she asked in the same flat tone.
“I just told you, I'm on my way to your house, girl! Sophie, are you high?”
I knew she was going to flip out at that, but I couldn't hold it in.
“What?”
she shrieked.
“Are you high?”
“No, dammit!” she yelled.