Why I Love Singlehood: (29 page)

I opened my eyes and turned to face her. “Consider yourself the honorary godmother,” I said. She smiled that smile of quiet satisfaction. That Minerva smile. Then she looked past me, and her eyes filled with childlike excitement behind her Dr. Honeydew glasses. I turned around to see what she had fixed her gaze upon.

Kenny.

She ran around me and practically jumped into his arms. Dressed in a black thermal henley, baseball cap, and faded blue jeans, he laughed and hugged her tight as he turned his eyes to me. I approached him slowly, my joints creaking with each step.

“You OK there, Jayna?” he said to me.

“Do I know you?” I asked in mock seriousness.

“You look like you went twenty rounds with a cappuccino machine.”

“And lost,” Minerva added. “So?” she said to Kenny, playfully punching his upper arm, “what gives? Where’ve you been, stranger?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to act nonchalant. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping you’d be dressed as a Robert Palmer girl.”

I could only imagine the shade of pink my face was turning. Kenny kept his gaze on me.

“You missed a helluva blowout,” I said.

“Nah, I was here earlier—you were busy being the hostess with the mostess.”

“And you didn’t come over to say hi? I’m insulted.”

“Seriously, you were preoccupied.”

Had he seen the conversation with Shaun, or the confrontation with Scott? Or both?

“The place looks awesome, Eva. You have a lot to be proud of.”

My tired eyes brightened. “Thanks.”

He pointed to the side of my head. “Your ear fell off.”

I flinched, feeling for the remaining Spock ear before pulling it off. “Thanks.”

He turned to Minerva. “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

He took her by the arm and pulled her to his old corner. Itching to read their lips, I watched them in hushed chatter. He handed her a scrap of paper and a pen; she scrawled something and passed it back to him. I pretended to be busy pushing in chairs when they returned to me.

“Well hey, I gotta go,” said Kenny. “Sorry to keep it so short.”

“That’s OK,” I lied. “You two take care of business?”

Did I sound as jealous as I was? I wondered.

“Yeah. Thanks, Min,” he said to Minerva.

Min? He called her
Min?

“No problem,” she said. “See you, Kenny.” He looked at me while he hugged her again, a flood of words behind his hazel eyes, but I couldn’t decipher them any more than I could read his lips moments ago.

“Seeya,” he said. I couldn’t tell if the words were directed to me, or her, or both of us.

“Thanks for coming,” I said, the phrase on autopilot now.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” I watched him do a low-five handshake with Norman before leaving. Then I turned to Minerva, hands on my hips.

“
Min?
” I said.

“What,” she replied.

“I don’t think I’ve even heard Jay ever call you Min.”

She mirrored me, putting her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Eva, you think you own the rights to it?”

“What did he want?”

“He needed a referral for a graphic designer and wanted the name of my friend who did the design for all The Grounds stuff.”

At the last second, her forced focus fell off my eyes, and I pounced.

“Then why did he have to ask you out of earshot?”

“He didn’t wanna have to get into why he wanted it.”

“Did he tell
you
?”

“Not in so many words. ‘New project,’ was all he said.”

“And you gave him her number?”

“Um, actually, I gave him my number and told him to call me later so I could give it to him.”

Minerva was a crappy liar. Why did he
really
want her number? Minerva and Kenny had always been friendly with each other whenever he came to the café, nothing more. Perhaps he just wanted to catch up with her. But why the secrecy?

For a fleeting moment, I considered the possibility that they were planning an affair. Despite their playfulness today, it was obvious that things were far from blissful in the Brunswick marriage. I suppose every marriage goes through peaks and valleys, and it seemed that as of late, Min and Jay’s had been passing through valley after valley.

No. She would never betray Jay. Not with Kenny or anyone else. I admonished myself for letting the thought even enter my mind.

Five minutes before closing, Norman and I sat together on one of the new couches, exhausted, my head on his shoulder as the last of the customers straggled out. Minerva flopped down on the other side of him. Instantly, Jay appeared.

“Mee mee mee
mee
.”

Min drew in a breath, and with momentous effort, stood up.

“Jay wants to go.”

Finally, after closing and locking the doors behind them, I turned and leaned against them and faced Norman.

“I can’t deal with cleaning or closing out tonight,” I said. “Let’s just blow the place up.”

27

Admit It

THANKFULLY, SUSANNA OFFERED
to open The Grounds the following morning since we had all pulled iron-shifts the day before. Norman dragged himself in at twelve, while I staggered in around two. Minerva didn’t come in at all. You’d think we’d been out drinking all night, the way we were dragging our bodies around, popping aspirin, asking customers to speak slowly.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Norman and I whispered to each other repeatedly all day.

Scott came in late that afternoon. He looked marginally better without the dopey costume. Truth be told, he looked like hell—hair matted, eyes bloodshot, face unshaven and dark, shirt wrinkled. We’d not spoken to each other since our fight at the party. Granted, I’d been asleep during much of the elapsed time, but he’d left a voice mail and texted me twice.

“Hey, Eva,” he said.

“What’s up,” I replied, avoiding eye contact with him.

“You never called me back.”

“I never knew you called,” I lied.

“I left messages.”

“I went into a coma the minute I got home.”

He started to come behind the counter until he saw the look of death I gave him—aside from Minerva,
no one
came behind my counter uninvited. Not even God herself.

“Look, can I just talk to you alone without the whole damn world listening in on us?”

I huffed and looked at Norman, raising my eyebrows, and excused myself. Then I led Scott into the office.

“You seem to forget that this is my place of business,” I said in a hushed voice. “That I
work
here. I can’t just drop everything on a whim for you.”

“You do for everyone else.”

“Let’s not get into this right now.”

“I just wanna say I’m sorry, OK? It was a stupid thing to do yesterday. But dammit, it makes me crazy to see you talk to him.”

It took me a moment to register who “him” was.

“You mean Shaun?”

“Who else?”

“You have nothing to be jealous of, Scott. It’s long over with Shaun. You know that.”

“You just deserve so much better than him.”

“I have better than him.”

The sad thing for Scott, unbeknownst to him, was that I was referring not to him but to Minerva and Jay, Norman, The Grounds, Olivia. What’s more, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Kenny.
That look
he’d given me right before he left.

“Are we cool now?” asked Scott.

“Yeah,” I said, refraining from a display of affection. “Now let me get back to work before I crawl under my desk and take a nap.”

To my surprise, Scott left while I was in the kitchen. When I came out to find him gone, I looked at Norman.

“Said he had work to do.” Norman then looked at me as if to say,
Everything OK?

I nodded and rolled my eyes.

“He could’ve at least given you flowers,” said Norman.

I burst out laughing.

Dating Rules Addendum: Rule #7

Male or female, it is not cliché to give your sweetheart flowers after a fight. Daisies’ll do. Or a single rose. Or one of those bouquets that the grocery stores sell. It’s not so much the action as much as the thought behind the action. It’s hard not to smile upon the sight of flowers. Unless you’ve done something monumentally stupid, like cheating or committing a felony, flowers are always appreciated.

But afterthoughts don’t count. If the moment’s over, it’s over. Save it for next time. Better yet, shoot for no next times.

Our grand reopening of the new and improved reading room attracted new business while the Originals and Regulars remained fixtures. Minerva was still helping out twice a week, although she was also making plans to go to hairdressing school despite my attempts to talk her out of it. She already owned a pair of good sheers and had been cutting Jay’s hair since they met. In typical Minerva form, she thoroughly researched the schools in central and southeastern Carolina, visiting each one and comparing costs and services and job placement records following graduation. The Aveda Institute in Chapel Hill was her favorite, but she knew it would involve moving, and even though Jay offered to relocate, she didn’t want to. She interviewed local salon owners to find out which schools they preferred and why (and even started working at one salon two days a week as a receptionist) before selecting Carolina Cosmetology School three towns over. She registered for the next rotating session, to begin in two months, giving her plenty of time to change her mind without losing her deposit, I told her. But she
seemed
certain. She was determined, if nothing else.

In preparation for her eventual departure and my teaching job in a couple of months, Norman took on the responsibility of hiring another full-timer—we were long overdue for one. He was meticulous about finding the “right” person, which I appreciated. What’s more, Norman had started dating a woman he’d met at the Halloween party: Jeannie with the Jimmy Choos, we called her. Actually, she was Drop Dead Gorgeous Jeannie with the Jimmy Choos. The men couldn’t stop looking at her long legs; the women couldn’t stop looking at her shoes. She came to the open mic and blew the doors off with a short Southern fiction piece that had everyone in stitches. Minerva and I much preferred Jeannie to Samurai—she was smart, sassy, and stylish, thus we gave Norman our blessing.

Scott and I made up following the confrontation with Shaun and the opening and went back to our usual pattern of hanging out after work, mostly watching DVDs from Netflix before going to bed. Lately I’d been falling asleep on the couch midway through the movie, exhausted. But Scott never seemed to mind. He’d keep his arm around me while I rested my head on his shoulder, and oftentimes he’d carry me to bed (unless it was just easier to leave me on the couch), kissing my forehead good night.

My business was thriving. My friends were content. My relationship was back on track. In short, everything was just right.

Everything except me.

“I’m exhausted,” I said to Minerva one day while we sat at a table during a break and picked at the same blueberry muffin. “Do you think I’m just burned out?” I asked.

“Maybe you have an iron deficiency or something,” she replied. “When was the last time you got a checkup?”

“About six months ago.”

“Then you should go again. Go to the lab where I interned. They’re the only place from where I could have blood drawn without going green and feeling woozy.”

I pushed the muffin plate toward her, signaling that I’d had enough.

“You could be pregnant,” she suggested.

“Oh, please don’t say that. Not even as a joke.”

“When was the last time you, you know, got your monthly bill?”

I laughed. “Is that an official medical term?”

“Well?”

I didn’t dignify her question with a response. “What if it’s not a physical condition?”

Minerva tilted her head so as to peer at me from above her horn-rimmed glasses instead of through them.

“Eva, can I ask you something without you getting mad at me?”

Of course, at this request, my insides tightened as I sat up straight. “Would it stop you if I said no?”

“Are you happy with Scott?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. It seems like you’ve been going through the motions with him since day one.”

Despite her soft tones and worried eyes, I was offended. “What, I’m supposed to have some gooey, I’m-in-love look plastered on my face twenty-four-seven?”

Minerva looked at me matter-of-factly. “Well, yeah.”

I crumpled the napkin I’d been toying with and tossed it next to the plate. “You know, I’ve decided that the whole ‘romance’ thing is overrated. It goes away. No romance ever truly lasts. Show me a couple who’s just as romantic as the way they were the day they met.”

She extended her hand, as if for me to shake it. “Minerva Brunswick, pleased to meet you.”