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F I F T E E N
- Maeve -
Part of me was annoyed when I saw Finn wearing my scarf, and part of me felt like a lovestruck teenager in the front row at a Backstreet Boys concert. Or whatever the kids were listening to these days. I wouldn't know. I liked older music. Like the stuff Finn was playing.
“Jack and Diane”? Was he trying to seduce me? And Joni Mitchell? He couldn’t know she was my all-time favorite. But when his gravelly voice sang “River,” it was as if I were hearing it for the first time. And the more I allowed myself to get swept up in his understated performance, the more heat seemed to build between my legs.
He was obviously wearing my scarf as a joke. Its bright turquoise color was in direct contrast to his casual T-shirt and short beard, though beard was too strong a word. From a distance, his facial hair was only a defined shadow. Yet my cheek remembered the feel of it perfectly, and watching his hands move across the guitar felt like the therapy I didn't know I needed.
Was it better that everyone thought Kurt dumped me at the Christmas party? I suppose it was if I wanted people to know what an unscrupulous, sacless excuse for a man he was. It was still embarrassing, though. Particularly the private shame of being a grown-ass woman who thought she had a boyfriend on Christmas but didn't.
Whatever.
At least I knew the score now. More importantly, Franny was right. I did feel better with a skirt on. I left my hair up, though. It seemed too desperate to take it down. I didn’t even do that for special occasions. Unless the special occasion was relaxing at home. Otherwise, I felt too self-conscious about it flowing everywhere and going full Julia Ormond on me. It was too much, and if I couldn’t keep my own mane under control, how could I expect anyone to take me seriously?
Meanwhile, Finn didn’t seem to harbor such concerns. He was wearing worn-looking, vintage Levi’s and a T-shirt that said Tacocat backwards is Tacocat on it, an ensemble that didn’t exactly scream “responsible adult” even when paired with my cashmere scarf. That said, I was admittedly fascinated that a person could go around giving so few fucks.
Perhaps it was an entitlement issue. Or mild brain damage. Regardless, I envied his laissez-faire aura and wondered what kind of clever nickname Quinn might give him if he were here. Sure as hell wouldn't be "Dockers," anyway.
I also wondered if what he said about his chest hair was true. Kurt didn't have any chest hair and looking back, I suppose his torso had looked a bit pre-pubescent as a result. I doubted Finn's was perfect, though. I'm sure he only said that so I’d get sucked into thinking about his naked body, and I'd fallen right into his trap.
I sipped my white wine, trying to balance making it last with not having to drink it warm. At home, I'd chuck a few ice cubes in to keep it chilled, but I never did that when I was out, no matter how warm it got.
At one point, Finn played a song I didn't recognize, and by the way he sang it, I sensed he probably wrote it. It was good, but it was heartbreaking, too. Both the music and the lyrics. It was about being brokenhearted after a break-up, which wasn’t exactly uncharted songwriting territory. But there was a line in it that I found haunting. It was about catching yourself reaching for someone in the night and finding only more of the nothing you feel inside.
I wondered how personal it was to him and if he was playing it for me. He didn't glance my way when he sang it, and I couldn't decide whose feelings he was trying to be respectful of. Truth was, Kurt hadn't broken my heart. He'd merely hurt my feelings and sent me into the new year mortified and questioning everything.
So no biggie.
But as I always reminded myself when things didn't go according to plan, everything happens for a reason. And Kurt’s reason for coming into my life was obviously to teach me once and for all that a man was not the answer to my problems and that I should continue relentlessly pursuing my goals. Like getting a promotion (check!) and doing whatever it took to become a mother, so I didn’t end up a lonely spinster. Because I’d much rather be a single mom.
I’d be better at that, especially after the good example my mom set for me. She wasn't perfect or anything. I knew that better than anyone. But she knew how to raise a kid who treated people with respect, appreciated the little things, and wasn't afraid to bet on themselves.
When Finn finished his set, I clapped along with the rest of the crowd. He nodded more than bowed, as if he was almost embarrassed by the attention before heading straight over, his eyes crinkling warmly at the edges in a way that made my knees press together.
"It's a good color on you," I said, nodding towards the scarf.
"This old thing?" he asked, throwing one tasseled end over his shoulder before hopping on the barstool beside me.
I laughed. "That's too much. The double wrap. Doesn't work with the shirt."
“It’s hard to accessorize this shirt," he admitted, glancing down at it. "Tacos are the obvious choice, but I always end up eating them."
I couldn't help but smile at the idea of tacos as an accessory. Perhaps I should mention that to Maddy so she could post about it on her fashion blog.
"I'm allergic to kittens, too, so that doesn't work well either."
"Allergic to kittens? That's horrible."
Brian set a beer down in front of Finn without a word and returned to a conversation he was having down the bar.
"We all have our crosses to bear," Finn said, unwrapping my scarf and handing it to me.
"Thanks." I folded it and set it on the bar beside my drink. "I really appreciate you picking that up for me."
"No problem," he said. "If there's one thing I never do, it's neglect to notice when a woman's left her glass slipper behind for me to find."
I tried to scowl, but my amusement ruined the effect. "I didn't do it on purpose."
He licked his lips and lifted his beer. "Sure you didn't."
