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CHARIS
Ihesitated going out with Gibson tonight. Mom and Dad have had Meadow all weekend, leaving had the guilt washing through me. But my mother heard me in my room giggling this morning. I was about to text the handsome teacher back, asking to postpone our date, but when Mom had sidled up next to me at the coffee pot and I told her all about my plans I’d intended to cancel, she scolded me like a little girl cutting in line during lunchtime.
“You have today off. Spend it with Meadow. Your dad and I’ll give you time alone, maybe I’ll get him to take me out for lunch. But if you cancel your plans, you and I will do chores all night long. How do you like them apples?” My mom’s threat from earlier in the morning had been valid. It’s how she punished me as a child. My mom got off on cleaning, somehow. She loved it. She found it soothing, so doing it alongside me wasn’t a punishment for her—but the worst for me.
It’s how I find myself hours later after giving my daughter a goodbye kiss, pulling my car in front of the small nondescript building at the senior center. I’m standing, rocking back and forth in my sneakers. Sexy for a first date, right? But even though it seems like a simple thing to do, it’s so much more. Might as well not waste time on a first date, if I know he doesn’t find the joy in brightening other people’s days.
When I texted him the address, I told him to dress casually and explained I’d meet him at 7:00 p.m. in my most comfortable jeans and a T-shirt.
“Wow, we party hard when we’re together.”
I spin around when I hear his words, and he’s figured out what we’re doing by the sign on the door.
“Hey.” I lean into him as I think he’s going to give me a hug, but he drops a kiss onto my cheek. Immediate lightning bolts rock my body. “I know how to show you a good time.” This makes us laugh, as he opens the door for me, labeled “Monday Night Bingo.”
He won’t know how serious I take my bingo. Not until I’m able to unpack the bag on my shoulder with all my supplies.
We enter through the main entrance, and the lady behind the counter stands as soon as she sees me. “Charis, my sweet girl. I’ve been worried about you. Where have you been?”
Letta, one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met, has her hands cupping my face. “Has that man hurt you again?” She swings her attention to Gibson. “Oh, tell me this isn’t him. I don’t want to whack the man with my cane.”
I face Gibson, his jaw tight with the realization from Letta’s words that there’s more to my ex-husband than just trapping me in my car. But before she causes bodily harm to the innocent man, I tackle one issue at first. “Nah, Letta, this is my friend, Gibson. He’s a kindergarten teacher, so don’t hurt him. He already has a heart of gold if he teaches five year olds all day long.”
Her attention is back on Gibson. “Oh, good. I’d hate to go to jail today. I’m too pretty to be someone’s bitch.”
I almost am unable to register what Letta has just said, and then it hits me. I about fall over, in both hysterics and surprise, holding on to Gibson for support. He lets out a deep belly like chuckle that makes my insides swoon, with his own laughter on display.
“Hell, Letta, I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.” And I love this woman. I’ve spent a lot of time with her since volunteering at the senior center, a way to get out of my own rut, as Jimmy took so much from me. I’ve taken Meadow with me so many times, and it’s how I know Letta is special to me—she’s spent quite a bit of time with my daughter.
“Okay, back to the job at hand, my dear, how many cards per game do you want?”
I motion to Gibson, and he’s confused by the question. “One, I guess?” She shakes her head, handing him a number one table setting. She doesn’t ask me, giving me the same type of small setting, but it’s the number six. “Ten rounds to start, my dear?”
“Let’s just do five tonight,” I explain and she tallies the cards per games.
“Okay, my dears, that will be sixty dollars.”
I begin to fish out my cash when Gibson beats me to the punch, setting down three twenty-dollar bills.
“Don’t argue with me, Charis. This is still a date, and I’ll be paying.”
Letta cheers. “Ah, I knew this was more than just a friend. And he’s so sexy when he’s bossy. Hell, that’s so cute.”
I make my way to the other side of the table, giving her a side hug. “I’ve missed you, you crazy lady,” I reply.
“Same here, and don’t you dare leave before you tell me goodbye, you brat. And when will you bring the mini brat by to see me?” Brat in Letta speak is a term of endearment.
“My next day off, I promise.”
Gibson takes my hand and leads us to an empty table, but it’s not long before we’re surrounded on either side. I hear many voices and questions about Gibson being my ex. More comments are made about hurting the man if he’s Jimmy. Gibson’s jaw turns to stone at the revelation, yet again, and I want to avoid this conversation for now.
To dispel all rumors, I look at the gentlemen and ladies I know from volunteering at the senior center. I clear my throat. “Okay, listen up, because I’m going to say this just once. He isn’t my ex-husband. This is Gibson. We’re here on our first date. So, does that satisfy all of you?”
The group near us breaks out in cheers. “She’s finally moving on! Yay!”
Gibson begins laughing. “You’ve really made an impression on them, haven’t you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I try.” I hoist my bingo ready bag on the table, grabbing for my daubers that I keep in one half of the bag, along with refreshments in the other part, separated to keep my drinks cold.
