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“Hmmmm,” I mumble back, my eyes on the game show, not understanding how the team hasn't won the round yet, because everyone knows the capital of Spain is Madrid.
“Good-looking, you said?” she replies.
“Hmmmm,” I mumble back again.
“I wish I could find one of those,” Gran says with a sigh.
I look at her, and she is looking at me with a hint of a smile on her face. I have never had a boyfriend before, not anyone who was long-term. I am not a virgin, but I have only had sex a few times, none of them worth repeating. I had a few short-term flings in college, but they were nothing to brag about. Messy, uncoordinated and over in minutes. In fact, I often dreamed of having that mind-blowing amazing sex that you read about in romance novels - if only it wasn’t fiction.
“Tell me you at least got his number?” Gran asks. Clearly, she is delusional from her medication.
“No, I don’t need his number! Except, he gave me his suit jacket and said his business card was in the pocket but nothing was there, so now I don’t even know how to return it,” I say, sounding annoyed. I have been careful of his jacket all day and hung it up as soon as I got home, fearful of crumpling it. I may have also smelled it a few times, because it smells like him, just so damn good.
“Well, that is the most you have ever spoken about a boy since little Joey in third grade pushed you in the mud and then laughed at your muddy backside saying you pooped your pants. This man obviously had an impact on you. You’re young, you need to go out and find your way in life and not be cooped up looking after me.”
“Yeah, well, little Joey was a troublemaker and he embarrassed me in front of the whole school! Kids were calling me poopy pants for weeks!” The vision of being taunted by my whole class is still vivid in my memories. I was an outsider for weeks after that, always last to get picked for team sports, and no one ever wanted to be my reading partner. It was soul crushing.
I sit forward and grab gran’s hand. “And there is nowhere else in this world I want to be right now than here with you. Now, why don’t you get some rest; a good night's sleep will hopefully make you feel better tomorrow.” I stand and fluff her pillows before turning off the TV and lamp, leaving her to rest.
As I tidy up the kitchen and clean the dishes we used today, I think about gran and our life and how busy it has been. Even if I did meet a nice guy, there just isn’t room in my life for him at the moment. I’m too busy with work and gran to even contemplate dating someone. I think about the sexy suit guy from this morning; he was good-looking, but way out of my league. I really am pretty sure his suit alone costs more than my entire wardrobe. Gee, probably my entire belongings. But he had a nice smile, and boy, did his body feel amazing so close to mine. Perhaps I should spend some more time with Byron at work, just to see if there is anything worth exploring there? Maybe it is time that I got into the dating game. I am a young single woman in her twenties; it is time.
I hear gran coughing, which startles me out of my daydreams. She isn’t getting much better, and her coughing tells me that the fluid on her lungs has returned, and that I need to get her back to the doctor tomorrow.
After finishing up the chores, I crawl into bed with a good book, hoping to get swept up in the fictional romance I am currently reading. Along with my thoughts on gran, I am also concerned with one of the young girls I am working with at the moment. I am a Social Worker for The Boys and Girls Club of Boston, which I love, but it is hard, heartbreaking work. I have been working my butt off for the past few months, as we are continually short staffed, and unfortunately, the number of kids entering foster care here in Boston is increasing. More kids means more support needed, and when you are at the front line like I am, that support is crucial and in high demand.
I meet with some of the most damaged kids, who have no love at home, and I try to help them into a positive future. Jasmine is a sixteen-year-old girl who has moved from foster home to foster home for years without any sense of family or belonging. She is a wild child and constantly getting herself into trouble. Her foster parents are great, but she just isn’t settling with them. She was my first case when I started working with the agency, and I am the only consistent person in her life, so I feel particularly attached to her. I am trying to find her a suitable placement with a family who can give her the love and attention she needs to thrive.
I’m a few chapters into my book when my cell phone startles me. I grab it from my bedside table and answer it.
“Molly, Molly, are you there?” a voice yells out, but I can hardly hear the person on the other end. All I can hear is really loud thumping dance music in the background.
“Molly, it’s Jasmine, I need help.”
“Jasmine, where are you? Are you okay?” I am immediately on edge and sitting up in bed.
“Molly, can you come and get me? I’m scared.”
“Of course, text me where you are.”
I imagine she has been out at a local party, perhaps following a boy and is now wanting to go home to sleep off the excess of alcohol that she has consumed throughout the night. It is not unusual behavior from kids that are Jasmine’s age. I get occasional calls from kids during the night, and Jasmine is a hard case, so being available to her is important to build the support she needs.
The phone call ends, and I jump out of bed and quickly put on my jeans and a black top with boots before sneaking in to check gran who thank God is sound asleep. I write a quick note for her in case she wakes up and then I call a cab. While I am waiting for the cab, I get the text from Jasmine.
Nitro Club, Stuart Street, Downtown
WTF. She is in the city!
At a nightclub!
I rush to get in the cab, thankful that there are not many cars on the road at this time of night. The trip from Dorchester to the Leather District is not far and we make good time. We pull up to the club where I give the driver my last few dollars before jumping out of the car.
It isn’t until I get out of the cab and am standing on the street outside the club that I realize I am not dressed for a nightclub. In fact, looking at the people lined up to go in, it would be fair to say that I actually don’t own any clothes that would resemble what the female population are wearing to get into this club. However, that is the furthest thing from my mind as I am in a state of panic about Jasmine. I try calling her cell, but she doesn't answer. I try again, but she still doesn’t answer. I did hope that she may be able to come outside, and we’d just leave, but it looks as though I need to go in and get her.
Looking around wildly, I assess my options. The good thing about working with kids is that I pick up some of their tricks. I manage to sneak past the two burly security guys at the door as they chat up a pair of over inflated women who are at the front of the line. They might be big and scary, but they don’t have brains. They are so engrossed in the two women, that I can move past them and into the club easily. I am not sure who runs this club, but this certainly is not how I would run a business, especially since the cover charge is so high. They could be losing a fortune in profits as well as be over the legally allowed number of patrons inside.
I get inside and immediately feel out of place, but my eyes are frantically looking for Jasmine. I start walking the perimeter, maneuvering around people and trying not to push into anybody, but it is crowded, and it is hard to look for her. I make my way between people, heading for the dance floor, which is where I spot her, next to a man who is old enough to be her father. He is gyrating against her, clearly pinning her to his body without her consent. I push my way through and reach her in time to grab the man's hands off her backside, pulling her toward me.
“Do not touch her!” I say as I point my finger at the man’s chest.
