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There’s a familiarity to having Cary in my room again and something soothing about his company. I enjoy talking to him and listening to him speak. It could be Cary’s job, running a big dealership—or that I’ve got early onset symptoms of senility—however, he doesn’t act the way I expect of someone his age.
“The fifties thing?” He goes to drag a pillow under our heads and decides against it. Instead, we wind up pulling down the covers and lying in the bed the way normal people do.
“It was for fun at first.” I cover my face, yawning wide. It makes Cary yawn too and we stupid-smile at each other. “I had some rockabilly dresses. Bhodi and Emory wore costumes to the grocery store when they were little and Laurel and I were just like, ‘Why not join in?’.”
We’re both single moms and had nothing to lose by dressing up. The compliments are nice when you’re struggling for a pep boost. The fun of it sort of morphed from there, expanding to the furniture and retro decor.
We drowsily keep up the conversation until Cary asks about my tattoo.
“I’m sleepy,” I respond, rolling over on my stomach. “I’ll tell you the story another time.”
I have nothing to hide. I started getting ink after William left because he’d been against me doing it and I’d always wanted one. The size of my body art isn’t me thumbing my nose at my ex. It’s me embracing the ability to do something important to me. William’s dirty feet aren’t allowed in my mind while Cary is here.
Cary’s thick arm tugs at my hip. He curls his body around mine. He doesn’t make a move to leave or peep that he’s going to go. I don’t want him to either, even if it means coming up with a plausible excuse for Bhodi tomorrow.
________________
Blackout shades are wondrous things. You have no clue if it’s morning or night, rainy or sunny when they’re drawn. Like an interior room on a cruise ship, you can lose all sense of space and time.
I’m drowning in extreme fatigue using my pillow as a life preserver. The only reason I know I’m still breathing is Cary’s scent filling my nose. It changes depending on if he’s been in the service center shop or has had motor oil on his hands, but the underlying tone is a woodsy sweet tobacco and fruit with a hint of vanilla.
I move my head, languishing in the warmth of the covers. My nose twitches, seeking out the smell that’s not as pungent now that my face isn’t buried in the pillowcase.
“Goooood Morning!” Laurel flings back the curtains. Light floods my bedroom, blinding me even with my eyes closed.
My arm flails, trying to hide my face from the sun, and my right hand hits something hard. It’s not the body I expect to find there, which makes my “Mother of God, what are you doing!” screech at Laurel a little more palatable for my sister. She hasn’t actually walked in on me in bed with Cary.
I rub my eyes as they adjust to the light and my hands become streaked with caked black eyeliner. I can’t imagine what kind of a train wreck I resemble, and I’ve never been so happy to not be mortified with embarrassment.
“You’ve slept long enough.” My sister informs me.
I want to hate her, though waking me is for my own good. The days I work are all over the map, but the time of day I go in for is consistent. Staying in bed throws off the cadence. I wind up late and forgetful. Laurel’s doing her best to help me avoid that trap.
“How was the party?”
“Let’s say Jake broke up the celebrations early.”
“Oooh, that bad?”
I’ve told Laurel time and again I wish I understood what gets into Jake. He needs therapy.
Reaching for the object I hit, I bring a ceramic Tiki head to my lap. It’s got one of those coils sticking out of the top to place snapshots in. In front of a silly picture of me and Bhodi is a scribbled note on ridiculous floral paper. I pluck it out to read the message.
Had to run to a meeting. Didn’t want to wake you.
Will call with the wedding deets.
—Be there or be square, Cary
I giggle at the winky face and let out a girly sigh that piques Laurel’s curiosity. She leans in and finishes the note aloud. There’s a curved arrow drawn in the direction of the second sentence.
“Ps. I have no chill when it comes to you, so don’t freak if it’s tomorrow. I need a nap first…What does he mean about wedding details?”
“Cary’s friend is getting married next weekend, and they were at Sweet Caroline’s last night for the stag party. He asked me to go because he didn’t have a date.”
Laurel does a double-take between me and the note. She regards my rumpled clothes and breaks into hysterical laughter.
“Stop!” I demand she quit her cackling.
