Monday, June 23, 2008
“THE POSSIBILITIES ARE ENDLESS, Micah.” And for the first time, in I didn’t know how long, I felt like things were going in the right direction. I pretended I didn't hear her say hello to Casey and focused on our conversation. “They said they liked my ideas and offered me the position on the spot. I can't believe it.”
“I can. You're awesome. When do you start?” I could hear the excitement in her voice. One of the best parts about the job was that they had two main offices, one in San Francisco and one in Seattle. Couture Dining Incorporated specialized in the hospitality industry. They designed restaurant themes and menus for hotels all over the world. They were the benchmark in hospitality dining and, branching out, a new part of their company would focus on the invention of new restaurants and another other part on revamping already established ones with fresh menus and systems.
That morning, when I woke up after getting some of the best sleep I'd had in ages, I was excited. But after going to the interview and then out to lunch with Bridgett and Lance, the owners of CDI, I was having a hard time not coming out of my skin. It felt so right.
“I start next week. They have a trade show in a week or so in Chicago and invited me to go. Ahhh,” I screamed. “I need to call Reggie. I might just stay with him. Ah, he's going to love this.”
“That sounds fun. I'm so happy for you.” I was so happy that I might get to see her more. “Call me when you find out when you'll be in town. You can stay with me if you want, it’ll be like we're roommates again.”
“I will. Micah, I'll never be able to thank you enough for recommending me. Ahhh. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Talk soon. ’Bye, B.”
When we disconnected, I immediately called my brother Reggie and waited for him to pick up. But then I realized it was almost two in the afternoon and he'd still be working. I heard his voicemail message, “Hello, this is a Reagan Warren, I'm not available. Leave your message and I'll return your call as promptly as possible.” My brother was becoming such a stiff.
“Hey smear, it's your baby sister and I've got great news. You're going to love it and that's all I'm going to say. You'll just have to call me back to find out. Don't make me wait,” I rambled and then I hung-up.
I called my parents next. My dad was a professor and my mom a grade school teacher, so I knew they'd be home at that time of day in the summer. They were so excited for me. They invited Grant and me out to dinner to celebrate. I shouldn't have accepted, because of the special night I had planned with him, but the job trumped that. It was major. We could do dinner some other night that week. I placated my real thoughts with these reasons for re-nigging on my night with Grant; deep down I knew it was because I chatted via text with Casey the night before and I was back at square one, feeling neutral towards Grant and the promise of his proposal.
My fingers itched to text Casey my news, but I didn't. Doing what my brain told me was the right thing, I sent Grant one instead.
Me: I got the job. It's much more that I thought it was going to be. I can't wait to tell you about it. Rain check on our night in. The parents are taking us out to celebrate.
I didn't expect him to text back in quick fashion. Grant worked for his father's real estate company and he was often with clients or on the phone during working hours. I tried not to bother him much. He'd reply when he could.
I needed to tell my boss at the restaurant about my new job, but that could wait until the next day. I had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.
I'd been working my way up and they relied on me a lot. It would come as a shock, but sometimes opportunities happened when you least expected them. I hoped they saw it that way, too.
My luggage found its way back to me about a week after I got home from San Francisco, but it would never be the same. It was really wrecked. I decided to make use of the rest of my day off and shop for new travel gear.
I found the perfect charcoal-gray luggage set right as I walked into the department store. It was the least painless shopping experience ever.
As I walked my bags to the car, I noticed a sign at the salon across the mall parking lot. It was a photo of a woman with a cute haircut and it compelled me to walk my happy ass over.
I felt impulsive and spontaneous. It was becoming a habit, I guessed.
I walked in and signed my name to the list and noticed there was only one other lady before me. I sat down on the row of plush chairs facing her and grabbed the magazine she'd discarded. I thumbed through it reading celebrity gossip and fodder. I looked at the pictures mindlessly.
“I hate waiting before a haircut,” she said.
“Yeah, I know. I just decided to do it, so I suppose I can wait a few minutes,” I admitted. She looked older than me by a few years and she dangled her sandal off the end of her foot nervously. I politely smiled and looked back down at the magazine.
She asked quizzically, “Are you cutting a lot off? Your hair is sort of long.” I ran my hand over the braid on my shoulder and considered it.
“I don't know. I want to cut it. I think I need a change.”
“I hear you,” she said, “but every time I cut it too short I always regret it. Then it grows back and I do it again.”
“I know the feeling.”
She grinned a small smile. “Right?”
“Maybe I'll get bangs.” I'd always wanted to try them and hopefully they would be enough to pacify the urge I had. It was decided. A trim and bangs.
“I think they'd look nice on you. You have a good forehead for it,” she complimented and then was embarrassed again. It was a weird thing to say to a perfect stranger.
“Thank you,” I said to reassure her and I laughed. “I think that's what I'll do. How about you?”
“Oh no. I'm only getting a trim. My husband would kill me. He likes it longer.”
I nodded. But something about that sentence irritated me. Sure. Her husband's allowed to have an opinion on what he likes, but the way she was so quick to shoot it down was a little sad.
“If he didn't have a preference, then would you get it shorter?” I asked. I continued to smile, humoring her. I didn't want her to get defensive, I was only curious.
She looked up at the large poster behind me, which showed the nail polish colors that were available, as she squinted in contemplation. “I don't know. He's never told me to not cut it, but he always reminds me of how much he likes the length when he knows I'm coming in.” She smiled thoughtfully and it eased my unnecessary concern. “I don't know what he'd do.” She continued to look off into space, probably imagining the conversation they'd have if she came home with a short cut. “Is it strange that I like that he likes my hair a certain way? I'm sorry, my name is Annie.”
She leaned forward and offered me her hand to shake, making our acquaintance official. “Blake. And no. On the basis that he does things that you like. Does he?” If it was a mutual thing for them to please each other, like that, then I thought it was great. If it wasn't, then I thought it sucked. “It's none of my business. I'm just curious.”
“Oh. You're not married?” she asked and looked at my ring finger.
“No. I'm not. God, no.” My reaction surprised me. I could have left God out of it. I'd have to think about that more later.
“It's okay. Let me think. Does he do things like this for me?” She swung her foot at a more rapid pace, almost like she was shuffling through memories with her shoe. After a minute or so went by, she said, “Ah, ha! He cleans the toilet for me, because he knows I don't like it. I know he doesn't like it either, but he does it anyway. Does that count?”
“I think so.” Even though it wasn't the same thing, I thought that was a compromise.
We went back to our comfortable silence and she just sat there staring at the same nail polish poster. A woman with bright blonde, shaggy hair came out to the desk and looked at her list. “Annie?” and then she looked from me to Annie to decipher which one of us she was attending to next.
Annie lifted her hand, but didn't say anything.
“Hi there. As soon as I finish ringing her up,” the blonde stylist said, “I'll take you back and get you shampooed.”
She straightened a few magazines and collected her things. She took out her phone and, presumably, sent a message. Then she pocketed it again.
Annie walked over to me and said, “It was nice chatting with you, Blake, I'm sure your bangs will look great.”
The stylist, upon finishing with her last client, walked around the counter and ushered Annie to the back saying, “So what are we doing today?”
I heard Annie say, “Cut it all off.” And then she laughed. “I can get used to cleaning toilets.”
I had the stylist cut my bangs thick and not too short. She said the part that I normally wore would train to lay flat, but the way she fixed it, after she gave me the trim and some new face fringe, I didn't see that there would be any problem with me styling it on my own.
When I got home, I put on a little more makeup and slipped into an amber sheath dress and paired it with nude pumps. I was a little overdressed for Michael's, the restaurant my parents were taking us to, but I didn't care. I felt great.
On the way over, the conversation between Grant and I mostly centered on my new job. I told him that I didn't want to tell him everything in the truck, because he'd just be bored at dinner, hearing everything twice. But honestly, it was because when I told him I would be traveling a few times a month, he didn't share my enthusiasm like I'd hoped.
I said, “I'm excited. I'll be going places I've never been. I'll be meeting so many awesome chefs.”
He only answered with, “Your hair looks different,” and kept looking at me oddly. It wasn't the most comfortable drive.
My mom, dad, and Shane met us there and were already at a table waiting when we arrived. Mom stood up to hug me when we approached the table on the restaurant’s outdoor dining deck. They knew I loved that place. It had decadent food and I loved eating outside. The weather was perfect for dinner on the patio.
I didn't miss the look my dad gave Grant or the slight head shake with which he returned it. My intuition said it had something to do with my ring finger, but I put it out of my mind.
“Blake, honey, tell us all about it.” My mom’s enthusiasm was exactly what I needed. Even Shane looked like he wanted to know all about my new job.
“Well, it's a growing business and I'll be working with the owners on big idea things. At first, I'll accompanying them to trade shows where other industry people will be, as well as potential clients, and I'll go with them when they work on projects to get the feel of what my position will be. If everything goes well, I'll start going to shows on my own. They said they'd eventually want me to take on entire projects.”
She quietly clapped her hands together in front of her mouth, like a thank you prayer, and smiled from ear to ear.
Shane said, “That sounds cool, so will you be cooking then, or what?”
“I'll do some cooking. Part of the job is revamping tired menus and coming up with new ones. So, there will be some cooking, but not like I was doing every day. It's more creative, and I love that,” I said answering him, and looking at my mom to show her that was the part I was most excited about.
“And I'll get to travel all over the place. They don't have many existing customers outside of the U.S., but there are some. I think they said mostly touristy locations like Jamaica, St. Bart’s, places like that. And they also have clients in Alaska, which I think is cool. Oh, and they have two offices, one here and one in San Francisco. So, I'll get to see Micah more. I'm so excited.”
“Wow. That's a lot of traveling. Take me with you,” my dad joked. “Your brother is already driving me nuts.”
“Phillip, he is not.” My dad grimaced from what I bet was a pretty firm kick under the table, compliments of my mother.
When I looked at Shane to see if he took the teasing well, he was scratching the side of his nose with his middle finger. No hurt feelings there.
We ordered every appetizer on the menu; it's how my family always ate dinner when we went out. I loved it. We talked about everything and shared. It was the only way to dine with your loved ones. I caught a few more loaded glances between my dad and Grant, but even Grant was laughing and seemed to enjoy himself.
Only Shane teased me about my new bangs, but I didn't care. I loved them, too.
Grant's phone rang quietly in his pocket. He looked at me apologetically, but said, “I'm sorry, Blake. It's probably the Jensens. They put in an offer and are probably calling to get an update.” It wasn't strange for him to get calls at dinner, or anytime really, and I understood that it was just part of his job.
“Don't worry about it. Take the call.” I gave him a sincere smile and he appeared grateful as he retrieved his cell and stood to excuse himself. He walked over by the edge of the outdoor dining area, closer to the pristine view of the water.
My dad threw his napkin at me and said, “I have an extra ticket to tomorrow's ballgame. Or are you working? Did you quit?”
“I'm talking to them tomorrow. So, I'll let you know about the game.” I wasn't looking forward to talking to my current employer, but it had to be done. At least if it didn't go well, my dad would get me drunk at the game.
Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
They let me go. Let's just say it wasn't a congratulatory goodbye.
“Well, congratulations,” my boss said shortly. Then he said, “F*ck,” and walked out.
I left with a small plastic bag containing the few personal belongings I'd had in the break room and at my station. I told a few people goodbye and then I left. I liked that job, but the feeling of new and exciting possibilities overshadowed any disappointment I may have felt.
I was eager to travel and excited with not being nailed down to one city, at least for now.
When I got into my car, I called my dad. He was happy I could go to the game with him and he told me that he'd pick me up around two.
The ballpark was bustling. We found our seats while the bleachers filled with Mariners fans. My Dad sat next to me and we had beers and hot dogs.
“God, these are good,” I told him as I ate my ballpark frank.
“We haven't been to a game together in a long time, sis. I'm glad you could go,” he said and bumped his shoulder with mine.
“Me, too.”
I loved my dad. My mother and I were close, but not like my old man and me. We were a lot alike. We shared the same sense of humor. Ours was a relationship that was easy and strong.
“So, tell me about this new job. Are you nervous?” he asked as he washed down the last of his lunch with his beer.
I was chewing, but with him I wouldn't be scolded for talking with my mouthful. I covered my lips with my hand and said, “Yeah. I think it's going to be really fun, you know? I love traveling and getting to work in different places sounds ideal.”
Thinking about all of the different cities that Bridgett and Lance told me about yesterday made me think of Casey. They'd mentioned a place in Phoenix and of course their other office was located in San Francisco.
“Good. I'm going to go get another beer. You ready for another?” he offered. I didn't have to work tomorrow, so I thought, why not?
“Yeah, a big one. Hurry though, game’s about to start.”
He sat on the end of the aisle, so a quick dash out and back wasn't much of a hassle.
Still thinking about Casey, I decided I should text him. I'd said I would and that was two days ago.
I opened up our message thread and smiled.
Me: I got the job. Cheers!
Then before I thought too much about it, I snapped a quick selfie with my beer and sent it.
I watched my phone and waited, hoping that he'd reply quickly. Nothing happened and then my dad was handing me my second draught.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You're welcome.”
We watched the game, cheering on my dad's beloved Mariners. They had been in a bit of a slump that season, but seemed to be pulling it together that afternoon.
“Go! Go home!” he yelled as Beltre rounded the last base and continued down the home baseline. My dad had stopped drinking, but I continued.
I felt the vibration in my lap and looked down to see a reply from Casey.
Casey: That's great. Where are you? Beer looks cold.
Me: Ballgame with my Dad. It is cold.
My cell alerted me to an incoming picture message. I tapped it to download what he'd sent. It was Casey holding up a bottle of water, an awesome view of the Golden Gate Bridge behind him.
Casey: Cheers. No beer with me right now or I'd have one with you. I'm with my sisters.
Me: Where are you?
Casey: Bike ride.
Me: No helmet? Couldn't find one big enough to cover that hair?
Casey: ha ha You ride?
Me: No. I was terrible at riding bikes when we were kids. Haven't been on one since I was little.
Casey: You never forget how. Like blow jobs.
I shouted, “Ahhh!” after reading the message and laughed really hard.
My dad noticed and asked, “What's so funny? Let me see?” When he leaned over my shoulder to look, I flipped it face-down and placed my hand on it.
“No.”
“Well, well. Okay. I won't look.” He chuckled. “I'm old. I get it.” He played hurt.
“No, it's not that. It's just…you won't think it was funny, is all.”
“Is that Grant? I'll get it out of him later.” He popped his collar. “I'm still pretty cool, you know.”
I had a great buzz and my dad really was cool, but I was confident he didn't want to see a text to his little girl referencing oral sex.
I didn't want him to mention it to Grant though. He wouldn't know what my crazy dad was talking about. I actually hadn't heard anything out of Grant that day.
“It's not Grant. It's just a friend.”
His face looked curiously at me. “A friend?”
“Yeah, you should know about those. You're so cool, remember?” I said playfully and knocked into him.
“A guy friend?” he asked diverting his eyes back to the game and taking a drink from his lemonade.
I'd never lied to my dad. I didn’t think any of us ever had. Sure, with mom we'd bend the truth, but Shane, Reggie and I could always talk to our father. He wasn't a judging man. He had a vastly open mind when it came to most things. When we were teenagers, he’d spoken candidly about his own life experiences, both good ones and not so good ones. I think it made us feel like we could tell him the truth about anything.
“Yeah. It's a guy friend.”
“Hmm. Good guy?” he asked still not meeting my eyes. Pretending to watch the game, he leaned back into his seat to hear me as best as he could with Mariners’ fans whooping and hollering around us.
“I don't really know. I don't know him that well. We met at Micah's graduation. Well, the night before.”
He thought for a while, quietly.
I couldn't resist looking back at my phone. It had buzzed twice while I was talking to Dad.
Casey: Hey. Where'd ya go?
Casey: Are you trying to remember bike riding or blow jobs? Send another picture.
I quickly thumbed back.
Me: I'm with my dad. No blow job texts. No more pictures for you.
Me: I'll text you later. Have a fun ride.
I pocketed my phone and decided that the combination of beer, my dad, and Casey were not good. The three were a little difficult to manage at once. I settled for beer and Dad at the moment. Casey later.
“So what's—” my dad paused, waiting for me to fill in the blank with Casey's name.
“My friend.” He cocked his head at me and gave me a cut-the-shit look. “All right, Casey. His name is Casey.”
“Casey. So what's this Casey-friend like?”
I puckered my lips off to one side in contemplation. I didn't know a lot of things about him, just the basics.
“He's a twin. Micah's boyfriend Cory's twin actually. It's weird. Their identical, but they don't look that much alike.”
He didn't understand what I was saying.
“They look different. They have different styles and hair. He has crazy hair. It's all over the place. Big curls. Messy.” I considered showing him the picture. Then, decided what the hell.
I fished my phone back out and tapped the picture from the text so that only the picture could be viewed.
“See?”
My dad studied it and then smiled. “That's some hair.”
I took my phone back, taking a minute to look at the picture of him smiling brightly. His bicep was flexed holding the water slightly above his head. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and the lime green aviator sunglasses he'd bought when I was with him. He was hot.
“He's fun to talk to,” I said shrugging as I leaned over toward my dad and returned my phone to my pocket.
“What does he do for a living?” What a dad question to ask.
“He's a brewer. He works for Bay Brewing Company. He actually just got promoted or something and he's doing sales for them. I think he's worked there a long time.” I tried to remember more of our conversation from the night at HLS, when he told me I was drinking his beer, but I wasn't paying close enough attention to what he was telling me. I was too busy watching his lips move and imagining what they’d feel like flush against my…well, everything.
The sun started to make its way to the opposite side of the field and I had to pull my sunglasses down from my hair and wear them.
Finally my dad said, “I always wanted to brew my own beer.” He smiled. He didn't push or pry, but I could see so many unasked questions in his expression. “Sounds like a cool guy.”
“Very cool,” I said before I thought better of it.
His head snapped to me and I gave a terrible fake impression of a smile.
“Not cooler than me, though.”
“No. Of course. You're the coolest man I know.”
“Good. You're the coolest girl I know.”
My faux-smile transformed into the real thing. I swelled with pride. “You think I'm cool?” I laughed and leaned forward to grab the beer I'd set on the cement between my feet.
He winked. “As far as women go, yeah. You're cool.”
“Cooler than Mom?”
A mischievous smile crept across his face. He adored my mom, but I was his baby girl. This was a true test.
“Let's just say you have more cool than her on account of your genetics. It's only logical that you're doubly cool because of your parents. I guess that makes you lucky, too.” My dad, so witty.
He leaned over and gave me a kiss in my hair and said, “Be good, Blake.”
He said it at the right time for it to imply he didn't want me trying to throw my mom under the bus, but I know he meant be a good girl and not a cheater or I'd lose my cool card.
Oh. Wait. I already had. In that moment I felt like telling him everything. The whole story, but I didn't have the nerve. The feeling like I'd lied to my dad for the first time burdened me.
It was the friends terminology that made it false, deep down I realized that we weren't just friends.