“Mom, I need some Pop-Tarts.”
“Caroline, you have a car and a part-time job. Go to the store and buy them yourself.”
“I spent my last check on an iPod! Besides, Ashley said you were at the grocery store and I can’t do my work without Pop-tarts. Can you get some for me and drop them off at the library? Please?”
Sometimes, I swore that my daughters weren’t related to me. They couldn’t be. At sixteen years old, they had all the book smarts in the world, but their common sense IQ was probably negative.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.” She sighed. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Let me call you back mom! The ice cream truck is coming up the street! I have to get an Elmo-sicle!”
Just as I was about to put my phone back into my purse, my other daughter called. “Yes, Ashley?”
“How long was I supposed to keep that bread in the oven?”
“You weren’t supposed to touch that bread at all, Ashley. I said it was for dinner. It was going to go with the spaghetti and—”
“I was hungry! What was I supposed to eat?”
“Leftover chicken salad, sushi—”
“I’m a vegan since last night mom.” She gave me one of her ‘you-just-don’t-understand-me’ groans. “Remember? I can’t eat meat. Can you get me some soy products while you’re out? And I’m totally sorry, but I completely burned that bread...Shouldn’t the oven have made a sound to alert me? And why does every plastic pan I put in the oven burn up? What’s that about?”
Oh my god...
“I’ll see you when I get home, Ashley.” I hung up.
My daughters were not related to me. If I was sixteen years old with a job and a shared car, I wouldn’t be calling my mother about anything. Then again—I scrolled down my phone’s list and called my own mother. “Mom, are you still coming over for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. What time should I be there?”
“Seven o’ clock. And I need you to bring some bread over. I had some ready but Ashley put another plastic pan in the oven.”
“You need to get those girls checked out, Claire. I told you they were born with half a brain.”
“Tell me about it. See you tonight, mom. I’ll—”
“Wait! Robert Millington told me you still haven’t called him. He really wants to take you out. I think he’d be good for you!”
I tried not to groan. Robert was the son of my mom’s best friend. He was two years older than me, but he wasn’t attractive and he was extremely dull—worse-than-watching-paint-dry dull. His idea of great conversation was discussing the differences between American and British politics.
“No thanks, mom. Not interested.”
“Why not? He’s a good guy! He has his own law firm, he’s in great shape—”
“And he’s boring. I’ll pass. See you tonight, mom.” I hung up.
I made my way down the beverage aisle and grabbed a carton of dry milk. I headed for the meat section and grabbed a few pounds of beef—soy beef.
As I walked by, I looked up at the reflective glass that hung over the chicken display. I still had problems recognizing myself on some days. I was still coming to terms with the new and improved me—the woman who actually enjoyed putting on make-up and spending more than twenty minutes on her hair.
You still got it...You still got it...You still—
I pushed my basket straight into a display of cereal boxes.
Great...
Stooping down, I began putting it back together the best way I could. I wanted to fix everything before the snotty manager came over and said his infamous, “Mistakes like this are what drive our prices up.”
“Need some help?” A deep voice said from behind.
“Sure.” I didn’t look up. I kept stacking the red boxes in between the yellow ones, making sure each box was perfectly aligned into the tacky half diamond formation.
As I stacked the last cereal box atop the display, I turned to look at the man who’d helped me out.
OH. MY. GOD...
He had one of those faces that belonged in a Ralph Lauren ad—stark blue eyes that gleamed with the faintest hint of light, a perfectly chiseled jaw line with a light sexy stubble, and full, well-defined lips that looked inviting enough to kiss all day.
He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black sweat shirt with “San Fran” in white letters. And for some odd reason, he was smiling at me.
He’s probably a student at the law school down the street....If only I could go back in time...Oh well...
“Umm...Thank you for your help.” I turned away and went back to my basket.
“Wait a minute,” he said as he walked over. “I didn’t catch your name.”
How cute...
“Claire.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Jonathan.” He reached out to shake my hand. “I know this may seem forward, but I can’t leave the store without knowing if I can I take you out tonight.”
What? Did he just ask me out? For tonight?
“Umm...”