Chapter 18
My mom arrives early to babysit CJ. She shows up just after I get out of the shower. I took extra time to make sure that all the pertinent areas are shaved and exfoliated because I want my skin to be soft to the touch. I'm choosing to be optimistic, hoping that we’ll talk and maybe we'll have some making up to do. I meant it when I told Lanie and Erin that I'm ready to move on with him.
"Hi, Genny," she says, leaning in to hug me and give me a kiss on the cheek. She's actually been a lot mellower for the past few weeks. It's like losing dad made her realize that her life isn’t the way she wanted and she’s changing things? at least she’s trying. Her outfit is confused. It’s her dress slacks and Daddy’s sweatshirt, and it swallows her down to her knees. I glance at her feet and she’s wearing stockings with patent leather shoes. Aunt Susie must have had a stroke when she saw mom leave the house.
"Hey, Mom." I hug her before stepping back to let her inside. As she looks around my freshly painted foyer, painted the same color as my also freshly painted dining room, her eyes come to rest on me standing in only a towel with my hair dripping down my chest.
Her eyes scan me quickly. "Do you always answer the door wearing nothing but a towel? Some men might take that as an invitation."
“Good thing you weren’t the UPS man, then.” I smile at her.
“Maybe.”
My eyes widen. “Mom! Stop being all vixen-like. I can’t handle it. Besides, I knew it was you. I saw your car out front." Holding the knot that’s keeping my towel from showing all my assets, I narrow my eyes at her. "I need to get dressed. I’m not going to the bar in a towel.”
“It would send a clear message.” She’s smirking, teasing me.
“I don’t think I want to project ‘crazy mess’ much further than the doormat, Ma.” She cringes at the use of ‘ma.’ She smiles at me, knowing I did it on purpose. “CJ's in his crib if you want to go get him."
I pad up the stairs with Mom at my heels. She takes a turn into CJ’s room and I head into mine. My heart is racing a little bit. This is crazy. The man doesn’t want to talk to me, but I can’t get past the feeling that I made a mistake. I study the dress I've chosen to win Daniel back. It's an emerald green vintage-style dress with a diamond cut neck that I found at a shop on the River-walk that specializes in pinup style dresses. It shows just a little bit of cleavage, and it's in the classy style that I love. I've paired it with cream-colored peep toe heels that are higher than I'm used to, especially considering the fact that I've been living mainly in flip flops and sneakers for the past two years. I really hope I don't break my ankle, although the shoes make my legs look really nice.
I leave my hair down, letting it fall in waves just below my shoulders because the green in the dress brings out the red tones in my dark hair. I keep most of my makeup light, but take time with my eyes, making sure my liner and mascara are perfect. Aside from the butterflies threatening to fly out my nose, I think I'm ready to go. I've spent two days planning what I'm going to say and how the night is going to go. I don't think I can be any better prepared.
Pressing a hand to my stomach, trying to calm my nerves. I pick up the matching purse I bought this afternoon and head for the stairs, hoping my mom doesn't ask too many questions about what I'm doing tonight. I don't want to outright lie to her, but I also don't want to fight with her about Daniel. She's made me feel bad enough about the feelings I have for him.
My mother is focused on CJ when I walk into the living room, babbling all kinds of nonsense to him as they sit together on the floor with his toys spread out around them. Concentrating on not falling over, I bend over to place a kiss on the top of his head, smoothing down his pale blonde hair.
"Oh, Genevieve, you look just beautiful!" my mom gushes as she looks me over, head to toe. "Do you have a specific man in mind tonight? Or are you girls just hoping to meet some new men?" She's entirely too excited at the prospect of me dating.
I have to be very careful to be truthful without letting her know that I'm going out alone, and to see a very specific guy. "There's a specific guy, but I don't want to jinx it Mom. We'll see how it goes, okay?" I bend to kiss her cheek before hightailing out of the house to avoid any further questions.
When I shut the door to my car, I let out a sigh of relief. I hate lying and being deceitful, but I really don't want her destroying the confidence I've spent the last two days building up. Putting myself out there isn't going to be easy, but I have to try.
Pulling into the closest lot to the bar, I put the car in park and take a deep breath. I can do this. He will talk to me, and we will talk. He’ll tell me Mom was wrong. I know he will. Looking in the mirror on my visor, I make sure my makeup is all still in place and squeeze my eyes shut tightly, trying to psych myself up for what I'm about to do.
Walking into the bar, I don't immediately see Daniel and I worry that maybe Lanie was wrong, or that he's off tonight. The place is packed because it’s forties night. Big Band music is blaring and a ton of people bounce around the room, dancing in ways that I thought no one knew anymore. I stop and stare for a moment. A man with dark hair and strong arms swings a girl around his waist. Nimbly, she floats to the floor like a falling petal, slips between his legs and jumps up again—the smile on her face is huge. Brown hair clings to her sweaty forehead and I envy her for a second. They look so happy together, so normal. His white shirt clings to his back. They must have been dancing for hours.
Pushing through the throng of people, I take the last empty seat at the bar and look around, hoping he's here, that I didn't make this trip for nothing. I almost sag in relief when he comes out from what must be a back room, carrying a case in his arms.
It’s as if he can sense me here, his head jerks up and his eyes meet mine. His are unreadable; I can't tell how he feels about seeing me at first. It's pretty obvious though when he shakes his head and looks away from me, his jaw tight in irritation. Deflating slightly, I order a glass of wine to avoid being told to move along and let a paying customer take my seat.
I already know my alcohol tolerance is low, so when I see him watching me from the other end of the bar I raise the glass up to my lips and take a minuscule sip. As soon as he turns to another customer, I dump the glass in the plant next to the end of the bar. It gets me some weird looks from the people around me, but I studiously ignore them and order another drink.
As much as Daniel is trying to ignore me, I see him sneak looks at me on and off for the next ten minutes. During that time, I've gotten a vodka cranberry, which I've only taken about three sips from and am already starting to feel lightheaded. That's probably why dumping the rest of the drink in the napkin holder seems like a smart idea.
The rest of the night goes like that—I pretend that I don't see Daniel pretending to completely ignore me, while I order drinks back to back. In addition to dumping my drink in the plant and the napkin holder, I also dumped almost half a glass into the bowl of peanuts sitting between me and the blonde man sitting beside me. He doesn't notice, or at least I don't think he does.
A guy tries to talk to me. He’s all smiles. “Hey, gorgeous. Can I buy you a drink?”
“But where would I put it?” I try not to laugh. I’m seriously running out of places to dump drinks.
His dark brows lift and I must have set off his crazy chick alarm, because he excuses himself quickly.
I order one last drink, vodka neat, intending to swallow the whole thing this time. I stare at the little glass and pick it up, ready to throw it back, but I lose my nerve once the liquid slips over my lips. Glancing around the room, panicked, I look for a place to spit out the drink. F*ck, this is like drinking fire! I try not to draw attention to myself, but I can’t swallow it. The longer I hold the liquor in my mouth, the more it burns. I open my brand new purse and spew. Liquor sprays in along with a massive amount of drool, ruining my wallet, my lipstick, and, of course, my cell phone.
That’s when I notice Swing Dance Man standing next to me with one dark eyebrow raised far into his hairline.
“That’s one way to do it,” he says, smiling. There’s a dimple in his cheek. The woman he was dancing with rushes up behind him. F*ckbunnies! He noticed. My face flames in embarrassment. I guess I wasn't as stealthy as I thought.
“This was a great idea Peter! The band is amazing!” She pushes her wall of curls back and asks, “Did you order the drinks? I’m so thirsty I could die.”
Peter nods and hands her a glass. She turns and bounces away into the crowd, dancing as she goes. He glances at me with sympathy, maybe even empathy—like he’s been there.
Staring at the bar, I utter, “Don’t feel sorry for me.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I don’t want his pity.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The sincerity in his voice rings true. “It’s just that, well, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one. We’ve been through Hell and back. Am I right?” I look into his dark blue eyes, too afraid to answer.
He drops his gaze to his drink and then tips his head to the side, slipping his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re a survivor. Don’t give up.” He smiles crookedly before walking away, and disappearing into the crowd.
I stop paying attention, which is obviously a bad idea because only a few seconds later, Daniel is finally standing in front of me. "What the hell are you doing, Genevieve?" His voice is low, almost gravelly.
"What do you mean?" I ask, giving him what I hope is an innocent look, but that probably looks more like I'm having some weird kind of seizure.
He glares at me, his hands folded over his chest and looking very unwelcoming. "Do you really want me to tell you all about how I saw you dumping your drinks and what I watched you dump them into?"
"No" I stutter, mortified. Why did I think dumping the drinks would be a good idea? Oh yeah, I thought that if he thought I was on a mission to get drunk he might come over and talk to me. Remembering suddenly that talking was the whole reason I came here tonight, I draw myself up so that my spine is straight and look him in the eyes.
"Daniel, can we please talk? I have so much I need to say to you." I know the look on my face now is pleading for him to give me a chance, but I've had just enough alcohol to not care how desperate I look. I need him to know how much I regret the way I acted that night. Or, I guess more accurately, the way I didn't react. I was wrong and I need to tell him.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel says nothing at first. Finally, he heaves a heavy sigh and meets my gaze once more. "Gen," he begins, and I know by the tone of his voice exactly what he's getting ready to say. It doesn't stop the pain that rips through my chest when he finally says it though. "I think you should go. I don't think we have anything left to say to each other."
Realizing he's never going to forgive me for not having faith in him, I accept defeat, gather my things, and head for the door. I walk as fast as my unsteady legs can carry me. I will not cry. The last thing I want now is for him to know how much refusing to even let me explain hurts. It wasn't easy for me to come here tonight, not that he seems to care. When I finally make it through the crowd of people and out into the cooler air, I lean against the wall, tipping my head back and trying to compose myself.