*
Out of her last Pilates class of the day, Trini jumped into her Mini and drove straight to the grocery store. She shopped like she was a sweepstakes winner, throwing items into her cart. She swiped her credit card and wiggled the toes on her right foot anxiously. She glanced at her Fitbit to see the time. She was late, as always. It was a cosmic wonder that she couldn’t get anywhere on time. She tried. She really did, but her own biorhythms seemed to be on a separate plane, and well, hell, who cared anyway?
Four-thirty. Well, that wasn’t too bad. Bobby was coming over at five. A little early for him, but he’d told her tonight was something special and she had no idea what that meant, but it could be anything. Good, bad, indifferent. She was really hoping for good. Great. Maybe a weekend away, just the two of them. A spa vacation in the desert, or hell, admit it, wouldn’t it just be marvelous to go somewhere far, far away? Some place stunningly exotic? Like those resort rooms on stilts over cerulean water in Bora Bora. Oh God.
She juggled the grocery bags and nearly dropped one on the way to her car. She did drop her keys but managed to pick them up. Who was she kidding? she thought, as she switched on the ignition. Bobby wasn’t the type for trips to another corner of the world. He was too careful. His idea of a vacation would probably be to the Oregon beaches, or maybe the mountains. Somewhere closer, more intimate. Maybe not sooo extravagant. And that was just fine with her. He was so imperfect, he was perfect.
She pulled into her assigned spot at the apartment complex, then hauled out the bags and carried them up the flight of stairs to her door. She had to crush the bags against the wall to free up one hand and thread the key in the lock. She thought of Bobby making love to her. It had been nearly a week and it was too long. Last time had been a wild ride on her bed that had her screaming so much he’d slapped a hand over her mouth. Jesus. Just thinking about him made her wet. Lord, she had it bad!
She’d decided to make dinner for him, so last night she’d gone to the little market down the way and checked on their poultry products. Nothing had grabbed her, so she’d put off buying what she needed till today, stopping at a supermarket instead. She’d decided on a vegan meal and hoped Bobby would like it as well. She wasn’t completely that way, but she definitely leaned away from meat. Last night, as she was about to leave the little market empty-handed, one of the owners had tried to talk her into the prawns, singing their praises. He’d swept a hand toward the seafood case and there they were, displayed in a pretty row, all plump and pink and lying innocently on a bed of ice, the little killers.
“No, thanks,” Trini had told him. She’d debated on going into her allergies, and Bobby’s, but she hadn’t really had the time, and anyway, would he really care? The man was just trying to make some conversation, hoping for a sale, doing his job. He didn’t really want her whole story, and really, did anyone?
So today she’d purchased flour tortillas, planning to make cheddar and cotija cheese enchiladas with verde salsa and pico de gallo. She didn’t think Bobby would squawk too hard about the vegan angle. She’d throw a salad together and make her own dressing with a south of the border flair. He really preferred eating in to going out to restaurants anyway, and though Trini didn’t think of herself as much of a cook, she was certainly learning.
It took her a while to set up and get the meal rolling, and then the oven didn’t seem to want to come up to temperature. When it finally did, she shoved the pan of enchiladas inside and slammed the door, then cleaned up the mess of bowls and pans, although she kind of did a half-assed job. She was hot and sweating when she was finished. Glancing at the oven clock, she saw it was closing in on six. Where the hell was Bobby?
An hour and a half later, when he still hadn’t shown, she was full-blown pissed. How dare he stand her up? And how dare she care? He wasn’t even her type, she reminded herself as she slammed her way out of the apartment and walked in a huff to the nearest neighborhood restaurant, a tiny place with a U-shaped bar adorned with twinkling white lights. As she entered, a bell tinkled overhead, announcing her arrival. There was a smattering of customers. Though the ambience was nice, the food pedestrian, and most people came for a drink and then moved on.
She took a place at the bar, a black cloud of anger hanging over her. To hell with it. She was over abstaining from alcohol. “A mojito,” she said. “Not one of the fancy ones with added mango or pomegranate or any of that shit. Just the usual lime and mint.”