The Beard Page 13

  Dark denim covers what looks like a very muscular set of legs. I take further inventory all the way up past his tight fitting grey Henley and continue on to his heavy dark beard and neatly trimmed, thick, dark hair. He’s gotta be well over six feet. He looks like a Viking lumberjack. A very attractive, Viking lumberjack.

  I hide myself back around the corner and turn to face my sister, “Ummm, so what exactly is the problem?”

  “What do you mean, what’s the problem?”

  “I’m still not following.”

  “Dammit, Poppy. Are you not seeing what I’m seeing?” she asks. “He’s all but grunted maybe two words to me since I got here.”

  “And?”

  “I must have him,” she says.

  “Bluebell, I know you like the whole thrill of the chase thing, and whatnot,” I say. “But maybe this one time you should just, ya know, play it cool.”

  “Ugh, you know nothing. He’s clearly just playing hard to get, and I happen to love me the strong silent type,” she says dreamily.

  “Do you know him?

  “Nope, just met him,” she says.

  “You just met him and you must have him?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I have no point. Please, lead the way.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister this worked up over a guy before. Bell is a classic no strings attached kind of gal. She gets bored and although she comes by it honestly and would never intentionally hurt anyone, she’s a bit on the selfish side as well. She doesn’t usually chase men, I don’t think she’s ever had to.

  She laces her fingers with mine and we step into the kitchen. I stifle a laugh as she makes a very obvious beeline for the chips and dip set up behind the caveman.

  “Poppy, did you just arrive?” my mom asks, looking up from the bottle of wine she’s opening.

  “Yup, just got here.”

  She pulls me in for a hug and soon I feel my dad on the other side. They hold me for an uncomfortably long time before letting go.

  “Tulip told us everything,” my dad says. “We’re so glad to have you home, honey.”

  “Yeah, it’s nice to be back,” I shoot a questioning glance at Tully as she chops carrots. She shrugs her shoulders and wordlessly assures me that she didn’t quite tell them everything.

  “Auntie Poppy!”

  Pearl and Henry come running through the kitchen with Bobby hot on their heels.

  “No running in the kitchen!” Tully shouts.

  They pause and give me a quick hug, throwing their skinny limbs around my legs before they’re off again.

  “Poppy, this is Scott, our fish guy,” Dan says.

  “You have a fish guy?” I ask, looking at Tully.

  “Down at the restaurant,” explains Tully, around a mouthful of bread.

  “I work down at Callahan’s Market,” Scott says, his deep voice echoing in the small space of the kitchen. He holds out a massive paw and when I shake his hand, Bell places herself within my line of vision, waggling her eyebrows behind him.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say.

  “You too,” he responds curtly.

  “Come and dish up!” Tully calls out.

  We cram ourselves around the kitchen table as usual, Scott seemingly having no problem at all with us all talking over each other like a bunch of needy, uncivilized animals. I catch Bell’s eyes on him now and then but he seems to be oblivious to her ogling.

  Once we’ve eaten, I kick everyone into the den with their dessert while I load up the dishwasher and wipe down the countertops. I’m making room in the fridge for the last of the leftovers when my dad comes in with a small stack of bowls.

  “How are ya, honey?” he asks, setting the dishes in the sink.

  “I’m good,” I smile.

  He wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Then I’m good too,” he says.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “For what, sweetheart?”

  “For being you.”

  *

  Later on, once everyone is gone and the kids are in bed, my sisters and I take our seats on the patio with a bottle of merlot and three cheap wine glasses.

  “Christ, it’s getting cold,” Bell says.

  Tully gets a fire going in the patio fire pit while I pour us each a glass. The flames lick up through the metal casing and soon a soft blanket of heat warms over us as we position our chairs around it.

  “So how did it go between Kyle and George?” Tully asks.

  I’d already told them about how Kyle had come to see me earlier this week. I spoke to him again yesterday and he filled me in on his conversation with George.

  “Good,” I say. “They’re going to work things out after all.”

  I was relieved for Kyle when he told me that after a long talk, he and George decided that they wanted to work on their relationship. Turns out, the whole Facebook picture thing was just a misunderstanding. George had gone out to celebrate his cousin’s engagement and the guy with his arm around him was a friend of his cousin’s fiancé. A very straight friend.

  “So is Kyle going to take him back home to Georgia to meet everyone?” Bell asks.

  “Maureen already bought them plane tickets for Christmas,” I say with a smile.

  “Aw, that’s good,” Bell says. “It makes me all warm and fuzzy.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I say.

  “Cheers to young love,” Tully mumbles.

  “Young love?” I ask Tully. “Is everything okay with you and Dan?”

  “Yeah, of course it is,” she says.

  “Liar, liar, bra on fire,” Bell chants.

  “Things are great,” Tully insists. “They’re always great. And predictable, and comfortable and secure.”

  “And these are bad things?” I ask.

  “No, but, I don’t know,” she says. “I’m just being a bitch.”

  “Spit it out,” Bell says.

  “I just feel like, maybe, sometimes, things feel a little bit boring…maybe? We’re both so busy and then with the kids, it’s just, I don’t know, it’s like a dry spell or maybe a small rough patch?”

  “Are you fighting?” Bell asks, sitting up.

  “No, nothing like that. It’s hard to explain,” Tully says. “I think we’ve just gotten to a point where things are repetitive. And I want to change it up, but I just don’t know how. I’m worried if I don’t do something now, Dan’s going to end up bored of me. Also, we are both so fucking tired all the time. God, I feel like I’m eighty years old most days.”

  “Well if anyone can figure that shit out, it’s you two,” Bell says.

  “Ugh, I hope so,” she says.

  “You will,” I add.

  *

  I leave my sisters to polish off the bottle, keeping my intake down to just one glass. I have a quick stop to make on the way home and I took an extra client for early tomorrow morning.

  It’s dark by the time I’m pulling into the Walmart Supercenter parking lot. I try to avoid this place as often as possible, but I need a couple new old lady bras to wear around the house and I’d rather run in quick now than deal with the weekend shoppers tomorrow. I head for the underwear section and begin my search.

  I spot a baby blue bra and I’m completely lost in thought as I rummage the rack for my size. I’m so lost in thought that I jump the minute I hear a throat clear and look up to see who I once believed was the man of my dreams. Todd the fucker. I haven’t seen him in person since the day we broke up. I’m surprised to find that instead of sadness, I feel annoyance.

  “Poppy, hey,” he says, looking down at the pile of offensively unsexy bras in my hand.

  “Todd.”

  “It’s been awhile,” he says. “Still going for comfort I see.”

  Mother fucking fuck fucker. FUCK.

  “That’s me,” I smile tightly. “Predictably comfortable.”

  Just then a tall woman with long jet black hair approaches
and places her hand possessively on Todd the fucker’s chest. And that’s when I see it. The princess cut diamond, shining in the fluorescent lighting of Walmart. It blinks up at me and I swear to God, it’s saying fuck you, Poppy.

  “Babe, I can’t find the dog treats that Lady likes,” she says.

  Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. Cock sucking mother of fuck.

  One year ago, Todd wasn’t ready to be tied down and now he’s engaged and they have a dog. She looks over at me as if searching for some kind of plausible explanation as to why I’m standing here in the middle of her perfect life.

  “Jeanine, this is Poppy,” Todd says with hesitation. “We used to go out.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says awkwardly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  I can feel my face flush and the heat rise up my neck. I want to destroy this bastard. I want to stab him in the throat and watch him die in the aisle between the packaged briefs and the various sizes of beige pantyhose. We used to go out? I offer my hand to Jeanine.

  “Nice to meet you too. And, we didn’t just go out. We were engaged,” I say sweetly.

  “Poppy,” Todd warns.

  Fuck him. I lean in close to her and whisper loudly.

  “Good luck with this mother fucker, honey. Two months before our wedding I caught him diddling his assistant on top of the office photocopier.”

  She leans back and appears stunned, looking at Todd for some kind of explanation. He looks like he wants to kill me. Good.

  “Does Tanya still work for you, Todd?” I ask innocently.

  Recognition flickers in Jeanine’s eyes as she turns her head and glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. I dangle my collection of bras up proudly.

  “Well, I’m going to go pay for these and hit the road. Nice seeing you again, Todd,” I say happily. “Oh, and go fuck yourself.”

  I turn on my heel and strut my shit away from the underwear section, leaving behind the last of my what-ifs and how-comes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Popturd

  2 weeks post-Maui

  “And windmill, that’s right, barrel roll, barrel turn.”

  I keep my arms out and tilt them slightly, turning in a circle, tapping along with the rhythm of the music playing in the background. I watch myself in the mirror and make sure I’m not hunched over.

  “Good, now hold it centre and shuffle,” the instructor says. “Alternate, and scuff, keep the arms nice and loose.”

  The tapping of our shoes fills the room as we struggle to move in unison. Looking up at the mirror in front of us, we look pretty good for beginners.

  “Great, now big finish, and hold,” she says. “Great job everyone, take a stretch and we’ll see you later this week.”

  I walk over to my bag and grab my water bottle, taking a seat on the floor. I extend my legs and do a couple quick stretches. For the last two weeks I’ve been taking adult tap classes for beginners. We meet twice a week at a studio downtown.

  “See ya later, Poppy,” Ruth, a fellow student, says. Her and her husband, Paul, just celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Last week she told me that she comes here so she doesn’t murder him. She’s really sweet.

  “See ya next week,” I say.

  The rest of the class filters out and we wave our goodbyes. I change my shoes and zip up my coat, hoisting my gym bag over my shoulder and making my way to where my Jeep is parked around the corner. I turn on my phone and see that I have a text message from Kyle.

  Kyle: Come down to Julio’s for a drink ;)

  Attached is a picture of him and George, snuggled into a bright orange vinyl booth.

  Me: Just leaving tap class, have paperwork to do. Maybe next time. Have fun!

  I slip my phone into my pocket and head for home, where a stack of invoices and a glass of rosé are waiting for me.

  Muscles that I’ve only recently discovered, begin to protest as I climb the stairs to my apartment. I toss my bag into the closet and pull the bottle of chilled wine from the fridge, pouring half a glass while my laptop boots up. An hour later, I’m sitting on the sofa, surrounded by scattered papers and Dolly Parton playing in the background. I’m entering my last receipt into my spreadsheet when my email’s instant messenger pings at me. I never use it, so I’m surprised to look down at the corner of the screen and see that I have a new message request.

  Will989 would like to chat with you.

  An all-you-can-eat buffet of emotions bombard me while I stare down at the screen and hover the mouse over the accept button. Why? What? How? I continue to ask myself a variety of questions that I don’t have the answers to when the request pings again. I click accept and enlarge the small box, gulping down the rest of my wine and waiting as I see the little dots flash on the screen. He’s typing.

  Will989: Can we talk?

  I begin to type a response, and then promptly delete it. I do this at least five times before I settle on an appropriate reciprocation.

  Popturd: Sure.

  Popturd? Goddammit. I must have missed the h when I set this stupid thing up.

  Will989: I don’t really know where to start…

  Popturd: Me either…

  I’m staring at my computer screen like it’s about to give me the secret coordinates that will lead me to Atlantis. I’ve done a pretty good job of occupying myself lately, but I won’t deny that thoughts of Will have snuck in now and then. I also won’t deny that in several moments of weakness I tried social media stalking him, only to come up empty handed.

  I wondered if Will had told Kyle about us, if you can even call us an us, but it hasn’t come up so I assume he didn’t. To be honest, I’m not really sure how I feel about him. There was a major attraction there for sure, and even now when I think of him, I get fluttery and a bit nauseated.

  I feel like I’m going to throw up while I wait for his response. Not a very eloquent thought, but there you have it. The suspense is killing me, so I decide to take this conversation by the balls.

  Popturd: How’s Amanda?

  There. I said it. Let’s get this out of the way.

  Will989: Good, I imagine. Last I heard she was in Fiji.

  Okay, looks like I need to be a tad more specific.

  Popturd: I saw you. That night, in the hallway. It looked like you were getting back together.

  Several ridiculously long seconds pass before those little dots begin to flicker and his response pops up.

  Will989: Then you must have heard me tell her that we wouldn’t have worked back then and we won’t work now. I also told her that I wasn’t interested in re-visiting the past. You must have heard all of that, right?

  Popturd: I missed that part. My bad :I

  Will989: Is that an embarrassed emoji?

  Popturd: Yes.

  Will989: Can we start over? Maybe get to know each other?

  Popturd: I’d like that.

  Will989: I’ve never met anyone like you, Popturd.

  Popturd: LOL, I forgot to hit the ‘h’…

  I’m smiling when my phone begins to chatter and I see an unknown number on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “I figured,” he says.

  “How did you get my number? How did you know how to find me online? I never use that chat thingy.”

  “I may have called my brother and told him that I found one of your credit cards,” he says. “He offered to let you know but I told him I’d feel better telling you myself.”

  “Clever. You didn’t tell him anything else?”

  “I figured if you wanted him to know, you’d tell him yourself,” he says.

  I stand from the sofa and begin to putter around the living room, straightening random items in a pathetic effort to calm my nerves. Jesus, it’s like he’s sex wizarding me through the damn phone.

  “So, what happens now, exactly?”

  His deep chuckle sends a shiver down to my toes. “To be honest with you, I have no idea,” he says. “But I haven’t been able to stop think
ing about you, Poppy.”

  “Me either,” I say a little raggedly. “I mean, but with you.”

  “Am I allowed to tell you that I like that?”

  “You’re allowed to tell me anything,” I say.

  “No sauce on my chicken balls.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Sorry, that was my assistant,” he says. “I’ve got a late conference call that I need to get to.”

  “Yeah, no problem, um, thanks for calling?”

  “We’ll talk soon?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “And Poppy? Thanks for answering,” he says.

  Later that night I dream about an empty housekeeping closet and an all you can eat buffet that serves nothing but New England clam chowder.

  *

  “Why are you so smiley?” Bell asks, when we pull up to Mrs. Havernack’s brownstone.

  “Am I?’

  “Um, yes,” she says. “You haven’t stopped smiling since you picked me up. You even smiled at that guy in the truck who cut you off two blocks back.”

  “Maybe I’m just happy,” I say.

  “Liar, liar b- “

  “Okay, okay, please don’t start that or it’ll be in my head all day.”

  I punch in the code and let us in, shrugging off my jacket as we head up the stairs first. Mrs. Havernack has been a casual client of mine for about a year. She’s having a small party tonight and she wants things extra sparkly. It was a last minute job but I took it, because, she always leaves a big tip and we’re caught up enough that I could squeeze her in.

  “I spoke to Will last night,” I say.

  “How? Please don’t tell me you online stalked him.”

  I tell her about how he got my info from Kyle and our brief conversation.

  “So what does this mean? Are you going to like, date over the internet?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Right now it feels kind of nice not knowing.”

  “Poppy, blink twice if you’re in there but the alien inhabiting your body won’t let you speak,” she says, gripping my face in her hands.