My arms curl around the wiggling warmth and enjoy the pressure resting on my chest. Unsure of the last time I’ve slept in or all night for that matter, I merely keep my heavy lids closed and attempt to drift back off to sleep.
“Ahhhhhhh!!!!”
My eyes shoot open to the sight of Ollie staring at me. “Ahhhhh!”
There’s a similar squeak from Princess Pinky who was still snuggled beside Ollie before the screaming began.
She tears her body off of mine. “What the hell are you still doing here?!”
“I-”
“Did you sneak back away and sneak back in?”
“What?”
It only takes a brief moment for her to become confused by her own question as well.
I give the side of my face a rub. “I…I must’ve fallen asleep during the last movie.”
Funny thing is I knew I should’ve left before we even started it. I knew if I stayed where I was, come hell or high water, I wasn’t going to be able to force myself to go. Everything felt too good. Too easy. Too right. When Ollie fell asleep a third time pressed against me, wound so tightly in my arms I was afraid I was going to bruise her, I was done for. It didn’t matter if I was sober enough at that point to drive four blocks over to my cold, empty apartment. It’s not where I wanted to be. It doesn’t even feel like home. It never has. Not even when Carol Ann was there. But right here? Right here in this messy, unorganized, brightly colored apartment that looks like it belongs to a confused nineteen- year-old boy rather than a thirty year old woman? I feel like it’s the only place I wanna hang my hat…metaphorically and literally. I didn’t mean to stay the whole night. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling for a little longer.
Ollie tries to flatten down her fluffy curls. The same curls I ran my fingers through last night. The same ones I twirled around my finger while pretending she was my woman and this situation wasn’t as unorthodox as it is.
“I apologize if I crossed a line. I would never intentionally hurt you, Ollie.”
“Accidents happen,” she sweetly hums and fiddles with her hair again. “It’s not like you purposely fell asleep on my couch.”
Well…it wasn’t on purpose the whole night…Wild how I can’t remember a time when I’ve slept better.
“Just…can’t believe you’re staring at my Muppet morning head and not rambling off jokes.”
Her slipped out insecurity forces me to bite my tongue.
Fuck Daryl for making such a beautiful woman this hard on herself. What kind of man does that to his woman? What kind of person does that to another human being? Him and Carol Ann belong in the same boat and I honestly hope it sinks. She used to try to do that shit to me, but I brushed it off. Who gives a fuck if my belt and boots don’t match every time I leave the house? Or that my face isn’t always shaven? Or if I have screwed up tan from helping Pop in the yard or with the livestock? There’s more to life than lookin’ ‘perfect’. Besides. It means more when you can appreciate someone in all of their forms.
“You look just as beautiful as you did yesterday as far as I’m concerned.”
Ollie’s smile begins to return.
“Besides, you look less like a Muppet and more like Miss Frizzle.”
She drops her jaw and swings a playful punch at my arm. Afterward she groans, “How the hell are you that solid? How many bowls of Wheaties do you have for breakfast?”
Her joke gets a short laugh followed swiftly by me jumping up onto my feet. “Oh shit! I gotta go!”
“Wh-”
“It’s Sunday!” I scramble around, beginning a search for my shoes.
“That usually comes after Saturday…” she teasingly mumbles.
I slide on the first shoe, which is strangely enough behind the couch. “I do family shit on Sundays!” Panic continues to run rapid in my system, but I ramble on, “Sometimes I take my nephews for pancakes or to the park after they go to church. Sometimes I go fishin’ or huntin’ with one of my brothers. Usually, Big Foot or Eddie. Sometimes it’s just a movie. Sometimes it’s just a beer and football game. But Sunday night is always dinner with Mama and Pop unless I’m out of town.”
“Hm,” Ollie grunts out seconds before I spot my other shoe closer to the front door.
“Hm what?”
“That’s a lot of family time.”
“Yeah.”
“A lot.”
Her words cease my movements. “Is that a bad thing?”
She shrugs. “Not if you like your family I guess.”
“Do you not like yours?”
“I do! At least I do when I’m around them. We just happen to live a couple states away from each other. It’s really just my parents since both sets of my grandparents are deceased and they were only children too. I usually only see them for holidays a couple times a year.”
My shoulders sag. “That’s it?”
Ollie tries to hide her shame.
While the instinct to comfort her is strong, it doesn’t overpower me enough to stop me from blurting, “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
Sadness sweeps across her entire demeanor.
“No offense.”
“A bit taken.”
The unexpected reply has my heart sinking to my stomach.
Not sure why I care so much about everything I say to her, but I do. The idea of anything I state being taken in a hurtful way pangs worse than anything I ever felt with Carol Ann. Also not sure why that is.
“My family is just…they’re my family. They’re my whole life. They’re there for everything. They’re a part of everything. The good I go through. The bad. They are the people I love most in the world, so I can’t imagine the pain I would feel from not seeing them like I do…I can’t imagine the pain of being completely alone.”
She sheepishly states, “I’m not completely alone…I have Camilla.”
“Your best friend.”
“Right. And now…Princess Pinky.”
“And me,” I add without missing a beat.
Her brown eyes soften as they brighten.
It’s the God’s honest truth. She has me anyway she wants me. Father of the hog. Friend. Lover…Fuck, I’m hoping too strongly for that one.
I clear my throat to resist the urge to groan and let my mind wander down a path it has no business being on. “I gotta go, but call or text me if you need anything.”
“You mean for Princess Pinky?”
“For either of you.” My foot wiggles around in the newly placed on shoe. “Have a good day, Ollie.”
“You too, Farm Boy.”
The nickname widens my smile and I rush out of her apartment, trying not to get twisted in my desire of never wanting to leave.
After a quick shower and change into fresh clothes, I meet Eddie and his boys at the park. We spend the entire afternoon running around the playground playing tag, tossing the football, having slide races and of course competing to see who can go the highest on the swings. Most of the conversations we have are about the boys who are four and five. My brother gripes about the cost of childcare, but praises the difference in behavior it’s making for them. He fills me on Sienna wanting a baby, but how they’re struggling to deal with the two they already have. Unlike my oldest brother, I don’t feel compelled to offer advice. I’ve learned over the time, Eddie doesn’t want advice. He just wants to toss it out there on ears who love him, so he can move on. It’s the reason when he wants to vent he turns to me and not Big Foot or Blake who are always quick on the draw with advice. Complete opposite advice from each other at that. By the time we’re wrapped up they’re worn out as well as starving for dinner. He heads home and I start the forty-five minute drive in the opposite direction to our parent’s place. Thankfully, I arrive just in time to wash my hands and plop down, having missed the portion where I normally help set the table.
Mama places my plate in front of me with a sweet kiss on the cheek. “Have fun with my grandboys?”
I offer her a smile. “Of course. You know, Kyle’s got a helluva arm on him to only be four.”
“Something to write home about considering his father is all butterfingers when it comes to sports,” Pop jokes from the seat across from me at the dark wood, rectangular table.
“Mama, why does Ford have more mac and cheese than me?” Blake whines from next to me.
I look at him with a sardonic smile. “What are you, twelve?”
“You’ve got about twelve scoops of macaroni conquering that plate, Runt.”
Mama intervenes, “He had his heartbroken recently. He needs the extra cheese to feel better.”
I don’t. But I’m not going to say that and risk losing out on a double helping of her famous mac and cheese. The dish she only brings out when someone’s hurt, someone dies, or on the occasion she wants to out cook my aunt Sally, who she swears spreads rumors about her not being able to cook anything from scratch.
My fork stabs a piece as I give my brother a smug smirk.
“He’s not sad!” Blake argues, childishly. “He’s not even bothered by it. Look at him!”
Before I have a chance to lift the bite to my lips, Pop says, “You do look pretty cheerful for a guy whose fiancé left him while he was out of town for the night.”
Ollie’s face instantly flashes in my mind. The smile remains. Carol Ann’s Houdini act is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me next to starting my own brewing company.
“You okay, Runt or just trying to be a man about it?”
“I’m fine, Pop.”
“See. He’s fine, Mama. Give me his mac. I’m the one who’s torn up.”
She gives Blake a pointed look from her seat across from him.
“It just broke my heart when we didn’t get the contract,” he pretends to sound upset between bites of fried chicken. “Could barely sleep. Could barely eat…”
“Uh-huh.” Pop mocks. “I can sure tell by the way you’ve put back almost that entire piece of chicken in County Fair record breakin’ time.”
A less than innocent smile slips on his face. “No one can resist Mama’s fried chicken.”
Even vegans would give it a second thought. It’s that damn good.
“You didn’t get the contract?” Pop asks, his eyes landing on me.
I swallow the only bite I’ve managed to have. “No sir. Not this time.”
It’s alright. Getting bars to carry a local brand has never been an easy feat. But I’m not a quitter. Not when it counts.
He gives me a warm look. “Like I always say, when the good Lord tells you no, it’s because something better is out there for you.”
Two days ago I might’ve argued with that theory. Not to his face because I’m not a moron like the brother beside me, but now? After spending the weekend with a woman who makes Carol Ann look like an overdramatic villain from an old western, I’m inclined to agree.
“Same goes for getting rid of that piece of trash once and for all,” Mama joins the conversation from behind her glass of ice tea. “Tell me it’s for good this time, Runt.”
“It’s for good,” I agree, reaching for a roll after Blake snatches up two.
He was like this when were kids too. Bottomless pit with no proof he’s ever eaten anything. Out of the five of us he’s the leanest. And most childish.
“You sure?” Blake questions, smacking on the fresh baked role. “Because you two have been doin’ this same shit now for over a decade. You break up. She screws around. She comes back and it starts all over again.”
“No. This time is for good. I can feel it.” Ollie’s giggles echo throughout my brain, extended proof to trust the intuition. “Besides, this was the first time she took all of her shit.”
“Good riddance,” Mama loudly states. “That woman was like Wal-Mart. Her legs never closed and most likely gave you poor service inside.”
Blake starts to choke on his roll. “Mama!”
I don’t bother hiding my laughter.
“You can’t say shit like that at the dinner table!”
“I can say whatever I want Blake Jenkins Shaw. It is my dinner table.”
He whines, “Come on, Mama, we’re eatin’.”
“Dinner and entertainment,” Pop interjects. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
Another laugh leaves me as I scoop up a bite of green beans.
While my parents live out in the country, they are far from the stereotypical types. Neither has a filter, which explains some of the shit Blake says to women and why Eddie has a hard time not pissing off his boss. Neither are afraid of life or taking huge risks. It’s the reason starting my own brewery was ever a real possibility. And most importantly, both are as open minded as they are opened hearted. Two skills they drilled into us even harder than having a good work ethic or great manners. They raised us to try to be understanding and accepting, insisting the world had plenty of judgmental assholes already. They believed and still do believe, give people a chance to show you who they really are…in Carol Ann’s case? I should’ve believed what I saw from the beginning rather than hoping she would change.
“You make sure you go get checked, Runt,” Mama scolds, pulling apart her dinner roll. “Last thing we need is your dick fallin’ off and you begging me to sew it back on.”
My brow winkles at the idea.
“You do know that’s not how dicks work,” Pop loudly whispers.
“Well I rather him go make sure he’s fine before we all have to find that out for sure.”
The odd argument that has Blake torn between chuckling and cringing prompts me to insure, “I’m fine, Mama, but I made a doctor’s appointment for the week. Just…to be safe.”
Blake unnecessarily adds, “Yeah with the way Carol Ann wanders away and wanders back, it’s reminds me of how the black death got started. Except in this case rather than kill you, it’ll just kill your cock.”
Pop picks up his beer with a look of disapproval. “Did you ever pay attention in school, Blake, or just show up to stare down Miss Baker’s low-cut tops?”
“Why were you making notes of how low her tops went?” Mama snips.
“Yeah Pop,” Blake tries to rearrange the heat from the situation. “Why is that?”
The conversation takes an unexpected toll, but I absolutely love it. It’s not that I’m ashamed or broken up about Carol Ann, I just don’t feel like talking about her. I would rather my time with my family be spent in smiles or laughs. Good times. She’s ruined enough of my life. I don’t need her ruining any more of it.
After dinner, Pop abandons us to smoke a cigar on the front porch like he always does post Sunday supper, while Blake and I are left to help with the dishes. On my way back from taking the first round of dishes to the kitchen, the unexpected vibration from my phone stops me mid stride.
I pull the device from my pocket and check the message waiting.
With one swipe, I’m exposed to a sight that melts my heart.
Ollie and Princess Pinky are squished face to face in the selfie.
Underneath it reads:
We miss you.
I miss them too…
“Wooo weeeee, that’s a good lookin’ hog,” Blake comments from over my shoulder.
Anger threatens to overrun my system in an unusual fashion. I cut my brother a harsh look. “Your ass better be talkin’ about the pig and not the woman.”
His light brown eyebrows fall to confusion. “I was…”
Blake’s perplexity pokes mine. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I being so defensive over her? She’s not my girlfriend. She’s not mine to be this bent out of shape over.
“Who’s the chick?”
Knowing better than to reply to the message with him breathing down my neck, I simply shut the screen off, and slide it back in my pocket. “She’s um…a new friend.”
“A new friend?” Blake folds his arms across his chest. “Is this new friend the reason Carol Ann bolted?”
“No.”
“Is this new friend the reason you’re not sad Carol Ann’s gone?”
I don’t answer.
“Is this new friend the reason you’re absolutely certain it’s over? Because you’ve moved on?”
“It’s not like that.”
“But you want it to be like that,” he corrects quickly. “And I say you should fucking go for it man. Move on. Just don’t go dipping your dick into chocolate until you’re sure it’s not going to contaminate it. Nobody likes chocolate with bad nuts in it.”
I shake my head at the picture he’s painting, slightly baffled how he had the audacity to get on Mama’s ass for speaking just like him. “It’s complicated.”
When I attempt to return to grabbing more dishes, he blocks my path. “Why?”
Frustrated, but knowing if I don’t just confess now, he’ll bulldoze his way to the information later, I sigh, “Because she’s Carol Ann’s new boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.”
Blake cocks his head to the side clearly trying to follow the train of information. Once he’s got it straight, he shrugs. “That’s a little strange.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh it is not,” Mama calls from where she’s been listening.
Okay. One drawback to having a tight knit family. There’s no privacy. Ever.
I turn to face her as she says, “It’s not at all like when Big Foot started seeing Gem, only to realize they were secret second cousins because Aunt Donna got knocked up when she was in high school and failed to mention she gave the baby up. Now that was strange.”
That was definitely closer to an episode of Jerry Springer than my current situation.
“You have been in the most pleasant mood all evening, Runt,” Mama informs with a mischievous smirk. “And if that girl has anything to do with it, I don’t give a damn if she’s the mayor’s ex-girlfriend, you go after her Ford Bradley Shaw. You don’t let her get away.”
Not if I can help it. Not if she’ll have me. Not if we can both ignore how we got into this situation and just be glad we did. It may take us a few days or maybe even a few weeks, but that’s alright. Like I said earlier, I’m not a quitter. Not when it matters.