Amanda
Beautiful Mandy. The phrase runs on a loop through my mind as I lie in my darkened bedroom and try to drift off to sleep.
Like every night before coming to bed, I checked on Jase. Tonight, I spent a few extra minutes marveling at my son, watching his small body, and covering him with his blanket as he dreamt about whatever it is he dreams. It hurts sometimes at how much I love him, how much I want to keep him safe and secure. There’s a mother bear inside me that loves when he’s in his bed hibernating because I know it’s a haven. I know he’s safe. Yet I can’t keep him there. I have to let him live and spread his wings. No matter how hard I wish otherwise, Jase is growing up, and I can’t make it stop. It’s hard to believe that tomorrow is his last day at ABC Preschool.
How has time moved this fast? It seems like yesterday when he was born, when Jackson was holding his pink and wrinkled little body.
But it wasn’t yesterday. So much has changed since Jackson and I brought him home to his new little nursery. Even where Jase and I live has changed. I don’t regret moving closer to my parents. Things have been as good as they could be, but Tuesday will be another change and admittedly, it frightens me.
Kindergarten shouldn’t scare me as much as it does. I mean, it’s all about shapes and letters and colors. It’s learning to share and how to use a cubby. It is many things he already knows from preschool, my parents, and me. Jase is smart, downright brilliant if you ask me. This transition shouldn’t be scary. And even though I feel like it is, I’ve done my best not to relay that fear to my son. Yet the reality is that beginning kindergarten is going to be new and different, and I’m not a fan of change. Not a fan of different. Not a fan of surprises.
It’s never for the better.
My chest aches with the thought of sending him to the big school with all the new classmates. I say a silent plea that he makes friends. Sally and I became friends when we were a little older, but Alec and Jackson were in the same kindergarten class. Maybe Jase could make lifelong friends. I think of Alec. He’s not usually as sensitive as he was the other night, and I never doubted his love for my husband. What would my brother think about the man fate brought to me?
Beautiful Mandy.
I know Jase needs to be allowed to live. Do I?
Would Jackson really want me to agree to see Malcolm again, or would he think I should go back to the way I’ve been? I try to think of how I’d feel if our roles were reversed—if I were gone, if Jackson were raising Jase.
My thoughts go to Malcolm.
Beautiful Mandy.
A smile comes to my lips.
Malcolm is something different, something new. What I did with him, what we did together, was out of character. Totally. Just like Alec told me to be. But it wasn’t meant to be a springboard to a new relationship. It was meant to be my one night to remember that I’m more than a mom, daughter, sister, friend, and employee—that I’m a woman.
The last time I had sex—before the mini-marathon Friday night—was before Jase was born. Immediately following Jase’s birth, I couldn’t. Jackson didn’t mind. He understood. Jackson always understood. Besides, he was due to return home in three months. We both believed there would be time.
Now, I wonder what I’m doing with my time.
Even if I’d never returned Malcolm’s call, during our one night he gave me exactly what I’d been seeking: the reminder that I am a sensuous woman. He gave me that multiple times.
I struggled with whether or not to call him back after I received his text message. There were so many times on Saturday when I reached for my phone, only to put it back down. On Saturday, I let my principles win. I stuck to my guns and senses. I kept telling myself that I didn’t want a relationship. I don’t need that complication in my life. Most importantly, Jase doesn’t need it.
That worked until I had trouble remembering my reasons for not calling. Until I remembered how special I felt with him.
Tonight, I caved.
Beautiful Mandy.
Special, pretty, and even treasured.
Tonight, while we were on the phone, his deep voice filled me with a sense of being something special—something more than just a tired mom. It’s not like I have self-esteem issues. I don’t. And I’d like to think I wouldn’t be described as nice—as in uglier than shit. The thought makes me smile as I imagine Malcolm describing his blind date.
While I don’t have issues with low self-esteem, I also don’t have anyone to boost my self-confidence. I have Jase, who tells me I’m pretty. But we all know that will change when Alec teaches him about ponytails and dimples. Once my son discovers girls, his mom won’t be the prettiest woman anymore. I also have my parents. They are always complimentary. And there’s Alec who teases me about my breasts, or lack thereof. Yet none of those people’s praise or ribbing makes me tingle the way I do when Malcolm calls me beautiful.
As I think back on Friday night, he’d even said that to the bartender, told him I was beautiful and gorgeous, before we ever spoke.
Staring up at the dark ceiling, looking for justification, I know that I called Malcolm tonight because I stopped thinking about why I shouldn’t call and began considering why I wanted to. I recalled how within minutes of meeting, Malcolm calmed my trepidation at being alone in the bar. I remembered the ease of our conversation and the warmth of his skin as he fell asleep holding me tightly to his frame. I recalled the security of sleeping in his arms and what it felt like to not be alone.
Before I called, I tried to tell myself that I was acting crazy. I barely know the man. And while it’s quite obvious he doesn’t have an erection issue, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other issues.
And now that I have called, I keep wondering.
He said he is employed. But what don’t I know? While my brain says his issues could be something serious like a police record, tremendous debt, or a family history of mental-health problems, my heart tells me to stop exaggerating. If Malcolm Peppernick has issues, it’s probably something more like he stays up too late, likes scary movies, or worse, doesn’t sleep in on the weekends.
My pulse kicks up a notch.
I love to sleep in, any chance I get. I could never be with a man who’s an early riser.
What if he is a runner? Or long-distance bicyclist?
Staring at the ceiling, I imagine the horror of dating a man who enjoys exercise. I don’t think I can do that. What if he’d want me to exercise too?
My heart beats faster.
What if he doesn’t like chocolate or doesn’t drink coffee?
I sit up in my dark bedroom and wonder why I called him back. Why did I agree to another date? This isn’t right. I can’t bring a non-chocolate-eating, non-coffee-drinking exercise freak into my son’s life.
It’s all coming back.
This is why I didn’t want to meet Brian’s friend, the ex-hockey player. Now, instead of lying in bed and worrying about Jase starting kindergarten, my mind is awhirl with Malcolm. As the minutes tick away, I decide it’s too much. I have too much on my plate as a working single mom and with my family to complicate life even more with a crazy bicycle-distance-riding, anti-caffeine chocolate hater.
No one needs that in their lives. Not me. Not Jase.
No wonder Malcolm isn’t dating anyone. I mean, a man as handsome as Malcolm should have a line of women.
It’s probably because all of those other women aren’t as rusty on the dating scene as I am. They all saw what I didn’t. It’s because he won’t eat brownies! Who doesn’t eat brownies?
Health nuts. That’s who.
I throw back the covers and jump from my bed, my mind churning and flooding with a tsunami of unanswered questions. How did I miss it? I didn’t see the signs, but I’m sure they were there. We ate pizza. No one even mentioned dessert. What about birthdays? What if he won’t eat cake? That just isn’t right!
I pace back and forth beside my bed. Outside my bedroom window, beyond the slightly opened shutters, is the parking lot. Friday night I was at Malcolm’s apartment and my car was in his parking lot.
Change. Different.
That can’t happen again. Not if he’s going to put dessert restrictions on my life. Not if he’ll want me to exercise. This has to end before it gets out of hand.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for my phone and type a text.
Coffee – for or against? Chocolate – for or against? What about exercise?
I know I shouldn’t send it, but I need sleep. If I’m going to save puppies at work tomorrow and get Jase ready for his first day of school, I can’t have these monumental issues hanging over my head.
Taking a deep breath, I hit send.
It’s after eleven. Normally, I’d be asleep. Yep. This is his fault, too. I can’t do it. Once he confesses his odd hatred for all things sweet, we can call it quits, and I can get on with my life. Stop this thing before it goes any further.
With a huff, I settle against my headboard and pull my covers over my bent knees. The light on my phone fades, yet I hold my cell phone tight, staring at the dark screen.
“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not awake. I know you stay up too late, trying to mess with my schedule, probably planning out your twelve-mile run or making a shopping list for everything gluten-free. If we weren’t meant to eat gluten, God wouldn’t have made flour!”
Yes, I’m talking aloud to a man who isn’t here. I realize it may seem silly, yet this has to end. As soon as he comes clean, it’s over.
Just as I’m about to place my phone back on the bedside stand, it pings.
(Smile emoji) Hell yes. Not against it, especially the syrup that goes on ice cream...in the shower or on plastic sheets, it could be fun. And if the exercise includes you and the chocolate syrup, I’m in.
A giant smile breaks out across my face as I stare at his response.
I like chocolate syrup. I’ve never done what he’s suggesting, but then again, I’d never done that other thing that he did either.
My cheeks warm. I guess I can cross coffee, sweets, and gluten hater off my list.
I text back.
Goodnight, Malcolm.
My phone pings.
Goodnight, beautiful Mandy. I wish you were here. But I’ll wait.
It’s then I realize that I didn’t truly settle the gluten issue. And then I recall him eating pizza.
With a sigh, I settle against my pillow. As sleep grows nearer I realize something else: instead of lying here worrying about kindergarten, my mind is saturated with chocolate syrup, and I’m smiling ear-to-ear.