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 thinking 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.
“Stop it,” I laugh, shooing her down the hall. “Start on the guest bathroom and I’ll start in the office.”
“You’re really okay, just flying by the seat of your pants?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Now get to work,” I say.
“Goddamn sex wizard,” she mutters with wonder, as she heads down the hallway. “I need to get my own sex wizard.”
Amen