Amanda
In his pajamas, Jase runs around the living room of our apartment at the speed of light, his Superman cape cloaking his tiny shoulders. I pull my phone closer to hear my best friend and listen to Sally’s apology for the fifteenth time. Shaking my head, I smile at my son’s imagination, certain that soon he will have saved the entire planet.
My mom brought him home this morning on her way to the grocery store. And even though she eyed me suspiciously up and down and asked what time I got home, I didn’t spill.
I didn’t tell her that I didn’t come home until the sun was rising or that I’d awakened in Malcolm’s bed with his arm draped over my waist. I didn’t say that I am completely battered and bruised in the most delicious way. I didn’t say that my core and legs are tender or that I’m completely satiated. Instead, I told her the basic truth: I never met up with Sally because Brian had an emergency at work, and I didn’t meet my blind date.
Of course, that left out a great number of the facts, but it wasn’t a lie.
“He was probably there,” Sally says.
“Well, since I’m not sure what he looks like, and he doesn’t know me, I don’t know.”
“Please, Amanda. You have to give it another try,” Sally pleads. “You know I would never have left you hanging if it weren’t out of my control. Brian feels awful.”
“Sally, stop. I don’t want you to feel bad. The thing is, I’m not sure I’m ready. I tried. I really did—”
“I know you did. That’s why I feel so bad. Just one more time. We’ll make sure nothing gets in the way.”
“It’s just...that was the one night. I don’t want to meet Brian’s friend. Anyway, I think I should concentrate on Jase and work and let fate work out the rest.”
As the words move from my lips through the phone to her ears, I close my eyes.
Fate.
One night.
That’s what Malcolm was. Not a blind date, not an arranged meeting, but fate. Fate set up our meeting for one night, and as my skins flushes with memories, I ask myself, who am I to argue with fate?
Sally is still talking. I'm not sure what she is saying, but I assume it is her apology rephrased in essentially the same way, or perhaps she’s restating her argument against my stance.
“…can’t live like a nun for the rest of your life. You’re too young.”
“Mom, look at me!” Jase proclaims as he bounces on the couch before jumping to the floor. “I’m flying!”
“You are!”
My son runs toward me, barreling into my lap. His sweet gaze looks up to me. “And I’m fast!”
“And loud,” I say with a giggle. “I’m talking to your aunt Sally.”
“Hi, Aunt Sally!” Jase yells as he wiggles free and rushes toward his bedroom.
“Besides,” I say to the phone, “I have Superman here. I don’t think I need any other men, not with Superman.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me call your mom.”
I almost say that she wouldn’t dare, but we both know she would. “The thing is…” I lower my voice. “…I met someone last night. The night wasn’t a bust. I’m not sure I’ll ever see him again, but it was…” I search for the right word. “…fun.”
“What? You what? Holy shit!”
I momentarily pull the phone away from my ear to save my eardrum from splintering as each phrase grows louder.
She continues, “You met someone—like met a man? You let me ramble on for hours and apologize a zillion times and you were holding out on me?”
I shake my head playfully. “You were only apologizing and rambling for minutes, not hours. And I’m holding out on everyone. It was only one night. Now you, Mom, Alec, and everyone else can let me be. Besides, he was…nice.” I smile at his description of nice. “And for the record, that doesn’t mean uglier than shit. I mean nice. He was funny and confident and complimentary—”
“Oh my God! You met someone. How well did you meet him? Did you sleep with him?”
“Remember me? I’m a nun.”
“Amanda Jane Wells, spill or I’m coming over.”
I shrug. “There’s really nothing to spill. Like I said, it was one night. I’d promised you and Mom that I’d remember what it was like to be a woman for one night. I did. End of story.”
“Wait! No. Do not end the story. I can hear something in your voice. I don’t know if you slept with him, but you...” She pauses. “...you did something that made you remember what it’s like to be a woman, and I don’t think that was buying shoes. There’s something. I can hear it!” Her last phrase is so loud that I move the phone away from my ear again.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I told him it was just one night.”
“What? Why?”
Jase runs into the living room, right up to my chair, clutching a jar of peanut butter to his chest. His little eyes flutter as he falls with an agonizing groan to the floor. If he were allergic to peanuts, I might be concerned, but fortunately, he isn’t.
“Oh my goodness,” I say. “What’s the matter, Superman?”
“It’s my krip-o-night…I’m dying…”
I smirk, thinking he has the whole kryptonite thing wrong. “Sally, I need to go. Superman is dying.”
“I need answers.”
“I think he’s hungry. I’m pretty sure I can save him. If I don’t, I’ll let you know.”
“A-man-da.” She elongates my name.
“Nothing more to tell. Bye. Love you.”
After I end the call, I wrangle the jar of peanut butter from Jase’s tiny hands and kiss his nose. He’s so cute with his eyes closed. It’s a moment of peace before he returns to full speed and I do my best to relish the stillness.
Within seconds, he’s dashing around the kitchen as I make his lunch. The table is now some kind of cave and from between the legs of the chairs, he’s assessing his surroundings before once again stamping out villains.
“Mom?” he asks after he crawls out from his cave and stands beside me.
I look down into his big blue eyes, just like his daddy’s. My heart skips a beat as I do a double take.
How hadn't I realized?
Malcolm’s eyes are similar to Jase’s, a deeper blue than mine. The recognition hurts my chest. Was that why I was attracted to him? He doesn’t really look like my husband. Jackson had sandy blond hair like Jase’s. Malcolm’s hair is dark, closer to mine. Yet it was his eyes, the way they stared at me—really looked at me—that made my tummy do flip-flops. The way they seemed to look not only at me, but also see into my soul. As if he could see more than the surface, like he wanted to see more. But there was also the way he complimented my surface appearance that made me feel beautiful and appreciated in a way I hadn’t for so long.
The thoughts cause a lump to form in my throat as I fight to breathe.
“Mommy?” Jase tugs on my shirt.
My hand is on the peanut butter lid, but I haven’t moved.
“What, baby?”
“I’m not a baby,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“No, you’re not.” I bend down and poke his tummy. “But you’ll always be my baby.”
“Even when I’m old?”
“Yep,” I confirm with a kiss to his nose. “Now, let me keep making your lunch.”
“What if I don’t like lunch at my new school?”
I look down, taking in my growing boy. My heart hurts at the thought of him entering school. Sure, he’s been in preschool, but this is real school. It’s the beginning of growing up, growing older, and moving away. Swallowing back my emotion, I plaster a smile on my face and blink away the moisture. “What makes you think you won’t like it? You like lunch at ABC.”
His little nose scrunches. “Not always.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. If you don’t like some of the lunches, I’ll pack your lunch on those days.”
His eyes widen as if I’m the best mom in the world. If only he would never change his mind. “Really?”
“Yep. I’m pretty sure that we can check the website the week before, and we’ll know what they’re serving. If there’s a day you don’t want to eat what they are going to have, I’ll make you a sandwich.”
“And apple slices?”
“And apple slices.”
"Can I get a lunchbox?"
"Of course."
His little arms wrap around my legs. “I love you, Mommy. You’re the best!”
My fingers tousle his sandy blond curls. “I love you more.”
As I carry Jase’s plate to the table, I hear my phone ping. Shaking my head, I say, “Your aunt Sally needs to drop it.”
“Drop what? Will she break it?” Jase asks as he scoots into his chair.
“Never mind.”
He dives into his sandwich, apple slices, and glass of milk as I reach for my phone.
Malcolm is on the screen.
My heart beats faster.
How? How could his name be in my phone?
I swipe the screen and read the text.
I hope you don’t mind, but I sent myself a text from your phone while you were sleeping. This way we each have the other’s number. BTW, you have the cutest snore when you’re asleep.
My palms moisten. No. This isn’t supposed to happen.
I keep reading.
We left this thing with us open. I know you said one night, but without sounding desperate, I meant what I said. I want more.
My eyes close as I try to push away memories of last night, of how great it was, how great he was, his eyes, his smile, his hands...
Now that you know you have my number, I’m waiting for your call or text. Until then, sweet, incredibly sexy Mandy, I'll be busy anticipating your response.
I shake my head.
Shit! Now what do I do?