Chapter Fifteen – NOW
Liv
“I need one of those Magic 8-Balls,” I complain to Meg. My thoughts have failed to stray far from Kyle all week. Our nightly text messages while he has been at the Academy have ensured he is never far from my mind. The more I try to tell myself to forget him, the harder it becomes. With every idle moment in my day, I find myself thinking of him, and it’s beginning to drive me crazy.
Her eyes flash but I’m too deep in my own misery to care. I don’t even notice when she races away and returns seconds later.
“Here,” she says, thrusting something at me. It’s a Magic 8-Ball, still in the packaging.
My jaw drops. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s my nephew’s birthday present, but I can buy him another one. Open it, and ask your question,” she orders.
I tear open the plastic and pull out the black ball.
“Am I softening toward Kyle?” I ask aloud. I shake the ball and Meg leans over my shoulder as we watch the answer appear on the screen.
Concentrate and ask again.
I close my eyes and repeat the question before shaking the ball.
It is certain.
Meg giggles and I groan.
“Should I go with my heart?”
As I see it, yes.
Meg grabs the 8-Ball from me.
“Will Kyle fuck Liv’s brains out?”
Without a doubt.
“Does he have a huge cock?”
Concentrate and ask again.
“My pleasure,” she mumbles, before repeating the question.
Most likely.
We burst out laughing.
“Will Kyle sweep Liv off her feet, make passionate love to her, and be with her forever?”
Outlook good.
“Oh, my god! Stop!” I say through my laughter.
“It’s a very honest 8-Ball, Liv,” Meg replies, trying to be serious and failing.
“It’s only given us non-committal or positive answers. It’s most definitely not honest.”
“Will I get laid tonight?” Meg asks.
My sources say no.
“See!” she exclaims. “It’s honest!”
I roll my eyes, still laughing. “Get back to work, crazy woman.”
She walks away, still muttering questions to the 8-Ball.
“Liv, I’ve got a customer on the line with a complaint. Are you able to take the call?” Martha, from the cubicle next to me asks.
“Sure. Put them through.” I take the call and discover a disgruntled customer, complaining about the service she received at one our department stores in Nevada.
“It’s completely unacceptable,” she seethes.
“Would it be possible for you to give me some more information?” I ask in a placating tone.
“I suppose that would be okay,” she replies, aggravated.
“Thank you. Was it upon entering the store that you were treated poorly, as you were shopping, or during checkout?”
“It was as I was checking out.”
“Okay, and do you recall the name of the team member who was on the register?”
“That’s the entire issue!” she huffs. “The original person serving me was a lovely young lady, with a friendly smile and kind manners. Then halfway through my transaction, she was replaced with a witch.”
“Right.” Why did I agree to take this call? “Do you recall the name of the second lady who served you?”
“No, but I’ll give you a detailed description. She had black hair that needed a good brush. Clearly, her mother didn’t instill in her the need to do two-hundred strokes before bedtime,” she rages. “She had thick makeup on that was too pale for her skin, and god-awful black eyeliner on. She also had those large holes in her ears. Just the sight of them made me want to vomit. I shouldn’t be made to feel like I’m going to be sick when I’m checking out of a store!” She becomes more and more agitated, her shouts growing louder and louder.
“I’m very sorry you felt that way, ma’am. Was the clerk in question rude to you in any way?”
“Not with her words. But the way she presented herself was despicable.”
“Was she wearing a uniform and nametag?” I enquire.
“Yes, that’s not the issue. It was the makeup, the hair, and those vile holes in her ears,” she yells.
“Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot I can do pertaining to the physical appearance of our employees.”
I feel like banging my head on my desk, and when she screams at me to let her speak with the manager, I can’t transfer her fast enough.
Thankfully the remainder of my day goes smoothly and without incident. I field some everyday complaints and commendations via email, replying with standard-issue generic responses, and steer clear of the phones. By the time I collect Matilda from her afterschool care, it’s almost dark and I’m tired.
“Does pizza sound good to you, sweetie? Mama doesn’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Yes, pizza! Cheese and pepperoni,” she says, bouncing excitedly in her seat.
“Sounds good to me.”
We stop by our local pizza place and then drive home to eat.
Perched up on her stool at the counter, Matilda takes a big bite of her pizza slice, giggling as she makes a large string with the cheese. I smile at her, my heart literally swelling with joy.
“Can Uncle Kyle come over, Momma?” she asks around a mouthful of food.
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” I chastise.
She chews and swallows before repeating her question.
“I’m not sure. He’s probably busy.”
“But—,” she begins pouting.
“Not buts, miss. Uncle Kyle has his own life, and I’m sure he’s very busy.”
She finishes her pizza in silence. I know she loves her uncle, but it’s important she knows that Kyle can’t give up all his free time to spend with Matilda. I know if she asks him, he’ll drop his plans in an instant to appease her, and that’s not fair to Kyle.
“Why don’t you watch a movie?” I suggest, holding up a DVD of Ice Age – Continental Drift.
“Okay, Momma.”
Two hours later, the movie is done, Matilda is bathed, and I’ve just read her a bedtime story and tucked her in. I climb in the shower and wash away the day before pulling on my oldest, most comfortable pajamas. I pour myself a glass of white wine and break some chocolate off the bar stashed in the back of my pantry. Then I lock up and climb into bed with my Kindle. Before I can start reading the gossip magazine I subscribe to, my phone vibrates with a text message.
Kyle: Is Matilda in bed yet?
Liv: Yeah, she is.
Kyle: Did you have a good day?
Liv: Reasonable. Did you? How was the final day of Combat Training?
Kyle: Open the front door, Liv.
Liv: ??
Kyle: Open the door.
I throw back the covers and quietly walk to the front door. Through the peephole, I see Kyle standing there, looking breathtaking as usual. I pull open the door and push it wide so he can step inside. Light rain has just started falling and lightning flashes in the distance.
“This is a surprise,” I say. He’s wearing faded, worn blue jeans with holes in the knees, and a red and black polo that fits him just right, skimming down his lithe body, allowing my mind to entertain thoughts of him naked.
“Was out for a jog and it started to rain. I thought I’d stop by for shelter,” he replies and I feel my shoulders slump just a little.
“Oh. Well, come on in. Are you wet? Did you need a towel or something? I probably have an umbrella here somewhere,” I mumble as I begin walking away. His fingers wrapping around my elbow stops me, and I ignore the burning sensation weaving through my arm as I turn back to face him. He steps closer, leaving just a foot between us. My breath catches in my throat as time suspends between us. Outside rain splatters on my windows, thunder rumbles in the distance, but all I hear is Kyle’s soft breathing.
“I lied,” he whispers, taking a step closer, leaving just an inch of air between us. “I don’t give a fuck about the rain.”
I swallow hard. My heart thumps against my ribs. He leans in closer, and my face automatically tilts up to meet his. My eyes flutter shut. His warm breath skates across my cheeks. My lips pucker softly in anticipation.
This is it.
“Momma, I had a bad dream,” Matilda cries.
I step out of Kyle’s embrace like I’ve been electrocuted. “S-sorry,” I stutter, avoiding eye contact as I rush toward Matilda’s bedroom.
When I finally calm her down and she drifts back to sleep, I continue stroking her hair for five minutes further. Then I hesitantly make my way back out toward Kyle.
Only he’s not where I left him.
He’s not in my house anywhere.
He’s gone.
My heart sinks.