Evie Interrupted, page 5
“These are happy tears…maybe a few are sad. Each milestone your child reaches shows you how fast the years ago by. The day your dad and I found out you were going to be a girl, I made it my life’s mission to make sure you had more opportunities and less obstacles than I had.”
“I know you had to fight every step of the way for your education and career.”
Placing her hands on my upper arms, she turned me to face her. “Evie, you’re going to face challenges and obstacles uniquely your own. And there will be times when you’ll feel very alone, but you’re not. No matter what, I will always be in your corner, cheering you on, and comforting you when you need it. You’ve worked hard to get to this day. Don’t ever allow someone to lessen your achievements or your worth. Don’t let anything or anyone keep you from achieving your dreams.”
As I stared at my mentor and heroine, a sense of pride took over. Most girls didn’t want to be like their moms. In fact, some took it as an insult to be compared to them. Not me. Out loud I told everyone Maine was my best friend, but the truth was Mom was my best friend. When I was a little girl I never dreamed about being a princess like most of my friends. I wanted to be like my mom. Genetics had taken care of the outside, now it was up to me to develop into the woman I admired.
Present
After Maine left, I finished up the laundry, let Linus into Mom’s room, and went to bed. I was exhausted, but for some reason I lay there, wide awake, for an hour. Picking up my phone, I checked the time, just as a text popped up from Maine.
Maine: Hope you have a good night dreaming of hot butlers.
Me: Very funny.
Maine: What? I’m not talking about any specific butler. Although, I bet he could service you well.
Her pushiness was aggravating, but she did make me laugh.
Me: Good night.
Maine: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
Who the fuck was I kidding? I spent most of the day pushing the thoughts of him out of my head. Not to mention resisting the urge to look at the picture of him in my phone that was currently screaming for my attention. Something weird was going on with me.
I was not a romantic like Mom and Maine. I believed in love, but not at first sight. I wanted to believe in soulmates. Some of the most beautiful classic novels were written about the subject. I adored reading, dissecting, and analyzing those stories. But they were fiction. A fantasy. Not real life. In real life men don’t want to make the effort to sweep a woman off her feet. In their eyes you’re either hot, and doable, or not. If not, then they direct their attention elsewhere. It’s all so superficial. None of them want to do a deep dive into who you really are on the inside.
Rolling onto my side, I reached for my phone to check how many hours had ticked away. Christ, only five minutes since the last time I checked. If I didn’t get some shut eye soon tomorrow would be hell. Evie no sleepy, Evie very bitchy the next day. I punch fluffed my pillow and plopped back down on it. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to clear my head of all thoughts.
What harm would come from me just looking at his picture and phone number? I would look and then delete. Problem solved. Not that Butler was a problem. He wasn’t even an issue. He was a nonissue. Not a problem. We were nothing more than two ships that passed in the sporting aisle at the superstore.
I sat up and grabbed my phone. I hesitated to click on my contacts. God, why was I being so ridiculous? I was annoying myself. Butler was gorgeous and seemed genuinely nice. There had to be something wrong with him, so I decided to do a little internet investigating. Once I found his flaw, deleting his information from my phone would be much easier. No regrets.
Although I enjoyed watching football, I wasn’t fanatical about it. Even so, I would have thought I’d heard of Butler, but his name didn’t ring a bell. Pulling up Google I typed in, Butler Thompson football. The screen quickly lit up with multiple choices. The one that caught my eye first was the staff page from my alma mater, Porter High. I wouldn’t find any incendiary information on that page, only professional background. But my curiosity got the best of me, so I started there.
Click. Scrolling down the alphabetical staff page caused my heart to beat faster, and my stomach to flutter. Fatigue must be setting in. The corners of my mouth automatically twisted into a smile the second I saw his photo.
Butler Michael Thompson, Head Coach of the Porter Blue Devils. Star quarterback at Notre Dame then the New England Patriots.
What was a guy like that doing at a place like Porter High? I flipped back to the search results and clicked on an article dated four years ago: “Twenty-six-year-old Thompson, Rising Patriots Quarterback Sidelined”. The article said that Butler had injured his knee but would be back on the field soon.
I didn’t see links to any social media. Who didn’t have at least a Facebook page nowadays? Someone who might be hiding something? I then decided to have a look-see at some images. Click. The screen filled with Butler’s pretty face and hot body. Some photos were obvious promo shots when he was in college and with the Patriots. Others were candid action shots of him on the field, during practice, and games. Fuck, this guy never took a bad picture. I scrolled a little longer, before forcing myself to close the app.
With my hopes of finding dirt on Butler a bust, I inhaled a deep breath and let it slowly seep from my lungs. I knew what had to be done even though I didn’t find anything that would make the job easier. Opening the contact app, I found his name, and clicked on it.
Looking at his picture, I chuckled. I guess I was in such a fog at seeing him at the store, I didn’t realize he’d done a subtle duck lips pose. Hesitating, I stared at his silliness. I should delete his picture and number from my phone. I didn’t intend to use it. Besides, it would free up precious space that could be used for something more important.
Pressing my thumb and index finger to the glass, I zoomed in and out on his face, examining each quadrant. Unaware, I mistakenly hit Send Message, shocked, and confused when my text app came to life. There it was, his tiny profile picture next to his name, and an empty text box just waiting to be filled. I froze, my thoughts swirling.
Do not text him.
Just because I text doesn’t mean he’ll answer.
Then why bother?
Evie, there’s no reason for you to have any communication with him.
I could ask his recommendation on the best bike on the market.
Nah. He’d tease me about the color, and it’d be obvious what I was up to.
Then I witnessed my thumbs slowly type out h-e-y. Holding my phone in my sweaty palms, my thumbs flexed back and forth. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the phone slipped, causing my right thumb to hit send.
Oh, dear God! Oh, dear God! Oh, dear God! No! No! No! No! No! No-o-o!
I bolted upright, my pulse racing as panic set in. Shoving the phone under my pillow, I grabbed another pillow and smashed it on top. I don’t know why. It seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment. I needed to get out of here and forget what just happened. Throwing back the comforter, I slid out of bed when the sound of a ding made me freeze. It was a text. It was a text from him. Another ding pinged off each wall of my room. I inadvertently glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11 p.m.
Fucking fantastic.
He probably thought it was a booty call. A booty call from an unknown number. An unknown number. He gave me his number, but he didn’t get mine. A beautiful rendition of “Hallelujah” filled my head, my heart, and my soul. Relief washed over me as I hopped back into my comfy bed. I bypassed that catastrophe by the skin of my teeth. Placing the extra pillow to the side, I fluffed the one I used before grabbing my phone. As I flipped the phone to place it on the nightstand I glanced down at Butler’s text.
Butler: Who is this?
Butler: Evie?
Falling back, I snatched the pillow beside me, placed it over my face, and screamed into it.
Memories
Opening the front door, the smell of spaghetti sauce hitting my nose and causing my mouth to water, I followed it into the kitchen to find Mom standing at the stove, dipping a spoon into the huge pot that used to be my grandmother’s.
“Hello, my dear. Did you have a good day at school?”
I tossed my backpack onto the counter. “Eh.”
“Words, please,” she sang.
“My day was okay.”
I opened the fridge and scanned its contents, hoping there would be something edible to make my life better. Not finding any magic food, I snagged a soda and some string cheese before plopping down at the kitchen table.
“It’s just going to be us girls tonight for dinner. Your dad has a late class.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled while tearing off a piece of cheese.
“And tomorrow afternoon I have a department meeting so Dad will pick you up from volleyball practice.”
I popped the top of the soda can and took a swig.
Mom looked over at me. “Did you hear me?”
“Girls’ night and volleyball practice. Got it.” I paused for a moment trying to gain the courage to ask my mom a potentially embarrassing question. Blowing out a heavy sigh, I said, “Are all boys stupid?”
Mom picked up the dishtowel and wiped her hands as she came to sit at the table. “Yes, at various times in their lives they are.”
My green eyes met hers. I was shocked by her answer. I was certain she was going to dispel my theory, but instead, she validated it.
“Is there a specific reason you wanted to know?” she said.
I lowered my gaze, so I could pretend I was alone with my out-loud thoughts. “There’s this boy in my history class, Tommy Summers. He told Maine that he thinks I’m cool. But every time I’m around him, he ignores me.”
“Boys are hard nuts to crack sometimes.”
“What do you mean?”
“They may have certain feelings but are afraid to say anything for fear of being made fun of or being rejected.”
“I can respect that,” I said. “So, should I tell Tommy how much I like him?”
“No. Not yet, anyway. The male of the species likes the chase. And, though it’s anti-feminist to say it, females like to be chased.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?”
“Wait him out,” she advised.
“For how long?”
“That’s something you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
“How long did you wait for Dad?”
“A few months.”
“Months?! That’s like a lifetime.”
“Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
I shook my head.
“Freshman year, first week at college I eyed this really cute, albeit a little nerdy, fella in my American Lit class. A friend of his told a friend of mine that he liked me. After I heard this, I figured it was only a matter of time before he asked me out. So, I waited and waited. He never once spoke to me for the entire semester.”
She grinned at my shocked expression but kept going.
“Before leaving for Christmas break there was a winter formal put on by my sorority. A couple of guys asked me to attend with them, but I said no. I just knew that my cute nerd would finally speak and ask me to go. I even bought this beautiful light blue shimmering dress...”
“Wow, I can’t believe Dad was so clueless,” I said.
“Well, I ended up working the refreshment table for the dance, dateless. But then it happened. I was walking out of the kitchen, holding a tray of pigs in a blanket when suddenly something caught the hem of my dress. I was jerked back, tossed the tray in the air, pigs flying everywhere. Just before my booty hit the floor, I felt strong hands wrap around my forearms. When I looked up who did I see, but my cute nerd with a bright red face. Seems he had a surge of confidence and was coming to talk to me, when he stepped on my dress.”
“That’s pretty stupid.”
“My point is some boys are just shy when it comes to girls they really like. Maybe you could have some friends over, like for a movie night, and invite Tommy. That way you can get to know each other in a group setting. Less intimidating.”
I thought about Mom’s idea for a few seconds. “That just might work. We wouldn’t have to wait for months, either. We could whip that up fairly quick. No one would even suspect the reason for it.”
“Now you’re thinking like a woman on a mission.”
“Could we have pizza?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Thanks, Mom. I knew you’d have the answer. You’re the smartest person I know.”
I hopped out of the chair and gave her a big hug before heading to my room to make a guest list.
Present
“So?” Maine pushed.
“So what?”
“Anything new about hottie dark-roast grande?
“Hottie,” Mom repeated.
The three of us were sitting on the screened-in back porch having wine and snacks. Our cozy version of happy hour.
“No,” I corrected her in a pitch that was a bit too high. A sure sign I was hiding something.
With her head cocked to the side and eyes narrowed, Maine said, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. You sure about that?”
Mom chimed in, “You are sure.”
“Miss Evelyne, he patiently waited for Evie to wake up last week at the café.”
Mom looked at Maine. “Yeah, he patiently wake up.”
Leaning forward, I grabbed the bottle of wine and topped off my glass. “So, he’s a nice guy with manners, who was in no rush to get to the store.”
Maine’s entire body perked up. “What store? How do you know he went to any store? Unless you ran into him at the same store.”
My muscles tensed as I bit the inside of my cheek, pissed at my slip of the tongue. “I don’t know.”
“But you said it,” she persisted.
“You said it.” Mom shoved another Cheeto into her mouth.
I looked over at her. “You’re not helping me out, old lady.”
Waggling her brows, Maine said, “After you left the café, you saw him again.”
“I didn’t say that,” I snapped. “It’s an expression like, a dime a dozen, a chip on your shoulder, no rush to get to the store.”
Maine leaned forward. “Evie, I’ve known you since the beginning of time, you’re holding out on me.”
Speechless, I tried quickly to come up with a viable answer as Maine stared daggers in my direction. Besides the birds chirping, the only sound was the crunch of another Cheeto being eaten by Mom. I knew my best friend as well as she knew me. Her romantic wheels would start turning and she’d try to make something out of nothing. That’s just what Butler was…nothing. Nothing to me, anyway. He couldn’t be.
“Okay, I ran into him at the store the same day. Big deal. I run into a lot of people at the store.”
“You did not divulge this information to me last week. I’m hurt and disappointed.”
“You’ll get over it,” I said.
“You’re right. I’m over it. So, he saw you across the aisle and was drawn to you. This is the stuff of great love stories.” Maine settled back into her chair, satisfied for the moment.
I chuckled. “I hate to rain on your parade—another common expression, by the way— but there isn’t going to be a love story or any other kind of story.”
“We’ll see about that. You’re only one half of the equation.” Maine winked.
“Maine…”
“What? I’m just saying you might not be pursuing, but—”
“Butler has better things—”
“But-ler. But-ler. But-ler. It rolls off the tongue. Doesn’t it, Miss Evelyne?”
Mom looked at me and said with purpose, “Doesn’t it. I post my tickle in the ground it light.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” I responded.
“All I’m saying is he’s hot, available, and into you—”
Laughter tumbled out of Mom. “Pot as hell.”
Maine gave her a sweet smile. “Even your mom agrees with me. Look, I’m not suggesting you shove him up the aisle to the altar. He would be a mighty fine distraction.”
“That’s exactly what I don’t need.”
“Use him to blow off steam.” Maine winked.
“Blow him,” Mom mumbled before taking a swig of her wine.
As if on cue, Maine and I did spit takes with our drinks.
“Blow him,” Mom repeated.
“Mom, that’s not appropriate.”
“Blow him. Blow him. Blow him.”
Maine was laughing so hard I thought she was going to fall out of her chair.
“Mom! Stop saying that!” I glared at my best friend. “See what you did?”
“Mother knows best,” she said, convulsing with more laughter.
“This is exactly why I didn’t mention the store, the flirty chat, having his number, or the text,” I rambled incoherently. Suddenly the laughter stopped as Maine froze.
Shit!
“Let’s circle back around on a few of those juicy tidbits, shall we?”
The first tickle of anxiety surged through my body. “There’s no need to circle back. It’s very innocent and simple. You see someone in a public place that you recognize and if you were raised with manners you say hey. There’s some brief superficial chitchat. A lopsided sexy smile might be tossed out there. Wanting to wrap up the excruciating encounter one might say, ‘Maybe we can get together.’ A phone number is entered into a contact list. And each person goes about their business. No harm, no foul. Just being neighborly to another human being. God, Maine, have you no manners?”
Pouring another glass of wine, Maine said, “There’s a whole lot to unpack from that info dump.”
Unfortunately, alcohol mixed with nerves gave me a bad case of verbal diarrhea.
Leaning back in her chair, a smug expression washed over Maine’s face. “So, store run-in. No questions about that. Flirting chitchat and sexy smile. Pretty clear on that point. Invitation to meet again. Self-explanatory. Phone numbers were exchanged. Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies, we have ourselves a sweet nugget to dig into. You gave But-lah your number, you little horny minx.”
