The Other Side of Someday Page 3

  A strip mall not far from my mom’s house is where we go. I gravitate toward the kind of clothes I usually wear. Jen stops me, reminds me I’m single now, and should think about flaunting my goodies.

  “I have no desire for anyone to see my goodies,” I whisper over the rack.

  She ignores me. “We should go out dancing tonight.”

  “Dancing?” I ask. “I’m single, not a different person. I’ve never liked dancing.”

  “But you’re cool with going out?” She sneaks in, “As long as it isn’t dancing.”

  “You’re trying to trick me into something.” I shake my finger at her. “Not interested.”

  Her shoulders sag. “But you’re finally single again, and I’m single, and OHMYGOD, I need to get laid.”

  “Jen, shut up. I think you just traumatized someone’s grandma on the next row. I promise I will be single for a very long time, and there is no way I’m going out with you tonight.”

  “I can’t believe I’m going out with you tonight,” I groan.

  “Oh, hush, you look amazing. Anyway, I’ve heard this place is super low key.”

  “Where are we going again?” I tug at the hem of my dress.

  “It’s a jazz place. How cool is that? Jazz?” Her enthusiasm is infectious.

  “I didn’t know you liked jazz.” I peer at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes lock with hers. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Change is good; besides, you always let me cut your hair in college.” She twirls the scissors around her finger and aims them at the mirror like a pistol.

  “Trim,” I correct her. “I let you trim my hair. I have way more hair than you’ve ever cut before.”

  “Gotta have faith. Worst thing that can happen is you won’t like it and you’ll have to grow it back out. It’s hair, not a limb. You need to banish your ponytails.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay, do it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I keep my eyes closed the whole time. It’s relaxing and nerve wracking at the same time. I can’t remember the last time someone played with my hair. I only hope she doesn’t mess it up. I have agreed to a simple bob, long enough for me to tuck my hair behind my ears and short enough not to sit on the back of my neck. It’s the most hair I’ve ever had cut at one time, maybe six inches.

  When the scissors stop clipping and she starts styling my hair, my heart starts racing. What if I’ve made a terrible mistake? What if I don’t have the face for shorter hair?

  “Courtney, you look beautiful.” My eyes flutter open at the sound of my mother’s voice.

  I turn my head to meet her eyes. She’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom. I turn back to the mirror and my jaw drops. I lift my hands to my hair to feel the bounce and how light it feels after having shed those extra inches.

  “It looks amazing, Jen,” I gush.

  She unwraps the towel from around my shoulders. “I am pretty fabulous,” she agrees, humble as ever.

  While my mom and Jen talk, I stand to inspect myself in the mirror. It has been a long time since I got dressed up or wore this much make up. Was that the reason Mike had to look elsewhere? Because I stopped taking care of myself? I don’t want to cry, ruining the makeup Jen has so carefully applied; but I couldn’t help but wonder about that. Was I partly to blame for Mike cheating on me?

  “Stop looking so serious.” Jen’s attention was back on me. “Tonight is about going out with your oldest friend and having a couple drinks.”

  “You will always be my oldest friend,” I tease with emphasis on old. Couldn’t help it, she walked right into it.

  “You think you’re funny,” she deadpans.

  We do a final appearance check before we leave. Jen looks fabulous. She’s always had a gypsy vibe with her long black hair and almond shaped eyes. Her maxi dress shows off her curves and covers her, well, most of her. The top part of the salmon shaded dress is sleeveless leaving her sun-kissed shoulders bare.

  I’m a little top heavy, so strapless dresses are not part of my wardrobe options. I loved this light green sundress in the store; but now it seems more low cut and shorter than it did in the dressing room. The green makes my hazel eyes seem brighter and my new haircut makes my blonde hair look young and fun.

  I glance at Jen. “Are you sure I don’t look stupid?”

  “Only when you open your mouth to ask questions like that.”

  God, I love her.

  When I ask my mom if she wants me home by a certain time, both she and Jen groan. “What?”

  Jen and my mom share a look while they decide who will talk. “You are thirty years old, Courtney. I’m not giving you a curfew.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t know if you had to be up early. I was trying to be considerate.”

  She winks. “You might meet someone and not come home at all tonight.”

  I tilt my head at her. “Are you suggesting I go home with some random guy tonight?”

  She shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

  “Mom—”

  Jen cuts me off walking over to high five my mom. “You are so much cooler than my mom.” She turns back to me. “Come on, hooker. I got your mom’s permission to get you laid tonight.”

  I turn around and head back toward my room.

  Jen runs to catch me before I reach the stairs. “We’re teasing you. Now, let’s get a move on so we can get a table near the stage.”

  The bar is past her place but not by much. Still, it’s the direction and the same road I would take back to my old condo with Mike. Three days. I’ve only been apart from him for three days and people expect me to move on. Each morning that I’ve woken up in my mother’s house, I’ve forgotten where I was, and then had to remember all over again what he did.

  It almost feels like the last eight years of my life have never happened. It’s not as if I have anything to show for it. The worst part is, while Jen is thrilled to be going out, I’m terrified. I don’t want to assume I’ll be approached; but on the off chance that I am, I don’t know how to flirt anymore.

  I haven’t had a conversation as a single woman in almost a decade. There were so many rules to dating back then. Are they the same now or different? What if I’m not approached? Will that be worse than if I am? Will it mean I’m no longer attractive to the male gender? Clearly, Mike felt that way if he had to look elsewhere.

  “You’re quiet. Whatcha thinking about?” Jen asks, turning down the stereo.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit. “It’s been a long time.”

  “What? Since you’ve gone out? Come on.” She pushes my leg. “You and I went to dinner and a movie last month.”

  “This is different and you know it,” I argue.

  “Why does it have to be different? Relax and focus on having a nice night out. Nothing else matters. There is no expectation for you to meet or talk to a guy tonight. Ignore every single one of them for all I care. I only want to see you happy again.”

  “Oh, my God, what if Mike is here?” I panic.

  Jen gives me a weird look. “Courtney, think about it. Mike at a jazz place? Seriously?”

  We lock eyes for a couple moments before we both crack up. “What was I thinking?” I struggle with my next breath. “What was I thinking?”

  Same words, only so different. Jen reaches out to clasp my hand. “Honey, we don’t have to go out if you’re not ready.”

  “But you got me this dress and you made me look pretty; and you look pretty and you deserve a night out. I won’t be a mess, I promise. I’m fine.”

  Only I’m not. I’m not fine. Life moves on and I have to accept the fact I need to make a new one for myself.

  Jen turns into a busy strip mall. A grocery store is at the far end and the bar hugs the opposite corner. Parking is already hard to find. Jen manages to find a spot in front of a sandwich place a few businesses down from the jazz place. We both flip down the visor mirrors to do a quick face check.

  “So you’re good?” Jen double checks with me one more time.

  “I am,” I lie, opening my door.

  After we make our way to the front entrance, we are carded. I find this funny and flattering at the same time. There is no way this bouncer can think either one of us is under twenty-one. The place is on the dark side. There are round two, and four-seat-er tables in the main area between the stage and the bar.

  The tables are a dark wood, which matches the heavy fabric lining the walls. There is low lighting throughout the bar and larger lights are directed to the stage. A band plays music more bluesy, in my opinion.

  We are able to find a table for two midway between the bar and the stage.

  “What do you want to drink?”

  I think about it. “Do they have any sangria?”

  “I can check. Do you want a merlot if they don’t?”

  I grin, which she takes as a yes, and I turn back toward the stage. I do my best to relax, not to look at the people around me. I feel even more alone sitting by myself. I know Jen is only at the bar; however, I can’t help but wonder if people are judging me. My engagement ring was my shield. It told the world I wasn’t alone. Now, all I have is the faint tan line where it was. I cover my hand, feeling bare without it.

  “What do you think of the band?” Jen asks, passing me my drink.

  “I like them. Will there be a singer or just the band?” I ask before taking a sip of my drink.

  “I’m not sure.” She leans over to tap the shoulder of a guy at the table next to ours, and asks.

  I envy her uncanny ability to start a conversation with anyone. That is something I’ve always struggled with.

  She turns back to me and introduces her new friend. “This is Tony.” He stands to reach across the small tabl
e to shake my hand. “He says there are singers, a guy, and a girl, who switch off throughout the night. One of them should be going on any minute.”

  I smile my thanks and he offers to buy us a drink. I decline. I’ve barely had any of the one I just got but Jen accepts. He asks her to keep an eye on his table and not let anyone steal their spot because his friend stepped outside to take a call. She laughs and slides into his chair to protect his table while he goes to the bar.

  There must be a lull at the bar because he is back with her drink and one for himself in no time. He sits in the seat vacated by his friend while Jen stays in his seat, leaving me alone at our table. I’m going to kill her. I’m meditating the method of how when Tony’s friend returns. Jen in her infinite wisdom tells his friend to sit in her spot at our table. She absolutely has a death wish.

  When he sits, I’m stunned to see he is none other than Grant Offenheim.

  He squints at me, reaching out his hand. “Have we met before?”

  I nod. “I worked for Don Fulson, but I don’t work there anymore.”

  “So you know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He smiles and his trademark dimples appear.

  I try not to let them affect me. “Courtney.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Courtney Grayson.”

  Any further conversation is impeded by the first singer. She is amazing, and beautiful. She has an Adele feel and big voice to match. I find it impossible that I sense Grant’s eyes on me and not her. When I finish my drink, he offers to get me another. I nod, still surprised by his attention. He could be talking to any woman in the room. It seems like a shame he’s wasting his time on me.

  Jen slides into his chair when he gets up. “So, he seems nice. Tony is a doll.”

  “Do you know who that is?” I whisper.

  She shrugs. “No clue. Why? Should I know who he is?”

  “That’s Grant Offenheim, North Carolina’s most eligible bachelor,” I answer.

  “That’s great. That way you know for sure he’s single.”

  I glare at her. “That’s not the point. I’m not interested in anyone right now.”

  “Then consider this practice for when you are. You are under no obligation to like him or even talk to him ever again.”

  I nod. I can do this. I can have an adult conversation with an attractive, scratch that, insanely hot single man. In fact, having a trial run with a never going to happen option might be what’s best for me. Getting my feet wet by cannonballing into the ocean will make dipping them into a puddle when I’m ready all the easier.

  She moves back to the table with Tony as Grant approaches with my drink.

  “Thank you.” I take a sip, time for courage. “Have you ever been here before?”

  Lame conversation starter, I know, but this is practice. He moves his chair closer to mine and I can smell his aftershave. It’s woodsy but not overpowering. I try to picture him camping and giggle to myself.

  His dimples make another appearance. “Did I say something funny?”

  I shake my head and cover my mouth. “No, I just thought of something funny. It’s nothing.”

  He tilts his head and I feel strangely evaluated. “You can tell me.”

  He is going to think I’m crazy. Okay, here goes. “It’s silly really; when you moved closer, I could smell your cologne or aftershave and it reminded me of a forest.”

  “What’s so funny about that?”

  I blush; I hope he doesn’t think I’m insulting him. “I don’t know why, but I pictured you in a plaid shirt chopping down a tree. And that’s so different from all the suits I’ve ever seen you in.”

  He looks hurt. “I don’t make a good lumberjack?”

  I try, but fail, not to laugh as I shake my head.

  He smiles. “I bet I could surprise you.”

  Grant Offenheim is flirting with me, I think.

  “So, are you going to call him?” Jen asks as she pulls into my driveway.

  “I don’t know. He seemed nice, but I need to get my feet back on the ground before I even think about dating.”

  I still couldn’t believe he asked for my number. I didn’t want to give him my mother’s, so I gave him my email address instead, and he gave me his number. I had been so surprised, I blurted out ‘why’ when he asked for it. I smile thinking about his reply, “I have to show you what a good lumberjack I can be.”

  “What about Tony? He seemed nice,” I ask, effectively changing the subject.

  “Your guy was cuter but beggars can’t be choosers. We’re going out next Friday. Want me to ask him to invite Grant, and we can double up?” She knocks her elbow into mine.

  “You’re lucky I love you,” I tease, getting out. I lean down to look at her before shutting my door. “Seriously, don’t do that.”

  When a mischievous look crosses over her face, I add, “Promise.”

  She crosses her heart and blows me a kiss. I shut the door and wave at her while she backs out of my driveway, and then I turn around to head inside. It’s late, but not that late. My mom is in bed; but when I hear the TV is still on, I knock and pop my head in.

  “Hey, Mom. I wanted to let you know I’m home.”

  “Did you have a good time?” Her expression is hopeful.

  “I did but…” I don’t want her to get her hopes up. “I think tonight might be it for a while though.”

  She nods. I’m single, not a different person.

  I change and get ready for bed. Tonight was fun but it didn’t feel real. I can’t allow my thoughts to be distracted by Grant Offenheim and his stupid, sexy dimples. I needed a job and to get my own place. I am lucky I have no major bills to speak of. I paid my car off last year. So barring any mechanical issues, I only have to worry about insurance.

  Mechanical issues? Shit, the tire guy! I hop out of bed and walk across my room to my dresser to grab a notepad and a pen.

  -Go pay tire guy.

  I tear the sheet off and set it on my bedside table so I’ll see it first thing tomorrow.

  When I wake and head down to the kitchen, I realize the house is empty. I find a note from my mom on the door to the fridge telling me she is checking out some yard sales. Some things never change. My mother has been obsessed with other people’s treasures for as long as I can remember.

  After I pour myself some orange juice and make some toast, I turn on a TV morning show to watch while I eat. When the doorbell rings, I’m not one hundred percent sure, whether I really heard it or just imagined it, so I wait to see if it rings again. When it does, I cringe at my current attire but head to the door anyway. When I open it, I am face to face with Mike ‘we almost shared a last name’ Hudson.

  I start to shut the door but he puts his hand up to stop it. “Please talk to me, Court.”

  I turn and walk to my mother’s office letting him follow me. He’s a born salesman. “Nothing happened; she forced herself on me; I want you back; I’ve only ever loved you; please don’t leave me.” And other versions of not apologizing trail my steps. When I reach my mom’s office, I pluck my old phone off her desk and hand it to him.

  “That’s for saving me the trip to the post office.”

  His jaw drops. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  I nod, squeezing past him to lead him back to the door. He reaches out from behind me, a hand on each of my biceps.

  “I can’t lose you.”

  He doesn’t understand I probably could have forgiven him for anything else. It would have been hard; but whether it was money or an addiction, I would have stayed with him and made it work. Cheating is something else altogether. Short of him providing a doctor’s note proving he had been drugged and forcibly raped, I would never trust him again.

  I glance back at him, into the eyes I thought I would spend the rest of my life waking up to, and say, “You need to leave.”

  His arms fall. He’s known me long enough to believe me.

  His reticence is replaced with a sneer. “You haven’t even asked about your things. You don’t even want them back. Make one mistake and I’m as good as dead to you, aren’t I?”

  I turn, facing him fully. “Make me the bad guy, Mike. Twist it around so you aren’t to blame. Do whatever it is you have to do to live with what you did.”

  I hold his gaze until he looks away. I know few things right now; but I do know that I deserve fidelity. I was good to him; I never led him on or lied to him. When I loved him, I left myself vulnerable. I’m not sure that’s something I will ever forgive him for. Now I know, no matter how perfect things seem you cannot ever trust another person.