Noelle
October 6th
“I made an extra chicken breast. You want one or two?” I chuckle, can’t help it. “Seriously. One or two? Can I possibly ask a dumber question?”
That unladylike snort … yeah, that was me.
While I fork my chicken breast onto my own plate, I don’t bother waiting for a response. I know what the answer will be. Two. Always two. Extra protein is never a bad thing.
After adding a heaping spoonful of steamed vegetables to my plate, I grab my wineglass and head to the table. I’m starving because I missed lunch today. That sometimes happens with my job. There are days that’ll go by when I’m bored to tears, standing behind the bar, and others when I can hardly stop long enough to take a breath. Sometimes I’ll snag some fried pickles if I get a chance. Today was the lack-of-breath kind of day. Go, go, go. All day long.
As I step out of my small galley kitchen, a knock sounds on my door. My bare feet squeak on the linoleum as I come to an abrupt halt. I manage to do that fancy lift and tilt thing to keep my wine from sloshing over the edge.
Disaster averted.
“Noelle! Honey, it’s Mom and Dad!”
Or not.
“Crap, crap, crap.” I glance between my front door and the small, two-seat table in my breakfast nook, currently set up with, nope, not one but two place settings. For the record, two is not a good number when the single girl’s mom comes banging on the door.
“Open up, Noelle! We thought we’d surprise you!”
Okay, well, I have to say my parents definitely accomplished their goal, because I am completely befuddled as I stand here debating what I should do. To a normal person, it might be a no-brainer. Open the door, let the ’rents come on in.
I’m not so sure this situation is going to qualify me as normal.
To answer or not to answer? That is the question.
On the other hand, I could be as quiet as possible and pretend I’m not home. Which, with my luck, won’t work. The fact that all the lights in my apartment are blazing and my baby blue Prius is parked directly in front of my window doesn’t help my cause any. Since no one else in the world drives a baby blue Prius, I can’t very well hide it.
Crap.
But I could’ve gone out with friends, right? Could I be so lucky that they’d think that? It is a possibility. Maybe. Or, better yet, perhaps they’ll think I’m at the Penalty Box. I tend to work a lot.
Yes, that’s definitely more logical.
Except, yep, you nailed it, the car is here.
Then again, if I weren’t so pathetic and didn’t choose to spend all my free time at home—unless I’m at my best friend Ellie’s—it might be an easier sell. They know me. I’m not the going-out type. Plus, they’ve probably already stopped by the bar to see if I’m there. They know that I much prefer a microwaved dinner at home, especially on a rare evening that I don’t spend waiting tables and slinging beer because I choose to.
Another knock makes my heart skip a beat.
“Stay calm. It’s cool.” I’ve been telling myself that far too much lately.
“Noelle! Are you all right, honey?”
Knowing my grumpy upstairs neighbor is likely going to have a cow any second now, I rush to the front door, unlock the deadbolt, and turn the knob. Instantly, Marie Dexter barrels into me, pulling me into her arms, crushing my face to her generous bosom.
My mother smells like roses. A sweet, familiar scent that makes me hug her back, despite the inconvenient timing of her arrival.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my words muffled against her boobs.
She pulls back to look at me. “What took you so long? I was getting worried.”
My dad slips past my mother, giving me a knowing smirk. Ed Dexter loves when Marie goes all motherly on me. Come to find out, when my sister and I aren’t around, he gets to be the one Marie mothers. Not that he minds. They’ve been married for thirty-six years, so he’s used to it, or so he says.
“Ooh. You got new curtains.” My mother gently pulls away to admire the floor-to-ceiling cream sheers hanging on the wide front window.
I follow her gaze, glaring at my car sitting right there. Traitor.
I focus on the comforting hand my mother has on my arm. Always keeping me close, that woman.
I’m the oldest—my sister, Julie, who is seven years younger than me, was an oops baby—which should’ve meant my mother didn’t coddle me quite so much. That isn’t the case. Never has been. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s such a huge age gap between Julie and me, but whatever the reason, my mother likes to baby both of us equally. I’m thirty-four. You’d think she would’ve toned it down by now. Nope. In fact, I think she might be getting more motherly.
Honestly, she’s been this way since I was little. And, truthfully, I was the normal kid. The kind who wanted to do nothing more than be outside. Yep, totally me. Right up until sixth grade, when we moved to Austin, next door to the girl who would quickly become my best friend in the world.
Either there was something in the Texas water, or someone injected me with a doofus hormone, because upon moving here, I became stupid, which translates to: boy crazy. I think my mother worried about me more then. That lasted about two years. Three tops. When it became glaringly obvious that Tony Something-or-other wasn’t going to fall madly in love with the short, frumpy girl with glasses and braces, I decided to focus on my schoolwork and left the flirting with boys up to my best friend, Ellie. She was much better at it than me.
Luckily, I’m not so frumpy anymore, and I’ve shed the braces and glasses. Sure, I’m still short, and my boobs never did really develop, but that no longer bothers me. I’m me. That’s what matters.
What does bother me is the fact that Mom and Dad pop in unannounced all the freaking time. Of all nights, why did it have to be now?
I’ve lived on my own for more than a decade, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Mom. She acts as though I just moved out of her house yesterday. And okay, I probably get some of the blame since my apartment just so happens to be less than two miles from their house. Yes, I’ve moved three times in the past eight years, but I’ve remained in the same complex. I have an issue with commitment, I think. I tend to like change, and this particular place has multiple floor-plan options, so it has worked out for me. Just maybe not for those who have to help me move. As for my parents, I’ve made sure they have easy access to me, something I solemnly regret from time to time, but only because my mother likes to do these frequent surprise visits.
I really should break down and buy a house. Ellie keeps urging me to, but I’m holding out. For what? Who knows.
“It smells delicious.” My mother pointedly sniffs the air.
“I was about to have dinner,” I tell her, hoping she’ll take the hint.
I microwaved frozen chicken and threw some of those steam-in-the-bag veggies (greatest invention ever) in after that, so the delicious aroma is all thanks to the radioactive box that makes my life so much easier.
Marie gasps, her hand going to her mouth.
I drop my head at the surprised sound and slowly pivot in the direction my mother is looking. I so was hoping she wouldn’t notice.
“I didn’t realize you had company.”
I peek up at the empty place setting across from my seat at the table.
“I don’t,” I reluctantly state. Probably doesn’t help that there is a full glass of ice water at that place setting.
A worry line creases my mother’s forehead and she glances my way. She looks somewhat perplexed, but
I think that’s hope sparkling in her light brown eyes. Hope that maybe I have found someone to have dinner with from time to time.
“Then who’s the place setting for?”
“No one,” I mutter. The heat creeping into my cheeks is probably lighting me up bright enough to guide airplanes.
“Noelle…” Marie turns toward me and takes both of my hands. She peers toward the hallway that leads to my bedroom, her voice a little louder than usual, as though she’s also talking to whomever else might be here.
“Honey, if you have a boyfriend, we would love to meet him. Maybe you could invite him to our house for dinner.”
I lift my eyes to meet my mother’s. I think she’s saying a silent prayer, one that will get me hitched in the near future.
God, how do I explain this? Hey, Mom. It’s all good. Just an extra place setting for that man I’m hoping to find. You know, that whole wishful thinking thing?
Yeah. I don’t think that’ll go over all that well, so I keep it simple. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Annnnd there you have it.
My mom points to the table, which makes me laugh. “But … uh…” She looks from the table to me, then back. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Don’t worry, Mom. Me, neither.
My gaze guiltily flits to the book sitting on the coffee table. Crap.
Of course, my dad is the first to notice, and he does as all good dads do. Without pause, Ed reaches over, picks up the book, pulls out his reading glasses, then drops onto the sofa with a grunt.
“The Secret,” he says, looking from the book to me, then back to the book. He gets comfortable, hiking up his tan Dockers, then propping one ankle over the opposite knee as he studies the cover. “Is this one of those romance things?”
I hold in the groan that threatens to escape. “Not a romance novel.”
Nope. I couldn’t be that lucky. I don’t think I would’ve been more embarrassed if my parents had found my well-worn copy of the sexy cowboy ménage I recently took a liking to. Seriously. Two men, one woman. Holy smokes. Not that it’s something I want, but reading about it … I’m certainly guilty of wanting to escape to a fictional world from time to time.
Definitely not the time or place to be thinking about that one.
“Oh, I know what that is.” In a flurry of movement, my mom releases my hands and shuffles around to where my father is sitting, gracefully lowering herself to the couch before peering at the book along with him.
I can honestly say that the bookmark that clips to the page is the worst invention ever. Not a chance that they don’t open to that page first.
My dad opens the front cover, skims the synopsis, then…
Yep, he opens right to the bookmarked page. Heat rises from my neck to my cheeks. I think I might have a fever from all the embarrassment.
My plate of chicken is quickly growing cold, but I’ve long since forgotten about food. What’s taking place in my living room is devastating enough to banish my appetite for the foreseeable future. As for the wine … I think I’ll forego the glass and chug straight from the bottle.
“The secret to relationships,” my father reads aloud in his announcer voice. I can almost picture him at the hockey rink, his mouth hovering above the microphone as he informs the fans that, yes, his oldest daughter has lost her ever-loving mind.
I’m probably the color of a tomato right now, and I’m almost certain I’m hyperventilating.
Marie looks up at me, worry still marring her thin brow. I know I need to explain, but once I do, I’m never going to live this down. One of two things will happen.
Either my mother will think I’m one ace short of a full deck or she’ll be so overly excited that the old grump in the apartment above mine will think some sort of alarm has sounded.
I don’t know which I prefer, to tell the truth.
Unfortunately, my father is still skimming, his face as easy to read as the print on those pages. His golden eyebrows shoot up, then down. His nose wrinkles once … twice. He squints. Then, in true Dad fashion, his index finger and thumb come up to gently pinch his chin. That means he’s interested in what he’s reading.
Crap.
“So, this says,” my father begins, “that if you’re interested in finding a relationship, you should make room in your life for what you want. In turn, the universe will know that you’re available and bring you what you’re hoping for.”
In theory, yes.
Marie and Ed both turn their heads at the same time, their eyes zeroing in on that damned place setting.
This whole situation would’ve been funny if, you know, it wasn’t so sad.
Oh, and yes, it dawned on me—but only in the last fifteen seconds—that I could’ve simply put up the extra place setting and they would’ve been none the wiser.
Dear Universe,
I always thought my coming-out party would be more exciting. Looks like my secret is now out. I definitely need more wine. Oh, and if possible, could you fast-track my soul mate to me? That way, I can pretend this never happened. Thanks.
