Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
X is late so I’m stuck at the bar by myself. A couple of ladies in their forties chat me up. They’re clearly slumming it, their clothes a little too fancy, their heels too high to fit in here. They ask the usual questions: What do you do? Do you come here often? Are you married?—this last with exchanged looks and laughs like they’re reveling in breaking some rule they’ve set for themselves. It’s embarrassing and exhausting, so I do what I always do.
“You ladies want to see me pass a coin through solid glass?”
They make the usual expressions of disbelief and jokes about me being a magic man. Then I do the trick I’ve done a thousand times at a hundred bars, the motions as natural as changing a tire or unlocking my front door. The women’s delight brings others over and I do it again and again. An older guy buys me a whiskey and everyone’s laughing, and now talking is easy. I’m nodding and bumping him with my elbow at the appropriate times, delivering one-liners like it’s my fucking job, and he’s laughing and leaning in like I’m the second coming, and signaling for another round, and all I can think is that he likes me. They like me. This person I’m pretending to be. I do the trick again and again as more people wander over.
It’s just misdirection and practice.
“MY MOM and Angela had a total throwdown at Nika’s birthday party,” X tells me once he finally shows up, harried. X’s mom, Sheila, is a maternal beast. She’s totally protective of X and his sister. And now, of X’s niece Nika, the first and only grandchild, who just turned three. Sheila and Angela have been locked in a fiery battle of wills from the moment they met, which amuses me to hear about but stresses X out.
“What was it this time?” I ask. “Did Sheila accidentally buy nonorganic juice?” Angela is one of those super healthy people who drinks smoothies and eats nuts as a snack.
“Bro, when Sheila buys nonorganic juice, that shit is not by accident. It’s waving the red flag in front of the bull.” He shakes his head.
“Dude, did you just call your wife a bull?”
“What? No! I… oh.” He chuckles. Angela is kind of… forceful.
“No, Angela bought Nika some kind of… I dunno, car toy? A plastic car that Nika can sit in and pedal and it has wheels. Anyway, it’s cool. Like a mini VW Bug. And Nika loves it. But my mom has decided that it’s too dangerous because Nika could pedal out into traffic. And Angela has decided that my mom just wants her to take it away from Nika so that Nika resents her.” He shakes his head and downs his drink.
“Jesus Christ,” I say. “Hang on.” I grab us another round and X has perked up considerably by the time the music starts. He never stays mad long. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about him.
X elbows me discreetly in the side to point out that Katie has come in. I wink at her and she smiles broadly but doesn’t come over. Katie’s the kind of girl my mother always said she wanted me to marry: sweet and smart and not mixed up in anything shady. A nice girl. We’ve slept together a handful of times over the last year, and I know she likes me. But every time I scramble home afterward, or accidentally fall asleep and wake up to feel her in the bed next to me, her pillows smelling of strawberry shampoo, my guts clench and my chest tightens, and the next time she offers, I say no. She never forces the issue, but I can tell how disappointed she is when I don’t go home with her. I don’t know if she’s too proud, too scared, or too embarrassed to demand more from me. Whatever her motivation, it’s a relief.
When I was a kid, my mom used to tell me that I had to be a good man or I wouldn’t attract a good wife and have a family. Her words. Being a good man meant treating nice girls nicely. My mom worked as the receptionist for a doctor’s office, and she would bring home out-of-date waiting room magazines that she quoted as gospel. You have to listen to her. Don’t go to bed angry. Buy her unexpected gifts. Tell her she looks beautiful no matter what. Marry a woman who will make a good mother. She would sling them at me like boomerangs as she cooked and I did my homework at the kitchen table, neatly pocketing each one after it had hit me so she could deploy it again.
She would’ve liked Katie. I like Katie. But the idea of Katie as my wife… of us with children… a family…. Yeah, I’m panicked just thinking about it.