Desperately Seeking Landlord Page 17

  I don’t know why. It isn’t like I’ve given her any glowing endorsements. Shannon isn’t an evil person, but she is misguided and way too focused on material things. But that’s her life to live, not mine.

  “I’m taking care of it.” My voice rings true with the promise. I’m having her looked into carefully, the whole last seven years of her life torn apart for any crumb I can use to get her to walk away peacefully. I won’t have her dragging me to court to fight over Tobias when it’s not him she wants. My son won’t be taken from me and forced to live with a stranger, because that’s what she is.

  Miranda shakes her head at me.

  “What?” My lips quirk, waiting for her response.

  “You’re just so … capable. Guys my age aren’t like this.”

  I huff a laugh. “I’m thirty-four, sweetheart. I’m definitely not like guys your age.”

  She sets her coffee mug on the table behind the couch and lays down with her head on my leg, looking up at me.

  “Do you think we were meant to find each other?” Her gaze is speculative, her lips rubbing together nervously. “That’s what Lou would say, you know—that fate brings people together. We make the choices and decisions, but fate guides you to where you belong.”

  I stroke her dark hair, nearly black. The silky softness of it sifts through my fingers.

  “What do you think?”

  She ponders the question. “I think you’re undoubtedly perfect for me. Not that you’re perfect, don’t go getting an even bigger ego on me now. But I can’t imagine being here with anyone else.”

  I don’t tell her this, but it’s crazy how I wasn’t looking for anyone, never planned to fall in love again. But she just happened. There’s no controlling how I feel for her. I was so scared of my growing feelings for her that I ended things in a jerk move and I’m lucky as hell that things worked out like they did.

  Maybe it is fate.

  30

  Jamie

  “Dad, you have to smile,” Tobias groans, “you’re scaring all the old ladies away and everyone knows they love this shit.”

  My eyes narrow dangerously on my son, the chaos of the bake sale held inside his school’s gymnasium is giving me a migraine. “Where did you hear that word?”

  His eyes slide to Miranda who is counting change to hand back to a man who just bought a whole basket of baked goods my mom and Miranda whipped up yesterday. I’m pretty sure the man is interested in more than the baked goods the way he’s staring at Miranda’s rack.

  Leave it to my son, though, to announce the day before yesterday that his school is having a bake sale and he signed up.

  Two weeks ago.

  My child had two weeks to inform us we needed to make a minimum of five-hundred items. Did he? No. It’ll be funny later, to look back on this day, but for now I’m still irritated and it doesn’t help that apparently my seven-year-old has developed a potty mouth thanks to my girlfriend.

  “What?” Miranda blinks over innocently when she notices the silence. “I didn’t do anything.”

  She doesn’t even know what we’re talking about.

  “Have you said shit in front of Tobias?”

  “Of course not.” She looks mildly offended I would suggest such a thing, but then her face drops into horror. “Maybe,” she admits softly.

  To Tobias I say, “Don’t use that word. Adults can use it, kids can’t.”

  “Will I go to jail?” He looks terrified at the idea, his eyes drifting to the police officer manning the door.

  “No, but you will be grounded. Consider this your warning. Next time, I’ll take away … I don’t know what I’m going to take away, but rest assured you don’t want to find out.”

  My mom returns to the table, having left to go chat with one of her friends here with her granddaughter.

  “I’m not in trouble am I?” She raises a brow, sliding into the seat on the other side of Miranda.

  Miranda snorts. “Don’t worry, it’s just Jamie being his usual grumpy self.”

  My mom laughs and whispers something to Miranda.

  I might be irritated if I wasn’t so fucking happy that they like each other. My mom looks at Miranda like she’s some long-lost daughter. She never liked Shannon all that much, and even though I know she’d never say anything to me, I know she’s glad things didn’t work out with us.

  “How much longer do we have to be here?”

  I can handle most school events. I don’t mind being a hands-on parent and actually enjoy most of it, after all it’s memories with my son. Call me a sap, I don’t care, but he won’t be this age forever. But the bake sale is a snore fest. It’s mostly elderly people and other parents in attendance, slowly milling around the echoing gym like they have all day.

  Which, I guess they do.

  Miranda knocks her hand against my knee, silently scolding me.

  “Dad,” Tobias drones, rolling his eyes, “we’ve only been here…” He squints at the clock above the set of doors leading into the school. “Twenty-seven minutes. We have a lot more to sell.” He waves dramatically at the table full of desserts.

  I exhale a weighty sigh and pick up a saran-wrapped brownie, opening it up.

  Tobias looks horrified, but I quickly drop a five-dollar bill—over-priced if you ask me—into the jar and he’s satisfied once more.

  If I’m going to sit here I might as well get to enjoy something sweet.

  * * *

  My girlfriend has officially lost it.

  She dances in front of the table to MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This.

  It’s gathering a crowd, which I guess is what she intended, because people are drawn from other tables to ours.

  “Come on, Dad.” Tobias tugs on my shirtsleeve. “Dance with her.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Fine. I’ll dance with her. One of us has to.”

  I feel like I just got owned by my kid.

  Tobias hops up from his chair and joins her in front of the table. He doesn’t know the actual dance so he improvises some sort of chicken looking dance, arm flapping included.

  My mom scoots over until she’s beside me. “You’re missing out.”

  I watch as Miranda laughs, taking Tobias’s hands. The two of them spin in a circle before she draws him to her in a hug. Letting him go she joins him in freestyle dancing.

  “I’m fine here,” I tell my mother.

  I’m not trying to be stubborn, but that’s not me. I’m not as free as Miranda is. She looks beautiful, confident, alive, but I would look like I was lost if I got up there. I don’t like attention, it gives me indigestion. Okay, maybe that’s a tad bit dramatic of me, but point is I’m just fine right where I am.

  “Fine,” my mother says in a tone that says she thinks she knows better, “suit yourself.”

  Before I can retort she’s standing, rounding the table to join them.

  Her and Miranda bump hips, the crowd clapping along to the new song playing. Tobias looks like he’s having the time of his life.

  I loose a breath, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  Am I really going to do this?

  With a groan, I stand up. My legs are stiff from sitting so long—that’s what happens when you’re old—and stretch them inconspicuously.

  I join the three crazies. I feel like a fool, but as I take Miranda’s hand, spinning her into my arms, Tobias dancing around us and my mother smiling at us, I know my mom was right. I was missing out. I need to remember to get up and live these moments, not let them pass me by.

  Miranda giggles, placing her hands on my mom’s shoulders. “Conga line!” She chants. Within moments one starts forming. My hands rest on Miranda’s shoulders while behind me Tobias holds onto my belt loop.

  I can’t stop smiling. It feels a bit weird, after all this time, to smile so easily.

  She’s thawed my icy heart like it was nothing.

  Across the room the doors leading in from the parking lot open. I notice the blonde ha
ir first and it causes me to pause. A quick inspection of the expensive dress and heels tells me it’s Shannon.

  I slip out of the line, feeling Miranda’s eyes on me.

  I know she’s worried about Shannon, but I’m not.

  I’m a planner and I don’t go down without a fight.

  Shannon doesn’t make any move to meet me halfway. She just stands there, arms crossed over her slender chest, giving me the stink eye.

  I reach her, giving a stiff nod to the door. “Outside.”

  She follows easily enough, she always does.

  “Jamie, you’re being unreasonable,” she spats vehemently.

  My brows rise, a humorless laugh pushing unbidden past my lips. “I’m the unreasonable one?”

  “Yes.” Anger vibrates from her, pulsating around us. She’s jittery, unable to look me in the eyes. “I never wanted to have that baby. You owe me. Give me the money dammit, or I will take you to court, so help me God.”

  “How much do you want?”

  She freezes, lips parted with surprise. She’s desperate enough to think I’m agreeing, not playing her.

  She squares her shoulders, lifting her chin haughtily into the air. “One million. That’s chump change to you.”

  I stifle a snort. “We’ll set a meeting.”

  Her lips twist as she fights a pleased grin. “My lawyer will contact yours.”

  “Sure thing.” I shove my hands in my pockets, amused that now she has a lawyer.

  She nods, not seeming to know what to do since I’ve done the complete opposite of what she expects. If she only knew. “Well, I’ll see you soon then.”

  She turns, heading to wherever she’s parked. She looks back at me over her shoulder.

  I wave mockingly.

  Shannon thinks she can pull one over on me because of how much I love Tobias, but she’s playing the wrong game.

  31

  Miranda

  “I can’t die like this,” I whine into the phone, curled on my side beneath the covers. Fettuccine meows from nearby.

  “You’re not going to die,” Lou’s voice echoes across the line.

  “If I pass away Fettuccine is going to eat my corpse.”

  A hefty sigh from her. “I take it you can’t go to the concert tonight?”

  “I am dying, Louise! Forget about the concert. Ugh,” I groan at the end, because raising my voice made my head throb from the pulsating headache that won’t go away.

  I had fun the other day participating in Toby’s bake sale, but I must’ve caught the flu or some other vicious virus, perhaps even the bubonic plague, and now I’m on my deathbed.

  “It’s the Jonas Brothers,” she gasps, scandalized. “I can’t just forget about them!”

  “You mean you’re not going to come over and help your ailing friend?”

  “Is that a trick question? No, I’m hanging up with you and texting Abel to see if he can get off early and go with me.”

  “And what about me?” I whine. “I need medicine. Perhaps a casket.”

  “Yeah, I think Walgreens is fresh out of caskets. Call your boyfriend though, maybe he can help.”

  “I need a new best friend.” I roll onto my back, crooking my arm over my eyes.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault you got sick on what is to be the best night of my life.”

  “Excuse me, missy, those tickets were for my birthday.”

  “Um … yeah … sorry, it’s the Jonas Brothers, I’m going.”

  I laugh and it turns into a cough. I could be burning alive and Lou would still choose them over me. For her, the Jo Bros are life.

  “I see how it is.”

  “Seriously, though, text me a list of things you need and I’ll bring it by. I might show up wearing gloves and a mask because I don’t want whatever it is you have, so don’t judge me.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.” I stifle another cough. “I’ll bug Jamie later.”

  She laughs. “Send me a pic of Jamie playing doctor.”

  “That’s kinky, Lou.”

  Her gasp echoes through the phone. “That’s not what I meant, you psycho.”

  I cackle, which yet again leaves me hacking up a lung.

  “Seriously, though, let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, have fun at the concert. Send me pictures.”

  “I will.”

  “Love you, loser.”

  “Love you, sicko.”

  I hang up, tossing my phone onto the opposite side of the bed.

  My body is exhausted from all the coughing and puking I’ve been doing. I need to sleep, but it seems like every time I doze off I end up rolling out of bed and running for the bathroom.

  I stifle a yawn and Fettuccine pads across the bed, curling against my side.

  “Mama’s sick.” I pet his head and he begins to purr. “Go fetch me a Sprite.”

  He tilts his head back and gives me what I swear is a disgruntled expression. I think he’s telling me he’s not a Golden retriever.

  My stomach rolls and I push him out of my way as I surge out of bed, running for the bathroom.

  I drop to the floor, throwing up.

  I haven’t been able to keep anything down since yesterday. My stomach and sides are sore from the incessant coughing and puking. On shaky legs I stand up, gripping the sink so I can brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash.

  “Ugh.” I rub the back of my hand over my mouth.

  Then I look in the mirror.

  It looks like at least ten birds have built a nest in my hair, twigs and leaves included, my eyes are bruised looking and sunken in, even my skin is several shades lighter than normal with a grayish twinge.

  “Fuck.” I rub my face.

  I waddle my tired self into my room, digging around in the mountain of blankets for my phone.

  Me: I think I need to go to the doctor.

  I hate the doctor with a fiery passion, but there’s no way I can survive another day or longer of this.

  Jamie: I thought you said it was a bug?

  Me: I feel like death, don’t argue with me.

  Jamie: I can take you. I can be there in thirty minutes. Do you feel up to packing a bag?

  Me: Why would I need a bag? I’m not going to be admitted to a hospital.

  Jamie: You’re sick. You don’t need to be on your own. You’ll stay with us.

  Me: I’m not going to be able to go to the concert.

  I tried to brush it off to Lou, but I am bummed. I’ve been looking forward to going and now I’m dying instead.

  Jamie: I’m sorry, sweetheart.

  Jamie: If you can’t pack a bag I’ll do it for you.

  Me: You just want to play with my panties.

  Jamie: ;)

  I sigh, sitting on the bed as another round of coughing assaults me. I whimper from the pain in my ribs.

  Jamie: Be there in 20.

  Me: Fettuccine is coming.

  Jamie: He’ll be fine for a night.

  Me: He. Is. Coming.

  Jamie: Why are you so stubborn?

  Me: Why are you?

  He’s not here but I swear I can hear him groan.

  Jamie: Fine, point made. Bring the gremlin.

  Me: Thank you.

  Jamie: I’m a sucker.

  Me: But you’re my sucker.

  My stomach rolls and I set the phone aside, closing my eyes. That’s another thing, bright lights are killing me.

  Somehow, I muster the energy to get up and pack my bag. I know if I don’t Jamie will make good on his promise and I don’t feel well enough to make sure he doesn’t forget something important. I even pack a little overnight bag for Fettuccine.

  Right on time I hear a knock on the door. Before I can get off the couch the door opens. It’s the first time Jamie’s ever made use of his landlord key.

  “Fuck, you do look awful.”

  “Well, gee, thanks,” I snap.

  Having my boyfriend tell me in so many words I look like shit isn’t going a long way to h
elping me feel better.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He bends, picking up my bag and swinging it over his shoulder, then grabs Fettuccine’s. I scoop up the wiggling kitty into my arms and grab my blanket from the couch. When I’m ill I resort to a childlike state where all I want is my blanky and a milkshake. Not ashamed of it either.

  I follow him out the door, locking up.

  On the bottom floor I blurt, “Oh, did you know Stan moved? Good fucking riddance.” I cover my mouth with my left elbow as a cough wracks my body. From my other arm Fettuccine looks at me with disgust.

  Come on, cat, give me a break. I’m trying to cover my mouth here to not spread germs. I can’t help it I’m sick.

  When I look over at Jamie he wears a sheepish expression.

  “What?” I ask, the sunlight nearly crippling me as we step onto the parking lot.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh my God.” Cough. “You totally…” Cough. “Got…” Cough. “Stan kicked…” Cough. “Out.”

  It’s official, I definitely have a bruised rib with all this coughing. Whatever devil illness this is can take a hike.

  “Maybe.”

  “Jamie!” I would swat at him if I wasn’t afraid of losing my balance and toppling over. It’d be a crime to squish Fettuccine. I’m not sure he’d survive the weight of my boobs if I landed on him.

  “He was a creep, rude, and I didn’t like the way he looked at you. So, yeah, I may have influenced things to speed up his departure.”

  “You didn’t kill him did you?”

  We reach his car and he unlocks it, letting the back lift-gate up. He puts the bags inside and closes it, proceeding to open the passenger door and help me inside with the cat. He braces his hands on top of the car and lowers his body to peer in at me.

  “No, I didn’t kill him. Besides, I could pay someone to do it for me.”

  He laughs wickedly and shoots me a wink before closing the door in my awestruck face.

  It might seem dumb, or silly perhaps, that I forget so easily about Jamie’s money. But to me, he’s just Jamie, a normal, sometimes grumpy, guy.

  He slides behind the driver’s seat and I look at him, ready to ask a question until another coughing fit hits me. My stomach rolls and I pray to the feline Gods above that I don’t throw up on Fettuccine or Jamie’s car.