Ditching The Dream (Dream Series) (10 page)

But would it be an affair if my husband
told
me to do it?

“I take it from your silence that you have someone in mind.”

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Bets, I’ve known you since the third grade, sitting in Miss Schneider’s class. I can read you like a Judy Blume book.” That was true. Jessica always had this uncanny sense to know what I was thinking, even when we weren’t together. And it worked the other way. I always knew when she was in trouble or something was going on. It was like we were twins, with that twin link everyone talks about. But, talking about
being with
other men was all so wrong, and not helping me clear my head.

“Earth to Bets. Spill.”

“Well, there are two guys actually,” I admitted. Might as well, she’d make me tell sooner or later.

Jessica then squealed so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Tell, tell, tell!”

“Ugh, Jess, there’s nothing to tell… not really. I mean there’s this neighbor guy, but he looks to be at least ten years younger than me, and he’s so handsome that he must have some incredible girlfriend. Or he’s gay. Then there’s this guy at the bar and I think he’s a regular, but he’s not your
‘regular’,
if you know what I mean, but he’s much older than me for sure. So, no. No real prospects.”

“I think they both sound divine. An older man… a young cub!”

“Seriously, Jess. You read too much. I’m fine, really.”

“Okay, okay. What are your plans for your birthday? I’m a little sore that you bolted before we got a chance to celebrate.”

Oh yes, my forty-third birthday. Not really a mile-stone of any sort. Wasn’t planning on anything anyway. Greg would have probably taken me out to
that
restaurant again. And probably another gift card.

“No plans. I’ll probably have to work that day, anyway.”

“I wish I could fly out, but Jeremy’s band will be in town performing that week and I really want to go to and see him.” Jeremy was Jessica’s youngest, just a few months older than my youngest, but he’d chosen to not go to college. Instead, he and his buddies, who’d formed a band in high school, a really good band, decided to take some time off from school and hit the road to see if they could make the big times before going off to college. And these kids weren’t cover artists. They wrote their own stuff and were really incredible. They were rather successful, too. They were having no problems booking gigs and were gaining a following. It was only a matter of time before they got signed.

We talked for another twenty minutes, catching up on her kids, the gossip from the neighborhood, and my new place of employment. I told her about my haircut. I was under strict orders to text her a “selfie” picture the second we got off the phone.

“Thanks for chatting, Jess. I needed some support and normalcy, but I should get to bed. It’s almost two a.m. here and the three double shifts from the past three days have caught up. I’m so happy to have the lunch shift off tomorrow – er – later today,” I groaned, stifling a yawn.

“Okay, well text me your address when you send your haircut pic so I can send you a birthday card. Besides, someone has to have your address and an updated photo of you in case you go missing, okay?” Yes, her reading included detective novels.

“Sure thing, hon. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”

We hung up, and I took the “selfie” and texted it to her, along with my address, then was finally able to find some slumber.

I
wasn’t out of line? Was I? I mean, I lost my virginity when I was sixteen, and I had more than my fair share of action. Elizabeth was almost nineteen, and she doesn’t even remember it. At least that’s what she told me years back. And I liked that I was sort of her “first.”

And what’s that saying? “If you love someone set them free”? But I don’t think I’ll lose her. I mean, she’s my Elizabeth. Besides, she probably won’t even do it. No, in fact, I know she wouldn’t. She would never do that to me.

I should have just let her get a stupid job somewhere here when she started groaning about it a few months ago. Not sure what she would have gained from that. I have never complained about a dime she’d spent. Ever. Hell, I gave her spending money every week to boot.

Picking up my file folders, I shoved them angrily in my brief case. No point in trying to work now. Now I’m just pissed, again. I just hope she gets what she needs out of this because I was really fucking sick of takeout and frozen microwave meals. I dumped my half eaten frozen lasagna in the trash. Elizabeth’s was so much better.

M
onday morning I let myself wake up naturally, which actually turned out to be about one in the afternoon. Tom, the third bartender at Ed Scott’s was returning from his honeymoon vacation today, and I was looking forward to meeting him – later. The three days of doubles, covering for his absence, was enough for this
almost
forty-three year old.

I took that last couple of hours before I needed to head to work to supply a mini-bar in my apartment. Heading out for a twenty dollar drink on stressed out nights was not going to cut it. I left my phone on the charger and headed out.

I found a liquor store and filled my cart with bottles for a home liquor bar. Wine. Check. Some garnish and ‘accessory’ pours like maraschino cherries and Rose’s Lime Cordial. Check. Baileys. Check. Kahlua. Check. Triple Sec. Check. Kettle One. Check. Tanqueray. Check. Then I came across the scotch section. My eyes were inexplicably drawn to the Macallan. Okay, well maybe not inexplicably. It might have been the perfect mouth that had ordered it. And the eyes that seemed to speak louder than words.
What did he think, when he looked at me the way he did?
I wondered.

Damn it!
I was letting Greg and Jessica get into my head. Thinking of other men. This was
not
me! I wasn’t a cheater. But maybe Jessica was right. If Greg was telling me to do it… And Jessica wasn’t all wrong… I was more or less a virgin. I shook those thoughts off and continued my shopping, but went back to the scotch.

The eighteen year Macallan was way out of my budget, at one hundred and ninety-five dollars. Even though my tips were good, I needed to watch my expenses and the cart I’d already built was going to take a big chunk of my earnings.

I decided to splurge and get a twelve year Macallan at an, a-hem, modest sixty dollars. Why in the hell not? I’d call it my birthday gift to me. I debated on whether or not I would charge it, and make Greg pay for it, since it was his call that sent me running to a bar after eleven on a Sunday night, but went with my debit card where I had Daddy’s money. As much as I wanted to stick it to Greg for his chauvinistic suggestions, I just couldn’t. I needed to prove to him I was out here for my own reasons—not his.

Next, I swung by a small grocer on the corner to get some fresh fruits and a few more staples to fill in the fridge and cupboards, then went home with my collection. I quickly stowed everything and got ready for work.

Checking my phone for missed messages, I fully expected to see a few from Greg, but there were only two messages. One from Brad and one from Phoebe.

I pressed play, hoping that they were calling to report their grades, which they loved to do and I loved hearing, or they were asking for more money in their accounts. Either way, I was glad to have missed their calls, especially when I heard their voicemails.

“Hey Mom. Brad here. Dad says you’re in New York? What’s going on? You might want to wrap up whatever is going on over there. He sounds miserable. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I got that job in the department with Professor Banks and I won’t be coming home this summer. It’s a great opportunity and I know you’ll want to hear more. Call me when you can. And call Dad.”

What the hell? It almost seemed that Greg called our oldest to try and get me to go home.

I next played Phoebe’s call, hoping it wasn’t more of the same.

“Hi Mom. It’s Phoebe. Dad says you’re living in New York? How cool! Can I come visit? I’m thinking of changing my major and a visit to New York could help me a lot with making my decision. I have spring break next week. The girls and I had planned to go to Daytona, but Stephanie didn’t make the reservations in time so, we’re stuck without plans now. Would I fly into JFK airport? I’m looking at airfares now. Call me.”

Oh good God in heaven!

Surely Carter would have been calling next, if he weren’t doing an anthropology study abroad in Pompeii.

I called Brad and congratulated him on his job. Fortunately, I’d caught him between classes so he didn’t have time to talk much, so we easily avoided the Dad topic.

Phoebe’s call was a little more complicated. In addition to a spring break trip, it appeared that she was considering changing her major and felt that a trip to New York might help her make some decisions. She’d swung from physics to communications. Oh, to be young again.

We arranged for her to fly in on Friday. I was working the lunch shift and had the night off. I made a mental note to try and swap my Saturday dinner shift with Tom or Shelby.

Having avoided the epic ‘dad conversations’ with my kids, I made my way to work and arrived just five minutes before I had to clock in.

Walking into Ed Scott’s made me smile. Funny how the place was already feeling like my second home. Familiar, friendly faces, wonderful smells wafting from the kitchen, and general sounds of merriment from all around. I ducked behind the bar and a few regulars already knowing who I was, gave me a cheerful wave. I really liked it here.

“Hey, Shelby,” I chirped.

“Someone got a good night’s sleep. Did you enjoy your morning off?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“This must be Elizabeth,” a deep voice boomed from behind me. I turned and saw a very attractive man in his early thirties, with short sandy blonde hair and twinkly blue eyes. He had a scruffy kind of beard that looked like he just hadn’t shaved in a few days. It made him ruggedly handsome. And the smile that was in that scruff was probably why he was such a successful bartender. And his body! Man – oh – man! Even though he was wearing a black button down shirt, it was clear that he was built. He must spend every minute not behind the bar working out at the gym. The women must throw money, among other things, at him.

“You must be the famous Tom.” I stuck my hand out in front. He took it and shook my hand politely.
Soft hands, too!

“Or infamous. Guilty as charged. Heard you’ve done a bang up job in the last few days.”

“Oh gosh, thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s been ages since I’ve worked in a restaurant, but Shelby has been a great mentor.” I smiled at Shelby who beamed in return. Turning back to Tom, I continued, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Tom wiggled his left hand in the air. “I’m officially off the market. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Hey, bartender –” some woman beckoned from the other end of the bar.

“Duty calls!” Tom said with a smile and, tossing the towel over his shoulder, went to help the customer.

“Been busy?” I asked Shelby as I went to clock in on the computer.

“Always,” she replied. “And someone was very disappointed you weren’t here for lunch.”

“Me? Who?”

Shelby leaned against the back bar and smiled a cheeky smile. “Jack. He’s sweet on you.”

A heated flush hit my face. He was a gorgeous guy and to have him ask about me was quite a boost to my ego. “Oh, come on, he was just being polite.”

“Oh no, dear,” Shelby laughed. “I’ve been around a while and his questions were not of the ‘small talk,’ ‘polite’ variety. You could do a lot worse. He’s a catch, if you can catch him,” she said with a wink.

“What kind of questions was he asking?” I asked nervously, my mouth drying up like the Sahara Desert. My mind started racing with questions about him.

“Oh, how old you are, where you’re from, if you were really married…”

I shook my head. What nerve this guy had asking about me. I already told him I’m married. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? This was a path to trouble. “So what did you tell him?”