Settling Up (9 page)

S
itting in the dark
, eating my salad in the silence of my car, I thought long and hard about my list. And after I’d eaten, I pulled out my phone, knowing I needed to talk this out with someone. My finger hovered over Betsy’s name on my “recently called” list, but it didn’t press down, didn’t commit. Mack’s name caught my eye and, without too much thought, I pressed down on it.

It’s not like my sister wasn’t helpful or that I didn’t want to talk with her. I would definitely call her tomorrow to tell her all about it. But as for right now, my heart wanted to talk to Mack, longed for the calm he brought me and the warmth I felt when I was near him, how he seemed to know what to say in the way I needed to hear it. I put the phone up to my ear as I listened to it ring. And ring. And ring. His voicemail kicked in, but I hung up before the beep sounded. I bit my lip and sent him a text instead.

Me: You at home or work?

I didn’t see any sign of response, so I took a deep breath and began to drive back home. It was late. Betsy would be getting the girls ready for bed. I could sit on this information, these feelings, for a night. It was fine. I nodded, I suppose trying to convince myself of that, and focused on the road.

About fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzed from where it sat on the passenger seat, lighting up the dark interior of my car. I pulled over onto the shoulder of the back highway route I’d opted for (not wanting to add the stress of the freeway to my too-many-thoughts-already mind). Checking the phone, I saw Mack had texted back.

Mack: On a break. Are you okay?

My fingers flew over the screen.

Me: Physically fine. Mentally not so much. Can I come talk?

Mack: Of course. I only have ten more minutes before I have to be back on the floor. Should I wait for you outside?

Me: Coming back from the city, so it’ll take me at least twenty. I’ll see you on the floor.

Mack: OK.

It felt like the strangle-hold my anxiety had on my lungs loosened a bit more the farther away from the city I got, so by the time I pulled into the parking lot of the casino, I was breathing much easier. I wasn’t used to coming into the card room at night, so the amount of people filling the seats and the chatter in the air surprised me at first. In fact, it stopped me in my tracks, making me wonder if this was a good idea. This did not seem like the right environment to help me calm down, that was for sure.

Until I locked eyes with that tall sandy-haired man with that now-familiar face across the floor. Said face wrinkled in concern and I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything, spill it all, because I just knew he would help me fix it.

My body moved toward him as of its own volition and soon I was scooting into the chair across from him (well, not completely across from him, on the corner since there were a few other people at the table already).

“Welcome, miss.” He cleared his throat. “We’re in the middle of a hand, but we’ll deal you into the next round.” He winked his regular Mack-wink at me. “Can I take that from you?” His mouth twitched into a side smile as I looked down and realized that I’d absentmindedly gotten out my regular fifty dollars and was fiddling with it in my fingers. I pushed it toward him.

“So, ma’am. How’s your night going?” His blue eyes held me as his hands moved across the table.

I picked up my cards and squinted as I thought. “Just left a date, actually, right in the middle.” I shrugged.

The other two women at the table shot me sympathetic glances and shook their heads.

“A complete jerk,” I added, emboldened by their understanding. “And I think it made me realize that I’ve been going about this the entirely wrong way.” I kept up the pretense that I was talking to the other women, knowing the reality was it was all for Mack’s benefit.

One of the women, a curly haired brunette, asked, “How so, honey?”

“Well, I’ve had this li — idea of what I think I need in a man for so long. What if I’m completely wrong?”

The other woman, with short black hair, nodded. “Tell me about it. I’m on my second marriage and we’re getting divorced as we speak.” Her nod morphed into a sad shake of her head.

But I couldn’t concentrate on her, because my thoughts felt glued to Mack. Suddenly I realized that the idea of letting go of my list meant Mack was a viable candidate for a dateable man-in-my-life.

“No.” My lips parted and I whispered the word. The black-haired divorcee must’ve thought I was talking to her, expressing distress over her situation, because she began going on about how “they’re all alike”. In reality, the whispered word had been my body’s response to the thought of dating Mack. Sure, the man was good looking and kind as all-get-out. In fact, I’d been realizing slowly how wrong I’d been about him that first day, noting that when I looked closer he actually met more of my list than I thought that first morning.

But no. List or not, compatibility or not, Mack was simply not an option for three reasons. The first being that even if I was into him,
he
was definitely not into me. I mean, the man had seen me in all my least-attractive glory and he’d only known me for just shy of two weeks. It almost seemed a rule at this point that my meetings with him were always centered around unflattering situations. Plus, in his description of his wife the other day, the only thing we’d had in common was our sense of humor. I was obviously far from his type.

The second reason my mind rejected the idea of him as a dating prospect was because I liked him too much as a friend and, if I was feeling things out correctly, he was enjoying my company just as much. No. This was too important to ruin with some sort of awkward flirting that would inevitably lead to broken hearts and hurt feelings.

And third, most important, reason was the fact that this man in front of me was still so obviously not over his wife. I hadn’t gotten him to talk much about Tess, but each time I had he seemed like a different person. He seemed to light up. I wanted someone who would look like that when they talked about me.

I blinked, returning my thoughts to the game. The divorcee was still ranting about her soon-to-be-ex. I nodded in a show of pseudo-understanding, us-ladies-gotta-stick-together as I motioned for a new card. My gaze flicked up to Mack, but while he was focused down at the cards, his mind seemed miles away. My heart hurt thinking of the fact that this woman ranting about her terrible husband probably brought up sad memories of Tess.

I bit my lip and was about to change the subject when there was a commotion over by the bar. Jerry, the bartender had just dumped a small, but full-of-ice glass of water on a man who’d from the looks of it had fallen asleep.

“Do we look like a hotel?” His voice rang throughout the room.

The dripping man, gasped as he woke up and looked around. His clothes were ragged, worn, and dark with dirt. Looking back to Mack, my forehead wrinkled in concern. His had, too. In fact, his jaw was set and his slate eyes were narrowed in the direction of the commotion.

He looked back to the pit boss, Tina, as she said, “Mack, take care of that, would you? I’ll take your table.”

Oh no. My gut sank. I’m going to see a second person bullied tonight. First the poor waiter being harassed by my angry date and now some sleepy obviously down-on-his-luck guy was going to get bounced by my I-
thought
-he-was-kind-and-gentle friend. And the way Mack had jumped at it made the pit in the bottom of my stomach roll even more.

I cringed, clenching my jaw as I watched Mack’s large frame hulk over the man, his big hand landing on the man’s back, Mack pulling at the material of his jacket, lifting him up and telling him to “head this way”. A shiver of disappointment washed over my body. We sat there for a minute or so when I decided to just take the loss, grabbed my remaining chips, and walked outside to see what was happening.

What could be taking him so long? My skin prickled in dreadful anticipation at the kind of scene I might walk out into. That’s when I remembered Mack telling me about his work with the homeless in the area. My heart jumped at the thought, hoping, scolding my brain for thinking my friend could’ve harmed someone so helpless.

I squinted in the darkness of the parking lot, cold air rushing at me as the casino doors swung shut behind. I couldn’t see a thing. My breath rattled as it left my body, billowing in a tiny cloud of fog in front of me. I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked forward.

That’s when I heard voices. I followed my ears over to Mack’s big gray truck. His driver’s side door was swung wide open, he’d turned off the dome light, and the man was sitting in his truck, facing out, his legs dangling over the side of the seat. He clutched a steaming mug of (what smelled like) coffee in his stained-even-in-the-dark fingers. The man was telling Mack something about his daughter and how she wasn’t talking to him right now, but that he was going to keep trying. Reassurance washed through me like oxygenated blood. I felt like closing my eyes in relief.

Mack nodded, his gaze flashing toward me as he heard my shoe scuff against the concrete in my sudden halt. I flashed him a big smile, hoping it would catch in the small amount of light available and held my hands up in peace.

“Hey, just checking that you’re alright.” I walked forward, slowing my pace when I noticed the stranger flinch and cower away when he saw me approaching.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Mack said, dipping his head. His gray eyes focused on me. “Actually, would you mind sitting with Alfred while I go in and see if someone can cover the rest of my shift? I’m going to drive him to the shelter.”

I nodded. My heart warmer even than I supposed Alfred’s stomach grew with each sip of the steaming coffee. And as the man and I chatted while we waited for Mack to come back, I couldn’t help but feel like if I’d come here tonight to get an answer about whether or not I was right to throw out the list completely, this was most definitely a resounding yes. You never quite knew someone’s heart until you spent some good one on one time with them. No list would ever be able to tell me that.

“
G
et rid of the list
?” Betsy’s voice squeaked out of her as if I’d squeezed her too-tight as I sometimes did when hugging the girls after too long between visits.

I nodded, face set.

Betsy put down the towel she’d had in her hands and leaned her weight on the kitchen island, eyes wide.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love the idea, I’m obsessed with it, but what brought it on? What happened on that date of yours last night? You said it hadn’t been good on the phone, but that normally means your list is about to get longer, not disappear completely. Spill, sister.” She let her hip jut out in a physical expression of sass.

I told her. All of it. How I’d snapped at Ben, how he’d judged the waiter and treated him like dirt, how when I was ruling out the “being nice to people” stipulation on my list I realized that my list wasn’t any better than Ben, judging people on what was on the outside.

Bets shrugged and nodded. “Okay.” Bless her for not giving voice to the “I told you so” thoughts that must’ve been floating through her mind. “You have some things on there that aren’t shallow, though. The stuff about how the guy treats people and if he gets along with his family, those are good. You sure you want to completely chuck everything?”

I pressed my lips together, tight. “If I can’t remember things like not picking an asshole, than I probably don’t deserve the right guy anyway.”

Betsy laughed then walked over to the table where her laptop sat. She opened it up, let her fingers dance over the keys for a few moments before raising her eyebrows at me and motioned toward the chair next to her.

“You ready for this?” she asked, my profile from the biggest of the dating sites up on the screen. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, the mouse hovered over the “clear preferences” button.

I pulled in a deep breath and nodded, locking onto the number of matches in the corner which currently stood at twenty-two. “Do it.”

My eyes grew wide as Betsy’s finger clicked the button and the number ticked higher and higher and higher, landing at over a thousand, at last. I gulped. This may have been a stupid idea.

“Erm…wait.” Betsy put a hand up to stop my heart from leaping out of my chest, giving up before we even began. She clicked my age range preferences. My heart settled a bit as the number receded into the two hundreds, better, but still not great.

I looked at my sister and wrinkled my nose, only to see her doing the exact same thing when she turned toward me.

“Let’s put the reading thing back there, too,” she suggested and I nodded in consent.

Seventy-six.

Well, that was at least manageable. I gulped at the prospect these new guys might present. My niece Gabby’s cries floated down the stairway from her room above us. Bets pushed the laptop toward me, and jumped up to go take care of her.

I focused on breathing evenly as I scrolled through the seventy-six candidates, not knowing what to look for anymore. I used to be able to hone in on their job, fret about their spelling and grammar, pick apart their clothing choice in my head (oh, gosh, I really
was
a jerk). Now how was I supposed to narrow things down? One thing was for sure, I was
not
going on over seventy dates (there, I did it again, assuming everyone would
want
to date me). I needed a lot of work. Maybe I should ask Mack before doing any intense searching.

The thought of Mack brought to mind the way that simply seeing his face, those steel blue eyes could calm me down, make me feel at home. That. I should look for that.

I leaned in closer, propping my glasses up on my head so I could see their thumbnail pictures all the better (they were seeing-far-away glasses anyway and didn’t help me much with screens). I zoomed into their eyes, their faces, searching for the same kindness I found in the tanned, strong-but-still-soft face of my friend.

I
could hear
Betsy pad down the wooden stairs in her stocking feet, undoubtedly with a toddler on her hip and more than a few questions lined up on her lips. In response to the unsaid queries, I simply shook my head.

“Nothing?”

I sighed. “Not yet. I’ve only gone through a few pages, but I’ve got to head to work.” I closed the laptop, stood up, planted a kiss on her cheek and then Gabby’s (eliciting a little giggle), and grabbed my bag. “I’ll see you guys this weekend.”

Betsy raised a free hand in a goodbye wave and went into the kitchen.

Sitting on the ferry on my way to work, when I normally would’ve lost myself in a book, I couldn’t help but let doubts and worries invade my earlier resolve. Had I been right to throw away my list? I couldn’t help feeling like an explorer who’d, up until that point, had a detailed map to guide them only to find it ripped from their fingers, left to wander without help. Just as I felt the need for Blackjack loosening its hold on me, I felt sure that I was no longer someone who needed such control over the men I dated, but having no control at all was freaking me out a lot more than I cared to admit.

Mulling these thoughts over and over in my head did little to help the situation, so I walked into the mathematics building at the university still wholly confused and lost. Which is why, I believe, I walked into the wrong office, taking the first right instead of the second.

I think the other thing that threw me was the fact that the lights had been on. The room next to me was not normally in use, lights off, door locked regularly. But not that day. I gulped as I looked around at not-my-office. This door was very unlocked. These lights, definitely on.

“Hello. Can I help you?” The deep voice rumbled from (don’t laugh, but) what seemed like above.

Was God talking to me? Did he have some thoughts about my dating life? I looked up, my feet toddling unsteadily under me and my spinning head.

“God? Is that you?” I asked in a squeaky voice.

A chuckle followed. I squinted, not having thought of God as a chuckler (more of a booming laugh that shakes all creation). No. This sound was from the corner of the room. My eyes landed on a tower of boxes and I craned my neck to the side in an effort to peer around it.

Holy Mother of Hotness. My throat dried out suddenly and I almost keeled forward in a coughing fit. The man standing behind them, the one who stepped out and lifted his dark eyebrows, was the most gorgeous man I’d seen outside the silver screen. In fact, he looked like my true love, Cary Grant, incarnate. (Okay, maybe a little more Gene Kelly, but still!)

“Hello there.” His deep voice was like a hug, a deep pillowy blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders. “I may not be God, but is there something I can help you with?” And then someone hands you a cup of cocoa.

“I — this — math.” My neck grew lava-hot. I stumbled over my words and my finger pointed in every which direction, unsure of where my room was anymore.

Where was I? Oh, right. I’d taken a wrong turn and stumbled right into heaven.

“Are you a professor?” he asked, looking at my gray slacks and flowing white blouse.

I nodded, trying to swallow, but finding my mouth void of any moisture.

“As am I.” He smiled. My knees almost buckled. “Adrian Green. I’m the new calculus geek.” He flashed me those pearly whites once more and I just about swatted at him to say, “Stop that, man! You’re killing me here.”

Realization hit me. The new hire. The one Henry had asked me to mentor. The opportunity I had stupidly turned down, it seemed.

Finally finding some of the spit had returned to my parched throat, I said, “Lauren Sinclair. Statistics. Next door. So, you’re from California?” I asked, trying to nonchalantly check out his left hand, eyes darting down to his side. I found no signs of metal, no glinting shine in the fluorescent light of the room. My chest fluttered happily.

“Yeah. The sun was getting to be too warm and comforting and I decided, ‘You know what I need? Some depressing rain and, oh, can I get some wind added in, too?’” He laughed, squinting warmly as he looked at me.

I bit my lip and then checked my watch. “Oh crap! I’ve got to get ready for class. I’m sorry to have to run. It was nice to meet you, Adrian.” I smiled, hoping it was big and glittery and somewhat charming. “Please let me know if you need any help getting settled.”

“Actually.” The word stopped me as I pivoted toward the door. My body buzzed with anticipation. “I would love a tour later if you don’t mind. The department head tried to give me one earlier, but I was so focused on getting my boxes counted and checked off my list, I told him to make it quick and now I don’t even remember where the bathroom was.” He quirked a cheek up, making one eye squint a bit.

“Sure thing. I’ve got a break after this next class. I’ll come get you.” I turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh, and the bathroom is the last door on your left at the end of the hall.” I pointed in the general direction.

He gave me a wink that threatened the integrity of my legs yet again and I scrambled out of there as quick as I could. Before heading into my office, though, I pulled out my phone and texted Bets.

Me: Shut down the dating sites! Shut them all down. Throwing away the list must’ve been the right move because I have been gifted a man from the gods!!!

Bets: Have you been drinking? Aren’t you at work?

Me: *rolling eyes* No. I’m fine. And serious. I just met a hot-to-the-seventeenth-power man. Like Cary and Gene hot. He’s a prof here. New. MINE. ALL MINE.

Bets: K, Gollum. Cool your jets there. Not gonna be yours if you send him running with some creepo vibe. Call me on your break.

I smiled. Bets could joke all she wanted. This was it. This was real. This was a sign. I had let go of the list. I had closed a window and a door had opened. A door that held my perfect man on the other side.

Opening my email, I shot a quick email to Henry letting him know that I would be happy, as it turned out, to mentor Adrian.