Single Wide Female: The Bucket List Mega Bundle - 24 Books (Books #1-24) (8 page)

“Enjoying your wine?” he asked.

“Well, I was,” I said with a slight laugh.

Before I realized what he was doing he took the glass from my hand. He sniffed the wine carefully.

“Is it off?” he asked with some concern. His steel-blue eyes looked up from the wine and back at me intently.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just I
—
” I started to explain.

“No matter.” He took my hand in his own. “I’ll get you another
—
um,” he drew his hand out of mine and shook it a little. “You seem to, uh
—
”

“It’s wine,” I said quickly
—
too quickly.

He smiled strangely and handed me back my glass.

“Enjoy it,” he said and turned to walk away.

I wanted to call out to him, to force him to understand that it was the wine on my palm, not sweat, or some other random sticky substance. But there was no point. I had tried all day long to be more cultured, to be interesting and even a little wise. In the end all I had was a bunch of silly selfies and wine on my hand.

I downed the remainder of my wine and then dropped the glass on one of the passing trays. The couple by the door no longer fascinated me. In fact, they were annoying.

“Don’t you ever blink?” I asked as I shouldered past them and out through the door.

Neither seemed to even notice my drunken, disparaging comment.

Outside, the air had grown cool. I knew that I could spend a little more time wandering the sidewalks, looking for inspiration, but I felt completely dull. My evening out had only proven that I didn’t fit into cultured society, and as a result I wasn’t going to have anything interesting to share on my blog.

I started walking back towards my apartment, thinking that a brisk walk might do me some good. I’d only walked a few blocks when my stomach began to churn. I rubbed my hand over it and moaned quietly. The wine was beginning to fight back. I glanced around to see if there were any shops or restaurants available. Everything was either closed or didn’t offer food.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. I knew I wouldn’t make it all the way home. I leaned back against the wall of a building and closed my eyes. The world began to spin around me. I knew the moment I opened my eyes I was going to have to vomit.

“Sammy, what are you doing out here?” Max asked from a few feet in front of me. My eyes opened by instinct, and my stomach clenched tightly in preparation for revolt. I shoved Max hard out of my way just in time.

Chapter 8

All of the wine was now out of me and onto the pavement.

“Sorry.” I was mortified.

Max handed me a tissue to wipe my mouth. “Wine on an empty stomach?” he asked and raised an eyebrow.

I nodded a little as I wiped at my mouth.

“When are you going to learn, Sammy?” he asked with a slight laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” I sighed. “What are you doing here?” I asked when my head finally stopped swirling.

“You didn’t text me back. I tried calling you and your phone was off. I figured you were mad or abducted, so I went to look for you at the gallery. Someone there told me you walked off this way.”

“How did they know who you were looking for?” I asked. Then my eyes widened.

“Oh no, you didn’t, did you?” I stared at him with horror.

“Well, it was the most recent picture I had of you
—
and good job getting just the hint of the event sign in there along with your eye and nostril, which gave me a clue at least.” He laughed. “I’m glad to see that you weren’t abducted. So does that mean that you’re mad?” He pouted a little.

“No,” I sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I’m not mad. I’m just a complete failure.”

“Failure? What are you talking about?”

“I came out here tonight to get a little culture, but I only succeeded in making a fool of myself
—
as usual.” I frowned.

“Oh, listen to you.” He rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand. “What you need is food. Let’s go. There’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks up.”

“I don’t know if I should eat,” I said as I rubbed my stomach.

“That means that you absolutely do need to eat.”

As we walked I felt so much comfort with Max beside me. Even though our relationship was such a conflict in my mind, he still soothed me in ways that no one else could. But I couldn’t put that in my blog. My blog needed to be “Max-free”.

“I guess I could eat a little,” I said and then sighed.

“What were you even doing out here?” he asked as we walked toward the restaurant. “This isn’t where you usually hang out. Were you really trying to fit in?”

“I didn’t think it would be that much of a stretch.” I laughed lightly. “I just wanted to learn to be interesting.”

“Learn to be interesting?” He laughed at that as he held the door of the restaurant open for me.

“Is that funny?” I asked, as we settled in a small booth to wait for the waitress.

“It’s not that it’s funny so much as that it’s absurd.”

“It’s not absurd,” I said. “Fries and a coke,” I ordered when the waitress walked up.

“Bring her a cheeseburger too,” Max said. “I’ll take one as well and a beer. Whatever dark you have.”

“Why do you always do that?” I asked, not bothering to hide my frustration.

“Do what?”

“Order things for me. If I wanted a cheeseburger, I would have ordered a cheeseburger.,” I kept my voice low, but I was annoyed.

He sat back in his seat and studied me across the table. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t what?”

“You wouldn’t order a cheeseburger if you wanted one,” he said, looking way too confident.

“Of course I would,” I said.

“No, you wouldn’t. I see you do it all the time. You’ll tell me you’re so hungry, and when we go to the restaurant you order a tiny little meal. French fries aren’t even a meal,” he pointed out with a frown.

“Maybe not, but that’s what I wanted.”

“Oh?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He looked me directly in the eye. “So you had no desire for a hot, meaty cheeseburger?” he asked in a slow sultry tone.

“Oh my God, I hate you.” I frowned and crossed my arms.

“That’s not nice,” he said, teasing me. “Just tell me I’m right, and we can enjoy our meal.”

I frowned. I didn’t want to tell him that he was right, but the truth was, he was. I tended to order small when I was feeling insecure. It was odd, but I sometimes felt as if people were staring at me, judging me for what I ate. So I would order something I didn’t necessarily want.

“Fine,” I finally admitted. “I did want a cheeseburger.”

“See?” He shrugged. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that I can order for myself,” I reminded him, though our argument felt like it was going in circles.

“No,” he said. “The problem is that you can’t order for yourself. Just like you spent an evening trying to be something you’re not. Why? That’s what you should figure out.” He sat back as our meals were placed in front of us.

The cheeseburger looked delicious, but Max’s words stuck in my mind. He was pointing out a pattern that I’d never really noticed before. Damn, but he could be insightful.

“Fine, maybe it’s true,” I said, my voice low. “You should know, after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Like the women you date,” I said and took a casual sip of my Coke.

“What about them?”

I could sense that he was getting defensive real fast.

“You’re always picking the most vapid women I’ve ever met,” I pointed out and set my glass down. “There are intelligent skinny women out there, you know.”

“Wow.” He shook his head and pushed his plate slightly away from him. “You’re way off base.”

“Am I?” I asked. “What about Gina?”

“Gina was a mistake,” he frowned.

“Like you couldn’t tell she would be, before you went on a date with her?” I enjoyed that it was his turn to squirm a bit now.

“Look, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I like to give women a chance, see if we click.”

“And if you don’t, you never call them
—
you never follow up. Do you know what that does to a woman?”

He frowned and grabbed his cheeseburger off his plate. He took a big bite out of it and chewed it slowly. I knew that he was just trying to delay the conversation. So I took a bite of my cheeseburger as well.

“You just don’t understand.” He shook his head and took a swallow of his beer.

“What don’t I understand?” I asked and smiled, genuinely curious now.

Chapter 9

Max met my eyes and set his beer back down on the table, hesitating just long enough to make me slightly nervous as to what his next words were going to be.

“They can’t all be you, Sammy,” he said, his voice serious.

I stared at him, a little taken aback, but a moment later he grinned and winked at me. All hopes that I had of his finally professing his love for me were dashed.

“Thanks, I guess,” I said and drained the last of my Coke.

Even though we had shared a meal together, and he had done his best to find me when he thought I was upset or in danger, I still felt like a bit of a joke to him. I couldn’t recall when, exactly, things had shifted so much between us.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said as we boxed up our leftovers.

“Sounds good.”

We settled up with the waitress and I left a good tip. It was better than the money I had wasted on the art walk. I thought of the man at the wine tasting and the way he had looked at me with such interest and then such judgment. I decided it had to be exhausting to be so perfect all of the time. Max looped his arm through mine and we began walking down the sidewalk to my apartment.

“How’s your tummy?”

“Better now.” I sighed.

“Good—so maybe now you can stick to being you, instead of trying to be someone else?” Max asked.

“Who am I?” I frowned. I stopped. Since his arm was linked with mine, he stopped too.

“You tell me,” he said and waited.

“I have no idea.” I shook my head. “How can I be thirty-two years old and have no idea who I am?”

“I guess you’ve spent far too long trying to figure out who people want you to be.” Max shrugged. “It’s easy to get caught up in that game.”

“Seems that way,” I said. “Do you ever feel like you’re falling behind everyone else, Max?”

“What do you mean?” he asked as we began walking again.

“I mean, everyone around us is getting married, having kids, or dogs, or something amazing like that. We’re still acting like we’re in our twenties,” I pointed out.

“Hey, speak for yourself
—
I do have a fish,” Max laughed.

“Have you fed it lately?” I glanced over at him.

“Uh, well…” Max frowned. “I better check on that fish.”

“That’s my point,” I said. “Did we miss out on something? Why aren’t we gravitating towards more commitment in our lives?”

“I don’t know.” Max shrugged. “I guess I’m just not ready to settle down yet.”

“What is that?” I asked as we reached my apartment building. “What is settling down?”

“Huh
—
a house, a wife, a parrot.” Max shrugged again.

I had to laugh at his words. But I could tell the conversation was making him uncomfortable. As much as he wanted to make it seem as if I was the one doing all of the pretending, I knew that Max was hiding a lot as well.

“I guess this is good night,” I said as we reached my door.

“Unless you want me to come in?” He looked over at me as I rummaged in my purse for my keys. “We could have a glass of wine.”

“No,” I groaned. “No more wine, maybe not ever.” I sighed as I unlocked the door.

“So that’s a no to coming inside too?” he said.

I glanced over at him, a little surprised. He wasn’t usually so keen to hang out this late at night.

“Don’t you have someone better you could spend the evening with?” I asked as I met his eyes.

“Better?” He shook his head slightly. “No. Someone different, sure. But no one better.” He smiled. “You know that.”

“Sure, Max. Go home,” I said and shook my head.

I opened the door to my apartment and stepped inside. I started to turn back to invite him in, but when I did, he was already gone. I frowned and closed the door. It was for the best, I knew. Being alone with Max when I was a little tipsy was probably not a good idea, considering the fantasies I frequently had about him. A little buzz could blur the lines of reality and fantasy.

However, maybe the wine I’d had had relaxed me enough to finally write my blog post.

I sat down at my computer. This time, I ignored the candles, the music, and the lighting. I just opened the darn computer, positioning my fingers over the keys. I took a deep breath as I stared at the blinking cursor on the screen.

This time, I didn’t try to think of what people would want to read. Instead, I thought about how I’d just spent my evening, trying to make myself interesting. I had to wonder how many other women felt that way
—like they had some image that they were trying to live up to—that they had to work so hard to be anything other than who they truly were.

I began typing and as the words flowed out of me, I felt transformed.

I was being honest. I was making spelling errors. I was sure that my grammar would enrage someone. But it was me
—
all me
—
one hundred percent me. Not what I thought people wanted to hear, not what my mother wanted me to be, not even what Max wanted me to be. It was all of my insecurities and all of my dreams.

Chapter 10

In my blog post, I talked about the fact that people didn’t even see each other any more because we were all too busy focusing on our own flaws. The paintings had oddly taught me that.

By the time I was finished writing, I felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from my shoulders. I had released pure emotion, untainted by the perceptions or expectations of others, and it felt great.

As I read it over, I was surprised that the words had come so easily from me. I’d written about the details of my bucket list
—why I’d started it—and I
invited others to join me on the journey, creating their own bucket lists to conquer.