The Lovely Garden (5 page)

I smiled up at the man I look so much like. We have the same high forehead, medium lips, and mousy brown hair. The only things on me my mother could claim as hers were my nose, my smile, and my ears. “I am up, and I brought a friend with me.” I gestured to Charles. “Dad, this is Charles. Charles, this is Tom, my dad.”

Charles stood, a charming smile on his face, and offered my dad his hand to shake. My dad gladly took it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Charles. And it’s Tom.”

They were about to release hands, but my dad stopped, squeezing Charles’ hand tight, forcing Charles to return the grip. My dad looked between us. First at Charles, and then at me. He sighed and hung his head. “You two had sex,” he said, dropping Charles’ hand.

“Dad!” My voice was louder than intended, but he blindsided me with that one. That was the first time he had actively tried to embarrass me in front of a date. It worked on Charles as well. His neck was a nice shade of red and his eyes had found something interesting on the empty counter.

“What?! It’s pretty damn obvious! Look what you’re wearing.” He pointed out Charles’ sweatpants and t-shirt. Yeah, didn’t exactly think that one through. And to further my embarrassment, my dad asked, “Are you still on birth control, or can I be expecting some grandbabies soon?”

“Oh god, why are you asking me this?!” I wanted to die, right then and there. Never could I remember a time when I felt like that. And he had to do this not only in front of Charles, but in front of a semi-crowded diner.

“Because me and your mother aren’t getting any younger, and we want some grandbabies to spoil.” Much to my horror, he turned to Charles. “Are you going to give me and my wife some grandbabies, Charles?”

“Oh god.” I sat down, stunned, putting my head in my hands. “Greg, go dig me a hole I can crawl in and die.” Why? Why did we come here? I should have just taken him somewhere else. Somewhere my dad wouldn’t be saying these things to the guy I had only went on one date with.

Charles took it in stride. “Well, Mr. Jones, we’ll have to see how well this relationship goes first before we worry about children.” A diplomatic answer if I ever heard one.

My dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Good answer, Charles.” He ruffled my hair and gave me a quick peck on the top of my head. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”

Sighing, I tilted my head back to look at him. “Dad, I’m a big girl. I can pay for my own meals.”

“I know you can, but your mother would kick my ass if she knew I charged you and she kicks like mule.” Another kiss, this one on my forehead. “I got to get back to work. I got a late waitress to call.”

“Hmm. Have fun,” I called after him. Then, I turned to Charles. “What do you want?” Greg already knew my order, two scrambled eggs covered in sausage gravy, two pieces of bacon, and two cinnamon waffles smothered in butter. It hadn’t changed for the past ten years, and I doubt it ever would really. I’m picky like that.

“Do you serve pancakes?” he asked Greg. When Greg nodded his eyes lit up like a child’s. “I’ll take some of those then.” When Greg asked him what kind, he didn’t skip a beat, “I don’t care. Any of them. All of them. I just need some pancakes.” Dude loved him some pancakes. If my astonishment showed on my face, he didn’t take note of it. He just turned to me and grinned like an excited toddler.

“So,” I started, trying to grasp a thought to turn into a conversation, “pancakes?” Pancakes were all I could think of at that moment, a tad surprised that Charles had ordered them with the amount of excitement he had displayed.

“Yes, I love them,” he replied with that grin still on his face. “My mother used to make them. It was the only thing that she could make; my father was the cooker of the relationship. I still can’t seem to ever get enough of them. I guess you could consider them my favorite food.”

“Hmm,” I hummed. Past tense for his father as well. I wondered if he had lost both of them. “Pancakes are pretty delicious, though, I’m a waffle-girl myself.” Charles face screwed up in a grimace. “You don’t like waffles?!” That was almost blasphemous.

He shook his head. “I don’t like how crunchy they are, and they don’t soak up the syrup like pancakes do.” Too each their own I guess, though he was wrong. Waffles were a gift sent down from the heavens, along with coffee and bacon.

It didn’t take long for Greg to fix out meals, breakfast never does, and soon we had our plates in front of us. My usual, and Charles six, yes six, pancakes, two of each kind The Diner serves, chocolate, blueberry, and regular. That light appeared in his eyes once again, and he took the warm maple syrup Greg had set before him and dowsed his pancakes in it. And I mean dowsed. I had never seen anyone use the entire holder of syrup and ask for more.

“Are you going to be able to taste the pancakes?” It was a legitimate question that I had to ask. Yell, really. Saturday breakfast rush and started. Fortunately, the waitress had just made it in time. She had burst through the door, covered in sweat, having ran from the bus stop to get here on time. The bus had been running late. If she hadn’t showed up on time, I would have offered to help, just as I had during high school and college.

Charles grinned through a mouthful of pancakes, giving me the answer I needed. I shook my head. “Just don’t choke, please. My dad doesn’t need that kind of publicity.” The statement, of course, made him choke. I rubbed his back as he tried to catch his breath. “Should have kept my damn mouth shut.”

“Or, at least not make me laugh,” Charles replied through coughs. Greg handed him a glass of water, which he gratefully took and downed in one motion. Not the best way to stop a fit of coughing, but it seemed to work for him somehow. He cleared his throat and then sighed. “Let’s not do that again.” Then, he immediately shoveled enough pancake in his mouth to puff his cheeks like a hamster.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, turning back to my food. If Charles wanted to kill himself, that was his prerogative. I just wished he would wait until he took me to go get my car.

Before I was halfway done with my food, Charles had finished his. He sat back in his chair, full and content. “I haven’t eaten like that in a while.” How sad. I eat like that at least once a week, which was probably why my jeans were starting to get too tight; the reason I had agreed to run with Jenny.

“Well, you can come here any time you like. I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind the repeat business.” Though he would probably give Charles free meals and pester him about grandbabies. “On second thought, I’m sure you know a lot of places.”

“I do, but I like this place better. Even if the owner pesters me about grandbabies.”

I couldn’t help but wince. “Sorry, about that. That was the first time my dad had done something like that. I guess it means he likes you.” Being in a business that dealt with the public, my dad was a decent snap judge of character. It hadn't let him down so far.

He waved it off. “I don’t mind it. Though, I never expected to meet your dad on, what I guess we’ll call, our second date.”

“Yeah, it might have been a little soon. I didn’t even think about it really.”

“It’s fine.” He moved forward, his face inches from mine. “I like a woman who moves fast.”

“Hmm. You seem to like a lot of women.”

He moved closer. “Maybe I just like you.”

This time I moved forward, ready to capture his lips on mine. Only I was met with a hand instead. “Nope!” My father said. “Not in here. Not in front of me. You go outside if you’re going to do that.” Charles actually threw his head back and laughed. It was a nice laugh. Felt like silk caressing my skin. I had to smile, though my mouth was still covered by my dad’s hand.

I shook my dad off. “Could you give me a box and we’ll head out.” It was starting to get really crowded anyways, and I didn’t want to keep taking up his seats.

My dad reached under the counter and passed me a Styrofoam container. “Leaving so soon?”

“You’re getting a little backed up and you could use the seats.” I stood up and kissed him on the cheek he offered. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

We headed out of the door, a few staring at us, and headed to the car. As soon as I was in the car I put my seatbelt on. “Where to?” Charles asked as he put his own on.

“It would be nice to grab some of my own clothes. While yours are nice and comfy, they’re going to fall off of me.” I would rather not show my underwear to the entire world, thank you very much.

He almost pouted. “I like the way you look in them, but I can see your reasoning. Point me in the direction to your home, and I’ll take you there.” There was no hesitation on my part. I gave him directions and me and a guy I knew for less than a day started to head toward my apartment.

CHAPTER FOUR

Fifteen minutes and some traffic later, we were at my apartment. My apartment that was so small it could fit in Charles kitchen. Maybe not that drastic, but you get the idea. It was small, and seemed even smaller now that I experienced Charles’ house. But it was still mine and I loved it because of that. Even if it could barely contain all of my things.

Charles seemed to take in stride, until his eyes landed on my couch. His eyes widened and this weird joyful smile spread across his face. “What is this thing?!” he exclaimed to no one in particular. “It’s amazing!”

Amazing was not the right word to describe that couch. It was older than I was, having belonged to my grandma, and was this sickening combination of yellow and green with a floral pattern. The thing had come from the seventies, and I had been loathed to take it, but free was free. And my grandma had insisted, and when an eighty plus year old woman dying from cancer tells you to take her couch, you take the damn couch.

He caressed the couch as if afraid it would fall apart from his touch. “I love this thing.” I started to question his taste in furniture.

“You can sit in it if you want to. I’ll just be in my room changing.” I pointed to the door of my room just in front of us. “The bathroom is over there,” I indicated to the door, “and you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” No one was going to say Amy Jones wasn’t a good host. Even as I left him to his own devices.

Changing hadn’t taken that long. All I needed to do was put on a fresh pair of panties, a bra, a new shirt, some jeans, and brush my hair and pull it back in a ponytail. It was getting a little warm out, so I thought about putting on a pair of shorts, but I knew it was going to get cold once the sun set. I would rather be warm in a pair of jeans now than cold in a pair of shorts later.

When I came back into the living room, Charles was sprawled out on the couch, that weird smile still on his face. “I really like this thing.” I had noticed he had not called it a couch once. “It’s surprisingly comfortable.”

And it was. You would expect it to be itchy and the cushions flat, but that was not the case. Part of it was how well my grandma had taken care of it, the other was the fact that she had hardly sat in it. No one had. It had been in her enclosed porch where no one wanted to go during summer and spring since it had no air conditioning or heat.

“You can have it if you want it.” No, I wouldn’t give away my grandma’s couch. It was just Charles loved it so much it felt wrong
not
offering it to him.

“Tempting, but no thank you. I would hate to leave you out a couch.” Hey, he called it a couch.

I shrugged as he sat up. “No problem. I wouldn’t have given it to you anyways.” Thought I would put that out there. He needed to know where he stood with my couch.

A silence fell between the two of us. It wasn’t an uncomfortable one, but it made me fidget until I had to break it. “I’m sorry about my dad. He has a bad sense of humor.” Though I was not completely sure he had been joking. “My mom is always yelling at him about his jokes.” Poorly timed jokes that were sometimes in bad taste. Still, you could always count on him trying to make you smile or laugh, something I greatly appreciated.

He shook his head. “I didn’t mind. I figured it was some kind of joke.” Well, that was a huge weight off of my shoulders. Some people, a lot of people, didn’t get my dad’s jokes. I’ve had a few guys break-up with me because of it. At least, they gave that as an excuse. Pretty sure they were ready to call it quits before that.

“That’s a relief,” I said, flopping down next to him as he sat up. “So, where to next?” I entwined my fingers with his, and he lifted our hands to plan a brief kiss on the back of my hand. “That is, if you still want to hang out with me after my dad’s barrage of terrible jokes.”

He gave a low chuckle that made my body tingle. “I do still need to go grocery shopping. You could tag along if you like.”

“Visit a rich person grocery store?” That got me raised eyebrows. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“You know,” he pulled me closer to him to plant a kiss on my cheek, “your dad isn’t the only one with terrible jokes.”

I gasped in mock horror. “How dare you, sir. I’ll have you know, I’m hilarious! My mom tells me so.” No, she doesn’t. She hates my jokes just as much as my dad’s. But the terrible jokes had to be passed down to someone, and I’m their only child so I didn’t get much of a choice in that.

“I’m sure she does.” He patted my head in a there-there gesture, then glanced at his watch. “It’s only seven-thirty. I don’t even think the grocery store is open just yet.”