It's Not About You (3 page)

"You heard me, Grace. I'm coming to your house for Thanksgiving."
 

Kyle opened his mouth and I slapped a hand over it and gave him a quick shake of my head before I removed it. "Burt, I'm sorry. But you're not coming here for Thanksgiving. You're not invited."
 

"Like hell I'm not. My daughter said she was going home for Thanksgiving. I want to see her so I'm coming there."
 

"No. You're not."
 

"Grace—I paid the mortgage on that house for nearly ten years—"
 

"Stop it, Burt. The house is mine. You're no long on the title and you were never on the mortgage. You step one foot in my yard and I will personally call the police and have you arrested."
 

"Oh so you'd call that cop boyfriend of yours to kick me out? Or will he already be there?"
 

I closed my eyes. Shook my head. Same shit, different day. The guy seriously needed a new schtick. "I'm not dating the cop anymore, Burt. Not that it's any of your business."
 

I opened my eyes and Kyle was staring at me. He motioned to the phone and then pointed to himself. I shook my head.

Burt was speaking. "You wouldn't do that. Not in front of Tanae."
 

"Yeah. I would. Burt—you are
not
invited to Thanksgiving. It'll be Tanae's friends who want to come see her, my sister and her husband, and Kyle and his friends."
 

There was a long pause. "He's there, isn't he?"
 

"Always," Kyle said in his deep, melodic voice.
 

"Still fucking him too, huh?"

And there it was. The old accusations. The man was like a broken record. "Night Burt. Don't show up here or I'll file another restraining order and have you arrested if you do." I pressed the disconnect button. "Ass. Hat."
 

"He does know I'm gay, right? I mean…we've both told him."
 

"Doesn't matter." I brushed my thumb over the phone's surface to Burt's contact information. I blocked his calls.
 

"That's not going to work. He's going to show up."
 

"Then I need to go back to the precinct tomorrow and refile. I got him recorded. I can't use it, but if Lt. Taylor's there…" I wiggled my eyebrows.
 

"You just want to see Taylor again. How long's it been?"
 

"I dunno. Five months? And no that's not the reason. I really don't want Burt showing up and ruining Thanksgiving."
 

"Why did you two break up? You and Taylor. With Burt it's obvious."
 

"Me and Kevin?" I thought about Lt. Kevin Taylor. He was nearing fifty, handsome, slim and sweet. But he was also in a job that kept me sitting on my nerves the whole time we dated. "I wasn't ready. You told me that back then, remember?"
 

"You mean you're actually listening to me?"
 

I held out my hand to indicate the house. "Hello? You warned me about Burt and I never listened. I wanted to avoid more pain. I'm gonna go fill out a few job apps in that area tomorrow so I'll just drop by and fill another restraining order."
 

"They already know Burt's a bastard. They probably have your name pre-filled on the form." He shifted on his bare feet. "You going to tell Tanae?"
 

"About this call?" I turned the recorder off. "Not unless she asks. If there's one thing about my relationship with my daughter, it's that I've never lied to her."
 

My advice to anyone listening—never say something like that.
 

Ever
.
 

Trying to find a job at my age turned into a morning of
trying-not-to-cry
. I had resumes submitted to several online job-hunting sites. The two head-hunters who had been able to find me work in the past kept hitting brick walls. I was either over-qualified (what does that mean?!) or they were looking for younger, just out of college fools they could hire for less hours, avoid benefits, and then shit on when their bottom line tanked.
 

So the morning after Prick's call I exercised with Kyle, showered and let him dress me for heading out into the world. I put applications in at drugstores (or what my generation called drugstores cause I think they're called just plain pharmacies now), several of the big name chain department stores, a few of the lesser known department stores, and a few places I wouldn't be caught dead in if I didn't need the money.
 

They all smiled, spoke nicely to me and gave me the standard, "We'll call you if something opens up." Wherein I was sure they promptly tossed my application the moment I left their premises. I was tempted to hang around at some of those stores, wait till the asshole I interviewed with left and check their trash.
 

But after five hours of this…I just wanted off my feet and into a hot bath.
 

Since it was getting close to my cooking class, I settled on one of those ridiculously expensive coffees at a local coffee house.
 

Trade In Beans
had been open going on twenty years. The daughter unit had worked there off and on during her high school years. I liked the place and I liked the owners, George and Bradford, one of the nicer couples the Prick and I used to hang out with. Until the two of them had had enough of the asshole.
 

The two of them threw me a party after I told them me and the Prick were getting a divorce, just a meet-n-greet of their 100 closest friends. I knew a couple of the guys there, but none of the women. That's where I met Linda, a woman my age with an incredibly gifted husband and their son, Jeremy. Jeremy and Tanae were the same age and hit it off as best friends.
 

Linda and I became inseparable. We texted daily, morning till night, talked on the phone, got on Skype, and met up for brunches and long lazy afternoons by the pool in their neighborhood. We weren't square financially enough to afford the pool membership in our own neighborhood. So after comparing our pool's $600 a year membership with no friends to their $450 and friends, we split the cost, packed the car and headed over there weekend after weekend, year after year.
 

Linda was the friend that passed away a year and a half ago. George and Bradford had the wake at the coffee shop. Closed it down for a day and those who knew her could come and hang out, drink cheap sangria (her favorite pool side spirit) and reminisce.
 

I still texted her for the first year after she passed, knowing there was no one there to read them, and knowing no one would ever answer them back. But it helped for a long time, just pretending she was there.
 

I hadn't texted her in over five years. She'd been gone from my life for six. And I still kept her texts on my phone so I could read them and laugh (yes I had the same phone).
 

I was doing just that, texting, thinking of Linda and standing in line at the
Trade In Beans
, when someone shoved me hard from the back. I stumbled forward and knocked into the guy in front of me and so went the domino affect. When the guy I bumped into turned and gave me an angry look, I pointed behind me. "I'm sorry but they shoved me."
 

When the angry-faced man started to say something, the person behind me stepped around and put a hand on angry-face's shoulder. "She's right. I tripped coming in and unfortunately plowed into her. Please, apologies?"
 

I looked at angry-face—and he did have an angry face, even after he was apologized to—and smiled. He rolled his eyes and turned back to be the next in line.
 

"Wow…what a prick." Yeah…that's me. Just couldn't keep my opinion to myself.
 

Soft laughter caught my attention and I turned to my right. The shover person was standing beside me. I hadn't paid much attention to him before, mainly because I didn't want angry-face to start something. But now I had a second to look at him.
 

My initial impression was "young" followed by "is his razor defective?" trumped by "holy shit look at those eyes."
 

They were blue. But not just blue but the color of the sky. He had brown hair with highlights (I didn't know if they were natural or lemon) that brushed his shirt collar, a scruffy half-there beard and a smile that actually met his eyes.
 

A genuine smile.
 

He was dressed in a light black jacket, a dress shirt and a loosened tie and jeans. I didn't look down to see his shoes because frankly—I was being sucked in alive by those eyes. There was something interesting about them. Maybe the shape?

"I'm sorry—" I stammered, still tripping inside those eyes.
 

He held up a hand. "Oh no, no. You just said what I was thinking. And it was kinda funny coming out of you."
 

The eyes dimmed. I leaned back and narrowed my own peepers at him. "Coming out of me? Do I know you?"
 

"No. It's just…I like it when older women speak their mind."
 

Older women. I sighed. It was bad enough I'd seen reaction after reaction to my age all morning and into the afternoon, but now I was getting the
older woman
comment from some young hottie in a coffee line. Geez…I wonder how he'd react if the old gal here called him a hottie to his face.
 

I looked forward as angry-face stepped away and walked up to order.
 

"I'll get hers and mine."
 

I looked up at Pretty Eyes and shook my head. "Oh. No thanks. This older woman can pay for her own coffee." I felt my frustration gnawing at the back of my neck and now I just wanted to grab my coffee and go sit in the lobby of the cooking school for the entire forty-five minute wait, away from Pretty Prick here. "I'll have a White Mocha. Tall."
 

"And your name?" the barista grabbed a black pen and a tall cup, ready to scribble like a doctor.
 

"Grace!"
 

I looked up to see George coming from the back, an orange apron tied around his waist. I returned his smile and his hug. George always gave the best hugs. "It's good to see you George."
 

"Where the hell have you been? Hold on," he said as he looked at the young people behind the counter. "Who's getting Grace's coffee? Ah, Monroe, make it the largest size and it's on the house. And bring it to us." He put his hand to my shoulder and lead me past the staring Pretty Eyes to a booth in the back with the sign RESERVED on top.
 

He pushed it aside as we sat facing each other and immediately reached over and grabbed my hand. "Now, you know Brad and I usually go to the islands for Thanksgiving, but we want to come to your house this year. We haven't seen Tanae since she started college and we have presents for her."
 

The fact this man was offering to give up a week of hot male bodies in a foreign country where clothing was optional told me one thing. "Kyle called you."
 

George was not a good liar. And even worse at keeping secrets. "Yes. But don't get mad. We just want to make sure Burt doesn't ruin time with your daughter."
 

"Burt is not going to come." I checked my watch. "Cause I plan on getting another restraining order this afternoon. After cooking class."
 

"Will Lt. Taylor be there?"
 

I gave George my best
stop it
look. "I don't know. But if he is it'll make it easier to get the order faster." The barista brought the drink and I gave her a tip. She smiled, winked at George and left us alone. I looked at the counter but there was no sign of Pretty Eyes.
 

"His name's Michael, be we all call him Pretty Eyes."
 

I looked back at George and blinked. "Who?" But come on…they called him the same thing I did? Kismet.
 

"The guy with the kick-ass eyes. You were talking to him in line."
 

"Oh I wasn't—"
 

"Yes you were. And damn girl, you have got to stop shying away from admitting you
look
. You're past forty, not dead. Geez. Be a Cougar."
 

I snorted at him. George and I had already had the Cougar discussion and I decided ignoring it was a better avenue. I sipped my White Mocha. "Oh God…this is heaven."
 

"You always did love those. Why did you stop coming so much?"
 

I sipped the coffee again and licked at the whip cream. "Money. These things aren't cheap. I've been out all morning putting in applications for jobs."
 

"You're not freelancing anymore?"
 

"Eh….the flow stopped. Freelancing is great as long as you keep saying yes. But the minute you say no to a job, word gets around. And I had to say no to a few during the divorce."