Tanner bet I’d come clean, Rawley thought I’d cover it up.
Archie on the other hand? He hadn’t given any of it thought, and I’m not sure he still is. But he high-fived me, told me Dean is “real cool” and went off to catch lizards and probably, in all reality, eat the forbidden fruit: stolen peaches.
All in all, they said they like Coach Dean, that they’re fine if the two of us become “maybe more than friends” (Tanner’s words), and that everything on their end was fine.
I wasn’t surprised, but I was relieved. But today?
All I am is nervous.
I don’t know why.
It’s chili dogs on a school night. It’s not a big deal.
But also, it’s kind of a huge, massive, way big deal. Because Dean is the first.
The first in years.
The first and only since Troy that I care about.
The first man I can see doing life with.
And that’s nerve-wracking.
But, as my best friend Jackie tells me, “Exciting. It’s exciting, Clara June. Try to be excited instead of nervous.” She pops her gum, the line filled with the sound of her long nails tapping at her keyboard. She works in IT, and more specifically, she’s a web developer, writing and testing code for new web applications. And yet, even with working on a computer all day, where each keystroke means make or break, she has insanely long nails. I don’t know how she does it.
“I am excited,” I tell her as I scoop out warm clothes from the inside of the dryer drum, dumping them into an already pretty full basket. Despite the fact that I spent an hour folding laundry last night after I got home from my double shift, there is still unfolded laundry. In fact, at my feet, there are three heaping piles of dirty laundry.
Laundry is kind of my life.
“Then why do you sound alla really hot hunk is interested in me and all of my chaos but I’d rather be hoe huminstead?” she questions, the typing still backfilling her words. I don’t know how she does her job while talking to me, but like all things Jackie, I live in wonder. The woman can put down seemingly endless shots of tequila and still pass as sober, she’s never had a run in her nylons (how?). She knows how to code and tie a necktie, all the men adore her and all the women want to be her friend, she’s both incredibly fit but also disarmingly curvy and gorgeous, and she speaks three languages.
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know.” I pinch the phone to my shoulder, toss the wet clothes into the dryer, and add a knock-off Bounce sheet. Slamming the door, I set the dryer toquick dryand begin pulling dirty clothes from the floor intothe washer. “I guess I’m battling a little imposter syndrome, like, you know… I’m just me, and he’s all…him.”
“He’s all him,” Jackie repeats back, completely unable to relate to the feeling of being underwhelming, or being afraid that you may wake up one day and find out you’re someone’s regret.
It’s happened to me before, so now I know, without a doubt, it can happen.
Before Troy left me, I never thought he would. I thought, despite our issues and his tendencies to think about only himself, we’d stay together. Forever.
I let myself believe I had a right to forever, and in that same light, I force myself to accept reality: Dean may have interest now, but he may not have it forever.
“You know what I mean,” I hum, tossing in a tube sock so stiff that I opt to wash my hands after starting the washing machine.
“No, I don’t know what you mean by I’m just me and he’s all him.” Now the typing stops, and I think I’m really in trouble.
Whenever Jackie stops multi-tasking to give me all of her attention, it’s usually serious. Like the night I called her, when Archie was just 3 days old and Troy had only been gone that long, too. I asked her, “If he comes home, should I take him back?” and not only did she stop typing but she got in her car and drove to my house at one forty three in the morning. She took my face in her hands and told me point blank: “if you take back Troy, you will ruin your life and any shot you have at happiness. Troy is a piece of shit, and there’s no way to turn a turd into a prince. Thank God, seriously, get on your hands and knees now and thank God with every breath that he took your problem from you.”
It was hard to see the truth in her words. After all, at thatpoint, I had just had a baby, and had two other kids on my hands. I just wanted help. And sleep. And a hug.
I’ve come to see in the years since then that Jackie was completely right. Troy leaving was a good thing, good even for the boys.
He shouted so much, the boys and I would often camp out in the backyard just to avoid him. Adventures, excursions, I always made things fun, but I also realize now that my boys are older, they were aware of Troy’s shitty attitude and propensity for screaming.
We’re all better off.
“You think because you’re a waitress and your house is small and needs work that you’re somehow less worthy of a man like Dean?” she prods, hitting me in the truth epicenter, the way only best friends can do.
“No,” I lie, and she knows it becauseof coursethat’s how I feel. Society tells me I should, after all.Just a waitress— even Ross judged Rachel, the love of his life, over her job. And a small home that needs new paint, new windows and a complete overhaul of the yard? That’s the slum stereotype, and I’m living it. Like water atop a hard pan—eventually, it seeps in. Of course all of those things have permeated my thick skin over time.
