“Ahh.” A sly smile spreads across her lips. “Was she pretty?”
At this question, my mom’s head pops out from behind the refrigerator door where she’s been returning the remnants of unused vegetables after finishing the salad.
I don’t know if pretty would justify her description. Brooke’s shoulder-length dark brown hair, big, expressive green eyes, the way her full, pink lips pouted when I refused to take her money. Pretty wasn’t enough of a descriptor. Gorgeous and intriguing, definitely.
When she leaned in to wipe my shirt down, I could see down her V-neck shirt where her more than a handful, perky tits were covered in a nude lace bra. The short skirt she was wearing showcased her long, toned legs. Then there was all the rubbing she was doing to clean up my shirt. It gave me a chance to check her out. When she went for my shorts, I had to stop her. I didn’t need the semi I was starting to sport to get to full mast. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. She also had this quirky thing about her. She was nuts, but in an endearing way.
Maybe it was arrogant to ask for her number, but it’s been a while since I actually pursued anyone.
I don’t tell my mom and sister any of this because what does it matter? All I got was her name and a smirk before she high-tailed it out of there as fast as she could. I just stood there, dazed as she walked off to pay for books and left. Maybe it was the fact that she had me feeling something, more than just a stiff dick, that put me back on my heels. It was a completely random encounter, and yet I left it feeling a longing, like she took something with her when she left. An energy that made me want to draw closer to her.
I’m losing it. I’ve been working too much for too long. I just turned thirty-six and other than a rock solid career, and a nice apartment, I don’t have much to show for it.
“Yeah.” I shrug, trying to sound indifferent when I answer. It must have been convincing, because Carrie moves on quickly.
“Oh, do you remember when I was telling you about my prenatal yoga instructor, Lori?”
I’m struggling to remember the exact conversation, but I play along.
“Sure. What about her?”
“Well, you’re both single and I think you might have a lot in common with the whole women’s bodies and babies thing, so I mentioned to her that I’d see about setting you up. Maybe for coffee, and you can see how it goes?”
I don’t love the idea of my sister playing matchmaker, but I know her heart is in the right place. She wants me to find someone because she knows that’s what I want. And the way to find that person is to meet new people, get out of my office and go on dates.
She’s about to press me further when my nieces come bounding into the kitchen with my dad in tow. I scoop them up, one in each arm. Holy hell, they’re getting heavy.
After exaggerating the amount of effort it takes to return to an upright position, I playfully tease, “You two are getting so big.”
“No, you’re just getting old.” My four-year-old niece, Annie, wraps her arms around my neck.
“UnCole,” Sophia, the two-year-old, adorably combines Uncle and Cole into one name, “you old.”
Kids, they tell it like it is. When I rage a tickle war on them, Annie scrunches up her nose and giggles uncontrollably. It’s moments like these that I wonder what it would be like to come home to a kid or two. A beautiful wife to tuck the kids into bed with, then have my way with her once the kids are asleep.
I’m happy for my sister and Kyle. But, she’s four years younger than me, so it’s also hard to watch her have these milestones—getting married, two amazing kiddos, and about to have another—without a bit of jealousy. It’s just me. Not that everything has to go in chronological order, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have it. Or if I’ve spent too many of the years working where my focus should have been on something else. Looking for the right partner, working on my own family.
I catch my mom watching me with them and it’s not hard for me to read her thoughts. She’s got two grandkids and another on the way, it would be easy for her to be satisfied, but she’s greedy, and I get it, because who wouldn’t want more of these in their life?
I set the two giggling munchkins down and they immediately scamper off to play, their high-pitched squeals echoing down the hallway.
“Inside voices!” my sister yells. I fight back a laugh at the irony of her demand.
My dad drops his hat on the island, then gives me a hug. “Those two wear me out. What are we drinking, son?”
I pour him a glass of red, which he accepts before sitting down on the living room couch.
“Okay, lasagna’s in the oven, salad is ready.” Carrie moves around the kitchen as she checks items off her list. “Oh, will you take this garlic bread out to Kyle?”
With a plate full of garlic bread in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other, I manage to maneuver the sliding glass door out to the patio where Kyle is sitting in a lounge chair watching the girls, who have now decided to bless the outdoors with their screams, and chase each other around the yard, until they abruptly stop and decide to play ‘lost treasure’ in the sandbox.
When Kyle sees me and the garlic bread, he hops up to take it from me, “Thanks, man.”
He throws the bread on while I sit and sip my wine. We catch up, as much as guys do, talking about sports primarily.
Minutes later the food is ready and we all gather around the dining table. We catch up on Carrie’s recent doctor appointment, everything is looking great and the baby is measuring perfectly. My mom tries to pry potential baby names from Carrie and Kyle, so that she can get a jump on ordering a monogrammed blanket for him, while the girls recite silly names for the baby, like Chicky Pickles and Tootie Butt. Kyle updates us on the large commercial development project that his company just broke ground on, and my mom and dad inform us about their upcoming trip to Italy that was specifically scheduled around Carrie’s due date as to not interfere with meeting their grandson.
“Cole, how’s work?” my dad asks as he refills his wine glass.
