Making Her Wait Read online

  Maybe Karma was just flexing her muscles earlier…

  At least it can’t get much worse now. All I have to do yet is drive home.

  Except my car won’t start.

  The battery has been sporadically dying on me. I meant to get a new one, but who has the time or the money? The closest auto store is a half hour in the other direction, and I’ve been keeping my fingers crossed that it’ll last another three months until I get my yearly raise.

  I decide to go back into the stupid store that only accepts cash or checks and ask if anyone can give me a jump. But I laugh out loud when I catch another problem out of the corner of my eye. Because I’m so bummed out, I‘m looking down at the ground. Because today sucks, and no matter how many times I try to talk myself out of my foul mood, it comes right back to that exact sentiment. I can no longer pretend that everything’s ok and hold my head high. It hangs low as I walk around my car, accepting defeat and planning to ask for help, something I loathe to do.

  My car has a flat tire.

  Fuck my life.

  Sinking onto a bench outside the pharmacy (because what’s the point of going inside now?), I let my brain rerun all the things that went wrong today. The pile grows as I work through the day, and the loop in my brain refuses to turn off, slow down, pause, or let me change the channel. The pressure builds in my head, behind my eyes, and the familiar sensation means a migraine is going to hit me very soon. And this one’s going to hit me hard.

  This can’t happen. Not here. Not now…

  A few slow deep breaths later, I try again to hit pause on the replay of the day’s events. I try to find the silver lining, because there has to be one, dammit! Even if I can’t see it, there has to be one!

  I’m not going to find it in time. My vision is already starting to close in on me.

  Finally finding a thought unrelated to the long list of things that went wrong in the last thirteen hours, I latch onto it before realizing what it is.

  I want a hug from my mom.

  Shit.

  Fumbling my phone out of my pocket, I type out a panicky text to Callie. My vision is pretty much gone when I hit what I think is the send button. Instead of seeing my phone in my hand, I see a kaleidoscope of colliding colors across my normal plane of vision.

  I let my head rest against the building behind me as tears leak out of my eyes against my will, praying for some miracle that will suddenly make everything better.

  Walker

  “Higher, Uncle Walk! Higher!”

  No matter how high I push my nephew on these swings, it’s never high enough. He loves hitting the bumps at the top, the ones that only happen because he’s so high the slack catches on the way down. My sister, his mom, used to love to go that high as well on the playground at school. Until the day one of those bumps threw her off the fifteen-foot-high swing and she flew through the air without anything to catch her. She passed out when she landed.

  One of my teachers ran to check on her, asking me if she was ok. I shrugged my shoulders and hid my fear. She’s my little sister. It was my job to watch out for her. If something bad happened, Dad would ring my neck and Mom would ground me for life.

  “That’s high enough, Zeke,” I tell him, not wanting a repeat of that terrifying day. He lets out a disappointed grunt, but otherwise doesn’t complain.

  My sister’s doing an amazing job with her two kids, Zeke, and little Finn. I have no idea how she does it, since her husband is on the road half the time, but she’s managing somehow. Every Thursday evening, we get together, so I can see the little terrors. Most of the time, it’s at the park right across the street from their house.

  “Don’t you dare jump from there, Zeke!” Reese yells, and I pull my attention back to the four-year-old fearless daredevil that was read to jump off the swing. When he flies back to me, I grab the chains and bring him to a stop. Zeke pouts, kicking at the dirt under his filthy sneakers in protest.

  “Come on, kid. Let’s try out those monkey bars.” My suggestion is rewarded with a race across the playground.

  “Lemme try it myself!” he demands. Eyeing my sister to see how closely she’s supervising us, I let him go, keeping my hands ready. He makes it three bars before the metal slides free of his grasp. He lets out a startled cry as he starts falling, but I catch him midair.

  Reese glares.

  I give her a sheepish smile.

  I’m the fun uncle who lets Zeke try daring things his mother says are forbidden. He’s a little boy. He’s going to fall and scrape his knees, ruining his best pants. He’s going to get in fights, learning how to give, but also take a punch. He’s going to point fake guns at people and pretend to shoot them dead. He’s going to be an aggressive, little, smart-ass, stubborn-as-hell kid.

  At least he will if he’s anything like me.

  After a couple hours of chasing Zeke around, Reese and I start packing up all the gear she insists is necessary for a short trip to the park. I steal Finn from her for the short walk back to her house and she asks, “When’re you gonna get your own kids and stop borrowing mine?”

  “When hell freezes over.”

  Zeke giggles at my bad language, but I act surprised that he noticed. Normally, I’m pretty good at not swearing in front of the kids, but Reese’s bizarre question had me answering without thinking. We’ve been doing this for years, why am I suddenly borrowing her kids instead of just spending time with them?

  “Why? You’ll be a great dad, Walker. You just have to find the right girl.”

  Hugging my little man, who’s not even a year old, I pretend not hear her. If this is another attempt for her to set me up with some girl she thinks is perfect for me, I’ll disown her. She and my mother have lost all privileges when it comes to who I should date.

  “You need to get your own place, too. Chad’s a bad influence and you’re almost thirty. It’s time for you to find a nice girl and settle down.”

  “I’d love to find my own girl, Reese. But I don’t want her to be all that nice.”

  Reese shakes her head, looking at me with disappointment as she swats at my chest. “I don’t need to know about your s-e-x life.”

  “Then, please, stay out of it. It’ll happen when it happens. You know what they say, the second you stop looking, that’s when you find it.”

  “You’ll never find it then! You still haven’t started looking!”

  She’s wrong, but I’m not going to correct her. I like her being in the dark about my sex life and my love life.

  After getting them situated at their house, I tickle Zeke until he begs for mercy, then head back to my car. I parked across the other street from the park today, since Reese called demanding I pick something up for her before I came over. That happens a lot. I no longer move my car after picking up whatever she urgently needs, just walk the block to my sister’s house.

  Whistling a happy tune, I toss my keys in the air, letting them drop into my hand a second later. It’s almost dark out, and I look for headlights as I cross the street, pausing my tune and my steps when I see someone sitting on a bench outside the pharmacy.

  She’s looking away, down the street, the opposite direction of me, and I study her, realizing she’s crying. And she looks a lot like someone I know. As I get closer, she lets out a heavy sigh, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

  Definitely her.

  I cautiously walk toward her. She hasn’t seen me yet, so I can bolt if I change my mind. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider changing my mind, because this girl is one I would dream about if I could pick the star of my dreams. But she’s crying… Crying girls are unpredictable.

  Too late to bolt. She just looked my way.

  “Genny?”

  Her wide eyes look right through me. Wiping her cheeks, she gives a small, embarrassed, “Hi.”

  “You ok?”

  She snorts out a laugh, sounding a big unhinged, making me think I should’ve bolted when I had the chance. Leaning forward, she closes her eyes
, resting her elbows on her knees. “Peachy.”

  “I think you got some rotten peaches…”

  She laughs, a smile taking over her face, and a feeling similar to pride blossoms in my chest. “I think you’re right.”

  Wondering what she’s doing crying on a bench outside the pharmacy, I study her a little closer, noticing she doesn’t even have a purse. She only has her phone, and she keeps rubbing the screen, like she’s hoping a genie will pop out and grant her three wishes.

  What would her wishes be if that happened?

  Mine would be for a chance with her.

  “Anything I can do for you, Genny?”

  She sighs dramatically before answering. “Yes, but who are you?”

  We’ve never been formally introduced, although we’ve run into each other many times over the last year or so. Thinking she wants my name, I hold out my hand, introducing myself. “Walker Kelley, at your service.”

  She doesn’t take my hand.

  She doesn’t even look at it.

  “How do I know you?” she asks, and I shake my head at her audacity. She’s checked me out multiple times from across my kitchen. I walked in on her once when she was in my bathroom. We searched my living room together for her keys early one morning. We’ve never had a real conversation, but I’d like to think that I’m somewhat memorable, especially with the way she looked me up and down every time she saw me.

  “Really? You’re gonna act like you don’t recognize me?”

  Her voice drops to a whisper. “I can’t see you”

  I arch an eyebrow, doubting her with every fiber of my being. She’s looking right at me. Correction, she’s still looking through me, with wide green eyes.

  “I get migraines with auras, which just means I get weird symptoms before my migraine starts. You’re a blur of colors right now. If it makes you feel better, you sound familiar.”

  I step closer and wave my hand in front of her face. Nothing. No reaction at all. She’s not pretending. She can’t see me, and I’m standing right in front of her.

  That’s kinda fucked-up.

  “Is there something you can take?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t really help the weird shit once it’s already started. It just helps with the pain that comes after. How do I know you?”

  Right. I still haven’t told her how we know each other. “You, ah… know my roommate. Chad.”

  I doubt she knows my roommate at all, but she knows his bed and his body. She’s one of his regulars. I pointed her out to him at the bar when he asked me if anyone looked good, thinking he was going to help me out, be my wingman. Instead, he brought her home. Time and time again.

  I try not to judge Genny. But I wonder if she knows she’s one of many, that he doesn’t think she’s special, that she’s listed in his phone by what he considers to be her best talent, her name in parentheses behind it so he knows what to call her when she shows up.

  “Oh,” she breathes, her face lighting up in a pretty blush.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask again, not wanting to talk about how she knows me or my roommate.

  She scrunches up her face, trying to figure out if she wants my help now that she knows who I am. She looks around, her wide eyes still unseeing. Now that I know what’s going on with her, I can tell she can’t see a damn thing. She’s obviously uncomfortable, but I love how much of her bright green eyes I can see. Especially with her hair pulled back the way it is, and that blush still lingering on her cheeks. There’re black smudges under those gorgeous eyes from her mascara and tears, but it only creates a contrast of all the colors, making her cheeks and eyes look brilliantly colorful in comparison.

  Holding her hand out, the one that has her phone, she asks, “Can you make sure my text went through? I texted Callie to come get me, but it hit me so fast, I guessed where the send button was.”

  “Do you just want me to give you a ride home?”

  “No,” she answers quickly. Too quickly.

  I take her phone. “What’s your passcode?”

  The text to a Callie went through. So did one to a Ben very early this morning, saying she’d be right over… Maybe Chad isn’t her only, either.

  “It went through. She didn’t reply.”

  “Shit. Can you call her?”

  I put it on speaker, so she can hear it ringing. When it goes unanswered and a generic voicemail recording starts, she breathes out, “Double shit.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “Sit here until it stops, I guess. I can’t drive like this. Oh wait... I can’t drive anyway. My car won’t start, and it has a flat tire.” She laughs in a humorless way, dropping her head into her hands. “Are you gonna tell Chad you saw me?”

  The extremely skeptical look I’m giving her is wasted on her unseeing eyes. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. No… I don’t know.”

  She looks in my direction again, her blank stare driving me crazy. “I don’t like to get personal with the guys I hook up with. If you can keep it to yourself, I’d love to ask you for a favor.”

  She doesn’t like to get personal with the guys she hooks up with? If sex isn’t personal, what the hell is? And how much do I need to know about her personal life before she won’t have sex with me?

  Doesn’t matter, I remind myself. She’s fucking my roommate and some other guy named Ben. I need to stay far away from her.

  But I don’t want to stay away from her. I never have. And I feel like I should promise her I’ll keep it to myself. I feel like I have to do her this favor, whatever it might be.

  Wrong again. I don’t feel like I should. I want to. Because I want to know her in a way Chad never will.

  “What’s your favor, Genny?”

  Chewing on her bottom lip, she tries to make up her mind as to whether she should trust me this little bit. I watch her teeth, wishing they were mine. I want to nibble on that lip. I want to suck that lip into my mouth until she’s breathless and her hands are tangled in my hair, silently begging me for more. I want to find out what she tastes like. Will there be salt from her tears, a lingering hint of whatever she had for dinner, or maybe just the sweet taste of Genny herself.

  But I don’t do casual sex. And I certainly don’t do anyone who’s one of my roommate’s regulars.

  “Will you give me a ride home?”

  There’s no way I could possibly refuse.

  After she accepts my hand, I lead her to my car, my fingers finding her low back when she blindly walks beside me. I like having my hands on her, but I don’t focus on it. I do my best to totally forget about it. She’s not single in the traditional sense and that’s the only way anything could happen between us.

  She settles into the passenger seat of my car, handing me her keys. “Can you get my purse for me? And a bag from the sub shop? It’s in a blue Jetta parked along the street.”

  Now I know she can’t see. What girl asks an almost stranger to get her purse?

  Realizing she can’t exactly give me directions, I ask for her address, typing it into my GPS system. She lives about ten miles away in a brick two story house in desperate need of a front porch and some landscaping. When she feels the car turn into her driveway, she asks, “Is there a white minivan here?”

  “No. No one but us.”

  “Fine,” she grumbles, tipping her head back onto the headrest. “Help me to the backdoor? I can take it from there.”

  “How long does the not-being-able-to-see thing last?”

  “Twenty to thirty minutes. The numbness will last about the same amount of time. Then I’ll have the worst headache in the world, and be so nauseous I won’t be able to sit up without vomiting.”

  “The numbness?” I parrot, shaking my head at what she’s describing.

  “Different parts of my body go numb. My left hand. My ankle. My tongue, my side. It’s always random.”

  “Is this normal? I’ve never heard of the type of symptoms you’re describing.”

  Rol
ling her useless eyes, she huffs out a short breath. “Can you please just help me into my house? After that I’ll answer all the questions you want.”

  I didn’t really think about how she might feel while going through whatever it is she’s going through. I can’t imagine not being able to see and sitting there as calmly as she is. At least her vision should start coming back soon. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since I first saw her.

  Again leading her by the hand, my other on her back because, why the hell not, I get her to the back door where we stop. She feels her way through each of her keys, and I wonder how she can tell the difference between them. But she does, trying repeatedly and failing each time to get it in the keyhole.

  “Let me,” I finally mumble, taking it from her hands without waiting for her consent.

  She moves through her house with ease, heading straight into the kitchen, where she slides her hand carefully across the island counter, grabbing the paper on it and holding it up to me. “What’s this say? Read it to me?”

  “Couldn’t wait. Going out. Phone’s dead.”

  Flopping down onto a stool at the island, she lets out a frustrated cry, dropping her head into her hands and breathing deeply for a few seconds before remembering she has company. Or a driver. Or something.

  “I’m sorry,” she explains, her voice somewhat muffled since she hasn’t raised her head. “I’ve had a crappy day, so this is like the cherry on top, ya know? That she’s not here? I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, but thanks.”

  Looking around the kitchen we’re in, the dinning room off to one side, the living room where we came in off to the other, I try to gain some knowledge about her from what I see. There’re several paintings on every wall, on every shelf, and some even stacked on a table behind the couch. “Do you paint?”

  “That would be Callie.”

  “And Callie is… your roommate?” I guess, having no idea. She texted this Callie to come get her, but obviously Callie didn’t get the message and went somewhere out without her.

  “And my sister,” she reluctantly admits. I have a feeling she thinks we’re getting really personal, although I’m not sure why. What’s it matter if I know she lives with her sister?