Homeless Heart

Chapter 9

Lizzie

Today, I, Elizabeth Baxter, had too much work to do and not enough time in the day to do it. Lying in bed first thing this morning reviewing my electronic list of everything that needed to get done, I wanted to cry.

"Fuck!" I groaned, realizing the day would be a giant hairy bitch.

My screen blared at my sleepy eyes. Realizing the time, I barreled out of bed to face the day, gathering all my energy reserves, knowing that my favorite espresso waited for me. Always rushing to get ready wasn't new to me this time of year. Finding the appropriate outfit was usually a priority, but this morning, I needed to tackle my list head-on, and cute clothes weren't even in the top five on my list. I picked out a basic black pencil skirt and white cotton blouse from one of the piles and smelled them both to ensure they were clean. I knew the stacks sometimes got mixed up after I'd done the laundry. This time of year, I had no time to hang clothes or to care about clean clothes; my job was my priority, not cleaning up, because I was a bit of a slob. After a quick shower, letting my hair air dry, getting dressed, and putting on minimal makeup, I got into my car to head to my favorite café near the office. I am convinced they lace their coffee with crack or chocolate, something that made it so much better than others. They always refused to tell me the secret ingredient, but today I didn't care, I just needed my fix. If they pumped it directly in my veins, I'd be a happy woman.

After I parked my car, I dashed to the café with my head down, typing on my phone when some guy typing on his phone rammed right into me. I watched in slow motion as my precious phone flew in the air and landed face down on the hard concrete. I turned it over to see the screen was shattered. "Fuckity giblets!" Stamping my feet as I yelled out at no one in particular. I was truly fucked!

Usually, this would make for the perfect "meet cute boy in a rom-com," but my phone was broken, and the hipster doofus kept walking. I wanted to strangle him with his man bun, but I needed coffee far more than a homicide rap. I almost started to cry, but I could still read the screen. Maybe it was salvageable.

He didn't even look up or say he was sorry. He was probably too busy ordering wax for his mustache. “Dick!" I said to no one in particular as I marched down the street to find my caffeine fix for the day.

It's official, I was having a bad day, and I hadn’t even started work yet. The bright side was a dark-haired, very handsome stranger had shown me a simple act of kindness today when I grumbled my way into the cafe. The small gesture had immediately helped my mood. Coffee was my salvation today, and he'd been kind enough to provide that for me. He was my hero. I stood pretending to look at my phone as I tried to peek a look at the handsome man. When I finally got the courage to look up, I couldn't stop staring into his emerald-green eyes. I locked onto the sadness that was there just behind his thin smile. I'd seen that look before in the people I'd helped in my job. The sorrow was often there, right behind the gratitude they had for the help my charity provided them and their families. Ironically, my life was made up of small acts of kindness to others. Working for a charity for the homeless and runaway youth meant I was always trying to help people.

"Thanks for the coffee, you didn't have to do that. You are right. I am having the worst day. My phone just slipped out of my hand, and the screen cracked." I was babbling now; I did that when I was nervous. "Shit, this couldn't happen at a worse time. I am such a klutz." I swiped my finger, thinking it would be fine. "Ouch, I got a glass splinter in my fucking finger now."

Looking into his eyes was like lying on a warm bed of green grass staring at the sky on a summer day. He took hold of my hand and checked for a fragment of glass. The feel of his warm hand on mine was making me calm and excited at the same time. This stranger was holding my hand, and I didn't want him to let go. I wasn't concentrating on what I was saying at this point; I was still babbling about my phone. Reluctantly, I had to let go and get to work. My list wasn't getting any shorter while I stared at this handsome man. Saying goodbye to him sucked, but I had shit to do, so I headed to the Apple store and hoped I'd see the handsome stranger again one day.

I couldn't stop thinking about him, the handsome green-eyed stranger. What was his story? Yes, I am the girl who always gave the homeless guy with a dog, her spare change, or gave my winter coat to a woman who needed it. My parents, from an early age, had helped me see that helping others was an essential part of being a human being. The other reason I was driven into this line of work was when my best friend Rainey had run away from home when we were in high school. One night, she disappeared from her abusive home, and we never heard from her again. After spending years trying to find her and working at different local charities, I decided this was the work I was meant to do. I'd hoped that Rainey had people and places to help her find her way. To this day, I don't know what happened to her, but I hope she found herself a better life. I tried never to contemplate the worst; I had to believe Rainey was living her best life.

I liked my job as a charity event planner at a nonprofit organization; it paid well for a single career girl in the Bay Area. Of course, I'd never been able to afford to buy a house on my own here, but I could rent a pretty nice place in the city. In my cozy two-bedroom apartment, the extra bedroom worked as an office and guest room, despite never having guests.

I decorated it in a lived-in modern style from places like West Elm, Pottery Barn, and a bit of IKEA. As a girl on a budget, I couldn't afford everything to be top of the line, so shabby-urban-chic worked for me. To the dismay of my family, I am not a neat freak, and they might even describe me as a slob, so the styles complemented each other.

When I lived with Greg, my ex-evil boyfriend, he had an issue with my carefree nature about cleanliness and constantly goaded me about it. He often threatened to get a cleaner so I would then clean up for a while and he'd get off my case. His threats should have been one of the warning signs that we weren't compatible, but I was blind to it.

When it was all said and done, my friends did their best not to remind me of the bad decisions I'd made or of all the warning signs I'd ignored regarding Greg. The thought of how bad a judge of character I'd been for almost five years made me want to cry and hit something. My stomach lurched at the thought of what I'd lost during that time, and I touched my belly, soothing away that pain. I'd have an almost five-year-old daughter or son right now. My life would be so different if I'd had the baby; it was hard to imagine now. The miscarriage had changed that part of my history, so I would never know. As I approached the Apple store, I was deep in thought of what could have been, when the sound of a car horn brought me out of my dark thoughts. Today was not the day to think about the past; I had too much to do in my future. I vowed never to let my relationship with Greg drag me down. Screw that fart knocker.

Today was a busy day at the charity; we were having our big annual ball in a week, and I had to be online around the clock. Hence, the reason my phone's demise was ruining an already sucky day.

Walking into the insanity of the Apple store, I stopped to survey the nerdscape wondering which genius would be the most helpful. Even at the ripe old age of thirty-one, I wasn't above flirting or possibly undoing an extra button on my blouse to get a genius to help me. My cleavage was exceptional, and these boys weren't particular. Finding the perfect nerd was like a cheetah zeroing in on a weak gazelle on the African planes. They were easy pickings standing in a huddle near the door. I hoped I'd get the least sweaty and most clean-shaven of the cluster and crossed my fingers they'd be able to fix my phone now.

I approached the official genius with an iPad. It seemed he was the "chief genius" or "head nerd." We'll call him Gandalf. The hierarchy at the Apple store made me laugh; it was much like the Lord of the Rings, except without the hot ones, Aragorn or Legolas. After telling him what had happened, he grimaced and spoke into his headset, summoning another blue-shirted young man. We'll call him Frodo. I followed Frodo—he looked knowledgeable, and he was one of the more well-groomed of technicians. Score!

I handed over my precious phone, and he took one look and winced, getting a small glass splinter in his finger. He asked me several questions and assured he'd get me a new phone, and then he disappeared behind a locked door that stored all the goodies. In a few moments, Frodo magically appeared with my new phone, and I felt like I got the precious ring. When he handed me the phone, I was so relieved I almost kissed the kid. He looked like human contact made him uncomfortable, so I refrained from giving him a hug. Instead, I tried a fist bump but that went south too, so then it turned into an awkward high five. I left swiftly with my precious phone before there was any collateral damage.

Spending most of my morning getting my phone sorted out wasn't on my list of things to do, but there was no avoiding it. After getting a cup of terrible coffee from the break room, I just sat down at my desk, watching my computer sync.

As I stared at the screen avoiding work emails, my mind drifted to the gorgeous dark-haired stranger who had bought me coffee this morning. He seemed like a friendly kid, but I couldn't stop thinking about his haunted green eyes. He must have been twenty-five or so, but there was a sadness and wisdom that lay behind his gaze that you couldn't miss if you looked at him for more than a passing glance. My hand tingled from his warm, calloused touch was comforting in a way I'd never felt; I hadn't wanted him to let go. Tingle is the word of the day. These feelings were the romantic shit I'd read about in books or seen in the movies; I hadn't ever thought it was real. Love, at first sight, was made up like unicorns or Bigfoot. I was doing that thing I'd done with Greg, believing our connection was more than it was and nothing good ever came of it. I'd learned that unicorns and Bigfoot didn't exist the hard way, and I wasn't about to fall for that again. Those creatures stayed in fairy tales and on ironic T-shirts. My work and my family had kept me busy enough not to miss any romantic relationships. I don't need a man!

My computer continued to sync with my phone as my thoughts shifted to my ex, vile Greg. I'd ignored his snide comments about my looks, my sloppiness, or the way I dressed for too long. I should have left him long before our fifth anniversary, and the miscarriage happened. Now the thought of spending a lifetime with him sent me running through the door leaving a Lizzie shaped hole, but at the time I was committed. In hindsight, I know why I stayed, I often felt sorry for him, he'd not had a carefree childhood and I stupidly wanted to fix him. He'd been in foster care; he'd survived on his own and made something of himself. I was proud of how he was self-made, but all that often made him hard and judgmental. So, when I got pregnant, I thought he'd be happy about it, a chance to love a kid of his own. WRONG!

When I decided to tell him about the pregnancy. I cleaned up the house that day to make him happy and made his favorite lasagna. The house smelled amazing, and I'd hoped to catch him off guard. Greg was no dummy; he surveyed the house and the glass of wine waiting for him.

"What's going on, Ellie?" No one called me Ellie but him, I hated it. He was standing with his hands on his hips.

"Sit down, Greg, I've got some news."

He begrudgingly sat down across from me on the sofa.

I didn't wait; I needed to say it. "I'm pregnant."

He shot up out of his seat, and his face was filled with rage. He wasn't happy, far from it.

"What the fuck, Ellie! We talked about this; I am not ready for kids. I want us to have a life first, maybe in ten years." He paced in front of me. "Fuck! You have to get an abortion."

I couldn't believe what he was saying. "No, I can't do that, Greg. My parents will help out. We can do this."

"Ellie, this doesn't work for me. I think you did this on purpose."

"Greg, stay! We can work it out!"

"I won't change my mind, Ellie."

Sitting there in my living room, I was gobsmacked that I'd somehow missed this cruel streak about him. He got up and left the house without a word, and I never heard from him again. I'd called and gone to his work, but he blocked seeing me. One day, I came home from work, and all his stuff was gone. True to his word, he was gone, and I was left pregnant and on my own. DICK!

After a few weeks, I'd just become used to the idea of raising the baby on my own. When I went to the bathroom one morning, there was blood in my underwear. My body began to cramp, and I lost my last connection to "Evil Greg," and with that went my trust in men.

When this all happened, to say I was devastated would be an understatement. My parents and friends were worried about me. I wasn't leaving the house or eating well. They threatened to get me therapy, which I assured them I didn't need, so in time, I started to take care of myself and come back to life. A valuable lesson had been learned from my experience with Greg. From that moment, I decided that I would concentrate on working hard, treasuring my family and friends, and that would be more than enough of a life for me. I didn't need a man to take care of me. However, on lonely nights, I wished I had a man to love me. Vibrators can't take you to the movies and rub your feet at the end of a hard day.

Shaking my head, tired of reliving the past, the thought of that handsome man flashed across my mind again; I needed to buy him a coffee to say thanks. Working at a charity ensured I knew better than anyone that generosity starts at home.