Paying Her Dues

I can’t help but smile and my mood starts to lighten just being around him. He always says that. When he doesn’t like something, or won’t hear of it, he says, “I’m not receiving you.” He learned about it on Tik Tok. It’s very empowering.

“I’m eighteen as of two weeks ago. And you’re eighteen as of right now. And the great state of North Carolina, in its questionable wisdom, will let us both drink wine and beer tonight. So?”

I tip the last of the M&Ms into my mouth from their paper packet, thinking it over and savoring the crackle of the candy-coating shattering against my teeth. There is exactly zero chance I am ready to go home. It’s my birthday, and it’s time to celebrate. “Can we get the seasoned fries?”

“Yes, we fucking can, girl!” Sam says.

I nod and inhale, and then pull out my phone. Even though my parents are parked on the other side of the building, I call them instead of going out to the car. I don’t like lying and especially not directly to their faces. But this is a very special occasion. As the dial tone whirrs in my ears, I whisper to Sam, “Think your dad would let me stay the night?”

“Pffft. Let you stay? He’d like you to live with us, Queen.”

Oh geez. A hazy image of Mike in boxers drinking coffee in the kitchen every morning pops into my head. His dark hair with a hint of silver speckle coming through. He’s successful and does things his own way. Never brags or acts pretentious but I know just from being around, he’s got to be close to being a billionaire but he doesn’t act like it. He’s big like a protective bear and I bet his thighs are like marble and in that split-second, I realize I’ve never seen him in shorts, or a bathing suit…but the idea of thin, wet, nylon fabric clinging to his--

My mom’s voice, sharp and annoyed, fills my left ear. “Yes, honey?”

“Hi. I’m going to stay late to practice, and so is Sam. We are going to really knuckle down for a couple more hours. Then, tonight we’d like to practice more, help each other. He knows the Paganini and his critiques are brutal.” I say watching Sam nod on a silent laugh. “Then, I’ll just stay over at his house.”

Mom sighs. I know she’s going to say yes; Mike and Sam’s is the only place I’m allowed to stay. She knows Sam won’t put the moves on me, because I’m not Sam’s flavor of ice cream. And Mike, even though she thinks he’s irritatingly rough around the edges, is like a member of our family. Sort of. Or he was, until I started admiring those veins in his forearms. “I suppose. But make sure you practice but also sleep.”

“I will, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too, and sweetie?”

My heart swells. Here it comes. She’s remembered. She’s remembered today is my birthday. “Yes?”

“Make sure you don’t get into all their junk food. You know they have some very poor eating habits.”

My heart plummets and a stinging of sadness fills my nose. “Yes, Mom,” I say, and end the call.

* * *

Three hourslater and I’ve got a tummy full of buffalo chicken sandwich and seasoned fries and an onion blossom, and dining room at Chili’s seems…wobbly. I smack my lips around the straw that sits in the almost-finished wine-a-rita. “Are you sure it’s just wine in here?”

Sam giggles. “Yes. But seeing as you’ve never had a drink of anything more adult than club soda, you’re gonna have the spins.”

“The spins, oh my god, yes. I think I am heading into the spins.”

“Right, you’re cut off, you lush,” Sam says, taking the fishbowl away from me. He pecks at his phone with an elegantly manicured finger then says, “Dad. SOS.”

Mike’s gorgeous face appears on the other side of the FaceTime screen. I resist the urge to swoon right into a heap on the slightly sticky booth seat.

Mike sweeps his big, muscular hand through his salt and pepper hair. I can tell from what’s behind him that he’s not at home; things that look vaguely like motorcycle parts line the shelves behind him. So that’s what he does instead of hovering. “Tell me.”

Sam flips the camera around as he explains, “Wine-a-rita. Big one. Chilis on Route 8.”

Mike chuckles out a laugh. I hear keys jingle. “You good, Jess?”

I prop my face up with my hand and can’t help but stare at him like a star-struck little girl. Even his eyebrows are gorgeous. “We’re going to have brownie sundaes next. Gonna be ‘mmmmmmazing.”

Mike lets out a deep, sexy laugh. “I’ll just drop off the bike and grab my pickup. I’ll be there before you know it.”

He looks at me for a long second and behind my belly button there is this fluttery warmth then he says, “Happy Birthday, Jess. Welcome to adulthood.”

And the screen goes dark but everything inside me light up.

Our sundaes arrive, mine with a candle in it, and the whole waitstaff sings happy birthday to me. I am dying with embarrassment but loving it so much. And then I am lost in the magical land of warm brownies and cold ice cream and caramel sauce. The best.

Once we’re done eating, I manage to gulp down two big glasses of water. Sam pays the bill and we totter off toward the unisex bathrooms. “God. I love gender equality!” Sam says, holding the door open for me. Together we pee, in adjoining stalls, and then do our lip gloss in the big mirror. Sam is just fussing for the sake of fussing. But I’m fussing… for Mike.

Sam’s phone chirps and he takes my arm in his, leading me outside into the fresh night air. A group of guys is off to one side, being loud and rowdy. But I barely notice them. Because there, standing by his big, burly, black pickup, is Mike.

And my whole body says, Hiiiiii.