Page 6 of Man Cuffed
“No idea,” I admit. “But hesoundshot.” There was something a little familiar in his voice that I just couldn’t place. But that was probably only wishful thinking.
“Now watch,” Cassidy says. “They’re both, like, seventy-five years old.”
I howl. “God, I hope they are. Because that means I have another forty-five years to find a guy like that.” And speaking of time. “Don’t you have to go?” Cassidy is supposed to have dinner at the Evergreen Club with her family.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Good times.”
“Free food,” I point out. Then I swat her on the butt. “Go. You’ve been a huge help to me. Thank you for giving me your Saturday.”
“Anytime! You know I don’t exactly have a packed social calendar.”
“Except for Greg from the dentist’s office. I expect a full report.”
“Don’t worry.”
I walk her to the door. “Give my love to Liam and my sister!”
“Will do.” She turns around after pressing the elevator button. “You could come, you know. There will be room at the table.”
“Maybe another time. I have to...shampoo my cat.”
She rolls her eyes because I don’t have a cat. Then she gives me a friendly wave and leaves.
I head back inside, congratulating myself for dodging that invitation. The McAllister parents aren’t exactly party animals. But that’s not really the issue. My sister and her husband will be there. And I just can’t deal with them today.
Don’t get the wrong idea. I love them both. But—like Cassidy—I’m a member of the Lonely Siblings Club. My sister Sadie just married Cassidy’s brother Liam. They also just welcomed my sister’s third child into the world—a little boy. Alfred. They named him after Hitchcock, their favorite filmmaker.
They are happy in that exuberant way that seems unfair to single people. And they don’t even have the good sense to be smug about it. Which makes it hard to hate them. I shouldn’t be so irritated with them finding love and happily-ever-after and all. That’s what I want, too.
But there are days when I don’t think it’s going to happen for me. Especially after my last relationship. That was my last really optimistic moment with a man. I’d begun imagining an alternate future for me. Instead of Meg The Famous Actress, for a brief moment I thought I’d be Meg Who Is Famously Married To A Podiatrist.
Unfortunately he wasalreadymarried. A fact he’d failed to mention.
That’s when I knew I had to get out of Atlanta. He was the last bead on a long string of disappointing relationships and even more disappointing acting gigs. I wanted a different life. One more like my sister’s life, honestly. Even if it kills me to say it. I want a little hit off the happiness and contentment pipe she’s smoking. Hell, she even has a great job, and the respect of her peers.
I’ve got a tiny rental apartment I can barely afford, a waitressing job, and a string of unsuccessful auditions.
With these irritable thoughts, I walk all the way through my apartment, my footsteps echoing because I can’t afford adequate rugs. When I get a little money, though, the first room I furnish won’t be a room at all. Cleanliness aside, what really drew me to this place is the deck.
In my kitchen, I open the back door and step outside.
Like the apartment, the deck is small. My outdoor space is maybe twelve feet by twelve feet square. But it looks out onto a neatly trimmed lawn, and then to a line of trees concealing the neighborhood bike path. I can see in two directions. The third is obscured by a six-foot fence that divides the space between my next-door neighbor and me.
Mr. Deep Voice. I haven’t met him yet. I’ve been dreaming about him, though. I hope he has a fascinating accent. I love accents. I can make myself a cocktail and sit out on the deck, eavesdropping and improving my Scottish brogue. Something like:Hello, laddie, I’m ah-bout to sit on yer face. Or maybe my neighbor is Australian! That would be great to practice because Aussie accents are hard.
On second thought, maybe I don’t really need any more accent training. I might give up acting altogether. I think. Maybe. We’ll see.
It’s June, so I take a deep breath of fragrant spring air, just to clear my brain.Ahhhhh. There’s enough space out here for a small dining table and two chairs.Anda chaise lounge—the sturdy kind, with a cushion and a cup holder.
It’s not a seat at the Academy Awards. But it still sounds great.
All I’ve got at the moment is a folding chair. So I sit down on it anyway. A cold beer would be really nice, too. But I haven’t been shopping yet. My new (and very clean) fridge is empty. So I sit on my folding chair and mentally compose a shopping list.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there when I hear someone step out onto my neighbor’s half of the patio. I glance up in spite of the fence. But of course I can’t see who’s there.
“Bring the wine, hot stuff,” a woman’s voice says. “It’s hot out here. I hope there aren’t bugs.”
I roll my eyes. Who steps out onto a deck on a lovely spring day and immediately finds two things to complain about?
