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“Yes! I screamed, yes!”
“That sounds like a very loud moment to relive over and over again. Do you ever say no?”
“Always and forever yes.”
“And you’re sure. This is what you want. To spend a life with him?”
“I’m already spending a life with him. Now… it’s permanent.”
“Nothing’s permanent. Not even the pumpkin he carved your initials in.”
“Yeah, that was pretty gross when you tried to shellac it.”
“It got all wrinkly and the S looked like an 8.”
“Are you trying to ruin my moment on purpose?”
“No! Not at all.”
“Congratulations!”
“You’re getting married!”
“Holy fucking shit.”
Who’s Emma?” I ask Rachel when I return with another round of beers.
“My daughter,” she says without pause as she tosses the dart and hits the bullseye. I about choke on my beer. Rachel doesn’t notice, or she pretends not to. It’s rare that I’m this wrong when reading a situation. My skills must be dulled. “I was young when I had her. Too young. I had help raising her. So, we’re giving living together a try before she leaves for college.”
I attempt to decipher this. But I can’t without asking questions. There are a few things she said or didn’t say… that make me not want to question anything. And I also don’t want to open that door—getting to know each other beyond the surface, because the last thing I want is questions in return.
My silence gets her attention. “That’s not a problem, right?”
“Why would it be?” I answer passively, although I’m still thrown that she’s old enough to have a teenage daughter. Or that Emma’s a teenager.
“I don’t want you to think… I don’t want it to be weird if you ever come over.” She tries to correct herself, but it’s already taken a bad turn. “To hang out. Or watch a movie or whatever. I know I promised casual. But we can hang out sometimes, right? It doesn’t just have to be about sex.”
I do choke on my beer this time. “That’s not what I thought this was.”
“Really?” She sounds as surprised as I am. I think we need to define casual.
“I appreciate the offer for casual. But I took that to mean just hanging out. A beer, some darts. Nothing that has… promise. Friends? I’m not in a place I can make any sort of commitment. And since this is our first time out, let’s, um, take it one hang at a time?”
I’m trying to be clear. No expectations. No promises. This has no future. I didn’t even consider a second night. Sex was never an assumption.
“Totally. Completely get it.”
Rachel puts money in the jukebox and starts dancing around to the classic rock she selected. I admire the music choice. And laugh at her enthusiasm. She even gets this old man at the bar to twirl her around. She’s not shy. And she loves the attention, getting people to smile and laugh.
How could she be the mother of a teenager? Most of the time, Rachel has the energy of a teenager herself.
“There’s a lot going on in that head of yours.” Rachel sidles up beside my barstool and bumps me with her hip. “Which part has you thinking that hard? That I’m old enough to have a teenager? Or that I’m completely fine with hooking up, no strings.”
By the time I swallow, she’s talking again. “You’re like twenty-eight, right? I mean, I’m not that much older. I was a teenager when I got pregnant. That doesn’t weird you out, right?”
I shake my head and take another swig of beer. “No reason it should.” I still may need to clarify the hooking up part, although I’m relieved she emphasized “no strings.” This isn’t a friends-with-benefits situation. I’ll deal if we get there. I don’t want this to get heavy with definitions and rules.
I’m here because I haven’t had a reason to laugh in a long time. Rachel’s mission in life seems to be to not take life seriously. It’s also her second resolution for this year. I could use that kind of energy in my life right now.
