Rock Bottom Girl(45)

“You need another haircut, fur face.” He was part Goldendoodle, part who the hell knows what, and his pretty little curls had the tendency to get unruly. Homer grumbled at me in agreement. He had a crush on the lady who ran the groomers. I’d drop him off before work, and he’d follow her around, mooning after her with his dopey brown eyes for the day.

My phone dinged from somewhere, and I went digging for it, finding it between the couch cushions.

Marley: We need some ground rules if we’re still doing this thing.





I laughed. “Women, am I right, Homes?” His tail tapped out a beat against the armrest.

Me: Whatever pleases m’lady.





I could hear her rolling her eyes across town.

Marley: I’m serious. What are we doing here? How are we going to pretend to be together for an entire semester? Are we supposed to make out on lunch duty?





Me: We should definitely do that.





The dots appeared, signaling she was replying, and then disappeared again. They did twice more before my phone rang.

“Hey, girlfriend,” I answered cheerfully.

“What are we doing, Jake? This is stupid.” Her voice was husky, grumpy. A unique combination that I apparently found very attractive.

“What’s stupid?”

“This scheme. We’re adults. Adults don’t pretend to be in a relationship.”

“You’re operating on the assumption that there’s a standard adulthood that we all subscribe to. You think it’s grown-up to go tattling to the boss over a co-worker relationship? Is it grown-up to throw your weight around and steal some other team’s practice field? We’re all just overgrown teenagers running around trying to be happy.”

There was silence for a beat on her end. “That’s oddly deep.”

“What can I say? I’m a deep guy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I can have deep thoughts,” I argued. “What’s the real problem here, Mars?”

She sighed. “I thought I’d have it figured out by now.”

“It?” I knew what she meant, but I wanted her to talk it through.

“Life. Job. Relationship. I never thought I’d be in this situation this close to forty. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing by now.”

I could tell she regretted the confession and the vulnerability it exposed.

“You feel like you’re failing?” I asked, sneaking the question in before she could rebuild the walls.

She was quiet and then, “Yeah. Over and over and over again. Jobs. Relationships. Personal accomplishments. It’s like I missed the day in school when they told us how to be an adult.”

“I’m gonna throw something out here that’s probably going to melt your mind. Are you ready?” I asked, stroking a hand over Homer’s silky ear.

“Hang on let me get a notebook and a pen,” she said dryly. Man, I was so into her.

“What if none of those things were right for you?”

“What if I wasn’t right for any of those things?” she shot back.

“What’s the difference? If a job or a guy didn’t fit you or you didn’t fit them, the problem’s the same. The fit was wrong.”

“No. It’s not. Because if it’s not them, it’s gotta be me. Maybe I don’t fit anywhere. Ugh. This is stupid. I’m stupid. I don’t know why I called.”

“Because you wanted to talk. So talk, Mars. There’s no judgment here. You think I’ve got my shit together? I’ve got my feet up on a three-week-old box of pizza. And it just moved on its own. I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve had a few one-night stands that extended into a week or maybe a month. But I’ve never met a girl’s parents. Hell, I’ve never even bought a woman I wasn’t related to a Christmas present.”

“You ever think that maybe you just don’t want that?” Marley suggested. I imagined her laying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, kicking one of those nice long legs up.

“I didn’t. Now, I’m not so sure.” I glanced around my grandmother’s living room—my living room. Maybe it was her ghost that was pushing these new, weird feelings at me. She wanted her grandbabies settled, married, pumping out their own babies and organizing carpools and bake sales.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out?” she asked.

Did I? “I don’t know. Kinda. But I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“I feel the same way,” she admitted. “But now I’m starting to wonder if I’m just meant to bounce from job to job, boring monogamous relationship to boring monogamous relationship.”

“Sweetheart, our monogamous relationship might be fake, but I can guarantee you it won’t be boring.”

She laughed softly, and it made me smile.

“Back to this fake relationship,” she said. “What does it entail?”

“I don’t know. What does a real relationship involve?” I asked, picking up a tennis ball that I used to work out shoulder kinks and tossing it in the air. Homer eyed it lazily.

“Dates. Dinner. Movies. Lazy Sundays. Spending time together.”