All I Ever Wanted(4)

“Hello? I’m still here, Callie,” my sister reminded me sharply. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Hes… What do you think I should do?” I asked.

“Step outside?” suggested the man behind me.

“Damned if I know, Callie,” she sighed. “The longest relationship I’ve ever had lasted thirty-six hours. Which you know,” she said, her voice turning thoughtful, “has worked really well for me.”

“Hes,” I said wetly, “I’ll be seeing them together every day.” The notion made my heart clench.

“That’s probably gonna suck,” my sister agreed.

“You poah deah,” said the older woman, squeezing my hand.

Work would never be the same. Green Mountain Media, the company that I helped build, would now be home to Muriel. Muriel. That was such a mean name! A rich girl’s name! A cold and condemning name! Not like Callie, which was so bleeping friendly and cute!

A sob squeaked out, and Mr. Intolerant behind me grumbled. That was it. I whirled around. “Look, mister, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, but I’m having a really shitty day, okay? Is that okay with you? My heart is breaking, okay, pal?”

“By all means,” he said coolly. “Please continue with your emotional diarrhea.”

Ooh. The bastard! He looked like the stick-up-the-butt type…dressed in a suit (and you know, please—this is Vermont). He had a boring military-style haircut, cold blue eyes and disdainful Slavic cheekbones. I turned back around. Clearly he didn’t understand what love felt like. Love gone bad. Love rejected. My tender and loyal heart, broken.

That being said, maybe he had a point.

“I’d better go,” I whispered to my sister. “I’ll call you later, Hes.”

“Okay. Sucks that it’s your birthday today. But listen, if it’s having babies you’re worried about, don’t bother. I can get you pregnant in a New York minute. I know all the best sperm donors.”

“I don’t want you to get me pregnant,” I blurted.

“For God’s sake,” muttered Mr. Slavic Cheekbones. The older woman who’d been cuckolded looked questioningly at me.

“My sister’s a fertility doctor,” I explained. I closed my phone and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “She’s very successful.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” my dairy farmer friend replied. “My daughter did in vitro. She’s gawt twins now. Foah yeahs old.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said wetly.

“Next,” droned the robot. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. The man behind me sighed again.

Images of Mark flooded my mind—our first kiss when I was only fourteen. Years later at work, him bending over my computer, his hand companionably on my shoulder. Getting nearly drunk on maple syrup just last week at a farm we were pitching. Our first kiss. The fateful airplane ride to Santa Fe. Did I mention our first kiss?

Hot tears leaked out of my eyes, and I sucked in a shuddering breath.

Suddenly, a neatly folded handkerchief appeared at the side of my head. I turned. Mr. Intolerance of the Cruel Cheekbones was offering me his handkerchief. “Here,” he said, and I took it. It was ironed. It may have been starched. Who did that anymore? I blew my nose heartily, then looked at him again.

“Keep it,” he suggested, looking over my head.

“Thank you,” I squeaked.

“Next,” one of the drones called from behind the counter. We shuffled forward once more.

An eternity later, I finally had a new license. Insult to injury…for however many years, I would look like an escaped lunatic…mascara puddled, face blotchy, smile wobbly and insincere. So much for my spiffy outfit.

As I fished my keys out of my bag, I saw the older woman standing near the exit, putting on those vast black sunglasses old folks wear after cataract surgery. My heart went out to her…at least my husband didn’t cheat on me. Leave me after forty-two years. Crikey.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” I asked.

“Who, me?” she asked. “No, sweethaht, I’ve gawt work to do. Good luck with everything, though.”

On impulse, I gave her a hug. “Norman’s an idiot,” I told her.

“I think you’re one smaht cookie,” she said, patting my back. “That boyfriend of yaws doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

“Thanks,” I answered, tears threatening again. My new friend gave me a wave and went out to her car.

My phone bleated. Mom. Great. “Happy birthday, Calliope!” she sang.

“Hi, Mom,” I answered, wondering if she’d pick up anything from my leaden tone. She didn’t.

“Listen, I have news. Dave just called. Elements burst a pipe and flooded.”

Being housed in a 150-year-old industrial building, Elements was somewhat prone to this type of thing. “That’s fine,” I said. “I’m not really in the mood anyway.” At least I wouldn’t have to endure a birthday party. I could just go home and eat cake batter.

“Don’t be silly,” Mom trilled. “I’ve already called everyone. We’re having your party here.”

My heart sank. “Here? Where do you mean, here?”