I stopped by to check on Shannon this evening. She was meeting Oliver for drinks, but she had had a very difficult day at work, and so she was considering calling him to cancel. I considered it, too—Shannon in a bad mood can be exceptionally sharp. But in the end she wanted to see him, and I hoped in turn that he might have a calming influence on her.
She sighed with relief on stepping into the bar. “It is hotter than hell out there,” she said as she came up to Oliver where he was waiting. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“That’s all right,” Oliver said. He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, but Shannon dodged the gesture, raising her hand to get the bartender’s attention. The unfortunate young man serving drinks was not quick enough for Shannon’s tastes, and she treated him to a brief tirade that made Oliver raise his brows.
“Was that necessary?” he asked when Shannon turned back to him in a huff, her drink in hand.
She took a gulp of the drink and demanded, “Have you not figured out that I’m a bitch?”
“I had not observed that yet,” Oliver said, one side of his mouth quirking up.
“Well you have been damn lucky, then,” Shannon said. She leaned her head against one hand, looking at him. “I must have been on my best behavior with you. But really, it’s true, I’m a raging bitch.”
“Surely not,” Oliver said.
“I certainly am after the day I’ve had,” she said, getting angry again just thinking about it. “I had to call six different carpenters to find one who were available to put up the sets on the day that we need them as well as take them down when the exhibit is over, and the second-to-last one was so fucking rude—and who exactly is it that I’m talking to? Oh, ma’am, I just want to confirm with your boss that this is what you want—like don’t fucking ‘ma’am’ me. Either I’m too young for you to trust me or I’m old enough to be called ‘ma’am’ like a goddamn soccer mom throwing a hissy fit in a grocery store, but you can’t have it both ways. So I hung up on his ass and I called someone else, and then when I finally got it all worked out it turned out that I had the budget amounts wrong, and I had to call them back and change the whole damn plan—” She sank one hand into her hair and clenched it into a fist, miming tearing her hear out.
“That does sound like a difficult day,” Oliver agreed. “But does it follow that because the day was unkind to you, you must be unkind to others?”
Shannon took another sip of her drink. “It makes me feel better,” she said.
“Does it?” he asked, giving her a skeptical look. “Does it really?”
Her back stiffened, despite my efforts to soothe her. “Are you judging me?”
“Merely asking,” Oliver said honestly. “In my experience, being unkind like that can make one feel better for a time, but it never lasts, at least for me. Is that the case for you?”
Shannon thought about this for a moment, which in the mood she was in was quite a concession. “Well, and what is wrong with me wanting to feel better even just for a minute?” she asked. “The world craps on everyone.”
“And does that mean that you must add to the crap?” Oliver asked, smiling.
His calm tone and affectionate gaze kept Shannon from retorting—though it certainly didn’t hurt that I was standing at her shoulder, radiating comfort and peace. They actually had quite a thoughtful conversation on the value of kindness to others and how that kindness can be rewarded—or not, as the case may be. It had enough of an impact that as they were leaving, Shannon stopped, went back to the bar, and apologized to the bartender for her nasty words. Then she went back to Oliver and studied him with her lips pursed for a moment.
“What?” he asked, smiling at her scowl.
“Would you like to go out with me?” she asked him.
He raised his brows. “As we did tonight, and earlier this week? Or—”
“No, I’m talking a real, actual, I-put-on-a-dress-and-you-wear-a-tie date,” she said. “Reservation at a swanky place, you bring me flowers, the whole nine.”
Oliver took her hand, his dark eyes very warm. “I would like that. But why now?”
“Oh, well,” she said, opening the door for him, “all of a sudden I’m thinking that saying is right—the one that says if you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” She followed him out of the bar, keeping her face even as she asked, “So how about it? I promise I won’t be a bitch. Or not too much of one.”
Oliver took her hand and kissed it, then kept hold of it as they walked down the street. Shannon rightly took that as a yes.
So they are faring well. I would have stayed with them for the remainder of their walk back to Shannon’s apartment, but I had one more visit to make this evening, one that spoke of endings rather than beginnings—at least for me.
I arrived at the Wimmer house in the middle of chaos—Mary, her family, and Jordan seemed to be playing a game that involved playing cards, spoons, attempts to knock over the table, and much laughter. Jordan was holding up a spoon in triumph while Mary’s younger brother howled in outrage.
“All right, all right,” Mrs. Wimmer gasped, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “Jordan, you are the uncontested champion.”
“That’s right!” Jordan shouted, tossing the spoon on the table. “Eat my dust, munchkin!” He scooped the boy up and swept him around the room.
“Hey, hey, don’t break anything!” Mrs. Wimmer protested. “Mary, could you please manage this? It’s past time they were in bed, and you should be too, since you’re leaving so early tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mary said, and she grabbed Jordan’s arm as he came by. “That means you have to leave, buddy.”
Now it was his turn to howl, but he allowed himself to be ushered out of the kitchen and onto the porch, where he turned and caught Mary in his arms. They kissed, and she laughed, listening through the door to her brothers complaining.
“I like your family,” Jordan said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.
“I like them, too,” she said. “And they like you. I think they’re more upset not to see you this week than they are about me.”
“Ah, they’ll miss you.” Jordan leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ll miss you too.”
She smiled, and they kissed again, longer this time. Then Mrs. Wimmer cleared her throat loudly from the other side of the door, and they broke apart, laughing.
“You have an awesome time,” Jordan said, skipping down the steps. “Lots of sunscreen! And call me at nights, okay? You promised.”
“Sure, I will,” Mary said. She waved goodbye to him, blowing him one last kiss. Then she went inside, caught both of her brothers in a hug, kissed her mother, and went upstairs to fall back onto her bed. Plans whirled in her head, all of them happy—plans for the trip with her three best friends tomorrow, plans to call Kayla over the weekend, plans for an advanced-placement class she will be taking after she gets back, plans for college searching and new chats on the website and a party for her mother’s birthday. The busy, blissful mind was a far cry from the girl who huddled alone in the darkness when I met her, and it was a joy to see.
I bent and kissed her forehead, giving her all my pride and admiration and love in that brief contact. “Be well,” I murmured to her. “You will be amazing.”
And I left her to sleep well, warm and happy and certain of herself.