Searching For Sarah (The Sarah Series Book 1) Read online

  I closed my books and went home, or whatever it was. Right now, it was where I laid my head down at night. I wondered why I was there, and where I’d eventually end up, not to mention with who. I should’ve taken a moment and listed my goals like Sam suggested that day. My current situation was no picnic. If I had to return to waiting tables, single-status, so be it. Working at the diner wasn’t all that bad. I’d just have to think of a really good excuse as to why I was back. At the going-away party, Tony, my boss, had the words “We’re going to miss you” written on the cake. Everyone was happy I was finally moving forward with chasing my dream. Little did they know, I’d spent a lifetime on that chase. I’d weigh a gazillion pounds by now if I’d received a cake for every time I moved in the direction of finding my happiness.

  Anxiety crept up on me like shadows down back alleyways as I thought of ways to tell my dad I was quitting school. This batch of school loans wouldn’t be that bad, though. Only one and a half semester’s worth. Just add it on my tab of bettering myself, and searching for that purpose that seemed to always be one step ahead of me.

  I was surprised to find Sam and Sophie had already gone to bed when I came home. I didn’t realize it was so late. It takes me forever to get moving once I’ve decided I’m going nowhere. I suppose I must’ve been in the Starbucks parking lot for over an hour, pondering what my next move was and sipping on a black coffee, hold the sugar. I even got in a few rows of stitching underneath the parking lot light pole. I should’ve snapped a picture and sent it to Robena. But I figured she’d be curled up in bed by now—a few dozen cats licking her like a Tootsie Pop while she snored.

  The next morning, I woke up in the same clothes I wore the night before, as I deliberated my future in the parking lot. Commence the agony of another failed relationship, and questions of what I’d do with my life. It was clear school was toast and the diner would now be my new environment, working morning shift through the lunch rush. Yeah, I could see years of schooling had gone into that profound decision. I looked at my watch when Sophie busted into my room and jumped on the bed. I guessed Sam had already left for work.

  “What do you say to hanging with me today?” I asked the little girl wearing Peppa Pig pajamas. Before Sophie, I didn’t know there was a European pig who went on car rides and spoke in a cool accent that could lull me to sleep.

  “Yay! No school.” She jumped higher.

  “Okay, let’s turn on some television so I can get ready. You and I are going grocery shopping. I think it’s only fitting that if I’m going to be making you dinner every night, I should plan something wonderful. Put my culinary skills to use.”

  I knew that culinary degree would come in handy. Dad scoffed at the idea I was learning what starches did to sugars. To him, there was no reason to pay someone to teach you what was already available to buy in a boxed cake mix. And there was no reason to enlighten him that I really earned the degree because the chef at O’Henrys was my man flavor from March through August. I had even picked out my cake topper for our awesome lemon cake smothered in vanilla buttercream icing with hints of almond.

  Charles Keffer…the man did what no other could do to butter-wrapped sushi. Or to rum cake, drenched in crunchy pecans crystallized in ginger and sugar. I should’ve known the reason I was getting only half portions. It seemed Amy, the hostess, was getting the other half. Just like doctors, chefs have this “God’s gift to women” notion about themselves. Put a man in an apron and have him make you sinful risotto with snow peas and chicken with slivered almonds, and he thinks he owns the world. Thinking back, it was the only time I cried after breaking up with a guy. I think it was his fettuccini I missed the most.

  The day off with Sophie was productive. We stopped by the park and swung on a few swings. I was the brave one who jumped. We ate a delicious bar of fudge, gobbled up ice cream cones, and grocery shopped for fun meals at the Whole Foods at Merchant Square. I only felt bad twice that I wasn’t attending my already paid-for class. I resolved I wasn’t going to be a pillar in society by way of law and rested my guilt of ever returning to school. Ever. No matter who I met and what they were or pursuing in life. The revelation was rather liberating. Like being sprung from prison—one that I willingly signed up for and paid to attend. Now, just to press those numbers out on the phone and tell Dad. Which made my thirty-one-year-old body feel instantly as though it were fourteen.

  Sam was home in time for dinner. Maybe his job actually ended at sunset, or that leaf was really turned after my rant in the towel the other night. I was hoping for a little bit of both. He seemed surprised to see me cooking.

  “I didn’t expect you to be staying for dinner. I tried to get here on time so you could go out. Or whatever you needed to do or go.” He set his keys in the basket by the coffee pot.

  That Rob boat sailed, I thought. Just me now, here in my dingy, trying to look unaffected by being single yet again. “Nah, I’m good. I went to the grocery store and bought ingredients to make spaghetti.”

  “It smells amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I stirred the sauce and looked at it bubbling.

  “Somehow I’m guessing that isn’t Chef Boyardee from a can.” He took his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.

  I laughed. “No, I made it from scratch.”

  His brow arched. “That’s impressive. With actual tomatoes and garlic?”

  “That’s the kind. Now let’s wait and see how it tastes.” I put the spoon down and checked the noodles.

  “Is Sophie—”

  “She’s in the back room, watching television and coloring. I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t send her to school today.”

  His face scrunched. “You didn’t?”

  “No, she helped me a bit.”

  “That’s fine. But are you sure you have time to cook? Don’t you have a full load at school, and a boyfriend who never gets to see you because I can’t seem to remember to get home on time?”

  I forced a smile. “It seems I don’t have either one of those at the moment.” I reached up in the cabinet for the plates.

  “What?” He leaned on the counter.

  “I sort of quit school, and my boyfriend quit me.”

  “Quit school?”

  “Yeah. It needed to be done. I wasn’t really digging the whole case law number blah, blah, blah. Not to mention the large books they required you to read. It was wreaking havoc on my posture, hauling those boulders around.”

  His eyes didn’t blink. I’m not certain he understood my very impromptu decisions. Oh, yeah, he was the guy with the goal expectations.

  “I see.”

  I waved around the spoon. “It was a nice thought in theory. You know, change the world, being able to spring a friend from jail, know some big words, sort of theory. I just knew it wasn’t for me the moment the bird on the branch outside the classroom window was more interesting than the bearded guy lulling me to sleep with his PowerPoint.”

  “And your boyfriend? Is that another busted theory of yours? Hopefully it had nothing to do with me never coming home on time. Maybe some bird on a nearby perch seemed more interesting?” He looked hopeful.

  “Ha! I’m sure the fact of you not coming home on time didn’t do wonders for our budding relationship, but I’m going more on the damp-underwear-tied-up-in-my-bag theory.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sophie had an accident at school one day, and they tied her underwear up in a bag, which I then tossed in my pocketbook to take home. And that’s of course the day that Rob went in search of a piece of gum and found said shamed panties.” I shrugged. “I must’ve forgotten to take it out. He was appalled, and I wasn’t, needless to say.”

  I pulled out a few salad bowls while I continued my story. “But that wasn’t the first scare Rob had of me turning into a lactating, scary mammal.” I grabbed the lettuce and tomatoes from the fridge and continued. “I helped Sophie put some sparkles on her shoes one morning and got some glue on my shirt. Which Rob thought was milk
, because he has a sister who obviously leaks milk every time she feeds her newborn baby.” I pulled a knife from the drawer and began to cut the cucumber. “As if I could leak milk. But I saw the writing on the wall. He’d rather date long-legged, non-lactating gazelles. Which is what I used to signify. I guess. Who knows? I feel more and more the need to take a multivitamin every day when I wake up with sore knees.”

  I felt myself ranting, just thinking how my life was unraveling again. With this setback, I’d do good to find a guy, date him a sufficient amount of time, and still have time for a planned wedding and babies. I wanted at least three. Two is too few, four is too many—children of course, not weddings.

  Sam stood there. As in, didn’t move because maybe he was too scared to.

  Sophie saved the awkward moment by running in and jumping up and down for him to hold her. “Daddy, I’m so glad you’re home before it’s dark.”

  “Me, too, sweetie.” He kissed her on the cheek before he placed her down to grab the markers she came in the kitchen to get.

  “Come color with me, Daddy.”

  He was being mercilessly pulled by the little girl. On the way out, he stopped and looked at me. “I assure you, he’ll kick himself one day when he realizes what he let go. You, in no way, even resemble a scary mammal. Lactating or not.” He grinned and disappeared down the hall.

  I grabbed the back of my neck and straightened my posture. Kick himself? In no way resembling a scary mammal? And somehow hearing those words me feel better. They carried the weight of a gallon of rocky road ice cream and a bag of marshmallows. Because who in the free world puts enough in that ice cream? Minus all the lactating and mammal commentary, I felt amazing. I’m a girl—I choose wisely what to deliberate on in my mind.

  Dinner made me proud. Sophie had two small plates of noodles, and Sam managed to get sauce on his shirt. A good measure to tell whether it was good. He talked in between mouthfuls, claiming how good it was every five minutes or so. He even wanted to help with the dishes, but I told him to get Sophie ready for bed instead. She seemed to be enamored with having dinner on the porcelain plates at the kitchen table. I thought a bath by Daddy and a bedtime story would send her to the moon.

  The house was quiet by the time I had everything put away. I checked down the hall before I went upstairs to my room. Sam’s light in the den streamed into the hallway from underneath the door. I wavered before going to my room, wanting to tell him goodnight. Not that I grew up in a house like the Waltons, feeling the need to tell all the occupants goodnight. Goodness, it was only me and my dad living at home, but it felt natural. And anyway, he seemed to be in a better place than the previous night. I caught him smiling and playfully pretending to steal Sophie’s noodles. Who knows, maybe the cut on his cheek and broken cologne bottle signified a change of tides. I was still going to sleep with an eye open at night, but tonight was the first time I felt he was at the table with me. Really there, sharing comments about the local mayor’s election and the cost of gas going up, again. Lord knows it wasn’t the most stimulating conversation, but I picked things he might be interested in.

  I peeked in on Sophie before I took my shower. She was fast asleep. A book lay on the foot of her bed. I suppose Sam read her Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She loved it when I did the voices of all three of them. I got a kick out of being Goldilocks. Now that’s something I never considered—acting. Maybe I could find luck in the theater. And how hard could it be, really? Just memorize some lines, throw some emotion in it, and voila! You’ve got yourself a winner. Maybe I’d find my prince in the dark recesses of playacting. I could see it now. Someone out there in the audience would be watching me, longing to come speak to me after the performance. Maybe this road would lead me to that road and all I had to do now is find a theater and sign up.

  If that didn’t pan out, I could always get a job at a bookstore and read for children. I could see it now…a single dad brings his child there, hears my impression of Daddy bear and he rushes to me and we live happily ever after. Dad would freak out when I told him my newest thoughts of what I wanted to be when I grow up. I am so grateful he’s so understanding.

  I got out of the shower and longed for something sweet. The garlic I put in the sauce was clinging to my tongue like bark on a tree. I remembered getting Snickers Bar ice cream for Sophie, and that’s all I could think about at the moment. Ice cream, nuts, caramel sauce—yum-ee. I pulled on a pair of shorts and tiptoed out of my room to get some. One scoop, though—I needed to stay fit if I wanted to snag a guy any time soon. And now that I was back to online dating, I needed to be prepared for the call.

  I saw the light underneath the door of Sam’s bedroom now on. Obviously he’d gone to bed and it was safe to go undetected, eating sinful ice cream.

  I’d just set down with my bowl of goodness when the overhead kitchen light switched on. Before the scorch of the flood lighting, I was managing to do my covert eating by the dim stove light, trying not to clang my spoon against the bowl too loudly.

  “Hey, I thought I heard someone down here.”

  I sat motionless, holding tight to my spoon, as if I’d been caught. “I’m sorry. Was I loud? I hope you didn’t think it was someone else.” And here I’d forgotten about the unwelcome guest a few nights ago.

  “No, not at all. I’m just not used to someone in the house. Someone older, I mean. With the ability to go in the kitchen and get things for themselves. And anyway, I’m prone to hear anything. Especially after having Sophie.”

  “I bet.” I shaved off a tiny bit of ice cream and tasted it. It was so good. Just the trick to neutralize the garlic and put the tomatoes to rest that kept creeping up my esophagus. If only I didn’t have an audience, I could roll my eyes back in my head and do the “mmm” sound. “Want some?”

  He came closer and peered inside my bowl. “What kind?”

  “Snickers.”

  “Like the candy bar? It’s ice cream?” His eyes enlarged. “I haven’t had a Snickers in years.”

  “Wow, who’ve you been then?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. It’s just… Haven’t you seen the commercial with Betty White, and she’s out playing football.” I looked at him. His eyes were glazed. I waved my hand. “You know what, never mind.” I smiled and started over. “Yep. I got a gallon today. Help yourself.” I nodded toward the freezer.

  He went to the cabinet where the bowls were stored and pulled him down one. Within minutes, he sat across the table from me, eating the sinful concoction. I couldn’t help but stare at his t-shirt. He’d shed his starched dress shirt, I guess, in hopes of going to bed.

  “It’s the best for a breakup hangover.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I twirled my spoon in the bowl, and stared at the soft ice cream swirling. “I just gathered that the bottle of cologne didn’t just slip from your hands and shatter against the wall accidently.” I bit my lip. “And then there was the shouting. Not that I heard the words, just the noise. I must’ve been in the shower for the first and second round.”

  He set down his spoon. “It’d been a long time coming.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  He looked at me, those sad eyes returning. “I had no idea she’d come over and do that.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. It sort of makes me appreciate the technique the winners I date use—text messaging or voicemail.”

  His head tilted. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” I pushed another bite in my mouth and crunched down on a nut. After I swallowed, I continued. “It could be that we had only dated a few months, who knows? Maybe it’s a time sequential method to the breakup technique. One month or less, you receive a text; two months and under six, you get a voicemail.”

  “That’s a pathetic way to break up, regardless of the time invested in the relationship.”

  “Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “I don’t seem to attract the winners, if you know what I mean.”

  He played
in his bowl of ice cream.

  “Do you want to talk about it? I mean we don’t have to, but if you’d like…”

  “She couldn’t commit.” He paused. “To me, to this.” He looked around the kitchen.

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I licked my lips. “It’s just that’s the problem I have with guys. They never want to commit. And then you have your jerks who definitely want to commit, but I can’t bring myself to a second date with them. Mostly because either they are plain perverts, or I just have nothing in common with them. And I think I’m pretty easy to get along with. So…” I shrugged. “Anyway, how could I vow to stay forever with someone like that?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” I said, palming the table.

  “Forever sounds nice, that’s all.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, it does. So how long did you and the glass thrower spend together?”

  “Six years, on and off.”

  I swallowed hard, hoping not to choke on the fragmented nut that worked its way past my teeth. “Six years! That’s almost ten, and then you’re buying silver for the anniversary.”

  “I guess. But it didn’t work.”

  “Why? I mean, you don’t come that far and not know you’re not ready.” I tried not looking as though that was almost forever in my book of lengths-of-relationships. In dog years, they would’ve been changing each other’s false teeth and brushing them.

  He got up and walked to the sink. I watched as he rinsed his bowl and set it down. He turned around. “On second thought, I don’t want to discuss it, if you don’t mind. I think I’m just going to go to bed. I have an early morning appointment.”