February Kisses Page 3

  “Then what?” Heaven snorted. “Come home to a candlelight dinner put on by you? How many times do I have to tell you that it’s over, Rob?”

  “Come on, Heavy, I’m a changed man.”

  Heavy! He thinks he can call me that again! He thought he was so cute and clever when he started calling her that back in high school. As if teenaged her needed more reminding that she was thicker than some of the other girls after puberty hit. That fat melted away as she grew, but there was a moment in time when she was the token fat girl on the softball team. A fat girl made of serious muscle. Yet some boys were… boys. Heaven had to go and be a sucker for that kind of attention, huh?

  If she could reach back in time and slap some serious sense into her younger self… she would’ve never gotten married, let alone dated this asshole!

  “I don’t care if you’ve become a monk, Rob. I ain’t the kind of gal who goes back to her ex.” What was she, her mother? No wonder she grew up with such bad examples. Patty should’ve stayed divorced. But nooo, she had to go back to her dumbass husband and actually beget a child the second time around. Maybe that’s why she never left the dope again. Patty was the kind of woman to stick with her husband if a kid were involved.

  Thank God Heaven never had kids with her ex-husband!

  “So all those years really didn’t mean nothin’ to you, huh?” Rob asked.

  “You mean the years of you drinking yourself to death?”

  “I’ve been sober ever since you kicked me out, Heav. Got my tokens, going to AA, the works.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal that he was a recovering alcoholic. “Feeling better than ever. Though I’d feel even better if I still had my Heavy.”

  I bet. Heaven had to admit she was impressed with his progress – and his recently acquired ability to feed and clean up after himself. You’d love to have me back so I can wash your tighty-whities for you again. The only chores the man had to perform in his childhood home was occasionally taking out the garbage and raking up the leaves. He had no idea how to run the washer or wrap the vacuum cord back into place. During the height of his alcoholism, he had informed his wife that such chores were “women’s work” and he was too busy making her the money she “needed to buy bonbons.” Never mind Heaven had never eaten a bonbon until she started sampling bakery goods for her café. I wish I had been buying bonbons! Those things are good! Instead, she had been buying groceries for the family, detergent for the washer, and gas for the car. They didn’t have to pay rent to her parents for staying in the house. Merely help with the chores and put some money toward the electric bill. Go figure.

  Sometimes Heaven wondered if she would still be married to Rob if he never became an alcoholic. Things hadn’t always been so bad. He used to make her laugh. She used to love baking goodies for him and his coworkers, and waiting to hear their glowing reviews when he returned home in the evening. They used to spend their weekends driving up and down the coast, stopping to beachcomb and pilfer through the thrift shops for anything good. The summers were ripe for camping and pretending they were Rob and Heaven of the Woods, and there was nothing they couldn’t do with a flint and a good knife.

  Things changed, didn’t they?

  “It ain’t happenin’, Rob.” Heaven remembered her things in the back of the car and decided that would be a decent distraction from the man still sitting on her porch. “Maybe we can be friends, but no dates.”

  The F word drew a shadow across his face. “I see.” He stood up, stretched, and helped himself down the stairs to the driveway. He met Heaven halfway between the house and her car, but he didn’t offer to carry her things inside. Good. Maybe he had finally realized they weren’t sharing that kind of intimacy again. “I’m gonna be around town here and there. Maybe I’ll come by your café and see what the fuss is about.” He hopped off the stairs. “As a friend.”

  Uh huh. Then everyone who knows you can ask me a bunch of uncomfortable questions. Heaven smiled, anyway, taking the wins she could. With her arms filled and her mood dampening in the sprinkling rain, she was inclined to get the hell inside as quickly as possible. Bonus points if Rob didn’t follow her.

  Instead, he got into his truck and half-heartedly waved to her from the front seat. She waved back, but didn’t go in until she was sure he was gone.

  Good going, Heav. Making sure he doesn’t get under your skin. There would always be that part of her that pined for the days of her youth, when she knew he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Young girls make stupid decisions like that. She only had to glance around Paradise Valley to see it transcended sexuality. When it wasn’t ol’ Heaven going back to her high school sweetheart, it was women like Ariana Mura taking back her high school sweetheart, the lady-git who walked out on her – and the town – in the dead of night. Heaven had shaken her head to see them get back together, but in the end, she got it. In another life, she would take Rob back.

  Except this wasn’t another life. This was this life. Heaven swore she was smarter than the average small town girl who didn’t see any other options. There are always other options! Like staying single! She didn’t mind being married to her café if that’s what it took to keep it operating. God knew it fulfilled her more than Rob ever had.

  And it also had never hit her, thrown things in rages, or otherwise left Heaven Mossberg with enough nightmares to reaffirm her decision to leave Rob four years ago. She was not responsible for his demons.

  She was only responsible for her own.

  Chapter 5

  SALAMA

  Cinnamon and roses were in the air when Salama entered Heaven’s Café at seven on Thursday night. A sign on the door announced the party, and while it was not invitation only, there were limited seats available and everything was first come, first served. Of course, the wink Salama acknowledged the other day implied that anyone with an invitation would have room made for them. Even so, she made sure to be a few minutes early, in case it was the happening place to be on Valentine’s Day.

  She recognized a few of the faces. Most of them were couples who frequently visited the café, but there were a few singles. No men. Salama wasn’t surprised, since everything marketing this romantic party was geared toward the rainbow side of town, but it only highlighted the fact she was still different from many of the women in attendance.

  At least Salama didn’t worry about being underdressed for the casual party. There were women still dressed in their work boots and women who had shown up in pajamas. When asked about her outfit, artist Kendra Lake replied, “What’s wrong with being comfortable? I wear pajamas past seven. That’s how it is.” With a sniff, she helped herself to one of the freshly baked cinnamon rolls on a platter by the counter. “Now this is what I’m talking about.”

  Heaven had closed up shop, but she wouldn’t leave her guests without sustenance. Drip coffee flowed, complete with enough cream and sugar to satisfy any palate. Scones, cinnamon rolls, heart-shaped cookies and savory croissants bedecked the table lined up by the bathroom. Salama bypassed the coffee and grabbed herself some water flavored with slices of lemon and lime. A pink heart cookie called her name. When she held it up, someone remarked that it was almost the same color as her headscarf.

  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing that one before,” the woman in a thick jacket and boots said. “I like it. Good color on you.”

  “Thanks.” Salama absentmindedly smoothed down a wrinkle in her scarf. “I usually wear it during the summer, but thought I’d dig it out of my closet for V-Day. I love pink.”

  “You ain’t got any red ones?”

  “A couple… but I wore the ruby one for Christmas.” It had been the practical holiday wear, outside of the ugly Christmas sweaters she got into for a hot minute when she realized she didn’t have to be Christian to wear ugly Christmas sweaters.

  The woman stared at Salama for a few minutes before saying, “Cool,” and walking away.

  Salama let out a breath she didn’t know she ha
d pent up inside of her. It didn’t help that Heaven walked out from the back, carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies.

  “I’ve been working hard all afternoon, ladies.” That was followed by a round of applause from the dozen or so women who had dropped by so far. “When I should have been making your cappuccinos and espressos, I was back there baking up a storm of sugar and fat! Now eat up!”

  She put down the tray with triumph. Only then did she realize that Salama was there.

  “Oh! Hey! You made it!”

  Salama grinned in her own triumph. She remembered I was coming? This boded well for the next article she was already writing. “Becoming More Aggressive, Part 2: Making Sure People Remember Me For the RIGHT Reasons.” Her editor had been intrigued by the series of articles she proposed. Took another day for him to warm up to a multi-parter, however. How else was Salama supposed to write it if she didn’t know what would happen yet?

  “I sure did! Thanks for inviting me!” Whoa, whoa, she needed to pull back and cool it. Heaven was used to big personalities in her café, but she might think twice about warming up to a woman who bared all her teeth and spoke louder than anyone else in the room. Especially if it were out of character for her. “I mean… I love Valentine’s Day?”

  Heaven glanced her up and down. “Nice pink. Don’t see you wearing that color much.”

  “It’s more of a spring color…”

  “Pull up a chair and get to know some of the girls, huh? Gotta mingle. Let’s talk later.”

  Let’s talk… later…

  Salama puffed out her cheeks in anticipation. She wasn’t sure how she was expected to survive the next hour when she knew a one-on-one with her biggest crush was imminent, but she would find a way to power through. Tonight wasn’t only about working up the courage to talk to her big love like a normal human being. It was about socializing. Making friends. Or at least putting herself out there as someone people could approach.

  She hoped.

  “Can I sit here?” She carried her water and a plate of goodies to the seating by the far wall. The long bench was part of the wall, but the tables had been squished together and more chairs brought over. On a good day, Heaven’s comfortably seated twenty people. Tonight, she was going for thirty. The place would only get louder as the hour wore on and people arrived.

  The party wasn’t simply an excuse to take out a date or maybe get to know someone new. While the decaf coffee flowed and cookies disappeared off trays, conversations about past loves, upcoming marriages, and who looked forward to trips to Portland and the coast were all Salama heard. A few people attempted to engage her, but they were always distracted by someone else. Salama’s best bet was to find someone who was also newer to town.

  Except she still had to deal with the questions.

  “What do you do?” That was the main question people asked. Probably because jobs were scarce in the area, and Salama was always seen on her laptop instead of working in one of the shops or offices around town. The younger generations were hip to the concept of digital nomads who could live anywhere as long as they had internet access. Salama was also a pro at laughing off her “internet addiction” and “yes, yes, I was allowed to use the internet as a kid. Why wouldn’t I have been?” Then again, she met more than a few women from conservative Christian backgrounds who looked at her as if she had lived the crazy liberal life growing up. “I couldn’t use the internet… Satan lived in the tubes…”

  The world really wasn’t black and white, huh? Sometimes a question was just a question.

  The one thing everyone danced around was her culture and, to an extent, her religion. The closest these strangers and mild acquaintances got was commenting on the lack of Muslims in rural Oregon. Some attempted to politely ask if it was true that she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol. Was that why she always drank decaf? Explaining the difference between halal and personal preference was always a chore.

  It was even more difficult to explain that some things like her hijab – and yes, that was different from a burka. That was before she could get into the idea that she wasn’t religious at all. Just because she had grown up Muslim and her family still practiced didn’t mean she did. Did every woman in this room who grew up going to church still go? Did they celebrate Christmas with Christian sincerity? No? So, there.

  Except it never worked that way. Besides, maybe Salama didn’t want to talk about it. She was game to talk about writing mechanics, what it was like living in Portland, and whether she had checked out some of the beaches yet. Hell, she’d take the questions about living above the pizza parlor over the other personal stuff!

  “All right, ladies, let’s have a little fun.” Heaven held up a dozen roses and used the excuse to advertise Paradise Flowers, the local business ran by their very own Meadow Hobfield who donated the flowers for that night’s fun. “I’ve got twelve, count them twelve romantic red roses here, and they’re destined for every single gal in this room. Except for me, of course. I get out of it.” She waited for the chuckling to die down before handing out roses to anyone who came stag that night. “Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to give a rose to any gal you fancy. Doesn’t have to be here, but you bet your ass we’re gonna grill you about it!”

  Cheers exploded as everyone, especially the coupled women who had no stake in these shenanigans, anticipated who would get a rose that night. “Like a gay Bachelorette!” someone called. More laughter permeated the café. Salama dreaded the inevitable.

  “Here you go, hon.” Heaven stood behind her, a rose hovering before Salama’s face. “Unless you got some gal I don’t know about.”

  Salama turned around in her seat and beheld that friendly visage looking down at her. “No… no I don’t.” She gingerly took the rose by its thorny stem. Its scent instantly tickled her senses. But I know who I would like to be my gal. She had to look way from Heaven, who was already moving to the next single woman, before she embarrassed herself.

  She wasn’t surprised that nobody offered her a rose that night. Most of the women were too shy to flirt so openly, although Meadow announced that she would take back any roses nobody wanted to keep. Everyone thought her quite clever, and when she finally understood what they meant by that, she fell into a fit of embarrassed giggles.

  “Meadow’s really sweet, huh?” That came from a woman named Joan, who sat alongside her partner Lorri across from Salama. “She’s been single ever since she moved here, but I bet if she weren’t so shy she’d have a girlfriend soon enough.” She looked between Lorri and Salama. “What do you think, Lorri? I bet Meadow would make an interesting companion for our new friend here.” She meant Salama, didn’t she?

  “Ah…” Salama cleared her throat. “Maybe…”

  “You should give her your rose,” Joan goaded. “You two would be a really cute couple.”

  Lorri rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Joan, leave the poor girl alone. She obviously isn’t interested in Meadow.”

  Both Salama and Joan sat back in their seats. “What are you going on about?” Joan asked.

  “I think we all know who she fancies. Ahem.” She nodded toward Heaven, who had sat down next to an old friend she knew from high school. The laughter was loud enough to drown out Lorri’s casual conversation.

  Salama was so embarrassed that she almost ran to the bathroom.

  “Heaven’s one of the biggest sweethearts in town,” Lorri said, while Joan nodded in dawning realization. “But she’s straight.”

  “Oh, you don’t know that,” Joan said. “Just ‘cause she had a husband doesn’t mean she don’t like girls.”

  “I would’ve heard about it by now. It’s not like this is a place you use as your personal closet. Know what I mean?”

  Salama bravely nodded, as if she weren’t totally crushed by the idea of Heaven Mossberg being the token straight girl at the party that night. Isn’t it true, though? Maybe she’s just a big ally because she grew up around here and all her friends are with women. Lots of wo
men probably hit on Heaven in the hopes she was as queer as them. She had her pick of single ladies in town! So friendly, charitable, and pretty. What made Salama think she stood a chance if half of Paradise Valley had been turned down by Heaven?

  “Damnit, Lorri. You’ve gone and crushed her.”

  “Just saying. Life’s tough.”

  Salama tried to not let it get to her. After all, tonight wasn’t only about being around Heaven “after hours.” It was about putting herself out there, socializing, and further including herself into the community. She had already made better acquaintances of this couple! They were trying to hook her up with a well-known member of their community! See? It’s working already. I have something to at least write about for my next column. Salama was determined to stay positive. Now that she had talked to these two, maybe she could talk to others!

  Fake it ‘til you make it, right?

  So that’s how she survived the rest of the party. Slowly but surely she made her way around the room, striking up conversations with people who were shocked that she was talking to them, but were polite enough to say something back. Y’all acting weird about me? You’re the ones staring! Give me a break. Yet Salama could play the same passive aggressive game of politeness. Who knew? Maybe the next time she bumped into these people, they would strike up a conversation with her. The more people saw others talking to her, the more likely they were to talk to her, too!

  This column basically wrote itself.

  People began leaving around 8:30, although Salama was too buzzed on the atmosphere to pack up her things and leave with her rose. Besides, Heaven had asked her to talk after the party. Salama could hang around a while longer. Maybe play a game of Go Fish going wild in the corner. Someone had lost a bet and was tasked with eating the last remaining cinnamon roll in one minute.

  “Go! Go! Go!” five women chanted while their friend shoved dough and icing into her mouth. When she finished her weird challenge with five seconds to spare, she pumped her fists into the air and let out an almighty burp that garnered her a huge round of applause. Heaven was one of the first women to come over and chastise her. “I ain’t cleaning up your puke in the bathroom!” she said, before joining in with the laughter.