Mr. Wrong Number

“Honey, slow down on the pancakes.”

I rolled my eyes while chewing with an overfilled mouth.

My mother said, “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re twenty-five years old, for the love of God.”

I breathed in through my nose and looked across the table at Dana, who looked like she was trying not to laugh. I’d joined the whole family for Sunday breakfast at IHOP, and though the pancakes were delicious, the company was working on my last nerve.

The minute I’d walked in, my mother said, “Did you really get fired already?”

It’d been a week since it all went down, so I supposed I should thank my lucky stars that she’d given me that much time. The hostess eyeballed me like I was a loser while I explained to my mother the “misunderstanding” that had transpired between me and my former employer.

To which she’d responded with, “You had to have known they thought you were a parent if they hired you to be a parenting columnist. Come on.”

My mom was a lot of things, but stupid she was not.

I sat at the other end of the table, by Dana and Will, hoping she’d move on, but my mother just yelled questions louder in my direction. “So how are you going to afford your fancy new apartment?”

As if that weren’t crappy enough, Kyle and Brady were at Dana’s parents’ house, so I didn’t even have my little buddies to play with.

“You guys seriously do this every Sunday?” I shook my head at my brother and his wife, in awe of their patience, and muttered, “Is it worth it? I mean, pancakes are good, but come on.”

“It’s just because you’re her favorite.” Will took a sip of his coffee and said, “You’re her baby girl, so she’s always been a little more micromanagerial with you.”

“That’s just a lie—Jack is her favorite.”

“Right?” Dana smiled and leaned her chin on her hand, clearly just enjoying a kid-free meal. “Jack can do no wrong in her eyes.”

She leaned closer over the table and said, “Are you okay, by the way? If you need any help with rent or something, I’m sure we could—”

“I’m fine.” She was the nicest, and I felt like the absolute biggest loser in the world that she thought it necessary to offer money. “Yesterday I got a freelance job, so that’ll cover me until I find something else.”

“Congratulations!”

“What are we congratulating?” My mother, from the other end of the table, poked her nose right in it. “Did you get your job back?”

I sighed. “Since you asked me about it ten minutes ago? ’Fraid not.”

“So . . . ?” She looked at me with an eyebrow raise.

“I got a freelance job just to cover—”

“Jack!” My mother squealed and forgot I existed as my brother walked in.

I rolled my eyes and went back to slathering my hotcakes in syrup and jamming them into my mouth, filling my cheeks just to get on my mom’s nerves. It was so typical of Jack to show up late and make my mother absurdly happy, while I had been early yet still was treated to her criticism. I focused on my lake of syrup and ignored her excited chatter until I heard her say, “And he brought you again—how nice!”

I glanced up, expecting to see Jack’s new squeeze, but my pancake turned to concrete in my throat as I saw Colin, smiling at my mother.

Shit, shit, shit. Of course Colin was here. I’d made sure to look stunning every single day of the past week on the off chance I’d see him in the elevator, but on the morning I’d decided to skip makeup and just wear gray sweats and a Grab Some Buds T-shirt, there he was.

“I had so much fun last time that I would’ve come without him.” My chest hurt a little as he gave my mom a teasing grin. He was wearing jeans and a fisherman sweater and those motherloving glasses, and I was torn between wanting to tackle him to the ground and do him on the disgusting IHOP floor, wanting to punch him square in the face, and wanting to just ugly cry like a big baby.

“Here, everyone scoot down.” My mom was beaming at him and gesturing for my dad to move over so Colin could sit next to her. Thank God I was at the end of the table and out of scooting range, although knowing my mother, she might make me sit with the elderly couple at the table next to us if there wasn’t room for him.

I returned my attention to my plate, which was in serious jeopardy of overflowing from my maple syrup ocean, and I grabbed the last pancake. I felt his eyes on me, so I dipped the whole pancake into the mess and stuffed half the thing in my mouth.

That’s right, asshole—I care so little about your presence that I’m eating like the ultimate pig. Suck it.

“Livvie was just about to tell us her good news.” My mother said it in a perky voice that intimated the boys had just interrupted a celebratory moment. She pointed her fork in my direction and said, “Go ahead, honey.”

“Rnmupf.” I held up a finger while I attempted to swallow a pancake the size of my face. The entire family, including my grandma, grandpa, Auntie Midge, and Uncle Bert, were looking at me like I was hard to look at.

Yeah, I got that.

“Oof, Liv, did you lose your makeup?” Jack teased under his breath, “Lookin’ craggy this morning.”

Once I swallowed—and flipped off my brother, which made my mom gasp—I cleared my throat and said, “I wouldn’t really call it good news, but I got a freelance job yesterday.”

“So, part time?” Auntie Midge screwed her eyebrows together and said, “Is that what that means?”

“It’s not even that, I don’t think,” my mother said. “What is that—like, work at your own pace?”

“Good job, hon,” my dad muttered, and jammed a piece of grape jelly toast into his mouth. I absently thought, Don’t let Mom see you eat that, when she spoke up.

“Don’t eat that, dear.” She shook her head like he was a recalcitrant child and said, “You know that gives you the bloats.”

I’d never figured out what exactly that meant, but it had haunted me throughout my childhood, the threat of his “bloats.”

“My sister made a fortune freelancing.” Colin looked at me as he said to the table, “It usually just means you’re paid on a per-project basis.”

“Really?” My mom batted her eyes at Colin and then said to me, “Is that how this is?”

I was torn again. Colin was being nice, trying to help me with the family, and I knew I should be grateful. But did he think me that pathetic that he had to jump in to make me sound good? Did he feel sorry for me?

Guilty, more like.

And I didn’t need his pity-based help.

“Colin’s wrong, actually.” I looked right at his blue eyes and said, “This freelance job is super part time and the wage is terrible. You can’t even really call it work.”

I saw his jaw clench—good, I’d irritated him—before my mother sucked him into a whole lot of ass kissing. I was forgotten, thank God, and when Colin got up from the table to take a phone call ten minutes later, I quickly said my goodbyes to the family and took off.

•   •   •

I SPENT THE afternoon writing automobile descriptions for car dealerships, my amazing new shitty freelance job. I kept falling asleep on my stool, so I took a break and went onto my deck to watch the rain. It was depressing and cold—usually my favorite—and seemed appropriate for my situation.

I snuggled into the chair, the chair that I’d shared with Colin, and I stared out at the wet cityscape. I needed to find a way to get my mojo back, to feel excited about the future. If I’d been able to bounce back from Eli and the fire, surely I could bounce back from Colin and the firing.

Right?

I needed to make something happen.

I scrolled through my contacts and clicked on Mr. Wrong Number. I knew it was a risk, especially since he’d just come back, but I was done waiting around for things to just fall into place.

I was going to do it, consequences be damned.

Me: I know what we’ve said from the beginning, but I think we should meet. I’m sure there are a thousand reasons why it shouldn’t happen, but I don’t care anymore. I will be at Cupps (coffee shop) Friday night at 7pm. Hopefully you won’t ghost me again.

Colin

Fuck.

What in the hell was she doing to me? To herself? I stared at the phone, sitting on my desk as I worked on the real estate budget for next year, and couldn’t quite believe it. Her life was shit right now, so how was getting stood up going to help her? She had to know that I—he—wasn’t going to show, right? I mean, after all the ghosting, she really thought this guy would show up in person?

Shit.

I hadn’t expected her to be at the Marshall breakfast—she never went—and something about the way she’d looked at me while inhaling soggy pancakes messed with my head.

It was almost like I missed her, and that wasn’t remotely okay.

Jack’s sister, she was Jack’s fucking sister, dammit. Your best friend’s sister, you moron.

Surely it was just the unbelievable sex messing with my mind. Olivia was just Olivia Marshall—klutzy little smart-ass—and there was no way I could miss her.

Fuck, no.

I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t like the thought of Liv being stood up, but it was her own damned fault for proposing we meet. Mr. Wrong Number and Miss Misdial had agreed on anonymity, and just because she was having a bad stretch didn’t mean that changed the rules.

Tough lesson, but she was bringing it on herself.

Olivia

“That sounds terrible.” Sara motioned for the bartender to refill her glass and said to me, “But if it pays the bills, I’d totally write car descriptions.”

“And that’s where I’m at.” I crossed my legs and took a chug of my rum and Coke. I hadn’t felt like venturing out when Sara had called to invite me to happy hour, but what else did I really have going on? Usually at that hour of the day, I went out on my deck and pathetically watched the commuters—who still had their jobs—make their way home.

I hadn’t left the apartment since IHOP three days before, though, so the still-functioning part of my brain accepted her invite and forced me to shower for my own good.

“You’ll get another job in no time. You’re a great writer.” She leaned back on her stool and shook her head. “I still can’t believe you were the 402 Mom. I really loved your articles.”

“Thanks.” It felt good to hear that, even after the hellacious crash and burn.

“So listen. I had an ulterior motive for happy hour.” She crossed her arms and said, “Are you dating yet, post-Eli? Because my brother-in-law is adorable and single, and I think he would love you.”

Yeah, I hadn’t told her about Colin and all the sex.

I took another drink. The thought of dating made me want to pull out all my hair. Not because I was hung up on that dickhead with the big mouth and smoking bod, but because I wasn’t ready.

When Colin had started giving me long, slow kisses that night, I’d started feeling claustrophobic, terrified of falling under the influence of romance. Thankfully he’d kicked it up a notch, but it had reminded me that I was in no shape to pursue any entanglements. The only exception was Mr. Wrong Number, and that was only because we already sort of knew each other. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Maybe you won’t know you’re ready until you actually go out with a guy.” The bartender set Sara’s glass on the bar in front of her and she smiled at him before continuing with, “You’re probably just scared because that Eli dude was horrible.”

Eli. She’d referenced Eli and . . . nothing. I hadn’t realized until that very moment that Eli had lost his power. When had that happened? Suddenly he was nothing anymore; like, I didn’t get any sort of feeling at all at the mention of his name.

It was a breakthrough. Maybe having sex with Colin had been some sort of a catalyst for emotional change.

I mean, I still thought he was a giant prick, but maybe he’d served a purpose.

Other than sexual gratification, of course.

“What is going on in that head of yours?” Sara was grinning, staring at me as I realized I’d completely zoned out. “You look a million miles away.”

Part of me wanted to tell her about Colin, to get her perspective on the whole thing, but I was too embarrassed. I still felt like an absolute idiot for trusting him to be decent. Instead I said, “So remember that Wrong Number dude I was talking to? I think I’m going to meet him for coffee.”

Colin

“Nick.”

Nick DeVry, whose office was next to mine, popped in the doorway. “Yeah, bro?”

Nick was a nice guy. He had a lumberjack beard and dressed like a golfer, all trendy polos and pants that didn’t fit quite right. “Come in here.”

Nick came in and shut the door. He still had the smile of a little kid, but the guy was so smart he’d probably be CFO in five years.

“I need a nonwork favor, Nick, and feel free to say no.”

“Oh, shit.”

“No, nothing like that. I just want you to go on a blind coffee date for an hour.”

After five beers and a lot of stewing, I’d come up with a solid plan last night. All I needed was for someone to just show up and be nice to Liv, and then she could write the whole thing off and move on. I gave Nick a half-truth about the story, saying Mr. Wrong Number was a total douche friend of mine who planned on standing her up.

“Normally I’d just butt out, but the girl has gone through a lot of shit and I feel like it could crush her. If you could just show up, say you’re Mr. Wrong Number, and have a coffee with her, that’d be it. Be boring so she doesn’t fall in love with you, of course. Then she’ll leave feeling good about herself, and I’ll buy you a new bottle of scotch.”

He started to shake his head. “She must be really ugly if you’re not doing it yourself.”

“I told you—she knows me so I can’t. She’s my buddy’s little sister.”

“That didn’t answer the question about her looks.”

“She’s beautiful.” She was, too. Swear to God my ears had started ringing when she’d climbed on my lap out on her balcony. “But she’s like a helpless, pathetic little puppy. Just make her feel good and get out.”

He looked at me and I knew he was in. He was a total people-pleaser, and also super into scotch. “I’m only doing it for the Glenfarclas twenty-five.”

“Where the hell am I going to find that?”

“I’ve got a guy.” He came over and sat on the guest chair. “Write it down. Clark Ehlers. Dundee Scotch Co.”

It was going to cost a lot, but I couldn’t leave Olivia sitting alone in a coffee shop. I spent the next ten minutes briefing him on any pertinent info he’d need from the texts, and by the time he left my office, I was positive nothing could go wrong.