Cookie Cutter Read online

  After I finish decorating the cookies and clean up, I find myself outside, several times throughout the evening, in an attempt to casually catch Carter coincidentally so I can very nonchalantly tell him I don’t think it’s a great idea that we give Ally any wrong impressions by going out on this “date” . . . but he’s never seen. His garage door isn’t even open. I stay inside the rest of the night but do not fail to peek out of my front window every once in a while to see if he shows himself. It doesn’t happen.

  Thoughts of the carnival, and Carter, and James and Ally flood my mind and keep me awake until well after two a.m. I dream that I have over slept the next day, missed the entire carnival and that Carter thinks I stood him up. He decides to shack up with Meg instead. Ally runs away with this Blake character to Las Vegas, gets married and pregnant in the same night, and I never see my grandchildren for the rest of my life.

  * * *

  The next morning, I’m running late for work and I’ve promised to drop Ally off at school. As I sit in the car with the engine running, I try to look for Carter since it is garbage day . . . but he doesn’t come out. Eventually, I have to go, and by some stroke of luck, I still manage to make it into the office on time.

  The day goes fast. There’s a lot to do for Mark’s presentation. In fact, I’m at the office so late that not only has Ally found a ride home but she is in bed by the time I get home. Carter’s lights are off across the street as well. I’m tense, and achy. I take a long, hot bath and force myself to mentally walk through my day tomorrow instead of mentally walking my way over to Carter’s and committing subdivision suicide by sleeping with the house flipper. The bath works but the psychic preparation does not, but I manage to fall asleep at a decent hour this time.

  Saturday morning and I swear I’m going to cancel this date – because it’s the smart thing to do. I make a full-fledged attempt to knock on Carter’s front door bright and early, before I have to leave for my carnival day errands, but he doesn’t answer.

  I’m about to tell him I know he’s in there when a car approaches. Alex pulls into her driveway. Coming home from who knows where. I want to pinch myself for thinking the exact things I’ve heard Meg say so many times before. And it’s none of my business. She sits in her car for way too long. She’s probably waiting for me to disappear but I can out wait her. I have a teenager: I’m extremely patient. A proven fact when she exits her vehicle roughly five minutes later.

  “Hey, there, Alex,” I say with a smile and a wave and some sort of cat like sneak attack walk I’ve acquired apparently.

  She eyes me carefully as she makes her way to the front door. She adjusts the grip she has on her keys the same way I have many times, when I’m paranoid I’ll be mugged in broad daylight at the grocery store parking lot. I follow her but give her space. I can’t blame her for not trusting me to just want to say hello.

  “Listen.” I stop her as she’s about to bolt inside and leave me standing here looking about as ridiculous as I feel.

  “I just wanted to apologize.” I may as well handle this like a band aid on a bad cut. Rip it off fast and painfully.

  Alex stops and gives me the same look she did a few moments ago. Approach with extreme caution.

  “For . . .?” she asks, as though she’s testing me.

  This is my in. I just hope she accepts my sincerity. “I don’t know you.” I’m unsure all of a sudden, what I’m going to say myself. I’m still feeling the shame of my attitude.

  “I have absolutely no reason to make judgments about you, and. . . I’m truly sorry I was such a jerk.”

  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me with a thin line forming across her lips. “Is that you or Carter talking?”

  “Me. It’s me,” I say. “It’s totally and completely me. I mean he kind of sparked the moment but the rest is . . .” I take a deep breath. “Me.”

  I offer her a smile and this time, she returns it.

  She relaxes her grip on her keys. “Apology accepted. Anyway, I probably owe you one too.”

  “For what?” I laugh.

  “Calling you a high and mighty bitch with a pole stuck up her ass behind your back, once or twice,” she admits freely. “Maybe three times.”

  We both laugh.

  “I guess I can be a little high and mighty sometimes.”

  She raises one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me. “A little?”

  I can’t help but adore her complete upfront and unabashed frankness. I make a vow to get to know this woman better. “Thanks for accepting my apology. You didn’t have to.”

  “I know. Thanks for giving it.”

  We both stand there, not knowing exactly what to do next until she says, “Wanna come in for some coffee or somethin’?”

  “I’d love to,” I say, despite the fact I’ve a ton of things to do today – a calm before the storm sounds nice.

  Her home is charming inside. It’s plain and simple, with clean lines and muted colors. She doesn’t have a ton of furniture, but what she does have, she makes work and I find myself more comfortable here than I’d ever expected. She makes me coffee and it’s de-lish. She sits down and kicks her boots off. It’s quiet between the two of us for a few minutes and it seems that now that the awkward apology is over, I can’t think of a thing to say. So Alex does it for me.

  “I’m not a hooker by the way.”

  I choke on my coffee. Spit some out even. “What?”

  “Or a stripper.”

  “I didn’t . . .” I start to tell her I never thought she was but the truth is, I did. I let what certain people in this community say influence my opinion when I had no clue whatsoever if it was true or not because I didn’t have the sense to call them out.

  Never again.

  “I’m sorry, I---”

  “It’s cool,” she says. “I know how some people are. I just wanted to set the record straight.”

  I take a sip of my coffee and decide to tell her, “My parents didn’t leave me a ridiculous amount of money, either.” For the record.

  She nods. “Touché.”

  “So, what do you do?” I ask, interested for once.

  And she tells me.

  * * *

  Despite the fact I’ve made myself late by socializing, I leave Alex’s house feeling pretty great.

  “Are you sure you don’t need some help? I don’t have big plans for the day or anything,” she says with a slight chuckle. I’m slightly overwhelmed at how awesome she is, considering how awful I’ve been the past couple of years.

  “Honest, no. I just have to pick some things up and drop them off for . . . are you coming by later?”

  “Oh, probably not,” she says. Although Alex doesn’t exactly seem the carnival type, I’m willing to bet somewhere inside, she kinda wants to go.

  “Please come. It’s for the whole town.”

  She thinks it over, looking more like she’s leaning toward a resounding no as opposed to a half-hearted maybe.

  “There’s great prizes,” I promise with a lighthearted sarcastic undertone. “And bounce houses.”

  Alex forces a frown. But it’s not genuine. “I do love bounce houses.”

  I grin wide. “I’ll see you there, then?”

  She laughs and shakes her head at me as she turns to go back inside. I run across the street to get my keys and begin my very long day of errand running and carnival prepping. I’m almost back in the car when I’m delayed again.

  “What pray tell were you doing talking with Slumdog Spangler girl?”

  She did not just say that.

  “Meg, that’s not nice!”

  She pulls her pink fluffy robe around her tight. “Okay, fine, but seriously. What were you doing?”

  It’s like all of a sudden, I’m getting grilled by my best friend. I don’t have time to tell her it’s none of her business. I know better; that only turns into a longer conversation than I have time for today. So I spit it out.

  “I kind of owed her an apol
ogy.”

  “For what? Stealing one of her Johns?”

  “She’s not a hooker, Meg.”

  “Stripper patrons, then.”

  “She’s not a stripper either.”

  “Right.”

  “She bartends.”

  “HA!”

  “And dances some – but never takes her clothes off.” I clarify. “And puts herself through school.”

  Meg rolls her eyes. “Whatev!”

  “She’s really not that bad – actually, she’s kind of . . . I don’t know, nice.”

  My oldest friend in Spangler lets out a belt of a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No.”

  “Iris. Honey . . .”

  She puts her arm around me and really . . .

  “I don’t have time for a lecture, Meg, I have a million things to do today.” I give her a pointed look. “And so do you.”

  “I know, I know,” she says, annoyed. “Believe me, I know.”

  Luckily, my reminder has put Alex out of Meg’s mind for the time being. However, now I’m twice as stressed because her reaction to my reminder is not the most inspirational. “You do have everything taken care of, right, Meg?”

  She waves me off. “Of course I do, silly, I’m just as tightly wound as you are about it. Don’t worry, I’ll have everything on my list scratched off by five p.m.”

  She smiles, showing me all her teeth and I have to laugh. She knows how to bring me down from the edge.

  I breathe. “Okay, I’m off, I’ll meet you over there.”

  She salutes me as I get into the car and leave and I am officially on my way to stop number one.

  * * *

  Running around like a chicken with your head cut off for the majority of the weekend is not my idea of bliss, however, I could not have asked for my day to have gone any smoother than it has. The ride tickets, which had to be reprinted because the numbers were all the same, are ready first thing for pick up. It’s also double coupon day at Sam’s Club so I get twice as many snacks for the snack bar. Plenty of Beta club volunteers had signed up to assist with miscellaneous work at the carnival, my alternate solution to not hiring a handyman. And although it was the longest wait time ever, to get the extra tables I needed for the silent auction, it’s worth it. To celebrate, I hit the bank on my way home for change, dollar bills, and deposit envelopes. I have just enough time to shower and change.

  I find a note from Ally, saying she’ll meet me there and asking if I thought about her situation or not. In all honesty, I haven’t. I haven’t really had time but since I do now, I take a moment to think about what she said the other night – how she’ll be the only dance team member not going, and how it will make her feel like the world’s biggest jerk if she doesn’t go. Normally, I wouldn’t care; what people think isn’t something Ally should worry about. It’s great that she’s in a club and doing something active and all, but what she needs to focus on is her grades and getting into a good college when high school is over. We’ve been over this so many times, but right now, I think about the carnival and how I might feel if I didn’t show up when my whole team is there. I can empathize with my daughter for what feels like the first time in . . . forever.

  I don’t have time to wallow in self-realization right now. I need to get over to the carnival. So I finish dressing and by five o’clock I’m already knee-deep in getting the ball rolling over at the event grounds. I’ll admit, I might look around to see if Carter is there yet but he’s not. And why should he be? I nixed his involvement myself.

  Dummy.

  At around six, I spot Meg, already working with the Beta Club members and getting them assigned to different areas as people begin to arrive for the festivities. I check for Carter again, but nothing. I’m starting to wonder if maybe he changed his mind, too.

  It’s still early, Iris.

  “He said seven. It’s only six,” I remind myself.

  And besides, I thought you didn’t want to do this anyway?

  I shake the second guessing off and continue on with making sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be and everything is going the way it’s supposed to go.

  At seven, the carnival is in full swing. We have a fantastic turnout this year and I’m excited to see that Alex has shown up with a . . . friend? She waves but we’re too far from each other to try and chat so I start setting up the silent auction tables. I check my watch for the fifth time in ten minutes and when the time is seven-o-three, I look toward the entrance to the carnival but still no Carter. My body slumps when I don’t see him. The excitement going on around me seems to fade and I know I look visibly disappointed when Meg taps me on the shoulder and asks, “Who peed in your oatmeal, Iris?”

  I don’t really want to share anything about what’s wrong with me with her right now. I don’t feel like listening to her sarcastic remarks about what my libido may or may not need, so I try to smile. “No one.”

  “I’m taking a quick break,” she says, satisfied that I’m “fine” and then adds, “Do you need anything before I take off?”

  “You going somewhere?”

  “No, I just wanted to head home and maybe grab a jacket; it’s getting chilly out here.” She smiles. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, no, go ahead, I’ve got everything covered here.”

  She leaves in a hurry and I straighten a few auction baskets. I should probably check in with my ticket takers to see if they need any money, food or drinks. I turn to head that way and stop short. Carter’s standing there, leaning against one of the light poles like an older, much sexier James Dean, complete with his jean jacket and brooding look on his face. I flatten my hands against my skirt and straighten my posture before letting him know I’m here. Just as I’m about to take a step in his direction, his head turns and he sees me. He pushes himself away from the pole and heads straight for me.

  “Here we go.” And so many things run through my mind as I walk to meet him halfway.

  It’s just a date, Iris. No big deal.

  I hope that Ferris wheel guy we had issues with earlier isn’t drunk.

  Did I remember to take the refills over to the cotton candy machine?

  Why didn’t I wear my heels? This skirt looks so bad with flats.

  “Hey, Iris?” he says when we’re close enough to one another. His voice puts my whole being at ease. I smile easy and look up at him.

  “Hey, yourself, I’ve been looking for you the past couple of days.”

  “I’ve been avoiding you the past couple days,” he says.

  I can’t hide my chagrin. “Oh?”

  But Carter grins down at me. “I knew you’d be trying to find a way to get out of this date.”

  The blood rushes to my face must show because Carter nods. “You were, weren’t you?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.” But I’m glad I didn’t.

  He’s absolutely stunning with the moon glowing against his face, and when he leans his head toward mine, my breath catches. “And now?”

  I have to lick my lips and swallow. My throat is so dry all of a sudden. “Now?”

  “Do you still want out, Iris?” He holds his face close to mine.

  My head moves from side to side but I can’t form words right now. I’m too lost inside his eyes.

  “Good,” he says with a seriousness I don’t believe I’ve heard in his voice before. Then he stands straight again, takes my hand in his and we begin our “date”.

  Chapter 12. Carter

  “So what do you want to do first, Iris? The Ferris wheel? The swings? A game maybe? Pick your poison.”

  “I need to check in with a few of the booths first, and the ticket takers, if that’s okay.”

  “Absolutely.” I offer my arm. “May I escort you Ms. Alden?”

  And she takes it. “Sure.”

  Iris leads us away from the chaos, behind the booths and food trucks, where electrical cords and generators live. The sound of people screaming on rides and hollering for a
ttention is muffled by our makeshift sound barrier. She doesn’t seem like she’s in a hurry but despite that, she trips over the first pile of cables we come to.

  I quickly whip my arm around her to catch her. “Gotcha.”

  Iris grabs a hold of my shoulders for support.

  “You’re very good at that,” she says, breathless as I stand her upright again.

  “You know as often as you trip over things, I’m surprised you’re as determined to work out as hard as you do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Spin class – you’re like a pro but get you into the real world and . . .” I do a fake trip for her.

  “Not spinning is not an option,” she says. “I have to stay in shape if I expect to stay in the game.”

  “The game?”

  “Yeah, you know – I don’t want to be one of those old divorcees that gets all frumpy and has a thousand cats or something.”

  “You’ve been reading too many sad novels, Iris.”

  She laughs. “Well now you know my reasons, at least.”

  “True.”

  “What about you, Carter?”

  “What about me?”

  “When did you start flipping houses?”

  I breathe out. “Long story.”

  “And?”

  I guess we’re doing back stories.

  “Okay, um, I learned to build things when I was young but school and career kinda put that sort of stuff on the back burner, until I realized school is overrated and I hated my career so . . .”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s more that story than you’re letting on?” She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Because you’re a very perceptive, woman.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  I do and I don’t. I’m not typically one to share my life story or anything but Iris is easy to talk to and sometimes I think it’d be nice to get some things off my chest.