My brother pats my knee.
Juliana disappears from the doorway only to reappear seconds later. “The second drawer in the bathroom is yours.”
“Great.” I reach for my tote bag to find my toothbrush. “I’m ready for bed.”
Pete stands. “We’ll leave you alone for now. Sleep tight, Little J.”
“Ugh,” I groan at my nickname. “Don’t call me that.”
He snickers.
“I’ll be at work most of the day, but I’ll be back in time to get ready for Latson’s,” Juliana says. “Did you bring any party clothes?”
“I’m sure I have something.” I glance at my suitcases. “What kind of place is it? A club?”
“It’s an apartment upstairs.”
I look at the ceiling. “Really?”
“Latson’s a buddy of mine,” Pete says. “We work together.”
“Why is he having a party?”
“For the hell of it.”
Good reason. “Well, if anyone needs to party, it’s this girl.” I point to myself. “Sounds like fun.”
Juliana bounces on her toes. “Did I tell you how glad I am you’re here?”
“I think more than once,” Pete says and starts to push her out the door. “See you when the sun shines, Little J.”
“Stop it!” I huff.
He laughs as they disappear down the hallway.
~~~~
“Baby girl. You gave me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry.” I rub my eyes. “Yesterday was a mess.”
It’s eleven a.m. Chicago time which means it’s noon back home. My cell was screaming from the nightstand before I blindly answered and was greeted by my frantic father.
“I saw the fire on the news. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t there.”
He pauses. “How’s your place?”
“Ruined. Everything is soaked from the sprinkler system.”
“Did you call your insurance agent?”
“Not yet.”
I stretch my free arm over my head and my legs in the opposite direction. My dad starts to ramble about buying new furniture, and I turn my attention toward the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. I wonder how warm it will be today.
“Jen?”
“What?”
“Are you listening to me?”
No. “Yes.”
“What did I just say?”
“Umm.” I bite my thumbnail.
He sighs. “So what made you decide to drive to Pete’s?”
“He called at the right time and got on my case about not visiting.”
“Ah,” he says. Through the phone, I hear a door close and assume he’s stepped outside. “I’m surprised you went. Did work give you some time off because of the fire?”
I close my eyes. “No. Jay’s is closing, Dad. I’m out of a job.”
“What?”
“My boss needs to spend time with her sick husband. She sold the restaurant.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.” I roll over on my side. “I guess it’s time to figure shit out.”
“Jennifer Marie!”
“What?”
He chuckles. “You definitely have some shit to figure out.”
“Right?” I pick at some fuzz on the comforter.
“Honey, listen,” his voice softens. “You deserve a break. You’ve put in hundreds of hours at Jay’s and you’re always on your feet. You’re one of the hardest working people I know. Take some time to regroup and focus on you.”
“I feel like I should be job hunting.”
“Are you going to go bankrupt in the next few weeks?”
“Probably not.”
“Then, there you go. What do the kids say nowadays? You need to ‘do you’.”
I laugh. My dad is a high school English instructor and he tries to stay up on current slang.
My mom calls for my dad in the background. “Hold on,” he says. His voice is muffled as he tells her I’m fine and with Pete. He returns to our conversation. “All right, baby girl. Your mom and I need to run errands. Promise me you’ll keep us in the loop and tell us when you’re headed home.”
“I will. I may need your help with the insurance claim anyway.”
“Okay. Try to relax and have fun. I’ll talk to you soon.”
We say I love you and goodbye, and I toss my phone aside. I flop back against the pillow. Maybe my dad is right. The time has come to ‘do me’. It seems like I’ve been on the same path forever, caught in an endless cycle, unable to switch direction. I tend bar and fail at relationships. That’s my life.
Pushing my hair off my forehead, I look around the bedroom, my eyes landing on my guitar. I can definitely spend more time working on my music while I’m here. That qualifies as ‘doing me’. Glancing around again, I notice the sunlight a second time and make a mental note to get more vitamin D, too. Then, I snuggle into the blankets and figure a few naps might be in order. Slowly, a smile creeps across my face.
I can do whatever the hell I want.
My mind begins to swirl with possibilities. I can’t remember when I’ve had this much free time. I can do whatever I feel like without worrying about a guy or a schedule. Despite all that has happened, it feels good. So good, I think I’ll make it my rule.
My cardinal rule.
Starting today, Jen will only do what makes her happy.
Deciding coffee will bring me joy, I throw back the covers. Yawning, I make my way to the kitchen to peruse the countertop. I find a Keurig instead of a traditional coffee pot. Score, I think as I open the drawer beneath it and find the K-Cups. After I pop a Green Mountain Vanilla Crème into the machine, I search for a mug and come across a white board hanging on the refrigerator. There’s a note from Pete:
If you want to eat, we need food. At the store.
Knowing my brother, he’ll bring back nothing but vegetables and protein. Coupled with Juliana’s gym comment, I realize staying here won’t hurt my waistline.
When my coffee is done, I head outside to enjoy it. Sitting in one of the two chairs on my brother’s small balcony, I take in the sights and sounds of the city below. Pete lives on the eastern edge of Lincoln Park, which isn’t too far from Lake Michigan. It’s the complete opposite of home, which is why he loves it. We grew up on a dead-end, dirt road with very few neighbors. Here, there are people everywhere. Most walk, some ride bikes. It looks like they are all wearing ear buds because I can see the cords. Car horns and a siren sound in the distance, and I mentally add exploring to my list of happy things to do with my free time. I like this atmosphere. It feels charged, but in a good way. Like everyone has somewhere important to go and something important to do.
I’d like to be one of those people.
After my coffee disappears, I head to the shower. I take my time soaping and shaving, and when the water runs cold, I pull back the curtain to grab a towel. Without the water in my ears I hear a weird thrumming noise. Confused, I make sure the faucet is off and I didn’t screw something up. I mean, I only turned a knob, but the sound appears to be coming through the wall. Satisfied it’s not the pipes, I wrap a towel around myself and crack the bathroom door.
It’s music. My brother must be home.
Drying off, I secure the towel under my arms. I didn’t think to bring my clothes with me; I’m going to have to remember I’m not living alone anymore. In a few steps I reach my room, and it hits me that the music is loud. I mean loud, as if I’m the one who is playing it. It’s obvious that it’s coming from the apartment above this one, not the living room like I thought. The lyrics to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” ring crystal clear. The song reminds me of when my brothers got busted for playing it at home. My mother wasn’t impressed by the use of the word fuck despite the catchy guitar riffs.
Since Pete’s not here, I drop the towel and find my underwear, unable to stop my body from swaying to the music. Once the girls are secure, I turn around to find some clothes. It feels good to dance, so I roll my hips as I bend over to dig through my suitcase. When the chorus of the song plays, I stop searching to pull my hair off my neck and hold it on top of my head. I grind down to the floor and back up again. Then, I resume my seductive search by leaning over the bed and shaking my ass.
Apparently, my inner stripper wants to play today.
Finding a pair of shorts, I swing them over my head. They go flying because, let’s face it, I’m not a real stripper. I turn around to pick them up and stop dead in my tracks.