Then I look over at the note from Blake. Where does that fit into all of this?
It doesn’t. End of story.
So what now? I obviously have to call him and thank him. I mean, it was a thoughtful, yet extremely frustrating, gesture.
How does one go about getting a hold of Blake Morgan?
I finally walk out of my office around four o’clock and see Harlow typing away at her desk. I walk to the leather seat in front of her desk and dramatically dump myself in the chair.
Whining loudly, and sounding much like my children, I ask her, “What the hell am I supposed to do now Harlow? I mean…how do I even get a hold of him? Am I supposed to just pull over on the interstate every morning at eight o’clock so that maybe I’ll run into him?” I sigh loudly. “This is asinine.”
Harlow shoots me a very unsympathetic look. “I think that you’re thinking about it too much. I also think that going to I-35 every day at eight o’clock in the morning would have me calling you ‘psychotic’, behind your back, of course. And it would definitely get the unwanted attention of the police and some of the homeless that live under the overpass. So let’s just x-nay the alking-stay. I think that you’re a reasonable adult, who can make reasonable decisions.” She rolls her eyes in exasperation.
“Alex, just call his freaking parents and see if they can get you in touch with him. It’s not that hard. It’s just a thank you. It’s not like you’re proposing to him. Unless you want to propose to him, which would make the stalking notion a little more acceptable,” she says with a wicked little smile.
“Okay, first of all the interstate statement was meant merely for dramatic effect, so stop using the word stalking…both in Pig Latin and in English. Secondly, you think I should call his parents? Really? You don’t think that would be weird?” I ask.
“No, I don’t think it will be weird at all. It would just seem like you’re calling a friend to say thanks. I mean, you guys were friends once, right? Since you were mere babes in cribs? So would it be that far off base to do something like that? No. I do think that the fact you’re obsessing over this like a smitten high school girl sure does say a lot though. Just my opinion.”
Before I have a chance to make a smart ass rebuttal, she jumps out of her chair and grabs her purse. “Gotta get going. I’m going to pick up the pizza tonight before I come over for Wednesday’s Weekly Wild And Wacky Women’s Night. So don’t worry about picking up anything, I’ve got it covered. Just have your iPod ready with the usual Dance Party USA playlist, okay? Love you!” She hugs me quickly and runs towards the door. “Call his parents, Alex. And see ya at seven!” she shouts as the door closes. I love how she always leaves when she feels like she’s made her point, leaving me absolutely no time to say anything.
Fine. I grab Harlow’s office phone and dial his parent’s number just as easily as if I was in junior high school. I can’t believe I remember that.
After being prompted to leave a message, thank God, I leave one with his parents with the reason I’m calling and my number in case Blake wants to “call me back”. Yeah, I said “call me back”, like I’m sixteen years old again. I should’ve said something to the effect of “if he would like to get a hold of me” or “in case we are the last two people left on earth.” Yeesh.
Oh well…damage done. I hang up the office phone, grab my purse and my keys, and take one more look at the note lying on my desk. I decide to walk back into my office and put it my drawer.
It’s odd. It definitely doesn’t fit in anywhere or with anything on my desk, but I don’t want to throw it away.
Emotionally spent, I sigh as I close my office door. Leaving to go pick up my “wild and wacky” girls, I’m definitely ready for tonight.
My non-emotional Wednesday night.
“Seriously girls, how hard is it to actually spit the toothpaste in the sink?”
Looking at what appears to be a mosaic of pink (Rylie’s – of course) and blue toothpaste all around my children’s bathroom sink, I’m once again in shock (yet slightly impressed) at the range of toothpaste emission my children have. There’s toothpaste on the front of the sink, dripping down the cabinet doors like an extremely thick coat of paint. There’s toothpaste on the counter. There’s toothpaste on the faucet head. There’s toothpaste splattered all over the bottom half of the mirror. Best of all, there’s toothpaste all over the top of toilet tank. Looks like Rylie, or Kyndall, or both, have been practicing their finger painting.
“I need all three of you girls in here, pronto! Harlow’s going to be here any minute and you know she won’t give you your dollar if this bathroom is not spotless!” Thank God for Harlow. The one room I could guarantee would be clean tonight would be their bathroom. Hey, every little bit helps.
Harlow, having a strong aversion to both filthy bathrooms and the work that goes into actually cleaning them, started bribing my daughters years ago to clean theirs once a week. The cleaning has to be on Wednesday, since that was our weekly girl’s night, right before she comes over.
I chuckle to myself when the three loud shrieks come from the living room. I watch them all file into the bathroom. Kyndall in her “bohemian chic” panties only get-up. Rylie in a fairy costume, complete with wings and slippers that must have come out of her dress up trunk…undoubtedly a mess that I’ll be cleaning up later. And Nycole in one of my old sleep shirts, which reads “Miss Be-haven”. Smiles on all of their faces, they grab the cleaning supplies from under the counter.
“No cleaning spray in Rylie’s hair this time, please Kyndall,” I say, giving them each a hug.
“Mama! I told you I was sorry,” Kyndall whines while rolling her eyes.
“I know, baby. I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again. That was not fun, okay?”
I look at Nycole shaking her head. We both stifle a giggle. That night was one for the memory books.
The doorbell rings and the girls scream and grab their sponges.
“Alright, I’ll try to stall her as long as I can, okay? Be sure to put the toilet seat down this time. We don’t want Harlow falling in like she did last week. It took me twenty minutes to convince her to pay you guys. Deal?”
“Deal!”
I listen to them in the bathroom as they giggle with each other. No doubt the idea of having Harlow fall in the toilet again is extremely tempting, but I don’t want to encourage it…out loud at least. Leaving them to their cleaning duties, I make my way to the front door.
Opening it, I see Harlow, all smiles. She’s holding two boxes of pizza and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
“I already had a bottle you lush,” I say grabbing the pizza from her.
“You know one’s never enough for us…and you’re the lush.”
“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I give her a quick wink, also taking the bottle from her hand. “I’ll go ahead and put this in the fridge. You know, just in case.” I shut the door behind her. “The girls are working on your bathroom. I told them I would stall you.”
“Well, at least they’re good for something. I mean, besides the obvious comedic relief. And it’s good for them. It gives them a sense of purpose. Very important, you know. I only bribe them to clean the bathroom to make them better human beings,” she states with a hint of sarcasm. At least I hope it’s sarcasm.