Beautiful Oblivion

CHAPTER THREE

AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, I WAS BENT AT THE WAIST, BLOW-DRYING my wet hair. The steam that filled our tiny shared bathroom had fogged the mirror, so there was no point in trying to see my reflection. The thin, tattered towel twisted around my chest barely covered everything. We needed new towels. We needed new everything.

Raegan didn’t get home until after six, so I had to hurry through explaining my plan to her so she would know exactly how to turn Trenton away. At 7:05, I put on my favorite Eastern State hoodie and matching gray sweats. At 7:10, Raegan fell onto the couch with her bowl of popcorn, sinking into the blue cushions, wearing her navy yoga pants and floral tank top.

“I think you talked him out of it.”

“Good,” I said, sitting on a barely cushioned arm of the couch.

“You say good, but there is a tiny bit of disappointment on your face.”

“You’re a dirty liar,” I said, grabbing a handful of popcorn, and shoving it all into my mouth.

I was just beginning to relax as the obnoxious voice of Family Guy prattled on when the doorbell rang. Raegan scrambled to the door, dropping popcorn everywhere, and I scurried to my bedroom. Raegan turned the bolt lock and the knob, and then I heard her muffled voice. After a short pause, another voice that was much deeper hummed through the apartment. Trenton’s.

After a short conversation, Raegan called my name. I stiffened, not sure what to do. Was she trying to prove to him that I wasn’t there? My bedroom door swung open. Instinctively, I jumped back before the wood smacked me in the face.

Raegan stood before me, with a frown on her face. “He fights dirty.”

I shook my head, not sure if I should speak.

She jerked her head to the side, gesturing to the front door. “Go see for yourself.”

I walked around her and then across the hall to see Trenton standing in the living room, holding a miniature, fluffy pink coat, and standing next to a little girl. She was breathtaking. Her enormous green eyes were like telescopes, disappearing behind her long, dark lashes every time she blinked. Long, platinum hair cascaded down her back and shoulders. She was pinching and pulling at the threads of her mint-green sweater but didn’t take her curious eyes off of me.

Trenton nodded to the tiny, perfect person next to him. “This is Olive. Her parents bought the house next door to my dad’s two years ago. She’s my buddy.”

Olive turned to fasten herself casually to Trenton’s leg. She didn’t seem scared or intimidated, just comfortable enough to latch onto him.

“Hi, Olive,” I said. “How old are you?” Wasn’t that a normal question to ask a kid? I wasn’t sure.

“I’m fife,” she said with confidence. Her gritty, sweet voice was probably the most adorable sound I’d ever heard. She held up her hand, her tiny but plump fingers spreading out as far as they could, her palm facing out. When she was sure I understood, the hand went back to Trenton’s jeans. “Twent said he would take me to Chicken Joe’s, but we can’t go until yow weddy.” She blinked, but didn’t smile. She was serious, and she was seriously holding me accountable for every second longer she had to wait.

I glared at him. “Oh, did he?”

Trenton simply shrugged and smiled. “Are you ready?”

I looked down at my sweats. “Clearly not, but I’m guessing I shouldn’t keep Olive waiting.”

“No. You shouldn’t,” Trenton said. He didn’t even pretend to feel ashamed. Bastard.

Trying not to growl, swear, or do anything else that might scare Olive, I retreated to my bedroom. I replaced my hoodie with a rust-colored thermal Henley, and the sweatpants with a pair of well-worn jeans. While I slipped on my boots, Raegan opened the door to my room, and closed it behind her.

“Olive wants me to ask you to please hurry,” she said, trying not to smile.

“Shut your face,” I said, standing up. I dusted some makeup on, combed my lashes with the mascara wand, dabbed my lips with clear gloss, and walked out to the living room, where Trenton and Olive still stood. “All ready,” I said with a smile. For Olive. Definitely no smiles for Trenton.

Olive looked up to Trenton. “Can we go to Chicken Joe’s now?”

“Let’s put on your coat, first.”

Olive complied, and then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Now?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, opening the door.

Olive’s smile spanned the width of her face when the door opened, and Trenton’s expression brightened, clearly pleased that he’d made her happy.

I passed him without speaking, and as I walked out to the parking lot, Olive’s little fingers found their way to my hand. Her skin was just as warm and soft as it looked.

Trenton unlocked the passenger door of his dilapidated Dodge Intrepid. The red paint was faded in some spots, and gone in others.

Trenton pulled the seat forward, helping Olive into the back. He strapped her into her pink car seat.

I leaned my head in and took a whiff. “You don’t smoke in your car?”

“I do, but I clean out my car the night before I have Olive, and I don’t smoke in it until after I drop her off for the day. It doesn’t smell.” He returned the passenger seat to its original position, and held out his hand, gesturing for me to get in.

“I am so going to get you back for this,” I whispered as I passed him to sit down.

He smiled. “I look forward to it.” Trenton shut the door, and then jogged around the front of the car and hopped into the driver’s seat. He pulled the seat belt across his chest and clicked it into the latch, and then looked at me expectantly.

“Click it or ticket,” Olive said from the backseat.

“Oh,” I said, turning to grab the seat belt and repeating what Trenton had just completed. When the buckle clicked, Trenton started the car.

We rode in near silence across town to Chicken Joe’s, except for the occasional requests for updates from Olive. At almost every stoplight, she wanted to know how many blocks were between us and our destination. Trenton answered her patiently, and when we were one block away, they both did a little celebration, dancing with their hands.

When Trenton pulled into a parking spot at Chicken Joe’s, he turned off the engine, got out, jogged to my side, and then opened the door. He helped me climb out with one hand, and then pushed the seat forward, unbuckled Olive, and set her on the ground.

“Did you bwing coins?” she asked.

Trenton laughed once, feigning insult. “Is it even legal to go to Chicken Joe’s without quarters?”

“I don’t think so,” Olive said, shaking her head.

Trenton held out his hand, and Olive took it, and then she held out her hand to me. I covered her hand with mine and followed them inside.

Chicken Joe’s had been a fixture in Eakins since before I was born. My parents took us once or twice as kids, but I hadn’t been back since the 1990s. Grease and spices still hung heavily in the air, and saturated everything else, including a thin film on the green tile floor.

Olive and I followed Trenton to a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant. Kids were running everywhere and practically climbing the walls. Multicolored lights from the oversize juke box and arcade games seemed to intensify the screaming and laughter.

Trenton dug into his jeans pockets and pulled out two fistfuls of quarters. Olive took an excited breath, grabbed as many as she could in her chubby fist, and ran away.

“You don’t even feel bad about exploiting that poor little girl, do you?” I asked, crossing my arms on top of the table.

Trenton shrugged. “I get to have dinner with you. She gets to play. Her parents get a date night. It’s a win/win . . . win.”

“Negative. I am clearly not in the winning category, since I was coerced here.”

“It’s not my fault that I was one step ahead of you.”

“Exploiting a child is not a good first date. That’s not exactly a memory you want to share later.”

“Who said this was a date? I mean . . . if you want to call it a date, that’s cool, but I thought you had a boyfriend.”

I nearly choked on my own spit, but that was still preferable to blushing. “Forgive me for thinking coercion was something you didn’t do for just anyone.”

“I don’t. This is definitely a special case.”

“You’re a special case,” I grumbled, searching the dozens of small faces for Olive. She was trying to stretch out her short arms across the pinball machine, and then resorted to leaning from side to side.

“I assume you still have the boyfriend,” Trenton said.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

“Then it’s definitely not a date. Because if it was, you would be . . . well, I won’t say it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will reach across this table and slap you.”

He chuckled. “No, you won’t. You want the entire next generation of Eakins, Illinois, to think you’re an ogre?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

The waitress waddled over to us, leaning back, away from her burgeoning belly. She looked about seven months pregnant, her green polo shirt barely stretching over her bump. She sat down a small drink with a lid and a straw, and then a bigger red cup full of something brown and fizzy. “Hi, Trent.”

“Hi, Cindy. You should be at home with your feet up.”

She smiled. “You say that every time. What would your friend like?”

I looked up at Cindy. “Just a water, please.”

“You got it.” She looked at Trenton. “Will Olive want the usual?”

He nodded. “But I think Cami’s going to need a menu.”

“Be right back,” she said.

Trenton leaned in. “You should try the three-piece platter with sweet potato fries and slaw. Because . . . damn.”

A man behind me yelled, “Christopher! I said get your ass over here and sit down!”

Trenton leaned over to look around me, and frowned. A little boy about eight years old ran over, closer to me than to his father, waiting.

“Sit down!” the father growled. The boy did as he was told, and turned to watch the other kids playing.

Trenton tried to ignore the scene behind me and leaned against the table. “You still like working at the Red?”

I nodded. “As jobs go, it’s not bad. Hank is cool.”

“Why didn’t you work this weekend?”

“I took some time off.”

“Sit still!” the father behind me snarled.

After a pause, Trenton continued, “I was just going to tell you that if you weren’t happy at the bar, there is a receptionist spot open at the shop.”

“What shop?”

“My shop. Well, the shop I work at.”

“Skin Deep is hiring? I thought Cal just had whoever wasn’t busy answer the phone?”

“He said Thirty-Fourth Street Ink has a hot chick at the desk, so he thinks we need one, too.”

“A hot chick,” I deadpanned, unimpressed.

“His words, not mine,” Trenton said, scanning the crowd for Olive. He didn’t look long. He knew where she would be.

“She likes pinball, huh?”

“Loves it,” he said, smiling at her like a proud father.

“Damn it, Chris! What the hell is wrong with you?” the father behind me yelled, standing up at the same time. I turned, seeing the father’s toppled glass, and a very nervous little boy staring at his father’s wet lap. “Why do I even bother bringing you to places like this?” he yelled.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Trenton said.

The father turned around, two deep horizontal lines in the center of his forehead.

“I mean, you don’t really act like you want your kid running around, playing, or having fun in general. Why would you bring him here if you just want him to sit still?”

“No one asked you, asshole,” the man said, turning around.

“No, but if you keep talking to your son like that, I’m going to ask you to step outside.”

The man faced us again, began to speak, but something in Trenton’s eyes made the man think better of it. “He’s hyper.”

Trenton shrugged. “Hey, man, I get it. You’re here by yourself. It’s probably been a long day.”

The lines above the man’s eyes softened. “It has.”

“So let him burn off some energy. He’ll be worn-out when he gets home. Kinda silly to bring him to an arcade and then get yourself all worked up when he wants to play.”

Shame darkened the man’s face, he nodded a few times, and then he turned around, nodding once to his son. “Sorry, buddy. Go play.”

The little boy’s eyes lit up, and he jumped from the booth, blending into the continuously moving crowd of happy children. After a few awkward moments of silence, Trenton started a conversation with the man, and they began chitchatting about where they worked, Christopher, and Olive. Eventually we learned that the man’s name was Randall, and he was a newly single father. Chris’s mother was an addict and living with a boyfriend in the next town over, and Chris was having trouble adjusting. Randall admitted that he was, too. When it was time for them to leave, Randall held out his hand, and Trenton shook it. Christopher watched both men, grinned, and then took his dad’s hand. They left, both of them with smiles on their faces.

When Olive’s quarters were depleted, she sat at the table, the golden chicken strips before her. Trenton squirted some hand sanitizer onto her hands, she rubbed them together, and then devoured everything on her plate. Trenton and I ordered the adult version of her meal, and we all finished at about the same time.

“Pie?” Olive said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I don’t know,” Trenton said. “Your mom got pretty mad at me last time.”

I liked the way he talked to her. He wasn’t condescending. He talked to her the same as he did to me, and she seemed to appreciate it.

“What do you think, Cami? Do you like pecan?”

Olive watched me with pleading eyes.

“I do.”

Olive’s sapphire eyes brightened. “Can we shayo?”

I shrugged. “I could handle a third of a pie. Want to share too, Trent?”

Trenton made eye contact with Cindy, and held up his index finger. She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. Olive clapped her hands together as Cindy brought over the plate in one hand, and holding three forks in the other. The slice was nearly a third of the pie, with a heaping mound of white, whipped topping.

“Enjoy,” Cindy said, sounding tired but pleasant.

We dug in, all humming when the first bite of sugary goodness found its way to our mouths. Within a couple of minutes, the plate was empty. Cindy brought the bill, and I tried to pay for half, but Trenton wouldn’t even entertain the idea.

“If you pay, it’s a date,” I said.

“Do you ever pay for Raegan’s lunch?”

“Yes, but—”

“Is that a date?”

“No, but—”

“Shh,” he said, lifting Olive into his arms. “This is the part where you say thank you.” He put two bills on the table, and then shoved his wallet into his back pocket.

“Thank you,” Olive said, resting her head on Trenton’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Ew.” He leaned over and grabbed his keys from the table.

“Ew?” I asked.

Olive eyed me with sleepy twin pools. I didn’t push the subject.

The ride back to my apartment was quiet, but mostly because Olive had fallen asleep in her car seat. Her little cheek was smooshed against the cushion beside her face. She looked so peaceful, so happily lost wherever she had drifted off to.

“Her parents just let the neighbor covered in tattoos babysit their five-year-old?”

“No. This is new. We just started Chicken Joe’s this year on my days off. I watched Olive for Shane and Liza a couple times for about half an hour or so in the beginning and we somehow graduated to Chicken Joe’s.”

“Weird.”

“I’ve been her Twent for a long time.”

“And she’s your Ew?”

“Yep.”

“What’s up with that?”

“Her initials. Olive Ollivier. O.O. When you put them together, it makes an ‘ew’ sound.”

I nodded. “Makes sense. She’s going to hate you for that in six years.”

Trenton glanced at the rearview mirror, and then back at the road. “Nah.”

The headlights lit the front door of my apartment, and Trenton finally looked ashamed. “I’d walk you to the door, but I don’t want to leave Olive in the car.”

I waved him away. “I can get to the door by myself.”

“Maybe we can kidnap you again.”

“I work Saturdays. This was just a freak accident.”

“We could change it to Chicken Joe’s Sundays.”

“I work Sundays.”

“Me, too. But not until one, and you don’t go in until later, too, right? We could do lunch. An early lunch.”

I pulled my mouth to the side. “It’s just not a good idea, Trent. But thank you.”

“Chicken Joe’s is always a good idea.”

I chuckled and looked down. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You owe me,” Trenton said, watching me get out.

I leaned down. “You kidnapped me, remember?”

“And I’d do it again,” he said as I shut the door.

I walked to the building, and Trenton waited until I stepped inside before he began to back away.

Raegan was sitting up on her knees on the couch cushions, gripping the back with her fingers. “So?”

I looked around the apartment and tossed my purse onto the love seat. “So . . . that was maybe the best nondate date I’ve ever had.”

“Really? Even better than when you met T.J.?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. That was a pretty good night. But tonight was . . . different.”

“Good different?”

“It was kind of perfect.”

Raegan raised an eyebrow and lowered her chin. “This could get messy. You should just tell him.”

“Don’t be stupid. You know I can’t,” I said, walking toward my bedroom.

My phone buzzed once, and then again. I fell onto my bed and looked at the display. It was T.J.

“Hello?” I said, holding the phone to my ear.

“Sorry it took me so long to call . . . we just got in . . . everything okay?” T.J. asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought I heard something in your voice when you answered.”

“You’re hearing things,” I said, trying not to think about how adorable Trenton looked with a sleepy Olive draped over his shoulder.