Page 1 of If Not for My Baby
One
“Devoting your entire life tothe pursuit of another person, when human beings are all so inherently flawed, and expecting said flawed human to fix all the broken parts of you just so you can convince yourself that you’re whole is a recipe for disappointment.” I reach for another chip and dunk it halfway into the salsa. “In fairness, it used to make a lot more sense. Once upon a time a woman needed a romantic partner to guarantee a roof over her head, or to put food on the table. And men needed a wife to produce an heir for their cobbling business or kingdom or whatever. Things are different now, you know? It’s kind of antiquated.”
I pop the chip into my mouth. Only then do I notice the wide-eyed disbelief splattered all over the face of the man sitting in the booth across from me. His perfectly gelled hair doesn’t move as he takes a slow sip of water through his straw. Mariachi music plays too loudly throughout the restaurant and embarrassment begins to creep up my neck.
“You think love is…antiquated?”
I finish chewing, trying to find the right words. “I think striving for a relationship above all else is antiquated. It seems pretty hard to find one worth keeping. And even if you’re lucky enough to do so, you’re still going to suffer one way or another. There are just less painful pursuits in life, don’t you think?”
“Yeah…” He leans back in an attempt to subtly check the time via the phone in his pocket. “I see what you’re saying.”
I sigh. Hair Gel and I are not going to be a match. “It’s okay, Hank—”
“Henry.”
“Henry!” I cringe. “I knew that. Look, Henry—I can tell you aren’t feeling this and that’s completely fine. I’m happy to just call it now.”
Henry-not-Hank narrows his well-trimmed eyebrows at me. “Call it?”
“Yeah, you know, like a doctor calling time of death.” I mime feeling my own pulse and make ayikesface.
Henry nods like he understands but I can tell that he does not. In fact— Yeah. He thinks I’m the worst.
“Seriously, I’d love to finish these enchiladas in peace before I have to go back to my shift. No hard feelings at all if you want to skedaddle.”
Nonplussed, Henry slides his phone and keys back into his pockets and begins to scoot ungracefully out of the booth. In his defense, there may not be a graceful way to do that. Then he halts mid-scoot. “You told me…You said you were a waitress. You scheduled our first date at the restaurant where you work…in themiddle of your shift?”
“I—” I falter for words, mouth half-filled with enchilada.
Henry bumps his knee a little too hard on the underside of the table as he stands. He winces and I wince, too, out of secondhand phantom pain. “Here,” he says, tossing two twenties onto the table.
“No, no.” I push the money back toward him, swallowing my bite. “It’s practically free with my employee discount.”
Henry doesn’t find that as altruistic as I mean it to be. He leaves the forty bucks where it lays and walks off in a huff, nearly slamming into two young boys barreling toward the bathroom from the birthday party table.
Excellent. Another successful date for Clementine Clark.
A voice calls out to the young, exuberant boys. “Hey, no running!”
I peer behind me and spot Mike. His dusty blond hair is sticking out at odd angles and there are purplish bags under his eyes. For someone who wanted this promotion, he’s been totally overwhelmed. I don’t know what he expected—the Happy Tortilla is the best fast-casual Tex-Mex spot in Cherry Grove. It’s literally only empty when we’re closed.
“All right, fun police.” I dig back into my dinner. I probably have these chicken enchiladas twice a week and never tire of the comfort food. Normally, I’d need them extra badly after a failed date, but tonight is a magnificent Ladybird Playhouse night, so I’m not taking the rejection too hard.
“If they get hurt,” Mike says, sliding into the red vinyl booth across from me with a grunt, “we could be held liable.”
“Ooh,liable.Such manager-speak.”
“Hey.” He laughs. “I’m your boss now.”
“You have rice in your hair, boss.”
Mike swats at his head. “Date didn’t go so well?”
“I’m not talking about it with you.”
“Me?” Mike steals a chip from the plastic bowl between us. “I knew you when you thought barbecue meant there would be Barbies involved.”
“We were four!”
