Running On Empty Part 2

Harlow walks over and places both hands on my shoulders. "Alex, calm down. Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Look, I have some basic toiletries in the bathroom, you know, for when I have the occasional overnighter." She wiggles her eyebrows at me. My face pinches in disgust and I shake my head, trying to clear the G.o.d-awful image. Too much information...

"Everything you need should be under the sink. Go, fix yourself. We'll do the interview and then we'll go take care of the truck. No worries. It'll be fine." She pivots me toward the bathroom and shoves me with just a little too much oomph.

I turn to argue but I'm given what she has evidently developed as her own Harlow death stare. "GO!"

I sigh loudly so she can note my protest and stomp into the bathroom. I turn on the light and can do nothing but stare at the reflection looking back at me.

Get a grip, Alex.

I pull the hair band from the back of my hair and shake my head until my brown hair falls across my shoulders. Turning on the sink, I wet the top of my head and grab the hand towel from the rack. Scrubbing until I feel my hair is finally toothpaste free, I brush it out, only to place it back in a low, yet professional, pony tail. I use the flat iron to take care of any frizz that was added by Blake's helmet, making the back of the pony tail as smooth as I can get it.

I can't believe Harlow keeps a flat iron here. I open the doors to the cabinet under the sink. I take note of the toothbrush, toothpaste, make-up bag, eye-makeup remover, hairspray...all under the counter. Man, she keeps a lot of stuff in here. How many overnighters does this woman have?

As I walk out of the office, I happen to catch a quick glimpse of the nine o'clock appointment in the waiting room. What was his name again? I really should have reviewed his file last night. I lean against the wall and watch Harlow as she strikes up conversation with him. I guess since we have no coffee or donuts, Harlow has opted to use her witty banter and mile long legs to distract this guy after all. And, for the record, I think this guy could ogle her forever. And if I'm not mistaken, Harlow Reed is actually enjoying herself.

I take another look at Mr. Nine O'Clock. Dark spiky hair, nice build, light blue eyes...totally Harlow's type. They would make a nice couple with his dark hair and blue eye combination and her auburn red spiral curls and light green eyes. I nod my head to myself in approval...not bad at all.

I make my way to my office, since I have about ten minutes until the official interview time. I take a seat at the organized mess I call my desk. Hearing Harlow's laughter coming from the waiting area, I can't help but think about her lack of serious relationships. Sometimes I feel I'm holding her back, like she doesn't want to move on without me. Almost as though she feels guilty allowing herself to be happy because I've been so sad.

My Harlow. The one who never left my side the entire time at the hospital. The one who comforted me while I broke down after I had to tell Derek goodbye. The one who held me while I screamed at the top of my lungs when I realized he wasn't coming back. The one who stood beside me and watched me throw anything I could find in the grieving room out of pure anger, never pa.s.sing judgment.

My Harlow. The one who gave me the strength to come home and face the girls. The one who slept over every night when I needed her, making sure my children were taken care of when I felt like I couldn't go on any longer. The one who managed my entire household while I was lost in grief.

My Harlow. The one who helped me heal. The one that made me laugh for the first time after Derek's death and the same one who taught me I didn't have to feel guilty for it. She's still the one who keeps me in line, and she's still the one who insists on telling me the G.o.d's honest truth, whether I ask for it or not.

Unfortunately, I think she's also the one losing very valuable time in her life playing keeper to me. I had my time to be happy. I have my children as a result of that happiness. And honestly, after three years, I can say that I'm satisfied with where I am in my life, that I've found some sort of happiness again. Yet, I can't help but feel as though Harlow has fooled herself into thinking she's happy. That she's allowing herself to settle for less than she deserves in her life.

And I've not only let it happen, but I've been the cause of it.

Now, while watching her through my office window with Mr. Nine O'Clock, I also have a gut feeling that this guy might be the game changer for her. I pray that he is. She deserves her happiness, her happily ever after. And I'm at a point in my life where I don't need her to be there. She's always going to be my surrogate sister, but I don't need her to be my safety net anymore. What I do need is for her to allow herself her chance at happiness. And I can't help but hope that it will be this guy to help push her over the proverbial "happiness" fence.

I smile to myself. Watching her reaction to whatever he's saying right now, I know she isn't going to need much of a push. As Harlow gets up to lead him to the conference room, I notice her flip her hair in a very "Harlow s.e.x kitten" manner.

Cancel that. It might be more of a nudge instead of a push.

After giving them a little more alone time, I grandly enter the conference room with a huge smile plastered on my face. I sit down quietly and place all of Mr. Nine O'Clock's information in front of me, ready to convene the interview. When I look up, I realize that I'm still donning the goofy grin. I immediately relax my face, leaving it void of any form of elated emotion. Harlow lifts an eyebrow asking me if I'm okay. I nod my head to let her know everything's fine and we start the meeting.

Trace O'Connell was Mr. Nine O'Clock. That's about the only information I retain during the interview. Well, that, and the fact that he's applying for the Senior Executive Accountant position at Synergy, but I don't really think that counts as information retained from the interview itself.

As soon as we start, my mind wanders to my crazy, off the wall morning.

Toothpaste in my hair. Crazy.

My Suburban sitting on the side of I-35, probably a victim of an actual highway robbery. Crazy.

The lovely encounter with Blake Morgan this morning. Crazy.

Harlow making goo-goo eyes at Trace O'Connell. Crazy. And kinda gross.

How the h.e.l.l am I actually supposed to concentrate in this meeting with all of that going on?

Well, I don't. I find my thoughts centering around Blake the majority of the time. Why is he here? I mean, he obviously didn't sound like he wanted to be here. And why after all this time? How long has it been since I had seen him? He left for Colorado right after high school so that would be around sixteen years, give or take. Why is he so p.i.s.sed at me? I really need to figure that one out. And if he is so p.i.s.sed at me, why did he stop to help only to make a big scene about it? And what was up with him touching my face? It almost seemed like an affectionate touch.

A touch that I swear I can still feel right now. Raising my fingers and placing them over the area he skimmed earlier, I find myself back in the conference room with both Harlow and Trace staring at me, evidently waiting for me to say something. "What?"

"Alex? Do you have any other questions for Trace?" Harlow asks. "Actually Alex, do you have any questions for Trace?"

Oops. Busted.

"Nope, I'm all good," I say hastily, gathering my papers. I feel the sudden need to escape this room and all thoughts of Blake. Getting up from the table, I reach over to shake Trace's hand. He has really big hands, I think to myself as I start giggling uncontrollably. Before the laughing can get worse I say, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Trace. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other very soon." But it's too late. I can't keep from laughing any longer. I wipe the tears from my eyes and quickly make a hasty exit. Knowing I finally hit delirium, which has been known to happen from time to time when emotionally overwhelmed, I figure it's best to just get my a.s.s out of that room.

Upon entering my office, I notice my purse sitting on my desk with a piece of paper lying right beside it. What in the world? Stepping forward, I pick up the note and slowly unfold it. As I read it, I find I have to wipe my eyes again. Although, this time the tears are not from laughter.

I walk into the waiting area and see my Suburban parked right in front of our office. Harlow and Trace walk out of the conference room at the same time, in deep discussion. She laughs at something he says and then looks at me. I see concern in her eyes when she notices I've been crying. She slowly walks over to me and I hand her the note. Eyes wide, she looks at the Suburban and then back at me. I can no longer control the tears. I figure Trace understands he's in the middle of some colossal feminine breakdown because he quickly says his goodbyes and makes his own hasty exit.

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur. After what was most definitely a feminine breakdown, I head back into to my office and just zone out all day. After a while, I take solace in looking at each and every knick-knack on my desk which I've acc.u.mulated from my kiddos over the years. There are many memories in those beautiful art projects and presents that now reside in my office. I pay special attention to a few of my favorites.

There's the "My Mom Rocks" picture I framed that Nycole made for me just last year. Black crayon lettering on top of alternating strips of color in a rainbow pattern, each precisely the same width because; well...that's just Nycole. I love it...everything about it is perfect. And it makes me feel like she loves me, which is actually really rare these days, with her pre-p.u.b.escent att.i.tude and everything. She made me that picture one night and left it in my laptop bag without telling me. She's usually the silent type, not wanting to draw attention to her actions. When I found it in my bag, I was so touched that I immediately went and bought a frame; it's been on my desk ever since.

From Kyndall, I have a framed picture she drew of the day that she and Derek went to the lake, just the two of them. In the picture, there are two stick figures holding hands walking on the beach with the sunset in the background. She must have been around five years old, judging by the artistic talent, but I remember this one specifically for two reasons. One, the sunset. It's not a typical sunset. In fact, it's a very bright neon pink and green sunset. Very Kyndall-esque. Two, this was the first picture she drew after Derek pa.s.sed. I was worried because she stopped drawing after it happened. Since art and Kyndall go hand and hand, the fact that she wasn't drawing worried me. When she gave this to me, I knew she would be okay. But the sight of it made me cry silently for days. Very bittersweet.

From Rylie, I have the Father's day present I gave to Derek from her the summer before he died. The "#1 Daddy" frame holds a picture that I think is one of the most poignant pictures I have ever taken. Derek is holding Rylie tightly on his hip and smiling at her. Her chubby legs draped around him and her head thrown back laughing at something undoubtedly goofy he just did. And he's looking at her as though nothing or no one else exists. I know she was only one year old when he died, but those two had a bond unlike anything I had ever seen. I honestly think it was because he knew without a doubt that she was going to be just like him. Rotten and ornery, but so lovable, they never stay in trouble. And he would have been exactly right.

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 h.e.l.l 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 overpa.s.s. 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 a.s.s reb.u.t.tal, 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 G.o.d, 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, p.r.o.nto! 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 G.o.d 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.

"Well...regardless, they need some time. Let's get dinner and dancing ready. I'm ready to tucker these kiddos out. I need some mommy time."

"Yeah, I figured you might after today. Hence the second bottle of wine."

"Right. And what's your reason for every other Wednesday?"

"Umm..." I give her a quick smile for her efforts.

"Yeah, well, don't strain your brain. I'm so ready to get this night started. Hey while I get everything ready, can you go check on your nieces? But peek in, don't let them see you. I just want to make sure there are no unfortunate incidents with any cleaning products tonight."

Harlow belts out a laugh and makes her way to the bathroom. "Yes. Let's do that. I prefer to avoid that situation from happening again if at all possible. I really don't feel like frantically jumping in the shower for fear of Rylie losing her hair...or her eyesight. I would like to remain low key tonight. Well, as low key as possible in this crazy house." I lose sight of her as she pokes her head into the bathroom.

Leaving the pizzas in the living room, I carry the wine into the kitchen and put it in the fridge.

Obviously, Harlow didn't continue "peeking in" as I requested, because about five seconds after I enter the kitchen, I hear "Harlow!" cheers from the other room. I also hear suspect murmuring and lowered voices. There's absolutely no telling what bargain Harlow is striking with them right now. I shudder to think.

I a.s.sume they pa.s.s the cleaning inspection, though, because shortly after I see them all carrying dollar bills around with huge grins on their faces.

"Everyone in the living room please!" I yell, grabbing the plates and heading towards the living room. Slowly but surely, everyone takes their usual seats. Harlow sits on the couch with Rylie in her lap and Nycole and Kyndall sitting on either side of her. And me...on the floor criss-cross applesauce because let's face it, I'm old news. Pizza on the coffee table, we all dig in as the girls tell Harlow about their day.

"Hah-low." Harlow has no choice but to look at Rylie as she places one hand on each side of her face and forces her to turn her head. "Hah-low listen to me. You listening?" Harlow laughs and nods her head. Rylie smiles back at her. "Guess what! I did not go to time out today. I was a good girl. My teacher said so."

"Really? I am so proud of you Rylie. Are you sure you didn't go to time out today?" Harlow asks, knowing as well as I do that when she offers up information like that, it's usually not a good sign.

"Yes ma'am. I'm sure. I was a good girl, 'cause I am bigger. I'm not little anymore," Rylie says in reference to the fact that she just moved into "the big girls" cla.s.s in school.

"Yes, you are a big girl," Harlow says very seriously. "You're so big I think it's time for you to move out and get your own place." She winks at me and turns back to Rylie.

Grimacing, Rylie states, "Hah-low. Stop saying that. You're makin' me crazy."

"Yeah, well, consider us even then," Harlow says right before smiling and planting a big kiss on Rylies' cheek.

"How about you, Kyndall? How was your day? Anything interesting happen to you today?" We all turn to look at Kyndall. Mouth full of pizza, she answers Harlow's question. "I played with my friend Abby."

Pet peeve number one talking with a mouthful. Especially Kyndall because she's still got quite a bit of s.p.a.ce left in between her front two teeth.

Harlow jumps a little and then wipes her cheek. "Kyndall, honey, say it don't spray it!" Nycole and I burst into laughter. Kyndall giggles and finishes her bite. "Sorry Harlow. I forgot to swallow first!"

"It's okay, hon. Go on with your story." Harlow glances at me with wide eyes, as though she can't believe she just got pegged in the face with a chewed up piece of pepperoni. I let out another little giggle. I can't help it.

"Well, I played with Abby today. And we both told jokes. Wanna hear 'em?" She flashes an excited, dimple filled smile.

"Go for it!" Harlow distances herself from Kyndall before she begins. I'm pretty sure this is a precautionary measure.

"What do you call a bear with no teeth?" We all wait in antic.i.p.ation.

"A gummy bear!" She giggles out loud. Nycole just shakes her head.

"Want another one? What did the lion say after he ate the clown?"

"WHAT?" Rylie pipes in.

"Something tastes funny!" This time Kyndall and Rylie let out giggles. Catching on to the game, Rylie jumps off of Harlow's lap and stands in front of us. "Wanna hear my joke, Hah-low?"

"Sure!" Harlow watches Rylie twist her body from side to side.