Amanda Jason - Lucky Number Four

Oh, and remember Henry is Mom’s spirit guide. He’s her channel to the other side. Medium stuff.

We finally finish the dishes and join the others. The rest of the evening is fairly uneventful. Bridget got her picture, Mike stayed and hung out instead of trying to escape, and the ‘three’ captivated everyone. Even Grandmother and Grandma behaved for once.

How frustrating! I haven’t seen Dora since the dinner with her family, and it’s driving me crazy. She must be using her private entrance to her room. How can one little bundle of energy and fire cause such chaos within me? Several times I’ve knocked on her door, a made-up excuse to why, but she isn’t there. Where is she? School is on break and, wait, the coffee shop. She works mornings. I could just happen to go by. Boy, I sound like a lovesick stalker, and maybe I am, but she brings out feelings in me I thought were dead. She makes me feel alive.

“Yes, I want a caramel latte with soy milk, whipped cream—no, wait, I want—no, that is what I want,” the man standing before me rambles on. I wait, knowing he’ll probably change his mind again. Ben comes in every few days, and it’s always the same old indecisiveness. He’s an accountant down the street, and even if I didn’t know that, it would be my first guess, with his black old-school glasses and ultraconservative black suits and black tie. I wait patiently because I know he has a stressful job, and the line isn’t too long right now.

“Oh my goodness, Sally, look! It’s them!” a voice from a nearby table loudly whispers, causing me to look around my customer. I immediately groan at the sight of my three roommates standing in line.

“I’m sorry, Dora. I just had an awful meeting, and I’m mentally beat.” Ben’s voice causes me to whip my eyes back to meet his apologetic ones.

“Oh, Ben, I wasn’t groaning at you. Take your time. It’s what’s behind you that caused it,” I reassure him. Voices are getting louder, as the majority of the female customers have recognized the trio. Darn. If I desert Ben right now, he’ll think I lied to him, but I want to know what brings the Modelteers to my coffee shop.

Ben finally gives me his order, and I pass it to June and ask Stephen if he’ll take over for me. He does and I make my way to the side of the shop and watch as Larry, Curly, and Moe—yes, I watched The Three Stooges with my dad as a kid—get out of line and move across the room to me. I roll my eyes at the looks on the faces of the female audience. Colin’s eyes meet mine, and my heart squeezes. I get a warmth that is so unnatural to me I don’t think a thousand fans could cool me off. I drag my eyes away from his and meet Drew’s laughing ones, but there’s also a strange warmth in them.

“Hi, angel,” he says. “So this is where you spend your mornings.” His voice is smooth, too smooth for me to fall for.

“Apparently, since I’m here and wearing the shops’ apron. Such a good guesser you are,” I say, my smile more a grimace. I wish he’d at least look surprised at my comeback, but that infernal grin stays on his face. I glance at Liam and his bored look is replaced by a smidge of a smile. I skip over Colin and move back to Drew. “So, what brings you guys in today?” I say sweetly, knowing the glare my eyes are giving him is anything but sweet.

“We came to escort you home and invite you to come out with us tonight. Right, guys?” Drew looks to his two cohorts and seems satisfied when they nod in agreement.

I hear a sigh from the table behind them and two young girls whisper loudly that they are available, which Drew ignores.

“I’m confused why you guys would want to spend time with boring old me when any girl or woman would jump at the chance to do so. Do you guys feel sorry for me? Because I’m happy with my life, and I do have one.” I take a deep breath and wonder at the puzzled look on their faces.

“What makes you say that?” Liam asks.

“Because I’m probably your pet project to show poor little, plain Dora how the beautiful people live, and frankly, I’m really not interested,” I say, trying not to burst into tears at the possible truth in my statement. Okay so it’s that time of the month and I’m a little grouchy, crampy, and bloated.

“That’s bollocks!” Colin’s loud voice makes the room quiet down, and I realize everyone is hanging onto our every word.

Great. By tomorrow I might be front-page news: “Short, unruly red-haired barista adopted by generous star models, their way of making her life more bearable.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my boss pointing to his watch and mouthing “quitting time,” which makes me relieved that I can escape this nightmare. Without a word, I grab my backpack from behind the counter and push by the trio, avoiding eye contact. Once outside, I take a deep breath and jog down the street. The tension I’m feeling is slowly replaced by the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the pavement. I absolutely love running, and I try to run whenever I can.

I hear quick and steady footsteps behind me, like the sound of men’s dress shoes clicking along on the pavement, but I push ahead and reach the subway platform seconds before the train doors shut. I turn and watch as my followers reach the platform, looking a little out of breath. I wave as the train shoots past them, and then I’m lost in the tunnel.

I don’t want to go back to the apartment and face the music. What if I’m wrong? What if they really want to hang out with me? No! They’re just rich little boys with a new toy, and I wish I had my old life back. My feet eventually lead me back to the loft. Thank goodness Brad isn’t on duty, so I make it to the elevator unnoticed. I use my key to enter my own door.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I was intending to go home in the morning, but I begin throwing clothes in my overnight bag. I take the stairs instead of the elevator to my car in the underground garage. It’s kind of spooky—one of the fluorescent lights is blinking and then softly explodes, plunging my car into darkness. Drew’s parking spot is still empty as I pass by, quickly unlocking my doors. I shiver, but I don’t think it’s because of the cold. I think it’s the creepy feeling I’m being watched. I hold my breath until I’m clear of the garage and on my way home.

Home sweet home … my safe refuge from this crazy world, well, kind of. Walking into the house, my sense of smell is ensnared by deliciousness and I follow the trail to the kitchen. My dad is standing at the sink, apparently dancing to something only he can hear. I hesitate, not wanting to scare him, and then I notice the ear buds. I wait patiently, giggling at his ungraceful moves. I sense a presence behind me and my mom puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a side hug.

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow, but I’m so glad you’re here. He’s adorable, huh? That’s why I married him.”

“You married Dad because he can’t dance?”

“Well, there’s that too, but his all-around charisma. I mean, look at him. Any woman on the planet would just love to eat him up.”

“Ewww. Mom, that’s so wrong on several levels.”

She laughs. My dad hasn’t noticed us as he continues to awkwardly gyrate. The sun is shining through the window, highlighting the red in his hair.