Bowling Dreams & Cheap Wine

Chapter 9

Being the President of the Homeowners Association is a legit position. Ignoring the fact that no one ran against me in the community vote, I oversee my streets like a mother hen in an 8-block radius that extends to the city's canal walkway. Confounding my leadership duties is the fact that this downtown is historic and restrictions on home renovations can get spotty. Homeowners must submit any exterior renovation changes to my HOA committee for approval before they can start work.  

Which is why, thirty emails clutter my inbox about the 'house with the door' next to a tattoo shop. The offense in question is the owner skipping protocol and painting the door neon green--but also, the lude wording that has been painted on the door as well. The community HOA chatroom has exploded. Residents in the neighborhood are 'very concerned' about the door. The other members of the HOA are too, but they ask if I can check out the violation. My duties are piling up. 

-The barking dog next to Nate's house.

-Concerns about people making loud noises when trash bins are put out past 10:00 p.m.

-This door issue.

-And finally, heated grievances about a late night basketball player walking up and down the street bouncing a ball. The doorbell cameras catching this late night baller have been inconclusive. 

My new schedule means I have time to check out the door this morning. Before I go, I support local business and get my coffee from Lazy Days at the same time the bus stop crowd is forming. Whoops. I should have timed this better. 

My goal is to get out of the donut shop before Nate and Noreen stroll up. Embarrassment shoots through me at the whole throwing-up on his step scene, which I personally cleaned up and replaced his potted flowers. That didn't stop me overthinking what happened. I was sick. It couldn't be helped. If he chose not to believe me, I can't change that. People assume I want this great, grand love, when really I just want a man to hold my hair when I'm sick and tuck the comforter to my chin and turn off the lights.

The ladies at Bitches Who Know Things are featuring a story about how to stop obsessing over big dreams and nurture the smaller goals in our hearts. I listen as I wait in line for coffee. 

Small dreams or not, the universe is having none of my avoidance tactics. Soon as I open the door and the next person enters Lazy Days, Nate is mere feet away. "Hello," I say first, yanking out my earbud. The rest of my vocabulary completely disappears with his kind eyes boring into my soul. 

"Hey," he answers back a bit shyly. "I wanted to say thank you for replacing the plants." Oh good, he knows how to talk without judging me.

"It was the least I could do after I violated the poor tiny violets." I offer a tentative smile. I hold up my coffee. "I should go." 

"Wait." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry if I made you feel worse. I was really rude. I thought you were drunk. Tara told me you and your bowling team get pretty wasted and Noreen and I had been fighting about bedtime, it was just...the wrong moment." 

He's apologizing. He's--"I wasn't drunk," I blurt, even though I still feel a lot like 'officer I don't know why I failed the breathalyzer test, I only had one drink.' I could throw Tara under the bus, and I want to, trust me, I DO. But I don't. "It was something I ate. I was sick for two days. And I don't drink to get wasted. I never was hungover when Daphne was home. You probably thought I was so irresponsible."  

"I was wrong," he says directly, never taking his eyes off me. "I should have helped you. Or at least  made sure you got in your house okay. I wasn't exactly helpful."

"No, you weren't." But it's all over now. We're talking again. We're...friends, I realize. Or becoming friends. 

He halts whatever response he had ready. A squeal from behind me snags his gaze and he breaks eye contact to check on Noreen. She's smitten in the girl world of her friends. "Hey, the dog finally stopped barking. Thank you for taking care of that."