Twenty-One and Invincible

I woke up the next morning and literally fell out of bed. I must have been having some sort of nightmare or something while I was asleep because my sheets were tangled around my feet as if I’d been kicking them in the middle of the night and half my torso was on the ground.

“Are you okay?” Grandma called, knocking on my door. She must have heard the commotion.

“I’m fine,” I replied. I looked around, still semi-suspended in the air. I couldn’t see the clock. “What time is it?”

“Six forty-five,” Grandma answered. “Did you just wake up? Shouldn’t you be ready to leave for work by now?”

“Six forty-five?” I repeated in a panic. “Holy shit!”

“Language,” she warned.

“Pardon,” I muttered hastily, untwining myself from my blankets before running around my bedroom trying to gather my things together. Luckily I had showered the night before so I saved myself a bit of time. I grabbed an outfit out of my closet, a pencil skirt and white button-up blouse and threw them on with a dark gray blazer. I combed out the knots in my hair and threw it up into a bun that looked purposely messy. I had to sit down to do my makeup though--that was the one thing that I needed to ensure was perfect before heading out the door.

Once I was satisfied, I grabbed a pair of black heels, my purse and ran out the door to my car. Grandma waved goodbye from the screen door. Grandpa was still sleeping.

As I threw my purse onto the passenger’s seat and started to back out of the driveway, I could see Patrick tossing his hockey gear into the trunk of his car. He looked up and saw me and waved. I waved back briefly before zooming down the road.

I made it to work at 7:45am with very little time to spare. I was a receptionist at Savoir magazine, a fashion and beauty magazine exclusively in Chicago. Being the receptionist, I needed to get there before the place was even technically open at 8am so that I could answer the phones. I rushed inside, nearly tripping on a rut in the carpet, and made it to my desk without seriously injuring myself. I grabbed my ear piece and put it on, taking a deep breath before getting my things organized.

My best friend in the office, Gabie, was a reporter who got to go out and interview local underground fashion designers who wanted to make it big somewhere like New York or Los Angeles. She always had exciting stories to tell me about meeting really awesome people and she always had fun with her job. Mine paled in comparison.

Gabie walked in at 8:15am like she always did, fashionably late, and walked over to my desk with a cup of Starbucks outstretched. “Good morning lovely.”

“Morning,” I replied shortly, reaching for the steaming cup of goodness. “Thanks for getting my coffee today. I had a late start.”

“Any reason for that?” she questioned, eyebrows a-flutter. I rolled my eyes.

“No, Gabs. It’s nothing like that. I guess I just didn’t set my alarm or something, you know how it is when you just wake up late.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, taking a sip from her coffee cup. I copied her actions. “But you know, it has been an awfully long time since you’ve been...you know, involved with someone.”

“I don’t have time to date between work and helping out my grandparents,” I sighed. “My grandpa’s been quite a handful lately.”

“Oh, what’s he done this time?” Gabie mused. She knew about my grandfather’s little mind-slips and public indiscretions...she was the one I’d confide in whenever something he did drove me nuts. I loved my grandfather, but at times he was just insufferable.

I smirked. “He put olive oil in the lawn mower.”

Gabie tried to hold back her laughter but failed miserably. Soon she was doubled over my counter, her long dark hair spilling over onto my desk. “No way!” she declared, regaining her composure. “That’s so fucked! Maybe he needs to see a doctor or something.”

“He doesn’t want any treatment,” I shrugged. “My grandma’s been suggesting it for years. We think he might be developing Alzheimer’s or something along those lines. Maybe even dementia. But he’s still technically healthy, as far as his normal doctors say. He apparently doesn’t need a specialist. He’s just too proud to admit that he’s ever wrong.”

“Yeah, that sounds like your ol’ Pop-Pop,” Gabie nodded. “Well, anyway I have to go work on my latest article. I’ll run it by you later, ‘kay?”

I nodded. “Bye, Gabs.”

Exhaling slowly, I laid my arms down on my desk and rested my head there, the adrenaline from my morning rush finally slowing down. I wanted to go back to bed. I was, however, rudely interrupted by my ear piece going off. It felt louder than usual.

“Thank you for calling Savoir, how can I assist you?”

“Uh, hi...can I speak to Carmen please?”

I was visibly confused and looked around the room, though I was the only person in the reception area. The voice sounded vaguely familiar and I couldn’t quite place it, but it was distinctly male. “This is Carmen,” I said tentatively, spinning around a little bit in my chair so I wasn’t facing the front door. “May I ask who’s calling please?”

“Oh, hey Carmen,” the guy said. “It’s Patrick. Kane.”

No wonder it sounded so familiar. It was one of Chicago’s young hockey superstars. “Hey,” I replied, trying my best and most likely failing at sounding casual. “Uh, how did you find out that I worked here?”

He laughed. “I’m not stalking you, I swear. I was leaving for practice and I saw you go. Right after you left, your grandma ran out of the house yelling that you forgot your agenda in the kitchen or something. So I stopped by and introduced myself and told her I’d deliver it to you. She told me where you worked and then invited me to dinner tonight.”

I almost choked on my own saliva. “S-She did?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” I could almost see that sly grin forming on his face. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

I giggled involuntarily. Oh God, I must have sounded like some sort of school girl. “So, when are you going to deliver my agenda?” I asked. “After practice?”

“Actually,” he said, a strange echo forming on his line. “How about right now?”

I was confused. “Huh?”

“Turn around.”

I spun around in my chair and nearly jumped out of my skin. There was Patrick, leaning against the ledge of my desk with his cell phone pressed against his ear. My leather-bound agenda was in his hand.

“Thanks,” I murmured once I was sure my heart had calmed down enough. “Shouldn’t you be at practice though?”

He shrugged, handing it to me. “Practice isn’t for another half hour. I’ve got time. So, you work at a fashion magazine, huh?”

Looking around at the posters on the walls of the various covers from past issues, the massive “SAVOIR” sign behind me and all of the Savoir magazines on the table in the lobby, I gave a nod. “Yep.”

Patrick tilted his head and seemed to examine my face with great attention to detail. “You look different,” he said finally. “I know you’re wearing makeup, but...I don’t know. You don’t look like you.”

I’ll admit, I was a tiny bit put off. “You don’t know me, Patrick. We’ve talked--what--twice?”

“Let me get to know you then,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Alright, I set myself up for that one.

“I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, turning my attention back to my computer. Since Patrick couldn’t see the screen, I pulled up a fake document and started typing over and over: Go away go away go away go away.

“Sounds good,” he replied, that grin never once leaving his face. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight, then.”

I bit the inside of my lip. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked right out the door, the tiniest hint of a spring in his step. I watched him go. After he exited the glass doors in the front of the building, I selected everything I’d typed in that fake document and deleted it. The phone rang again and I went back to work.

“Thank you for calling Savoir, how can I assist you?”