Sasha (Mixed Drinks #1) (17 page)

“I was hoping to get the chance to talk to you. I didn’t like seeing you so upset,” he explains as he stands up.

I rush over to give him a hug and whisper, “I love you, too.”

I WAS RELIEVED TO HAVE to work the next few days in a row, because it would give me some time to prepare myself to meet Emma. Bash and I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about everything. He was so sorry that he didn’t tell me sooner, and I admitted that I may have overreacted about him needing to leave the party.

Bash opened up to me more about Chloe and how she had broken his heart. She was the one person he thought would always be there through all the good, the bad, and the ugly.

When she moved back to New York to be closer to her family, she did ask him to go with her, but he couldn’t leave his own family, and especially not Emma. Sam had trusted him enough to take care of things in his absence, and he wasn’t going to let him down. Bash wasn’t sure if he would ever find anyone that could make him feel so happy again, until he met me.

This explained a lot; all those times that he had seemed dazed, looking off into another world, he was having a moment of hesitation. He still wasn’t sure he was ready. As he told me all of this, I was both happy that he was finally telling me everything, but at the same time I also felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest.
Holy shit, this is a lot of fucking pressure.
When Bash asked if I wanted to meet Emma, I think the elephant stood up and decided to take that moment to break dance on me. I could feel my own panic building up. Wow, that’s a big step, meeting the little girl that now means everything to Bash. I asked if it was too soon, in light of my little episode on the phone.

Bash told me that he was able to calm Emma and Jean down, and let them know that it was all a misunderstanding of sorts. I’m still freaking out a little, and I’m still pretty embarrassed about the whole thing, and kind of dread accepting Bash’s invitation to meet Emma. We thought a meal out would be a nice first step; less pressure on everyone.
Yeah, tell that to the freaking elephant.

We made plans to meet at
Rudy’s Drive-In
on Thursday.
Rudy’s
is a local drive-in style restaurant that will be closing this weekend for the winter. It is our last chance to get one of the best root beer floats in town until spring. Bash told me that it was one of Emma’s favorite spots, and was looking forward to meeting me there.

I was contemplating getting a gift for her, but I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to buy her off.
Wait, do kids at that age really think that way, or are they just stoked to get a gift when it’s not their birthday or Christmas?
Maybe I’ll just pick up something small, something that says,
I’m your friend
.

As the days passed by, Bash tried to give me the 411 on the now seven-year old Emma. She has done pretty well adjusting to living with her grandma, and likes having Bash as a substitute dad, so to speak. She really likes playing with Barbies, baking anything sweet, and going camping with Bash. She does some fishing, but she won’t take the fish off the hook yet herself.

I really want to make a good impression when I meet her, but I feel like I might be over thinking this a little. I mean she’s just kid right.
How hard could it possibly be to impress a kid?

Thursday came sooner than I had hoped. I finally decided to pick up a She-Ra doll for Emma as my gift of choice. I thought it was a pretty good idea, since She-Ra was and still is my most favorite cartoon character. Plus, if she ever asks me to play dolls with her, I can grab She-Ra. I really never understood Barbie when I was growing up. You dress her up, put her in a car or house or tea set or some other really girly thing, change her clothes again, and that’s it. Maybe brush her hair after, and play a story out with Ken picking her up for a date. Or a shopping trip to the mall with Skipper.
Boring!

Now She-Ra on the other hand, there’s a girl you could have some real fun with. Grab a bad guy and defend your homeland from the forces of evil. Anything was possible, and anything could be a bad guy. The cat who’s trying to take a nap in the living room and runs from you every time she sees you ever since the whole kiddie pool incident of ‘99 (which shall never be spoken of again), the glass of water you just spilled could be a flood coming and you must save the Oreo cookies from certain death, and so on. I think Emma will love it, and will also maybe realize that Barbie is just a dumb, blonde bimbo.

As I pull up to
Rudy’s,
I see Bash and Emma sitting at one of the picnic benches. She was smiling and laughing, and looks so cute with her long, blonde hair, naturally highlighted with a hint of copper and little ringlets on the ends. I really want to throw up; I have no idea what to say to her.
Hi sweetie, sorry I yelled at you on the phone before, and I hope we can be friends, because I’m in love with Bash, and since you come as a packaged deal, it’s kind of not an option for us not to be.

I feel really bad for thinking this way. I chalk it up to nerves, and tell myself to get over it. I see Bash looking around, presumably for me. He checks his watch and looks up and around again before he finally spots me. He smiles excitedly and waves me over. I slowly reach to turn the ignition off in my car, as if the five extra seconds will somehow change how I’m feeling.

As I get out of my car, I reach for the gift that I wrapped four different times to make sure it looked perfect. As I close my car door and hit the lock button on my key fob, I plaster a big smile on my face and start to walk over to the picnic table they are sitting at.

“Ok, here I go. Time to finally meet Emma. No turning back now,” I say quietly to myself.

As I get closer, Bash stands and jogs over to me. He must see that the smile on my face is forced, and tries to put me at ease.

“Sasha, everything is fine. Emma is very excited to meet you, and has talked about nothing else since I told her about you today.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m meeting your mother?” I responded, gritting my teeth to keep my smile on.

Bash lets out a small laugh, grabs my hand, and escorts me the rest of the way.
For fear I may run, perhaps?
As we approach Emma, she gets up and runs over to us, giving me a big hug.

“Is that present for me?” she blurts with a big smile as she eyeballs the small box.

“Yes it is, I thought of you when I saw it, and hope you like it.” I respond to the question in my best
I’m talking to a kid
voice.

“Can I open it now?” she pleads to Bash and I.

I smile and nod at her. As we sit back down at the table, I hand Emma the gift and watch her carefully open each corner with such care. I try to tell her that I wasn’t going to save the paper and she could just tear right into it, but Bash shyly interrupts and assures me that this is how she likes to open gifts.

As She-Ra is finally free of her shrouded cage, Emma looks at her with confusion.
As if she was expecting a Barbie and had no idea what to do with this weird chick in her mini-skirt and plastic sword.

I jump in, feeling the need to defend my hero to Emma. “Her name is She-Ra, and when I was your age, I used to watch a cartoon about her and play with my own She-Ra doll. I thought you might like her. She is my favorite.”

She stares at it for a moment, still not saying anything. I look over at Bash, and he grabs my hand, giving me a smile and a nod. I wait as Emma looks over the box, and then a hint of a smile comes out.

“Thank you, Sasha. Bash, can we watch She-Ra when we get home?” she asks him.

I breathe a sigh of relief.
She likes it!

We proceed to order our food, and talk about school and her friends and her grandma. You know, your basic seven-year old conversation. Nothing too gripping, yet we were having fun. Emma tells me a few knock-knock jokes, and I pretend that they are funny.

After lunch, Emma turns the conversation to me, asking me things like, how old was I, did I have kids, where did I live, (and was my apartment big), and did I have a job. I smile and answer all of her questions, keeping the answers simple and on her level. After awhile, Emma asks Bash if she can have a root beer float. Bash agrees and motions to me that he will go inside to get them for us, smiling. I try to shake my head
no
, and give him the look of death, but before I can say anything, he’s up and gone.

I look back at Emma, expecting to see a happy little girl who is about to get some ice cream, but instead I see a frowning face, arms crossed like a little she-devil.

“Listen here, ‘cause I’m only gonna tell you this once. Bash is mine, you can’t have him, so you should just move on, lady.” She scolds me, but in her cute, little girlish
I want to be tough but I’m really not
voice.

My jaw drops, and I can hardly believe what I just heard.
Did she really just say that?
And here I thought this was going to go poorly.

I smile and turn to face her, laying my hands on the picnic table in front of me as I lower my head to her level. “Well, I think that we can share him. He has enough room in is life for both of us. I’m not stealing him from you, just borrowing sometimes.” I state calmly, in a kid-friendly voice, making sure to keep my smile front and center.

“I don’t want to share, he’s mine! He will see that he doesn’t want
you
,” she snickers back.

What a little actress we have here
. Smiles galore in front of Bash, making him think that she likes this new turn of events, and then
bam
. The truth comes out.
Touché, little girl
.

“Well, I think that Bash is a big boy and can make his own choices. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon, so you’d better get used to me.” I respond as I sit up straight. I need to show this little girl who’s boss.

“Oh yeah? We will see about that.” She smiles and turns to see if Bash is coming back. “I may only be seven, but I know Bash, and he will always pick me.”

I look up to see Bash coming back with three root beer floats. Emma has just enough time to put back her super fake,
I’m having fun
smile. She looks over at me and gives me the fist in hand jester behind Bash’s back. Fuck, I think this kid has been watching way too many of the wrong kinds of movies.
Is this my karmic revenge for being such a bitch?

THE NEXT DAY I CALLED Megan and Sadie over for a bottle of wine.
Or maybe two or three
. Some of our best and worst ideas have come from a few good bottles of wine. I describe my encounter with the seven-year old she-devil, and after the belly laughter subsides, they both put on their big girl panties and try to help me figure out what to do. I mean, she is seven freaking years old.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
If it were some chick moving in on my guy, I would just tell Bash about it, we would have a good laugh, and the next time she made a move on him, she would get a verbal bashing from me and possibly a drink to the face.

But how does one compete with a seven-year old? After many hours of thinking (and drinking), we finally decided that I will be an adult about it and just let her throw her little tantrum, all while I ignore it. Bash will figure out what she is really up to on his own.
Well, he better, because I sure as hell can’t tell him
. Our little lunch date looked perfect to him, and he would no doubt take her word over mine, considering everything she has been through.