Pumpkin

Chapter 1-2

"I mean, I have been a volunteer. I've done a voter registration drive before."

Having cleared up that misjudgment, Pumpkin assumed the conversation was over. Only, he looked doubtful at her proclamation.

Pumpkin gave her internal filter a kick. In response it sputtered, "I organized it, actually." Pumpkin gave it a mental shove to keep quiet. And then, "It was very successful, actually."

"Where?"

"What?"

"Where did the drive you organized —successfully— take place?"

"Oh," she said. "At my school. My college —university, actually. Louisiana State University."

"I know LSU," he grinned.

Good. Grinning meant amused. He had a nice grin, Smokey Eyes. Straight white teeth. Plump lips that stretched wide. Maybe a little too wide. Almost big bad wolf wide.

"Well," she said. "There's a community college with the name Louisiana so..."

"You have a problem with community colleges?"

"No! I just... I just wanted to make sure you knew... which one I meant." Pumpkin wouldn't have thought it possible, but his grin stretched even wider.

"My opinion matters to you that much?"

Definitely a wolf.

Then, in confirmation, his eyes slipped from her face and did a quick assessment of her body: the B-cups she no longer bothered to pad, the stubborn muffin top she'd given up on a year ago, the wide hips that looked voluptuous on her cousins but pear-shaped on her.

"I don't even know you," Pumpkin said. And she had no intention of getting to know him. Wolves blocked the paths of good girls whether in the forest or on the road of life. Pumpkin had no intention of getting jammed up by a man, ever again.

"Yet, within sixty seconds of meeting me," he said, "you offered to be mine."

"No I... That was a misunderstanding, and you know it."

A chuckle escaped through that predatory grin. The sound rumbled through Pumpkin's body like a divining rod sensing danger.

"I'm sorry, Malika."

But then, with the sound of her name on his lips, the humming of the rod ceased. All previous warning signals muted and Pumpkin's feet took root in the concrete.

"It's been a long day," he smiled and a small sigh escaped his lips at the same time.

She'd read the term Cupid's Bow in romance novels, but the visual didn't do the term justice. The top of his upper lip, where you'd handle the bow was in the shape of a perfectly symmetrical M. Stretched in a smile, his full bottom lip made her wonder what it would be like to get caught in the crosshairs of his kiss.

"I couldn't resist having a little fun with you. I hope I haven't kept you."

Pumpkin took her eyes off his lips to gaze into his smokey eyes. A smile started to creep over her face, too. "No, you haven't kept me."

"You'd better hurry. I'm sure they're about to close soon."

"Yeah... wait. What?" Pumpkin followed his gaze to the DFACS entrance. Everything unmuted and red flashed behind her eyes. "I just told you, I went to college."

"Oh?" His gray eyes furrowed this time. "So, people with degrees don't fall on hard times?"

"Well... yes. They do. But I'm fine," she insisted, tapping her new shoes on the pavement for emphasis. "I have a job." A job that she hated, but it paid all her bills. No government checks came for her and Seth. No child support checks either.

"So, you're not here to volunteer to help. And you're not here seeking help. What? Are you here to gloat?"

"No!"

He chuckled again, but Pumpkin was no longer amused.

"I've taken advantage of some social programs, like federal grants for the university I attended while on academic scholarship." Pumpkin conveniently neglected to mention that her childhood kitchen had been stocked from food stamp monies. "But I'm not gloating about my successes because I'm resentful that this society assumes that I can't succeed without its help."

He c****d his head, eyes intent on her. "So, you'd rather the rules be unfair and harder for you so that you can save face?"

Pumpkin blinked. "No, that's not what I mean."

What did she mean? How did she get into this conversation? All her life, Pumpkin typically kept her opinions to herself. It had been the safest way to navigate her adolescent and teenage years in a household where the family motto read: everyone for themselves.

"You know how they say if you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day," she continued. "But if you teach a man to fish, he'll eat forever?"

Smokey Eyes nodded.

Pumpkin hesitated, realizing he was actually listening to every word she said, and waiting for her to say more.

Why not? Her internal filter had taken the day off. "I think the flaw with social programs is that the poor start to believe they can't do for themselves without it and the rich believe the poor can't act without their help. And it winds up being a vicious cycle with each side resenting the other."

Pumpkin glanced at the DFACS door remembering her son was still inside with two professional "cyclists." She turned back to Smokey Eyes.

He stared up at the clouds in concentration. She could see him turning her words over in his head. It gave her a thrill. She was used to men leering at her body, because, though her curves weren't artful like her cousins', they were round enough to grab attention. Watching Smokey Eyes focus inward and contemplate her words was possibly the most intimate experience of her thirty years.

After a moment, his tongue peeked out, like an arrow, to pull taut his upper lip. Pumpkin's own lips parted as a quiver went through her long dormant core. Any moment now, he would aim words at her.

Any moment now.

Turning his gray eyes back to her, he said, "I do see your point. But I also feel that with great wealth comes great responsibility. And if you've caught a lot of fish, you should share. It's good manners. It's how I was raised."

Pumpkin gave a woeful shake of her head at that. "I was raised by people who wouldn't fish; would take yours; and then demand you go get more."

"But not you."

It wasn't a question. There was something behind those smokey eyes. Not empathy. He was obviously moneyed, in his expensive shirt and tailored pants, where Pumpkin's teen closet had been sponsored by Goodwill, and her adult closet now sported Target.

"Me? No," she said holding his gaze.

"And you wouldn't ask for any food off my table? Even if I'm willing to share?"

It seemed like a trick question. On the one hand, Pumpkin harbored an image of him feeding her bits of food. On the other hand, "Is there something wrong with a woman who is self-sufficient?"

"No. Those are my favorite kind." He grinned again, the wolf rising to its haunches once more. "I just have a problem when independent women feel the need to trash and discard strong men like myself. I'm part of a marginalized group, too." He grinned.

Pumpkin couldn't imagine any woman in her right mind discarding this man.

"I look forward to the day," he continued, "when independent women and strong men can sit down at the same table and share each other's..." he paused for another wolfish grin, "...catch of the day, instead of starving by themselves."

Pumpkin couldn't help herself. She grinned, too. This wasn't the type of man who would stand in her way. This was the type of man who opened doors. The type of man people lined up behind to propel forward. The type of man going places. The type of man people expect big things of. The type of person Pumpkin used to be before she took a detour and crashed headlong into glaring, yellow hazard signs.

"Pumpkin, the food stamp line was way too long.”

"You'll just have to bring us back Monday morning."

LaRon and LaTom had an uncanny knack for timing.

"I can't." Pumpkin turned to face her cousins. "I work on Monday."

"Well, you'll just have to take the day —Oh! Hello, there."

Uh, oh. The Amazons spotted prey in the clearing.

"You look like a Marine or maybe an Air Force pilot," purred LaRon. "Are you in the Armed Forces?"

"You look like you own that white Mustang over there." LaTom switched a fussy, little LaRico to the other hip. Mother and son both salivated.

"Are you a prince?"

That last voice was unexpected in this hunt. It was Seth.

"No." Pumpkin heard the amused grin in Smokey Eyes' voice. "I'm just a regular guy."

"Oh," Seth said, clearly disappointed as he took his mother's hand. "That's too bad. My mom's looking for a Prince Charming to help her heart, cuz my dad broke it."

What the! Pumpkin was used to her cousins embarrassing her in public. But her son? When did he become a traitor to her pride?

"No, no." Pumpkin knelt down, partly to be on par with her son, partly to be out of the scrutiny of Smokey Eyes. "He didn't break my heart. He just confirmed my disbelief in all the fairy tale nonsense I was fed as a little girl."

All the adults stared at her now. Even little LaRico gave Pumpkin his undivided attention. Probably because she was arguing fairy tales with an eight-year-old.

Pumpkin tried to save face. "Besides honey, a heart is a muscle. It can't break. You can have a heart attack, where it stops beating."

Oh, God! In a panic, Pumpkin attached a defibrillator to her internal filter as it continued to flat line.

Seth scrunched his face in concentration. "So, Dad gave you a heart attack and made your heart stop beating? And now you need a prince to make it start again?"

What did she expect? The child had her gift of logic and her newfound diarrhea of the mouth. Pumpkin glanced over at her cousins for help.

Not likely! They were still sizing up the smokey-eyed candy behind her.

Pumpkin chanced a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, gray eyes were locked on her and Seth, an amused, wolfish grin spread over his handsome face.

Fantastic!

Okay. What were her options here? She could continue the philosophical argument with an eight-year-old who used the undefeatable formula of child-logic. Or she could turn tail and run. Of course, Pumpkin did what any sensible woman would do!

"Okay, guys! Time to go!" Pumpkin ushered them all to the parking lot.

"It was nice meeting you, Malika!"

Pumpkin didn't even bother glancing back over her shoulder. She kept her eyes trained forward until she saw the salvation of her bright, orange getaway.

"He was cute, Pumpkin," said LaTom as she buckled herself in the backseat and bounced LaRico on her lap.

Pumpkin pursed her lips and remained silent.

"He looked rich," mused LaRon.

Probably, Pumpkin thought as she started the ignition.

"He looked familiar," said LaTom.

"Yeah," agreed LaRon. "But I can't place him. What's his name, Pumpkin?"

"Hmph," was Pumpkin's noncommittal answer as she pulled onto the highway. Great, now the filter was back online.

"You spent all that time talking to him and you didn't even get his name, or at least give him your number!"

"God, you're hopeless, girl. One baby by him and you probably could've been set for life."

Pumpkin didn't need his name. She knew enough to know that Mr. Smokey Eyes was out of her league. Devastatingly handsome, likely wealthy, more than an ounce of intelligence, and a firm grip on the ladder to success. Yeah, that type didn't go for girls like her: single moms, with dead-end jobs, and a weak foothold on the fringe of the lower middle class. No. There were no princes in Pumpkin's reality. Only frogs. Frogs who stayed frogs long after repeated sloppy-slimy kisses.

For the rest of the drive, the cousins went on and on about Mr. Smokey Eyes. But that man, whom Pumpkin was never likely to meet again, no longer concerned her. Another did. And later that night, she confronted him.

"Seth?"

"Yeah, mama?"

He settled into his bed, the newest Dragonslayer Academy chapter book lay open and half-read on his small chest. He got that from her: the book-wormishness along with the small chest. He also got her dark eyes and dark, curly ’fro that tinted copper in the sun. Seth had his father's long face and protruding chin. It looked like he might inherit the uni-brow, too. That concerned Pumpkin. Uni-brows were rumored to be a sign of the devil. It was a rumor she knew to be true.

"Seth, what made you say those things today? About my heart?"

He shrugged and concentrated on his Transformer's bedspread.

Pumpkin prepared herself to ask the question she really didn't want to hear the answer to. "Do you miss your dad?"

"No." Seth said it without hesitating. But he looked her in the eye when he said it, and that's how Pumpkin knew he was telling the truth. "You're better off without him."

Pumpkin's eyes widened in genuine shock. She and Seth never talked about his father. Pumpkin didn't because she struggled to find nice things to say about the man, and she didn't want to be one of those women who dogged the other parent. Even if the other parent was an absentee father who didn't call, write, or support his child in any way.

So, instead, she sent Seth off to the school guidance counselor. Her prognosis? Seth was fine and adjusting as expected. That was hard for Pumpkin to believe after all the trauma Seth's father caused her. So, she sent Seth off to an expensive therapist who specialized in children from broken homes. His prognosis? The same. Finally, Pumpkin gave up and accepted that her kid just might be okay. And here lay further confirmation.

"I heard you talking on the phone to Auntie Ronnie about Prince Charming on a horse being the only one you'd give your heart to."

Okay. How does one explain sarcasm to an eight-year-old?

"I know grown-ups like having girlfriends and boyfriends." His little nose wrinkled at those two titles, and Pumpkin couldn't help but smile. "Auntie Ronnie and Auntie Tommie have lots of boyfriends. I think you should have at least one."

Huh. Kid logic. Was she really gonna try and argue that? Because, though Seth's father didn't break her heart in the philosophical sense, he did do a number on her head and its figurative sense of worth. Then again, it had been over three years. Maybe she was ready to move on and start dating.

"Tell you what, I'll think about it."

But one thing she didn't have to think about was the type of man she would date when she was ready. She knew, for certain, it wouldn't be some wolfish playboy who was only interested in a fling, on his way through the woods.