Better Than Never

By Julene Brady Pappan

Sharon Connor finally graduates from the University of Iowa with a degree in English/Secondary Ed. Now, it's time to enter the "real world." Unfortunately, until Sharon gets a full-time teaching job, the real world means living with her parents and horrible sister Francie and working as a temp in her father's insurance office. Sharon leans on her grandma, best friend Ellen, her quirky sense of humor, and a vivid dream world to help her navigate the pitfalls of finding a career and (maybe) love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julene Brady Pappan
• Release date: Jun 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476397740

Julene Brady Pappan

I am a high school English teacher (creative writing and composition) who loves reading, writing (mostly scripts for IHSSA monologues), EATING, and hanging out with my family, Prince Charming, and our six kids. Oh yeah, I play a mean game of golf (at Toad Valley, of course).

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

So, Sharon, did you have a nice time last night? On a brightness scale, Mom's voice was at least two levels above perky.

I looked at my mom dully, trying to will away her coming inquisition. After four years of freedom, I wasn't mentally prepared for the lack of privacy moving back home entailed. Still, I didn't want Mom to think I wasn't appreciative of her efforts in the happiness category; it just would have been nice if she'd held off until I had infused myself with some caffeine.

After a couple of seconds, I answered, It sucked. I was smiling to beat the band, trying to match Mom's sunshine.

Nice language.

She wasn't smiling. I won.

Though it's incredibly immature, sometimes I feel a driving need to irritate Mom. I guess it’s my daughterly duty. Anyway, it’s not as if I used the f-word or something. In the Connor household, we do not curse.

Just making sure you’re really listening to me, Mom, I smiled again, this time batting my eyelashes.

Well, at least you don’t belch in public like Francie, Mom replied.

Francie is my little sister. I can’t say that I completely blame her for being obnoxious. Part of the problem is her name: Francesca Jean-Anne Marie Connor (this somehow incorporates all of our grandparents' names, Frank and Jeanette Connor and Annabelle and Claude Thomas - don't ask). Need I say more? Anyway, she’s only twelve, so that would explain the rest of her problem.

Would you care to elaborate on your date? Mom pressed.

Well, about halfway through the night, he turned into Mr. Creeper. I think the evening would have been a success if we’d gone to different clubs. Do we have anything to eat? I changed the subject.

Mom walked to the fridge. It’s just like your father always says, ‘You should never drink alcohol in mixed company. It only leads to trouble...especially after midnight.’ Think about your cousin Lori and that . . .

Mom, I drank orange juice, I interrupted.

Yes we have orange juice, Mom said from inside the fridge. How about some Lego waffles?

I rolled my eyes. Talking to Mom about a disastrous date is a joke. You know, Legos are plastic. I doubt that they have much nutritional value.

What, honey? Mom asked as she placed an Eggo in the toaster.

Nothing, nothing.

So will you be seeing Jeff again? Your dad and I thought he was very pleasant.

I started to give Mom one of my you’re the biggest idiot looks, but stopped when I saw she was laughing. It’s easy to forget that she can be funny.

I decided to play it up. Well, it has been quite some time since I’ve been spanked. But I need to do a little shopping because Jeff didn’t have any whips or chains, just handcuffs and a can of squeeze cheese.

Oh don’t splurge, honey. You can borrow mine.

We both burst into laughter. Your generosity is overwhelming, Mom. But wouldn’t they be a little worn out?

Mom was still giggling. Okay, enough. I don’t want Francie to hear.

I guess a person can have only so much fun when she’s a parent.

Thanks for breakfast, Mom.

No problem. Oh, and clean your room, honey. It’s a pig sty.

Help me God. I need to get an apartment quickly.

And Sharon? I looked at her. "If you stay out till 2 a.m. with somebody you don’t like, can your father and I safely assume that Mr. Right

will have you home by midnight?"

I waited. I mean, if I’d still been in high school, I would have been grounded from MTV or something, but what happens to a recent college graduate? Hmm… apparently nothing since Mom just gave me a mother look and left the room.

The worst thing about being an adult is not realizing that I am one.

Francie came twirling into the kitchen. She doesn’t walk anywhere, just dances. I decided to not hate her for the time being. What’s up, Squirt?

Francie opened her eyes wide and pointed out the window. Omigosh, it’s a giant condor!

I obligingly looked out the window. When I turned back toward Francie, she was happily munching my waffle. So you’re not just a dork; you’re also a thief, I said.

This is sooooo good. You ought to have one, Sharon, Francie mumbled while sticking her Eggo-encrusted tongue out at me.

Yeah, it looks pretty tasty.

At that moment, the phone rang, interrupting our intellectual discussion.

I’ll get it! Francie shouted, even though I was only sitting two feet away from her.

Sharon? Sharon who? Oh her. Well, may I tell her who is calling? Spell that please...

I grabbed the phone out of Francie’s hand and gave her a little shove. Hello?"

Sharon? It’s me, Jeff.

Shock. Nightmare. Horror. It was last night’s disaster. Oh, hi, I sputtered.

Um, I’m sorry. Last night I just . . . Well, I thought you meant . . . Well, you know when you said . . .

I couldn’t help but smile a little; a groveling man is hard to find. Still, Jeff had pushed it too far the night before. I can’t stand it when a guy thinks that paying for dinner automatically equals sex. I’m probably the last virgin on earth. I figure, I’ve waited this long, I can hold off until I’m with the man I’ll marry.

Jeff was still talking about needing a second chance. He really thought that he could get it right if I just let him try. Please forgive him. He was raised to be a gentleman. He just didn’t know what had gotten into him. What did I say?

Suddenly, I felt sorry for him. I could feel my resolve crumbling with every sentence out of Jeff’s mouth. Come on, Sharon. Buck up little cowgirl. Be strong for the feminist cause. I heard myself answer, Well, I’m not really doing anything tonight.

Okay. I’ll be at your place around 7:30. Jeff sounded way too eager. I mean I’m great, but there are plenty of fish in the sea.

Bye, Jeff.

Francie danced in. Was that the Jeffrey Ballet?

I smacked the phone into my forehead. Not only was it Jeff, but I’m going out with him again tonight.

Cool.

Shut up, Francie. I must be a masochist.

Maybe you like him.

I looked at Francie. No. I just don’t want to spend another night at home with you.

Oh stop. You’re breaking my heart. Twelve-year-old sarcasm is the worst.

Hey, Mom, Sharon has a new boyfriend! Francie shouted.

Hey, Mom, Francie has a new brain cell! I called up the stairs.

Francie turned to me and made a face. Very funny. Ha. Ha. Why don’t you get a job?

Why don’t you get a life?

I don’t think I’ve made a sincere effort at this adult-thing. I don’t think I’ve made a sincere effort at getting a job either, but the pressures of my social life take priority over reality. Besides, Francie is such a pain. She really brings out the worst in everyone.

Francie walked closer to me and stuck her face in mine. Too bad there isn’t a job for people with permanent PMS, she said wickedly.

Francesca Jean-Anne Marie, Mom walked into the kitchen, go clean your room.

I still love it when Mom takes my side, and whipping out the full name means she is serious. There's only one more level, and Mom saves it for when she's furious. It starts with her garbling your name and ends in Connor! It's both terrifying and hilarious, unless you're on the receiving end.

Francie took one last bite of my waffle and flounced out of the room.

Mom turned to me. Sharon, are you really going out with Jeff again?

I hate having to justify my actions, especially if they don’t even make sense to me. Yeah.

So what’s the story, honey? I thought you didn’t like this young man.

I pictured Mom whipping out a pad of paper to take notes. I could even see the headline: Fickle female flies in feminists’ faces. In case it isn’t obvious, I majored in English at the University of Iowa.

Oh, Mom, you know how weird I am. I guess if he has enough guts to actually ask me out after last night, then I feel like I should give him another chance.

It has nothing to do with the fact that we’re going to Aunt Louise’s for dinner?

I grinned. I had completely forgotten about dinner, but getting me out of Aunt Louise’s tuna casserole was a definite plus in Jeff’s favor. Mom, that had nothing to do with it.

Then why don’t you bring Jeff along? she suggested.

I checked her face carefully to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. What if I end up liking him? His first impression of my family will be of burnt tuna casserole and Aunt Louise’s mustache.

Mom furrowed her brow and shook her head. You know, Sharon, it isn’t very kind to make fun of someone with a hormonal imbalance. And I just want to make sure you’re safe.

Oh, Mom, I said, hugging her, he wasn’t as awful as I made him sound. He was just fulfilling his manly duty. It was actually pretty fun until we were alone in his car.

Maybe you should drive yourself. I could tell that Mom was genuinely concerned.

What I was thinking is that we should just save time and rent a motel room at the beginning of our date.

Mom swatted my rear end. Where did you get that awful mind?

Dad? I thought that would be a good answer since he wasn’t around.

The mailman, you mean! Francie shouted down the stairs.

I can’t believe that girl’s hearing. There is no such thing as a private conversation in our home. All I can say, Francie, is that the birthmark on your arm bears a striking resemblance to the garbage collector’s snake tattoo! I called back.

That is enough, girls. Honestly, I can’t get through a day without having to put up with your constant bickering. It was Mom’s turn to put in her two cents worth. It’s a crying shame, but my whole family likes to get in the last word.

Francie slid into the kitchen and pressed her mouth to my ear. The garbage man is cuter than the mailman anyway, she whispered.

For once I didn’t have a reply. I mean, our mailman has teeth the shade of tree bark, and he can never quite close his mouth around them. At least the garbage man has a decent-looking face, even if he does have a hairy back. Hey Francie, let me look at your back, I said.

Why?

Just checking, I laughed, chasing Francie around the table.

Get away!

Sharon, leave Francie alone, Mom jumped in.

That’s okay. I don’t have to look down the back of your shirt to see all those little hairs poking through. Wow, Francie, like father like daughter.

Shut up! Mom, do I really have hairs? Francie is gullible.

No, dear, you do not have hairs on your back. Certainly no more than Sharon, she said, shooting me a deadly glare. Now, I want the two of you to stop arguing and go clean your rooms!

If it isn’t obvious, the solution to all conflict in my house is to clean. So off I went, twenty-two years old, banished to my room. I suppose I deserved it for acting like I was my sister’s age.

Lying on my bed, I reviewed last evening’s date with Jeff to try and put it into proper perspective. Jeff was good-looking in a kind of primitive, caveman way. He looked like a college wrestler turned insurance salesman. You can dress ‘em up, but you definitely can’t cover up the protruding forehead.

His social skills hadn’t been much more advanced than his looks. He had quickly emptied his plate of pasta at the restaurant and moved on to mine. On the other hand, he did ask if I was finished with my dinner before he devoured it, and he used the correct forks. While these seemed like pretty weak pluses in Jeff’s favor, at least there were some positives, right?

As far as conversation was concerned, it had been Sharon-dominated. I mean, how much talking could Jeff possibly do when he was so busy eating? He had seemed kind of funny. But the more I thought about it, I realized that virtually every joke he told was one that I had made earlier in the evening. Well, that was slightly flattering, wasn’t it?

With a sinking feeling, I tried to plan my escape. Tonight could only be another failure, though Jeff was a jewel compared to some of the other amoebas I had dated before. I guess I’m a jerk-magnet.

I walked over to my window to check out the weather. It was dreary and overcast. I have a theory about living in the Midwest; if you have time to be outside in the spring, the weather will be rotten. This theory has a certain degree of error, but it was the beginning of May, I did have some free tanning-time, and the weather was less than appealing.

Maybe a chat with God was in order. Is this a test? You know I only graduated a week ago. And even if I had a job, I would have today off. Does the entire state of Iowa have to suffer until I have regular income?

Who are you talking to? Francie barged into my room.

Gee, Francie, I’m going to have to get my ears checked because I didn’t even hear you knock.

I would be a little more concerned about having my brain checked if I were you, Francie answered. She crossed her eyes and leaned against my windowsill. Hi, I’m Sharon Connor, and I’m a big psycho. I can hear voices telling me to . . . What is that? Give my sister all of my money? I would but, golly gee willickers, I don’t have a job. When she finished her speech, Francie had a long line of drool creeping down her chin. She turned to me expectantly.

I stared in amazement. Talk about psycho. Have you looked in the mirror lately?

Francie uncrossed her eyes and daintily wiped away the drool with the corner of her t-shirt. I’m just being you, Sharon, duh. So who were you talking to?

God.

Francie snorted, Give it up already. You’re too far gone for even God to help.

I’m not sure, but I was thinking this is my bedroom. But it’s hard to tell since some people have apparently moved in with me, I snapped. Sometimes I’m just not in the mood to be funny. Some people call that being able to dish it out, and not being able to take it. I call it being human. I mean, forgive me for being inconsistent.

Well hello, Miss Mood Swing, Francie retorted.

I didn’t reply. I just gave Francie my favorite glare; the one that’ll come in handy if I ever get a job teaching. Incidentally, that is exactly what I intend to become, an English teacher. Anyway, this was one of those moments when nonverbal communication was better than saying something that I would later regret. Self-control is not my forte, but I need to learn a little or I’ll never survive as a teacher.

Francie recognized my look and decided to leave. Tell God I said hi, she laughed as she scooted out the door. Like I said, my family loves to get in the last word.

I surveyed my bedroom. Nothing had been changed since high school except that the clothes littering my floor were newer.

I reached over and grabbed a pile of sweaters and jeans. I don’t know how all of those articles of clothing collect on my floor when I swear I wear the same t-shirt and sweat pants daily. Clothes must multiply like rabbits. Even after being home for a mere week, I had an impressive pile of laundry.

After shooting baskets at my clothes hamper, I made a mental search for the TV remote control. Because my father has always been so cheap (he calls it thrifty), I actually remember the days when we had to physically approach a television to turn it on and change the channels, but anymore, I’ll go without TV if I can’t find the remote. It’s funny because I’ve spent up to 45 minutes searching for the remote control, and when I finally find it, I’ll lie down on my bed to turn on the TV. I’m really into technology.

Luckily, the remote was on my bureau. If I hooked my feet into the headboard and stretched over backwards, I could just reach it. Way to save energy, Sharon! I never cease to amaze myself.

I hit the power button. Nothing happened. Temperamental remotes are so irritating. I whacked the controller into the palm of my hand a couple of times. That always does the trick.

Moments later, the sacred sounds of MTV2 filtered into my room. God bless cable.

I settled in to the pile of pillows that decorated my bed for a near-perfect morning of watching videos and napping. I find that if I ask very little from life, then I'm almost always guaranteed success.

CHAPTER TWO

Sometimes, when I dream,