“I’m sorry.”
She forced a smile and shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m fine.” A pause. “I know you don’t have any interest in discussing it, but I feel like there’s something I need to say to you.”
“We don’t have to—”
“Just let me say this, okay?”
I bowed my head and gestured for her to continue.
“The last time we saw each other, the circumstances were pretty awful.” I nodded as she searched for words. “Sometimes you hurt the people you care most about. It’s my hope that we can find a way to move beyond the events of the past. I would love it if we could be amicable, Margaret. Life is too short to walk around with ill will. People break up. It doesn’t mean we have to hate each other, or even,” she referenced me, “feel weird around each other.”
My gaze drifted to the wall just beyond Courtney as I took in what she’d said. It was a huge request. Friends? While the goal was beyond lofty, in my opinion, carrying around the anger was exhausting. A respite from that didn’t sound so horrible. I met her gaze. “It was a pretty awful time, and I’d rather not dwell on it, if you don’t mind. I did that for a while.” I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “So, sure. We can give the friends thing a shot. I stand by the weird, though, because that’s how it’s going to feel.”
She laughed. “Already does a little.” That’s when I realized that I wasn’t the only one totally at sea. Our sandwiches arrived, along with two plump slices of chocolate cake with double chocolate frosting, and offered a nice respite from the need for conversation.
At least, for a short time.
That’s when I decided to tackle the elephant in the café, so to speak. “So you were married.”
Courtney set down her French fry. “I was, yes. For just under two years.”
“I would say congratulations, but it seems a little ill-fitting given—”
“The divorce? Yeah, I’d say. It’s fine, though.” She waved it off. “We’re still on good terms, all very harmonious in the scheme of what it could have been.”
“So…”
She eyed me, attempting to fill in the gap. “Why the divorce? Is that what you want to know?”
I hesitated. “Is that something a friend would ask? I’m trying to learn the rules.”
She smiled. “It is.”
“Okay. Then why the divorce?”
She inclined her head side to side. “I think it became clear that we both wanted different things out of the relationship. He’s a great guy. He just wasn’t the person for me, at least in the long term.”
“But in the short term?”
“He was what I needed.”
“Fair enough.” I didn’t push for more, as much as I wanted to know the whole story. But what comfort would those details possibly bring me? Nathan Vaughan hadn’t been the one for Courtney. That didn’t mean that I had been. Things happened the way they did for a reason, and I should embrace that.
We finished our lunch in a wash of small talk. Finally, Courtney reached for the check.
“Wait,” I said. “Let me get it. I can write it off as a business expense.”
“You could, but that would be silly. I dragged you here against your very strong will.”
I pointed at her. “That is true.”
We paid and walked to the square, where we would part ways. “I hope that wasn’t too painful,” Courtney said.
“Surprisingly, I survived.”
She chuckled. “Have a good day, Margaret. Thank you for having lunch with me.” I nodded. “Let me know when you have more listings to show me.”
“Will do.”
I stood in front of the restaurant and watched Courtney walk away, bound for work or the B&B or who knows where, and felt the tiny pieces of my heart stand up to be counted, a reminder that she’d once broken it. Friends? Sure. But my guard was up. I was on high alert.
“Still as beautiful as ever,” Rene said, stepping out of the restaurant to smoke a cigarette. “I wasn’t sure we’d ever see that girl again.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me neither.”
Chapter Eighteen
Saturday night at Cricket’s Lesbian Bar and Dance Club (a name I found a little indulgent in length) was packed. Women of all shapes, sizes, styles, and ages danced their asses off to Lady Gaga on remix.
Melanie Newcastle was one of them.
“Did you see that blonde with the ponytail whip me around the dance floor like a rag doll?” she asked me with the excitement of a gay man at a Barbra Streisand concert.
I bobbed my head to the music and spoke directly into her ear so she could hear me. “I did. She has me a little frightened.”
“Is it weird that I’m also frightened, and into it?”
I smiled at Melanie, who I’d watched blossom from self-hating lesbian to Sapphic social butterfly in the span of just a few years. She wasn’t a perfect human, but I’d come to appreciate her, flaws and all. “You do you, Mel.”
“How’s your night going?” she asked, dancing in place.
I took a pull from the longneck in my hand. “I’ve had worse.” In the last hour, I’d met several highly attractive women, danced with two of them and managed to not embarrass myself, and allowed a third to buy the beer in my hand. Still, no one had really pulled me in. Was I losing my touch? I used to be good at this, and I needed to be good if I wanted to spice things up.
Melanie leaned in. “There’s a redhead staring at you at three o’clock. Why don’t you go talk to her and work a little Beringer magic?”
I touched my beer to Melanie’s glass in appreciation. A second chance. “In fact, I think I will.” In that moment, the clock struck midnight and the bar went nuts as the opening line from the song “Thriller” played. I approached the redhead, feeling confident and light. I’d like to think I’d perfected my skills when it came to meeting women, and I rarely struck out. She turned to me expectantly. “I don’t want to bother you, but I’ve been waiting for the right moment to say hello. I’m Maggie.” I offered her my hand.
“I’m Lacey. Nice to meet you.” She leaned in. “You know, I haven’t seen you in here before.”
I nodded and passed her my best smile. “I’m from Tanner Peak. I only make it into the city once in a while.” The out-of-town angle always worked well.
“Then I consider myself lucky.”
“Oh, you don’t have to say that.”
“I certainly don’t. It happens to be true.”
It was off to a good start, and Lacey was incredibly attractive with an air of sophistication. In fact, I might have been aiming outside my league, but the little touches, the laughs, and the sustained eye contact told me that she was interested. One drink later and the distance between us progressed to nonexistent.
“Are you in town tonight?” she asked, her breath tickling my neck.
I most definitely could be. Unfortunately for me, those were not the words that left my mouth. “I’m not exactly sure. I probably need to go back with my friend.” Whoa. Major failure. System down. Mayday.
“I see. A shame.”
I smiled apologetically. “I wholeheartedly agree. Maybe a rain check?”
She kissed my cheek. “I’m counting on it, Maggie from Tanner Peak.” As she left me standing there, I took stock of all the ways I wanted to murder myself. What in the hell had just happened? But I knew exactly what had gone wrong. While my body was willing and ready for what would have been a memorable tryst with Lacey, my mind had been royally fucked with this week and wasn’t bouncing back nearly as well as I’d thought.
“You guys looked cozy,” Melanie said. “Well done.”
I turned to her, dejected. “I think I’m broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“That woman wanted to take me home, and I couldn’t do it.”
“Uh-oh. Let me guess who broke you.” She stared hard. “Blond hair, blue eyes, yay high.”
“I didn’t know you knew alter
nate meanings of the word ‘yay.’”
She glared at me. “Let’s get out of here and you can tell me all about it.”
“No frightening blonde for you tonight?”
“I’m looking for permanent, so frightening might be a deal breaker, no matter how hot she is. Besides, now I need you to tell me why you’re broken.”
And I did on the nearly two-hour drive home. To her credit, Melanie listened to me recount the insecurities, the dredged-up memories, the pain that never really went away. Really listened. When I finished, we were more than halfway into our drive.
She turned to me. “That’s a lot.”
“Right? And now we’re friends apparently, which is only going to prolong the broken.”
She shook her head as she exited the highway. “This is why you needed a plan. You can’t let her affect you like that. Just don’t. Make up your mind.”
I laughed. “Like you did in high school when you decided you were better than all of us?”
She smiled over at me sweetly. “Yes, exactly like that.” I enjoyed that I was able to tease her about it now. “And I was really good at it. See? Sometimes if you believe your own bullshit, you make it true.”
“Or you’re just delusional.”
“Or you make it true,” she said more forcefully. “Besides, I came around. Here I am, the class golden girl hanging out with the class outcast.”
“Wow, we’re really bonding now,” I deadpanned.
She ignored me. “You know what I mean! Anyway, you just tell yourself that Courtney no longer has any power over you. Either that, or steer into the skid and have wild monkey sex with her. Now that I’m thinking about it, that doesn’t sound like such a bad solution.”
I sent her a look that said really? “I’m thinking the monkey sex is the wrong way to go.”
Melanie shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I need my wingman back, so one way or another, you’re gonna have to deal with this Courtney thing.”
Yes, one way or another, I would. And that was the problem. “If I ever go and fall in love with someone, and I mean anyone, I want you to smack me with a crowbar, because it won’t be half as uncomfortable as this whole thing is turning out to be.”
“Deal. You’re getting the crowbar.” She held up her hand and I smacked it.
*
A couple days later, I geared up for another round of Find My Rental starring Courtney and me. This time we’d agreed to meet late in the afternoon, as Courtney had a full day scheduled at the store. As I made the drive to Carrington’s to pick her up, I had a very candid and necessary conversation with myself.
“You’re going to be friendly, and professional, and maybe even joke around a little to make the day easier. You will not think about the past, or lust after your client, or fall into old patterns. Do you understand me?” I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. “And just because you’re talking to yourself does not mean that you are not in control of the situation. No, no, no. Many people in control converse with themselves. I bet Ulysses S. Grant had daily convos with himself. He did all right. Be like Ulysses S. Grant.” I nodded at myself just as Courtney opened the car door.
“Hi. Thanks for driving this time.” She wore a black suit today, with a royal blue shirt underneath and heels.
“No problem at all.” As I pulled away, I decided to use the time to tell her about some of the listings, get her prepped in advance. By the time I got to the summary of the fourth house, it was clear she wasn’t really listening, her gaze focused on the horizon. “So the final house is owned by a velociraptor who may or may not agree to take you on as a roommate.” No reaction. “He bakes a lot of chocolate chip cookies, though, so you might enjoy him. Not sure how he does it with those claws. I doubt they make oven mitts to fit those things.” I looked over at her for a reaction.
She blinked. “Okay, yeah, that sounds good.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?” she asked.
“I just tried to house you with a cookie-baking dinosaur and you agreed without question.”
She laughed. “That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”
“You’ll need to figure what you’re going to bring to the table. He can’t provide all the snacks.”
Another laugh. “Sorry. It’s just…have you ever had one of those days where it seems like the day is having you? Like you’re not fully in control of the events and how they play out?”
I considered the question and knew immediately that I had. The other night at the club came to mind, as did our recent lunch together. “I can safely say yes to that question. Rough day?”
“I guess frustrating is the word.” She looked over at me, seeming to see me for the first time today. “Oh. You look nice.”
The comment caught me off guard. I ran my fingers through my hair. Be Ulysses S. Grant. “No, I don’t. Just an old work outfit.”
“Uh-huh. Still working on that compliment thing, I see.”
“I’ll try again.” I bowed my head in acceptance. “Thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re welcome. I appreciate the dinosaur roommate.”
“You’re welcome.”
We rode in silence. “Your hair is straighter than it used to be,” Courtney said, surveying me.
I glanced at her and then back at the road. “I discovered this magical tool called a straightener, and now I bring all the girls to the yard.” I was making jokes because I didn’t know how else to handle myself. I’d wager Ulysses probably didn’t have to employ that tactic.
She laughed at the quip, and I smiled automatically, the way Courtney’s laugh always made me smile. Operation Humor came with side effects, I was finding.
“So are you seeing one of those girls from the yard now? I can’t believe I just said that phrase.” She shook her head at herself.
“I’m rubbing off on you in the best ways. Next up: twerking and why it ruins lives.”
“I’d like to hear you give that speech to the junior history class.”
“Don’t think I won’t.”
She laughed and we fell into silence once again. “I hope it’s not weird that I asked about the dating thing. I’m honestly just curious about your life. I promise I’m not hitting on you.”
I stole a glance. “Good, because we both know where that leads.”
“We do,” Courtney said quietly and watched the scenery fly by.
Silence again, this time the weird kind. I shifted in my seat.
“I do date on occasion.” Okay, so I stretched the meaning of the word. “Melanie and I were at a club in Santa Barbara just a couple of days ago, actually.”
“A club? Aha. So maybe you’re a little more like your brother these days than you’re letting on.”
I smiled at the comparison to Clay, and wondered what he’d think about that. “I take that as a total compliment.”
“I meant it that way.” She looked over at me, her expression softening. “I think about him a lot. Still.”
I nodded. “Me too. I talk to him sometimes.” I covered my mouth and slowly shook my head. I’d never told anyone that, yet somehow there it was, announced in my car.
“What is it?” Courtney asked.
“Just not generally something I share.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad that you did. I worried about you after we lost Clay. For years, I wondered how you were. Thought about calling you.”
“But you didn’t,” I said flatly.
She blew out a breath. “I had a feeling you didn’t want to hear from me.”
I’d give her that. “Your instincts would have been on point.” I opened the door and exited the car, making my way up the walk of the first house on our afternoon.
Her voice stopped me. “Regardless, I’m happy to hear that you still talk to him. Clay. I have a feeling he’s with you every day.”
“I know he is.” I turned and met her eyes briefly. “There’s not a doubt in my mind.”
We spent the l
ate afternoon touring the four properties that I’d set up for us and avoiding the hard topics, both of us still a little tender from the earlier conversation. While she seemed to really like the last house of our day, she still wasn’t ready to pull the trigger, which was a little head scratching for a short-term lease.
“What’s holding you back?” I asked her, as she walked through the space one last time. “You really like this house. It has plenty of room, an open floor plan, and you’re hardcore in love with the garden tub.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “The tub is a nice touch. I could do some serious soaking time in that thing.” The image of Courtney, her hair up and her body surrounded by bubbles flashed, and I felt it all over. In places I shouldn’t be feeling things. She studied me knowingly and suppressed her smile. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just…think you should take the house.”
“Of course you do, you’re my Realtor. It’s your job.”
“It’s my job to find you the right house. I just happen to think I have. Multiple times.”
“Let me sleep on it.”
I sighed loudly.
She grinned and waltzed past me, leaving a trail of mesmerizing vanilla. “I love it when you’re dramatic.”
I dropped Courtney at her car back at Carrington’s and watched as she climbed inside and put the top down. That car was made for her. I pulled out of the parking lot and shrugged off the captivating image. I’d had a decent afternoon with Courtney, even if it had ended with little progress made toward the actual goal. This version of Courtney, I took note, seemed a lot more confident when it came to knowing what she wanted, which could be expected after years in the corporate trenches.
I stared at myself in the rearview. “You survived another battle. Ulysses would be proud.”
*
Thirty minutes later, my bleary-eyed cousin, whose hair fell in clumps from a loose ponytail and who sported a chemical spill on her once-white shirt, arrived at our table at Lonesome’s Bar. “The white shirt might have been lofty,” she said in greeting.
I grinned “You think?”
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