by Mae Wood
“Hell of an amuse-bouche,” I whispered as our lips parted.
“Was that a foodie slash French joke?”
“Yeah,” I said, blushing. “You know how there’s that whole dad-joke thing? Where people give dads grief about really corny jokes? Grady gives me grief that mine are a billion times more cringe-worthy.”
“Well, this dad thought it was funny.”
“Good. Mystery novels and bad jokes. Solid foundation for any relationship.” I swore I heard a record scratch as the word relationship wafted in the air.
“No big bad wolf could blow that down,” Thomas replied, unfazed by my foot-in-mouth disease. “And bad dad jokes? I’ve got them in spades. And trowels. And even this little handy weeding tool I keep on the end of my keychain. Let’s go eat.”
Thomas and I beat his guests to the restaurant, so we ordered cocktails at the bar. I wasn’t sure if his very dirty martini was an attempt at a bad dad joke, or just the way he liked his gin. But my blueberry smash was amazing. Lime and ripe blueberries and Thai basil and gin that girl could get lost in it. And I nearly did, perched on the edge of a stool with my legs crossed and Thomas standing right where I could softly run the toe of my shoe along the inside of his leg.
“Amy?” I turned to the voice and found my ex’s best friend.
“Oh, hey, Trip.” I said, taking a quick peck on the cheek from him before turning my body back in Thomas’s direction to let him know I wasn’t throwing him over for this blond Adonis. “Trip this is Thomas. Thomas, this is Trip. We’re here for a work thing.” The men quickly shook hands and I took a sip of my drink, hoping that Trip would be his cool self and not say anything about this to Bert. I didn’t want to know anything about Bert dating and I didn’t want him to know anything about me dating. Though we were bound for life because of Grady, I wasn’t bound to him.
“Cool. Acre’s always solid. No Pig and Barley, but we can’t eat there every night. I don’t think you’ve met my wife yet. Amy, this is Marisa.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking hands with the emerald-eyed brunette who was tucked under Trip’s arm. “Grady said the wedding was lovely.”
“He did?” asked Marisa. “I think I saw him twice the whole weekend. He was the only teenager there and I felt bad for him.”
“Well, in teenage speak, he said it was nice. He actually said the food was good and the weather warm and that he was glad he missed the Easter snow storm at my dad’s.”
“Oh,” she replied, a stricken look on her face. “I didn’t mean to take him from you on Easter. It was a good weekend for us because of the holiday but I didn’t mean to ruin anyone’s family time.”
“No really. The fact that he even knew it had snowed in Connecticut meant that he’d missed me enough to check on the weather. And with a teenage boy, that’s as close to an ‘I love you’ as I can expect to get.”
“But you could have come. You would have been welcome,” she said, apologetically.
“Don’t be silly.” I brushed my hand into the air, dismissing her idea and relieving her of any guilt. “Bert got Trip during the divorce. Not sure if you know it, but there’s no man or woman who could render that friendship asunder.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, warming up to conspire with me. “I had to get Trip to take away Bert’s key to our house.”
“Smart move. Marisa, this is Thomas. Thomas, Marisa Brannon. New den mom to my ex and his childhood best friend Trip here.”
“By that introduction, I’m not sure if condolences or congratulations are in order,” Thomas, said with a smile, shaking Marisa’s hand. “So I’ll stick with congratulations and give you my best wishes for a long and happy life together.”
The restaurant door opened and a couple walked in. “Oh, the rest of our table is here. Nice meeting you,” Thomas said to Trip and Marisa, as he held out a hand to help me hop down from the high stool.
“Marisa, nice to meet you. You got a good one,” I said with a tilt of my head toward Trip.
“Thanks. Enjoy dinner,” she answered with a wave.
I placed my hand in Thomas’s and hopped down from the stool as elegantly as I could while making sure I didn’t flash my panties or twist an ankle. Both feet under me and my purse tucked under a folded arm. She sticks the landing. The crowd goes wild! I grinned up at Thomas who squeezed my hand back in response. And right then I didn’t care if Trip reported back to Bert that I was on a date. I only wanted more of that happiness in Thomas’s eyes.
Hand-in-hand we greeted the Holloways and followed the hostess to the restaurant’s stone-walled patio for dinner.
By the time dessert arrived, I knew that Thomas still had to get the guy to commit. Commit to moving his practice and his life to Memphis. After a bite of strawberry shortcake laced with Grand Marnier, not to mention my two big glasses of wine, I was feeling bold and wanting to help Thomas move the conversation to business. “So, I’d imagine that even thinking about moving has to be completely cloak-and-dagger.”
“Absolutely,” said Larry.
“Then what was the excuse to visit Memphis? That one of you became an Elvis fan overnight? That you simply had to see another mid-sized city on the banks of the Mississippi River?”
“Memphis, you say? I think you’re mistaken. This is New Orleans,” Larry answered, a raised arm circling in the night air above his head.
“Oh, we’re in New Orleans right now,” said his wife Elsie. “Bed and breakfast in the Garden District. Dinner tonight at Arnaud’s. Breakfast tomorrow at Brennan’s. We’re going all out.” She glanced at her husband and smiled. “It’s our twentieth wedding anniversary.”
“Congratulations!” Thomas said, looking for our server. “I think that deserves a bottle of champagne.”
“No, really, it doesn’t,” Elsie said. “Our anniversary is actually in three days. And we’re doing all of it—Arnaud’s and Brennan’s and Domilise’s and Galatoire’s. Twenty-four years ago, this Minnesota girl started classes at Tulane. Two weeks later I was in love with the city. Two months later I was in love with this medical student.” She leaned toward her husband, offering up her cheek for him to kiss, only to discover his lips already there. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek and her eyes fluttered closed.
“Still the under aged co-ed that my housemates gave me so much shit about,” he said, lifting a glass of port in Elsie’s direction.
“That’s so sweet. And quite the culinary tour,” I said impressed by the amount of heavy hitting restaurants they were shoving into what sounded like a short few days.
“Worth every calorie, I swear,” said Elsie, whose svelte frame astounded me, considering the lamb chop and whipped potatoes she’d just put away for her main. One lucky duck, I clucked to myself and took another bite of the dessert. “What number are you guys on?” A strawberry threatened to lodge in my throat, and I chased it down with a big gulp of wine.
Thomas and I looked at each other and I silently apologized through panic-stricken eyes. I didn’t know how to respond without embarrassing her.
16
Thomas
“Three?” I said to Amy, hoping that she would play along. I didn’t want to embarrass Elsie. I didn’t want her to feel like she’d stepped in it during dinner and scuttle the verbal commitment that Larry had made this afternoon. Odds were that I’d see her at the welcome party when Larry started at the hospital and then never see her again. Oh, she’d hear my name, of that I had no doubt. The greatest joy of being a hospital administrator is having doctors curse the day you were born. But she wouldn’t see me and my lack of wife again.
“Four,” Amy replied, looking into my eyes. “This is four.” I thought for a second until I realized it was four. Dinner, breakfast, movie and now this. Four dates.
How could it only be four dates? I did the math and realized I’d only met her a little over a week ago. Hell, Larry and I had even made small talk this morning about the fading bruise on my jaw. And I wasn’t sure how she’d beco
me so necessary to me in that tiny amount of time. I felt like I knew her and I had to remind myself that we were still getting to know each other. I called my yoga intention to the front. Treasure this. I’d used the same intention at yesterday morning’s class when I couldn’t focus. When thoughts of her battled with the swirling responsibilities of my workday. I pledged that I’d treasure what was in front of me.
And right now, what was in front of me was Amy.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Elsie said to me, her ears and face pink. “Larry told me you had a son in medical school and I guess I just assumed. I’m so sorry.”
“My son starts his last year of high school in August,” Amy clarified with a wave of her hand, absolving Elsie of any misstep. “And Thomas has three kids. The oldest, Miller, is in medical school. Cassie is into fashion and marketing and wants to be a buyer. She’s got an internship at Neiman Marcus this summer. Claire is—”
“Claire is Claire,” I jumped in, amazed that Amy remembered my children’s names and what they were doing. “She’s studying at Reed. This fall will probably result in another change in major. I think she’s on her third already.”
“Well,” said Larry, coming in to help right the ship. “Our three are spaced four years apart. We’re looking at close to two decades of college and grad school payments. And,” he said, looking at Elsie for confirmation, which was given with a slight nod of encouragement, “we’ll be making those payments from Memphis, Tennessee.”
I wanted to fist-pump, to celebrate. Interventional cardiologists were far from a dime a dozen and finding a replacement for Dr. Rasmussen who’d taken a position in Miami had been at the top of my to-do list for two quarters. And now it was done. I signaled to the server, and over Elsie’s protests, ordered that bottle of champagne and toasted them a welcome to Memphis.
We bid the Holloways goodbye at the valet stand, promises of another night out like this one once they settled into the city exchanged, and I bit my lip, feeling bad at the deceit that wasn’t needed. Turned out one of Elsie’s childhood friends lived just over the state line in Mississippi. They were in whether or not Amy and I were married.
As my fake wife and I pulled away from the curb, I looked over at her and caught her looking at me. I reached for her hand, weaving our fingers together.
“Your nest or mine?”
“Well, I hear that you’ve got some questions about the color of your kitchen.”
“And you are the expert in greige.”
“And I don’t even know where you live.”
Huh. I thought back and, yeah, that hadn’t come up at all. It surprised me she didn’t know where I lived. Hadn’t seen my house. Hadn’t been in my house. And that realization reminded me that however rooted my relationship with her felt, it was still green.
“In Evergreen,” I said, clicking my blinker on for a left turn onto Popular Avenue.
“Oh, I love that neighborhood. All of the homes from the teens and twenties.”
“They are pretty, and a ton of work. It’s dark now so you won’t be able to appreciate the garden, but that’s why I bought it. Well, that and the four bedrooms. Because even though my kids will probably never live here, I want space for them. And a guest room for any boyfriends or girlfriends brought to visit. I wouldn’t call myself traditional, but that one season of Girls I watched? It fucking scarred me. As long as I didn’t think too much about it, the separate bedroom would allow me to live in a bubble of plausible deniability.”
“Oh, tell me about it. Grady has his first girlfriend. He won’t admit it, but she’s been at all of his soccer games and, trust me, in this heat, the only women in the stands are moms or girlfriends. And I caught them kissing after a game. It was sweet. Very PG, thank God, but I’m not ready for that.”
I wound the car through the nighttime streets, holding her hand and lazily stroking her thumb with mine. I tried not to think too much about it. About me taking a woman home and knowing where it was going to end up—with her naked underneath me. Hell, I’d even checked to make sure I had condoms in my nightstand and when I realized they were expired, ran to the drug store to buy new ones.
I’d been out with a few women since Laurie, but dating was hard, and with three kids, I honestly didn’t have the time or energy. As far as my kids knew, I’d been a monk since Laurie passed. That wasn’t quite the truth, but it felt like it. I’d dated a woman shortly before I’d moved to Memphis, but only introduced her to the girls once as a gardening friend.
But this, this right now, sitting in a dark car, belly full of good food, heady with drink, and the soft mint and rosemary smell of Amy’s shampoo wafting in the air. This felt right. This felt real.
I turned into my driveway. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, her unvarnished honesty shining in her words.
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s nice.”
“It’s more than nice. It’s actually one of my favorite houses in this neighborhood. I love Colonial revivals. I may sound a little nuts, but they always seem like friendly houses to me.”
“You know the neighborhood well?” I said, surprised that she knew my house.
“Um, yeah, so my ex? His parents’ house is down the street. And when his three sisters would get a little much for me during family things, I’d take a walk around the neighborhood.”
“Huh,” I replied. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that tidbit of information.
“So, you said you bought it for the garden?” she pivoted, safely steering us away from a conversational cliff of doom.
“Yeah. It’s got a great patio and some really established plants, so it’s mainly tending rather than installing or designing.” I switched off the car and squeezed her hand again. “I’ll give you a tour in the morning.”
In the yellow light cast from the house, I could see the blush crawl up from her cleavage to her cheeks at my invitation for a sleepover.
I unlocked the backdoor and we stepped into the kitchen. I turned on lights, shrugged out of my suit coat, rolled up my sleeves, and pulled a bottle of wine off the metal rack in the middle of the island.
“Red okay? I know you said you like big bodied, and this one doesn’t have a big cock on it, but the guy at the wine shop said it was nice.”
“I’m sure it will be great,” she said, her hands resting on the island’s marble, as her eyes explored the room.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, working the corkscrew into the bottle. “I’ll give you a tour once I’ve got the glasses poured.”
“The kitchen is definitely greige. Oh!” At her exclamation, my eyes flew to her and saw her bobble. “Oh! You have a cat!”
I rounded the island and, sure enough, Sirius was winding her way through Amy’s legs, rubbing against her ankles. My heart in my throat. My stomach on the floor. A sign that Amy was very much welcome.
“Friendly guy. Or girl? Hello, you.” Amy sat cross-legged on the wooden floor and held out her hand, which Sirius sniffed.
My ghost of a companion, she was eleven now. I could go days without seeing her. Sometimes I’d try to find her in the house, just to make sure she hadn’t died. Water bowl and food bowls filled. Litter changed. It was all she wanted from me.
“Girl. She’s Sirius Black.”
“It’s been a few years since I read the books, but I’m pretty sure any pet named Sirius Black should be a dog, and male, and black, perhaps?” Amy said with a smile as my gray cat nuzzled her hand.
“Miller is allergic to dogs, so when the girls turned eight we got them a cat instead.” And even though she was supposed to be the girls’ pet, he never was. Laurie was her person. And she grieved Laurie’s death along with the rest of us. Settling for the comfort of Claire’s lap when she accepted that Laurie wasn’t coming home, but never warming up to me.
“And they are big Potterheads?”
“Still? No. But Miller dressed up as Harry two years in a row for Halloween.” She stroked Sirius, and she leaned into it.
“I lo
ve tabbies. Such pretty markings on this girl.” Amy’s hand stroked down the length of her tail as she twisted and turned and sought more of Amy, making me jealous of Sirius being the recipient of Amy’s generous and easy affection.
“You’re a cat person?”
“Yeah, Grady jokes about me turning his bedroom into another library or some sort of catatorium,” she said, not looking at me, but looking at my cat who continued to circle the woman on my kitchen floor.
“Catatorium?”
“That’s what he’s calling it,” she said, looking up at me, her fingers continuing to stroke Sirius. “I don’t know where he got the name, but basically a giant playroom for cats.”
“You have a cat?” I asked.
“No. Ours died a few years ago. Maybe when Grady goes to college I’ll get a new one.”
“What was your cat’s name?”
“Gal. She was a ragdoll.” At my pause, she continued. “Looks like a Siamese, but with long hair. They’re friendly like dogs. Or they’re supposed to be. Gal was a goofball since she was a kitten.”
“Gal? Like girl?”
“Like Gal-ore. Pussy Galore.”
A smirk turned my lips upward. Pussy Galore. “So how big a Bond fan are you? Or is it just all spies?” I asked, returning to pouring the wine and I handed her a glass.
She sipped her wine, and after a head butt from Sirius, resumed running her fingers through Sirius’s fur. “Detectives. Spies.” Another sip and she continued. “I guess it started with Encyclopedia Brown and I never looked back.”
“I don’t know that character.”
“It’s a kid’s book series. I tried to force it on Grady.” Her on the kitchen floor, Sirius circling around her, nudging Amy with her nose if the caresses slowed. My big house didn’t feel quite so empty.