by Claire Cook
Finn Miller appeared out of nowhere and put his hands on my shoulders.
“Ouch,” I said again. It takes a fresh tattoo to find out the world is full of shoulder-touchers.
“I’ll. Kill. Him,” my former math crush said. He turned and swaggered in Kurt’s direction like a gunslinger in an old Western.
Kurt tilted his head as Finn approached. “Hey, buddy. How’s it goin’? History class, right? Junior year? Third period? Or was it four—”
Finn grabbed two handfuls of Kurt’s shirt. “Don’t you evah,” he said, “touch my Melanie again.”
Kurt slid off the bar stool and managed to plant both feet on the floor. He pushed Finn’s hands away. The two of them wobbled a bit, then came back to center.
“Don’t you evah,” Kurt said, “call her your Melanie again.”
B.J. sidled up to me. “So, is this the most fun you’ve had in decades or what?”
I ignored her and put my phone to my ear. “Hello,” I said. “This is Melanie.”
“Listen,” Ted Brody said. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and your husband, but I completely misunderstood the situation.”
Finn swung at Kurt, a big right hook that went wide.
The drunken crowd let out a cheer.
“There is no situation,” I yelled.
“I just had a minute to breathe before we closed up for the night . . .”
Kurt swung at Finn. Finn stepped back and Kurt’s fist sailed right past him.
The crowd roared.
“Cheater,” Kurt said. “Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater.”
“Look who’s talking, you cheese weasel,” Finn said. He closed one eye and tried to line up his next punch. “Cheater, cheater, wife beater.”
Ted Brody was still talking in my ear. “. . . high school reunions can be. So I just thought I’d leave you a message to call me if you felt like it. But again, clearly I mis . . .”
Kurt decided not to wait his turn. He pulled his fist back, too.
My former current crush and my almost former husband let their punches go at once.
Their fists cruised past each other but their arms somehow managed to link at the elbows. Finn’s must have had more heft behind it, because they circled around in his direction.
“Hi-ho, the derrrrryyyy-oooohhhh,” Kitty Kahlúa Breath sang.
Jan’s mother-in-law stood up at her table and raised her cane. “Who’s thieving bastard children are you?” she yelled.
Kurt and Finn were laughing now, do-si-do-ing in one direction and then the other, an aging flashback to our square dance unit in senior gym class.
Now that my sons no longer seemed to be in danger of becoming fatherless, I turned away to find a quieter place to talk.
“Let me explain,” I said as I took a step toward the door.
But Ted Brody was gone.
Somebody I didn’t remember pointed at me and whispered something to her friend.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” B.J. yelled.
“Ooh, I almost forgot about Facebook,” somebody else said. Cell phone cameras began to flash at an alarming rate.
B.J. grabbed my arm and pulled. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Once the lights come on it never gets any prettier.”
“Don’t forget you’re on the cleanup subcommittee, Barb,” ALICE ADAMS WARRICK! said as we passed her.
“Clean this,” B.J. said.
“Giving her the finger when you said that was completely unnecessary,” I said as we pushed the double doors open. “A simple wave would have been sufficient.”
The first heartbreaking strains of “Nights in White Satin” followed us out of the building.
CHAPTER 37
B.J. and I were back in our white bathrobes, sitting out on our pathetic little balcony with our flip-flop-clad feet up on the railing.
B.J. had grabbed a bowl of Goldfish when she ran back into the Marshbury Marine Center for her iPod. We both reached for a handful at the same time.
“Jinx,” we said.
“Stealing is so tacky,” I added after I finished chewing.
“Fine, so don’t eat any. And I didn’t steal it. It was a five-finger discount.”
I reached for some more. “What I’d really like to know,” I said, “is who stole my Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall while we were carrying the box spring ladies out to the car. I only got about three sips.”
B.J. swallowed a mouthful of Goldfish. “My Sex on the Beach disappeared, too.”
“Ha. Well, my sex on the beach sure disappeared. Along with my chances for sex in a bed or anywhere else for the rest of my natural life.”
B.J. swung her legs off the railing and disappeared into our room.
She came back and handed me a plastic bathroom cup filled with wine. “I just remembered we still had some slow comfortable screw-top wine left.”
“Perfect.” I held up my cup. “To a really crappy night.”
B.J. tapped hers to mine. “An evening that starts with seagull poop rarely ends well.”
We sat there silently for a few moments. A sea breeze was keeping the mosquitoes away, and it was nice to smell the salt air again.
B.J. sighed. “I spent most of my eighteen minutes wandering around feeling like I was still sixteen and possibly not quite as cool as I hoped I was. And worried about whether someone would ask me to the prom.”
“I felt the same way.”
“And when I finally got through that ridiculously long line and into the ladies’ room, I looked in the mirror. And I was stunned. Stunned. I mean, how the hell did we get to be so old, Romy?”
“Speak for yourself.” I yawned. “I wonder who won the awards.”
B.J. yawned, too. “Let’s see. I think Kurt won for the most sensitivity-impaired husband.”
“Almost former husband,” I said.
“It was a combined category.”
“That makes sense. One so often leads to the other, I would imagine.”
“Did you notice he couldn’t take his eyes off you tonight?”
“Kurt? Then he must have been seeing two of me. Boyohboy, I haven’t seen him that drunk since the last time the Red Sox won the World Series.”
“My point is that I don’t think it’s going to last between him and what’s her name. Prissy.”
“Crissy. But I think I like Prissy better. Maybe we can get her to change it.”
“Do you think you’d give it another try? You know, if Kurt dumps her and says he wants to?”
I sighed. “You know, it was the weirdest thing tonight. I kept looking at Kurt and thinking You stole my life. And I let you.”
“So that would be a no.”
“I don’t think I would have had the guts to have done it myself, but I can almost imagine someday in the not-so-distant future being really glad he left me.”
“That’s good. Wait a minute. You know when Kurt answered your phone and you went ballistic?”
“Don’t remind me. I still can’t believe he did that.”
“It was probably just force of habit.”
“More like force of scotch. I don’t think he ever once answered my phone when we were together.”
B.J. took a sip of her wine and recrossed her ankles on the railing. “So, who was it?”
“Who was what?” I tried.
“Come on, Louise, spill it.”
I was too tired to make something up. “His name is Ted Brody and he bought one of my pieces for his restaurant courtyard in Atlanta. And then he had some problems with it so I went to his restaurant and fixed it for him.”
“And?”
“And then he called to talk about me making some firefly lights for the courtyard.”
“Right, he picked up his phone after last call on a Saturday night to ask you about firefly lights.”
“No, that was a different call. And he owns a restaurant, so he works late.”
“How old is he? What does he look like? What kind of ratings does his restaur
ant have?”
“What kind of ratings does his restaurant have?”
“It’s secondary to the first two, but it’s still an important question.”
“Of course it is. You can tell a lot about a man by his restaurant ratings.”
“You most certainly can.” B.J. poured the rest of the wine into our cups. “Think about it. If the service is slow and there are spots on the silverware, and heaven forbid there’s a fly in your soup, it has to say something about his slovenly personality. And if the food is average and unimaginative, you’ve gotta figure that’s going to carry over into the bedroom, Romy.”
“The slow service might factor in, too,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“You’re certifiable.”
“You just hate it when I’m right. Okay, how old is he and what does he look like?”
I thought about it. “He’s about our age, I think, though how can you even tell anymore?”
“It’s simple. If he says ‘no problem’ instead of ‘you’re welcome,’ that’s a dead giveaway that he’s too young for you.”
“Ha, and if he reads you the obituaries out loud, and starts every sentence with ‘Nowadays,’ you know he’s too old for you.”
B.J. yawned. “Or he keeps telling you what he had for dinner last night. And then repeating it ten minutes later.”
I yawned, too. “Well, we might have to cut him some slack on that, since he owns a restaurant.”
“Fine. But just the first part. I’m going to have to insist that the repeating part is a deal-breaker. Okay, up next: looks.”
“He’s good-looking, I guess. He has a nice smile.”
“Married or single?”
“Divorced.”
“And you’re not having sex on the beach with him yet because?”
I swung my legs off the railing. “Back off, B.J., okay? I don’t even know him. Okay, let’s see, where were we? Awards. Kitty What’s Her Name got the award for strongest Kahlúa breath.”
“Ha. Did you see those cheerleaders knocking back all those Tequila Sunrises? Okay, and Finn Miller won for drunkest and for carrying a torch the longest. And worst right hook. I have to say, he really didn’t live up to his profile. No offense. But maybe he’ll show better once he sobers up.”
“I’m not holding my breath.”
We heard splashing and the distant roar of drunken laughter.
“Hubba Bubba called tonight,” B.J. said.
“Looking for the mustard?”
“Funny. He said he missed me and wished he had come to the reunion. And the weird thing is I kind of felt that way, too. Though I think reunions are one of those grass-is-always-greener situations. If he’d come with me, he would have spent the whole time checking his watch and I would have spent the whole time wishing I’d left him at home with the ketchup.”
“The worst thing about tonight,” I said, “was that I was so sure it would help me figure out who I’m supposed to be now that Kurt’s gone. But nothing. No sign, no hint, no clue.”
B.J. crunched her empty plastic cup in one hand. “Just because Kurt changed doesn’t mean you have to become another person, Mel. If anything, I think it might mean you get to go back to being who you really were all along.”
CHAPTER 38
I hadn’t realized just how many hopes I’d pinned on the reunion until the bubble burst. It was ridiculous, but it still left me feeling lost and rudderless. I tossed and turned all night, my head swimming with so many random thoughts I was afraid it might burst, too.
When I woke up, B.J. was sitting up in her bed with her laptop.
I groaned. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone back to work already.”
“Nope. I said I wouldn’t check a single email all week and even though reentry will be hell, I’m holding to it. But I’ve compiled a list of potential galleries and overpriced tourist shops for your box spring ladies, and now I’m deep into Googling phobias.”
I rubbed my eyes. “My, aren’t we a morning person.”
B.J. focused on the screen. “It’s really fascinating. Apparently forty percent of women experience a full-blown phobia at some point in their lives. That’s twice as many as men.”
“Men,” I said.
She shrugged. “It probably has some correlation to superior intelligence. Or increased sensitivity. Anyway, part of what makes a phobia a phobia is that the sufferer will do anything she can to avoid the terror of those phobic feelings. And because phobias are so irrational, they’re often really embarrassing, so the sufferer tries to hide them from the people around her, which only intensifies the whole thing.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Wow, that’s amazing.”
“I know,” B.J. said. “How did any of us survive before Wikipedia?”
“So what’s the answer?” I asked. “I mean, can you get rid of them?”
“Hmm, so essentially specific phobias can be cured with cognitive behavior therapy. First you have to replace your catastrophic thinking with correct risk assumptions and then you kind of gradually desensitize yourself.”
“English, please,” I said.
“Well, for me, I suppose first I’d learn to say nee—, the n word, and then—”
“Ooh, I know.” I hauled myself into a sitting position. “You could work up to poking a sewing needle just under the skin on your index finger so one end is sticking out on each side. Remember, we used to do that back in elementary school?”
“Not helping, Mel. And for you, I guess you look up all the statistics of who dies where and then you’ll realize you’re more likely to croak in your sleep or in a parking lot than on the highway, and even if you do die on one, at least you’ll be on your way somewhere. Instead of going nowhere.” She shook her head. “I’m pretty damn insightful, if I do say so myself.”
I stretched both arms up over my head. “You’re a good friend, Louise, but I think I need caffeine for this conversation.”
B.J. closed her laptop and swung her legs off the bed. “Coming right up.”
I looked at her. She was wearing a great sundress, and her makeup was flawless.
“What’s up?” I said.
She grinned. “I can’t wait to make an entrance at the hotel coffee shop. I’m going to look so much better than the people who had fun last night.”
As soon as B.J. left the room, I reached for my phone and called Ted Brody. His phone rang on and on and then went to voicemail. “Hi,” I said. “This is Melanie and I just wanted to say that even if you’ve never been to the Christmas Tree Shop I think we have a lot in common and I really like talking to you. Oh, and if you ever need a recipe for chalkboard paint, I have a good one. I could even help you paint wine bottles for each table and you could write the day’s specials on them. Okay, well, have a nice day.”
I’d just finished brushing my teeth when my phone rang. I put on my reading glasses and checked the number.
“Hi, honey,” I said. I walked across the tiny hotel room and stepped out on the balcony.
Trevor yawned. “Hey, Mom. Dad just called. Apparently he forgot there’s a three-hour time difference.”
I started to apologize for Kurt, then caught myself when I realized I didn’t have to do that anymore. “Well. I’m glad you two talked. I’m sure he . . .” I stopped myself again. “So, how did it go?”
“Fine. He’s Dad, what can I say?” He yawned again. “So how’s your trip going? Do you need anything?”
“I’m having a great time, and thanks, I’m all set. How about you—everything okay?”
Trevor made a sound that was a cross between a yawn and a yup.
I smiled. “Why don’t you just go back to sleep, honey. We can catch up next week.”
“Yeah, good idea. Oh, Dad wanted me to tell you he can’t get through to you and he wants you to call him.”
I waited until I finished a long, hot shower and took my time getting dressed before dialing Kurt’s number. He answered on the second ring. “I’m glad you finally c
alled Trevor,” I said, “but don’t you ever put him in the middle to try to get to me again.”
“Unblock my number and I won’t have to.” Kurt sighed. “I’ve talked to both of them a few times. It took me a while to work up to it, that’s all. It’s bound to be awkward—”
“Speaking of awkward,” I said. “Why am I calling you?”
Kurt sighed again. “I was hoping we could meet for lunch today, or at least a cup of coffee.”
I held the phone away from my ear and shook my head at it. “What, you, me, and Crissy? You’re kidding, right?”
“She’s going off to spend the day with a friend from college. Or maybe it was a cousin.” He lowered his voice. “I think it’s over. We didn’t even sleep in the same bed last night.”
“Too much information, Kurt.”
“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just that you know what I miss the most? Every time something happens I find myself wanting to ask you what it means, how I should feel about it. It’s like ever since we’ve been apart, half my brain is missing.”
I thought for a moment. “It’s probably more than half.”
“Touché.” Kurt laughed his old laugh, the one I’d almost forgotten about.
I ran one finger along the edge of the metal railing. The sun was bright, and a warm breeze carried the scent of the ocean right to my nose. I took a deep breath, inhaling it like a magic potion.
“I miss you,” he said.
“It’s too late, Kurt. I think there was a point before this all happened when we both should have tried harder, but—”
“Come on, Mel, it’s water under the bridge. Let me pick you up for lunch. Where are you staying anyway?”
“Where I’m staying is no longer your business,” I said. And then I hung up.
I was still standing on the balcony, watching the seagulls swoop and soar so effortlessly it could almost bring tears to your eyes, when B.J. came back with coffee and breakfast sandwiches.
“Bless you,” I said as I reached for my coffee.
“Don’t bless me yet. I just gave Finn Miller your number. He wants to take you to lunch.”
CHAPTER 39
Finn Miller and I were gazing at each other across a waterfront picnic table topped with iced coffee and red-and-white-checked cardboard platters of fish-and-chips. Seagulls screeched overhead, and sailboats tacked and jibed in the distance.