“And go where?”
“Again, we’ve had this conversation.”
“But I don’t remember where you ended up. Was it Dubai?”
“Ha, ha.”
“Answer the question.”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
“I think you should just keep your ass right here in Oakland, because it’s not only a beautiful place to live, as you well know, but it’s also ethnically diverse and culturally alive and it’s full of smart, educated people and just enough crazies to keep it real.”
“Then why are you and Nelson leaving?”
“I’ve already told you. We want to slow our roll, golf every day, and breathe in nothing but hot air.”
When our food arrives, we finally stop talking and clean our plates. We would eat them, too, for the flavor alone. I wish Eric had been here so we could tell him this to his face.
“Have you thought about when you’re going to sell your partnership? I mean, have you discussed it with Lily yet?”
“Vaguely. She’s got a lot going on with her mom and dad. When she gets back.”
“Something is missing in that chile. Why hasn’t she ever been married?”
“I don’t know.”
“And she dresses like a ho, and I bet she doesn’t even have sex.”
“Well, she spends a lot of time online.”
“Cybersex is not real sex.”
“Anyway, enough about Lily. I signed up for an upholstery class.”
“For a what class?”
“Upholstery?”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“When was the last time you upholstered something?”
“Never. Which is why I’m takin’ the class, Wanda. Duh.”
“This sounds even more boring than being an optometrist.”
“Check, please!”
“Hold your thongs! Did you paint that stool yet?”
“I can’t mess up the garage now!”
“Finally, a valid reason and not one of your bogus excuses. Okay. So. This may sound stupid, but I’m going to suggest it anyway. Why don’t you whip out that nineteenth-century sewing machine and make some damn pillows. That’s what you should be doing. Sewing. I know you could sell those suckers.”
“Sewing is messy, too.”
She shakes her head like she gives.
“This food was almost too good. Tell him that if and when he gets in touch.”
As we’re on our way out, who’s walking in the front door with at least five scarves wrapped around his neck, wearing purple glasses, with his arm draped around the shoulders of a girl who looks just like him? Of course it’s Mercury, who has the biggest smile on his face when he sees me, and he opens his long arms for me to walk into. “Hello, Dr. Young! So nice to see you in real clothes! This is my sister, Neptune, and yes, our parents were on something. How are you?” he asks after he lets me go.
“I’m glad to meet you, Neptune, glad to see you, Mercury, and this is my BFF, Wanda.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Wanda. Anyway, see you under those fluorescent lights tomorrow, Dr. Young,” he says, and they go to sit at the bar. Wanda walks outside to get her car, and I hand the envelope to the maître d’ and ask if she would be kind enough to give it to Eric for me.
“Will he know who you are?” she asks.
“Yes. I think he will.”
—
Eric backed into my bumper by accident.
He had just moved into the building I’d lived in for years with Michael and Estelle, who was four at the time.
We both got out to see how much damage had been done.
“I hope you have insurance,” he said. “I’m Eric. Nice to meet you.”
“I hope you have insurance. I’m Georgia. I don’t think this is a good way for us to meet, Eric.”
“Well, I’ll let you slide, because I don’t see a scratch.”
“I don’t either, to be honest.”
“I think it’s because we were meant to meet. Aren’t you on the fourth floor? You live with your gorgeous little girl?”
“How do you know so much about me?”
“Because I’m a stalker who lives on the fifth floor, and I see you taking her to school, and I know you’ve been divorced a year and counting, and I’d like to welcome you to the divorce club.”
“So you weren’t lying about the stalker thing.”
“No, a few neighbors gave me the 411 on everybody in the building. Anyway, maybe we could grab a bite sometime.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a man who wants to cook you dinner.”
And that was how it started.
He was a southern gentleman.
Born and raised in New Orleans.
Married four years, no children.
He said she “drop-kicked” him to the curb for another man.
He was hurt.
He recovered.
He forgave her.
He said anger is a termite to your heart.
He became my insecticide.
He showed me how to forget to remember what hurts.
He was honest.
He offered me tenderness.
He brushed my hair.
He helped me live in the present.
He made me laugh out loud.
He admired me for being smart.
He was thoughtful toward my daughter.
He did not sleep in my bed unless Estelle was not home.
He talked to me about my hopes.
He talked to me about his. That one day he wanted to open his own restaurant.
Michael didn’t like him. And he didn’t like Michael.
Ma liked him right off the bat. “This one is worth keeping,” she said.
Nine months went by fast.
He said he loved me.
I told him I loved him, too.
But when he was accepted into a famous cooking school in Paris, I knew he had to go.
And he knew I couldn’t.
We had a marvelous farewell.
I felt lighter.
We both declared how glad we were that he backed into me. That we were able to part ways without leaving a scratch or a dent.
—
“Doc, there’s a woman here to see you, and she says it’ll only take a minute.”
“What’s she look like?”
“Like a movie star. She has a short platinum Afro and earrings to die for. What do you want me to do?”
Now I’m worried, because I know it’s the maître d’ from Eric’s restaurant. How does she know who I am and where I work?
Oh, Lord, this means she opened my letter and read it! Goddamnit. Now I’m both angry and worried that maybe something happened to him, or maybe she’s got a gun and is here to blow my brains out. But she didn’t strike me as being crazy.
“You can send her on back.”
A few seconds later, in walks the homecoming queen from the eighties. I stand up to greet her.
“Hello,” I say. “Have a seat. I remember you from Toulouse, of course. Is something wrong?”
“I’ll just stand, if you don’t mind,” and she reaches inside her big black purse and pulls out the unopened envelope I’d given her to give to Eric.
“Is something wrong?” I ask again.
“I’m not sure. Eric is my husband. We’ve been happily married for twenty-two years, and I’m just curious about what’s in this envelope and if it’s something I need to know about.”
I’m shaking my head.
“Not at all. Please. Sit.”
And she does. And I tell her how I know her husband and what I’m in the process of doing and that her presence at the restaurant and now here has answered my biggest question.
“And what’s that?” she asks.
“That he’s happily married and to a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you, Dr. Young. And my name is Sofia. I think what you’re doing is admirable, and to be honest there’re a few skeleto
ns in my closet it might pay me to revisit.”
“Well, I only have a few left. I didn’t mean to cause any problems, and I apologize if my gesture has offended you in any way or made you uncomfortable.”
“Not at all. I was just curious why a beautiful sister was giving me a confidential envelope to give my husband, but I respect his privacy, and had it not been for that young kid, I wouldn’t have known who you were or where to find you.”
“Mercury.”
“Believe me, I know all about Mercury. Anyway, now that you’ve explained what you’re doing, I’m fine with it. And as soon as Eric gets back from Switzerland—yes, I said Switzerland—he races all over the world, Dr. Young—I’ll give him your letter, and I hope the two of you will be able to have dinner or something, but just not at Toulouse Petit.”
She stands up.
“Thank you, Sofia. And please call me Georgia.”
“Good-bye, Georgia. You have a blessed day.”
And she leaves. And I feel much better.
A few minutes later, I hear a tap-tap at my door. “Dr. Young, I have something for you,” Marina says.
“Come on in.”
And when she does, she hands me that envelope.
“I can’t believe you finally said yes,” James says.
“I’ve had good reasons for saying no,” I say.
“Well, I hope I don’t give you any more. Cheers,” he says, and presses his wineglass against mine.
He looks better than I remember. Even in broad daylight. We’re at a seafood restaurant in Jack London Square. There are all kinds of boats rocking in their berths and pelicans marching up and down the dock.
“So,” James says, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a pink polo shirt that I think is sexy and brave. Nice broad shoulders and solid muscles stare at me. “Do you date much?”
“No. How about you?”
“Depends on the month or year,” he says, and chuckles. “I thought I was in a serious relationship but learned over the holidays that her perception of serious differed from mine.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be. I’m a free agent hoping to find a new team, if you don’t mind that terrible analogy.”
“Finding the right ‘team’ isn’t easy as we get a little older.”
His thick eyebrows go up as if to say, Ya think?
We smile. Nibble on sourdough and take our time eating our big bowls of clam chowder.
“How’s your son?”
“Wow. Thanks for asking. He’s fine. He likes Berklee. Says it fits.”
I don’t really know what to talk about without getting too personal, and even though he’s pleasant, he’s not exactly arousing my curiosity or lifting the hem of my dress so far.
“How do you feel about camping?” he asks.
“You mean in a cabin or a tent?”
“Do you have a preference?”
“I prefer hotels, but it’s because I’m afraid of what lurks in the great outdoors.”
“What about water?” he asks, pointing to the boats. “How do you feel about floating—or I should say cruising—up the coast?”
“I’m open. Why, do you have a boat?”
“I do. A cabin cruiser. Small, but it’s good for my soul. Operating on hearts takes a lot out of you, and boating is one of my sources of comfort.”
“I’d go on your boat.”
“Really?”
“But not too far. I have to be able to see the shoreline.”
“Does this mean we might have a second date?”
“We haven’t finished this one yet,” I say.
—
“And?” Wanda asks after I tell her I went on a real date.
“He was pleasant enough.”
“Pleasant? What the hell does that mean?”
“He was nice. I didn’t feel any sparks, but he’s a good conversationalist.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“Life.”
“Well, that pretty much narrows it down. What else?”
“I told him in less than five minutes that I was selling my house, but I didn’t bother to get into leaving my practice, because it just didn’t feel appropriate.”
“Good. He probably wouldn’t understand anyway. So do you want to fuck him or not?”
“Probably. When I go on his boat.”
“Well, at least you’ll already be rocking, so you’ll get a head start.”
—
James helps me onto his boat, which is really a yacht. He’s wearing white everything, including the baseball cap with a big A on the front, and I don’t dare ask what team it’s for.
“Welcome aboard,” he says. “You look lovely in yellow.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It feels a little bright.”
“You need a hat,” he says, and whips out one just like his from a bin under the long blue seat cushions. He puts it on me. He smells good.
“This is a big boat,” I say, because I can’t think of anything intelligent.
“I’m a big man,” he says, and laughs. “I sleep on it from time to time. Go on below deck and take a look. You might want to put your life vest on now, too. I set it on the table for you.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” I head down into an area that is sleek and modern and full of smooth wood. It’s equipped with everything you’d have in a studio apartment but in miniature, except the bed. It’s a real queen. I put on my orange life vest, grab a nectarine and a bottle of sparkling water, and head back up when I hear the engine.
“How much time do you have?” he asks.
“How much time do we need?”
“That’s a pretty loaded question, but I like to go out the bay, then out through the Carquinez Strait and up the Sacramento River, so it could take three or four hours if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine. But what about when we get hungry?”
“All taken care of.”
And out we go.
It’s breathtaking, of course, and other boats, especially sailboats, pass by, and everybody waves. The swells are thick and sloshy, and after an hour we eat fancy finger sandwiches, sweet pickles, cheese, dried fruit, and have a glass of wine.
“I’ve got some great news to share, even though you might not find it as thrilling as I do,” James announces.
“I’m listening. I love good news.”
“I’ve just gotten a research grant, so I get to spend four months in India.”
“India?”
He nods as the boat rocks from side to side. “Yes. I’m thrilled.”
“Well, it sounds like an amazing opportunity. How soon?”
“We have to work out the dates. But because I have my own practice, I’ve got colleagues I trust who’ll cover for me.”
“Cool,” I say, and try to stand up.
“You want to steer?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on up. It’s fun. It’s like driving a car.”
He takes my hand, and I step up. When I get close, he gently ushers me in front of the steering wheel and stands behind me and puts his long arms around me, takes my hands under his and places them on the metal rim and leaves them there. He’s warm and he feels good. All of this feels good.
“See how easy it is?”
He leans down and kisses me on the cheek and then softly on my neck. This feels even better.
“I don’t want to lose control,” I say.
“It would be okay with me.”
And for the next ten minutes, I do my best to keep my eyes on the water and the boats around us and the hills to the right until I feel my belly turning flips. As I’m about to say, I think I’m getting sick, I throw up all over the steering wheel and let go.
“It’s the waves,” he says, and grabs a towel. “Don’t worry, this happens. But I know how you’re feeling, and I’ll get us back to shore as soon as possible.”
And he does.
—
“Georgia, great news!
We’ve got some very interested buyers who’ve seen the house twice. They want to come by today about eleven just to take one more look at the backyard, and if they can do what they’re hoping to do back there, they said they’ll make an offer today.”
I listen to the message again.
My heart is beating like a snare drum.
Amen did say “today,” like in today, didn’t he? I look at the little clock on my phone. It’s 12:19. Shit! I play the second message.
“Georgia, when I didn’t hear back from you, I took the liberty of bringing the couple over this morning, since there was no need to go inside. I hope you don’t mind, but the good news is that they’ve made an offer.”
I call Amen back, with some wariness because I don’t quite believe this. It was too easy.
“Well, hello, Georgia! I was hoping to hear from you right away. I apologize for going into the backyard without your permission, but I knew they were serious, and they had to catch a plane back to Seattle. Aren’t you excited we got an offer so soon in this market? I certainly am.”
“Should I start packing?” I ask, obviously with a ton of sarcasm.
“Not yet. I have to tell you that their offer is below our asking price, which I explained I’d have to discuss with you after telling them that you’re not underwater nor are you under any pressure to sell.”
“How much below the asking price?”
“About sixty thousand. But of course buyers always come in low for wiggle room.”
“Wiggle room? This is insulting.”
“I agree, but it’s a start. As soon as I get their app, we can go from there.”
“They live in Seattle?”
“They do.”
“Why’re they relocating?”
“Divorce.”
“Then who is ‘they’?”
“They’re now a blended family. Not married yet, but each has a child from a previous marriage.”
“How old are they?”
“Who? The kids or the buyers?”
“Well, the kids will give me some idea how old the parents are. Not that I really care, but if they’re little, this hillside isn’t the best place for them to play.”
“The kids are seven and nine. The parents are in their mid-forties. I should know more in the next day or so, but sometimes these negotiations can take a little longer. Keep your fingers crossed that we can make this happen.”
“They’re crossed,” I say, and shake them out as soon as I press End. I close the garage door and enter the house I’m now grateful I don’t have to speed-clean.
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