by Sally Thorne
I try to see under the tablecloth. “What’s happened?”
He’s puzzled. “You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you see the ‘Hot Stuff’ name tag? This is a stripper’s costume. It’s all held together with Velcro.”
“I’ve taken it to the dry cleaner so many times. What must they think of me?” As I pour the second glass of wine into myself, the looks I’ve gotten now make sense.
“That you know some pretty hot guys.” The look he gives me is devilish as he carefully fishes out his wallet with only a small amount of ripping noise this time. “My next Good Samaritan came through. This really nice lady found it at the Laundromat. It’s always ladies. Dudes are garbage.” He opens it and a cartoon moth flies out. He scrounges out battered notes. “Twenty dollars. Thank you.”
Our debt is cleared. I find I don’t like having this link between us erased. His wallet is a squashed leather medieval relic, run over by horse and cart a thousand times. I want to open it and read every single card and receipt. I want to sleep with it under my pillow. Oh no, this isn’t good.
He asks in an easy conversational way, “Who was the last person you dated?”
“My boyfriend’s name was Adam. Yeah, I know, I went pretty literal with what kind of guy I thought my dad would approve of.” The waiter takes away my uneaten salad. “We dated, or I guess you could call it dating, from sixteen to . . . the morning after prom night.”
“That sounds like an interesting story right there.” Again, we are interrupted. A small bowl of pink soup is presented to each of us. I touch the side of the bowl; it’s cold. Teddy asks, “Excuse me, what is this?”
“Lithuanian cold beet soup.” The waiter manages to say this with a straight face. Teddy wisely keeps the agony out of his expression. His employers are always watching.
“May as well try it.” He spoons some into his mouth and looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed in thought. What comes next: yum, yuck? Why do I care? I need to take Jerry Prescott’s advice before it’s too late. I’m not sure what too late will look like, but it won’t be a good thing for me.
I should focus more on my own experiences, not just wait on tenterhooks for his. I try some of the thick soup. “Like sweet crayons?”
“Tastes like a tub of beetroot dip got left out on a patio then it rained,” Teddy replies. He’s eating it anyway.
“Nailed it.” I grin into my bowl.
“I love it when you smile. It makes me get a little flipper here.” Teddy bumps a fist on his solar plexus. “So do you want to tell me what happened with Adam? Did he break your heart? Do I need to hunt him down?” He reminds me of Melanie.
The wine makes me confess. “Prom night went badly. I was his moment of bad judgment. He went to my dad for counseling in the morning. It was pretty bad.” My voice breaks. I felt sick looking at my father’s closed office door, knowing what they were talking about.
“He shouldn’t have done that. Going to your father? That’s a violation of your privacy.”
“I don’t know about violation—”
“They thought your feelings and experience and privacy were worth less than his. It makes me really angry. What did I just tell you? People take too much from you.”
“I never thought of it that way.” I finish my wine. “So that was my last . . . encounter. Working at Providence, it’s been a chore on my to-do list that I’ve never gotten around to. Find a boyfriend. Until Melanie showed up.”
Wine reeaally works. I’m day-drunk and sitting opposite a guy I have an ill-advised crush on. I’m probably as transparent as glass right now. “I have to give Melanie an answer this afternoon about—”
“The Sasaki Method,” he finishes for me. “She’s asked me to convince you to do it. But I don’t want you to. It’s a jungle out there.” He makes a face. “And I will tell you again, dudes are garbage.”
“You’re a dude.”
He repeats, “Garbage.”
“If I don’t want to be alone in a retirement villa from the ages of twenty-five to ninety-five, I need to do something. I want you to be completely honest. If this was a real date, how would I be doing?” That sounded so neutral and platonic. I amaze myself.
“You’re being yourself, and that’s all you need to be.” When he sees that vague answer doesn’t satisfy me, he thinks on it more. “You’re a good listener, you’re funny, you’re smart and honest . . . any guy would be lucky to be sitting where I am.” His eyeline moves over my face like a sketching pencil. “You’re completely beautiful.”
I don’t let myself feel the full impact of those words, because he said them so easily. He’s always got a compliment preloaded, that’s all that was. “That’s really kind of you.” For a boy who’s rather self-obsessed, he’s been doing the majority of the listening, not me. When we make eye contact again, I get a zip in my stomach.
He asks, “Anyone on your radar?”
“Literally no one.” It’s a bald-faced lie, but I see him wilt like I’ve delivered very bad news. What an annoying question. Of course Teddy is on my radar, in the same way that you might track the progress of a hurricane heading toward your part of the coast. Just take a moment to appreciate the special electricity that runs through him, turning everything about him bright.
I may as well get a crush on a hurricane. I’d be covered by insurance.
“No one at all on your radar.” He’s giving me one more chance to get the answer right. What does he want from me? To admit that I love the citrus yellow chips in his hazel eyes—and how they only show when the light hits them just right?
“My radar is broken.”
He’s not happy with that. He expects everyone to be in love with him. “We’ll tune it up. What’s your end goal? Mel has shown me her dream bridesmaid’s dress.”
“Lilac, I know.” What I really want can’t be said out loud. I want to sit on my couch with Heaven Sent on in the background, making out with a guy who employs just the right amount of give and take. “I can’t tell you what my end goal is. You once told me you’re easily traumatized.” It feels good to say something so bold. It inks out his pupils.
“Traumatize me.” He reaches out a hand and lays it flat on the tablecloth. It’s a request. Touch it. Give. “I want you to.”
Is this one of those moments I’ll look back on later and wonder what would have happened if I’d had the courage to just slide my own hand into his, in the middle of a fancy restaurant on a weekday? If I had, would those fingers curl and tighten on mine?
Give, give, give.
“I wanna find a nice normal guy and kiss him on my couch,” I say to see how he reacts. Not well. A frown forms, the hand is pulled back, and I never get to know if I had that kind of skin courage. I smile to cover my nerves. “What? That was pretty tame.”
He frowns. “There really aren’t that many guys dating online that’d be happy to stop at that.”
“Who said I wanted to stop?”
I look up as two plates are set down in front of us. Steak and potatoes sure beats a can of soup. Being forced out of my shell can end up being something more nourishing than I’m used to. And Teddy just stares at me. If he suspects I have a teeny-tiny ill-advised crush, I think he’ll start to look at me with gentle pity. “I’m doing it.”
“Doing what?”
Overly bright and confident, I take my phone out. “Let’s do the thing I can’t take back, once I agree.” I begin to text her and read aloud. “The Sasaki Method? I’m in.”
Teddy says, “Are you really sure? Mel is not a quitter. You’re going to find someone.”
“I want some semblance of a work-life balance, and if I don’t take this chance, nothing changes for me.” I stare into his eyes and decide that he’s my straightforward neighbor friend, and that is okay. I hit send.
On my phone there’s some reply-dots, and the screen explodes into emojis. They’re coming thick and fast, diamonds and hearts, rings and champagne bottles. Ridiculous GIFs of dancing babies and swinging gibbo
ns. Joy is cascading down my screen. All at once, I’m so touched I could cry. She cares enough to be excited about helping me?
Lunchtime wine is a beautiful thing.
I’m sitting here in a fancy restaurant, with a kind, handsome man, and he’ll help me too? I reach over and have enough courage to sink my fingers between his and squeeze, releasing before he can react. “I mean, what have I got to lose?”
“I didn’t order you steak,” Renata screeches across the room. Now we’re at risk of losing our lives.
Chapter Twelve
I’ve set up the rec center for this afternoon’s Stitch and Bitch.
It’s becoming clear that Teddy is going to reach his second-week employment milestone tomorrow and I’m making him a tiny military medal to pin to his T-shirt. I can picture it; I’ll pin it to his chest. He’ll salute and laugh and ask me what’s for dinner.
I think this is the closest I’ll get to having a roommate. Or a best friend. I can see why the Parlonis enjoy having an affable young man around the house. He’s created “The Good Neighbors Jar” a few days ago, with his first cash contribution toward my groceries. I think he knows I hate going off-site, because he goes to the store for me. He enjoys having a list.
He always buys me something sweet, as my treat for being so good.
While I wait for my Stitch and Bitchers, I’m taking a moment to test the rec center’s doorknob, just to sharpen my muscle memory. Locked has such a nice full-stop feeling to it. Unlocked is a sloppy looseness and I can’t stand it. I’ve been practicing this drill for a while.
“How was your conference call?” Melanie asks as she strolls up the path. She’s the old me, carefree and not required to attend stressful meetings, and I envy her deeply. Is this how Sylvia feels all the time?
I force my hand off the doorknob. “I think I sounded semicoherent. Anyway, what are you doing here? You’re meant to be looking after the office.”
“You ran off before I could ask what heinous tasks they’re giving us now. I could see your glittering sweat mustache from my desk.” Melanie now gives a cheery smile to one of the residents passing nearby on a mobility scooter. “Hi, Mrs. D’Angelo. Relax, I’ve got the phone diverted.” She waggles her cell phone at me.
I’d praise her increasing friendliness to the residents, but I’m distracted. “And it’s unlocked down there, isn’t it. Mel, go back.”
She’s too busy taking a photo of her manicure against the flowered hedge to listen. “What did Rose want this time?”
“Insurance details. There’s also some advanced reporting they’ve asked for that Sylvia always does. I might need your help getting the packet together.” Sweat mustache is putting it mildly. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. They got access to the banking accounts. The way they were talking, you’d think this place was a sinking ship. I think I should try calling Sylvia.”
Not one of my emails has been answered. She was the one who insisted on regular updates, but I’m feeling like a harasser. Has she fallen overboard? She’s not a woman I can imagine lying drunk on a deck chair, sunburned and asleep.
Melanie uploads the photograph of her #hand to her Instagram account. “No way. Prove that you handled everything. I have been temping for fifteen thousand years, and here’s what I know. Everything that gives you a sick stomach is a great example in a job interview one day.”
“You forget, my goal is to never do an interview again.”
If Sylvia arrives back and I’ve screwed this up, she will fire me into next year. I think again of the fold-out couch in my parents’ basement; maybe it’s waiting for me. I take a rare moment to pray.
Melanie the Temp is never impressed by my company loyalty. “Picked out your Providence town house already? Prepaid that burial plot, too? Ew, Ruthie. We need to focus on the Sasaki Method pronto and get you back out into the land of the living.” She turns to leave.
“Hey, wait a second. I want all of the Sasaki Method stuff to be just between us after work. There’s no way I want them to find out we’re goofing off. So I think we need to keep a line between us and Teddy.”
“I agree. I think he’s a test.”
“A test from PDC?” I never thought of that.
“No, a test sent by the dating gods. It’s like when you go to the grocery store really hungry. If you don’t have your list with you, you’ll end up in front of the cake cabinet, picking out a Black Forest to eat in the car. What’s on your shopping list?”
I know what kind of answer I’m supposed to give. “Granola and toilet cleaner.”
She hoots. “Exactly. We’ll apply the same lesson to men. Some are yummy but just no good for you. I know he’s been hanging around your place. You come up an awful lot in his dreams, by the way.”
I want to know, but I don’t even blink. “He’s not a test. We’re neighbors.”
“I talked to him in the office the other day when you were up visiting Mrs. Tuckmire. I asked him if he’s ever been in love.” Melanie looks away, nibbling her bottom lip.
I now seem to have a rusty hacksaw slid between some of my major organs. If she says another sentence, it’s going to wobble and slip sideways. “It’s none of my business. Or yours for that matter, Melanie Sasaki.”
“It was the way he laughed at the question that made me feel really . . . sad. He said he didn’t have it in his DNA to love someone properly and forever.” This sounds a lot like a warning and I prickle with embarrassment. She begins walking back to the office. “Remember your shopping list,” is what she calls over her shoulder. “No bingeing.”
It’s a timely reminder because a car cake is now all I want. I’d make it real romantic, up at a lookout, the city lights sparkling below. All my buttons and zips loosened. My moans would fog that car UP.
Fast footsteps approach. Teddy is jogging along the path, trailed by Renata on her scooter. I walk out to greet them. “What’s happening?” Teddy gives me a friendly eyebrow raise and jogs right on past, my heart hot on his heels.
“He got sassy with me, so I’ve decided he needs to get some energy out. Do a lap of the lake, I’m watching you.” Renata watches with evil satisfaction. His back is straight and the entire effect is of light ease. His hair gleams like a black cherry. I need to stop noticing any of him. But: Teddy’s in good shape.
“I don’t know about that,” Renata says. (I said that out loud? Oh no.) “He makes an awful lot of fuss about his morning start time so I’m overhauling his lifestyle. He’s making himself a kale and tofu smoothie after this.”
“Such cruelty.”
“I’m a wonderful employer,” Renata defends herself. When she says, slow and sly, “Well, well,” I realize I’ve been watching Teddy for probably an entire minute without replying.
Even with Renata’s speculative eyes on me, I can’t stop myself. He’s so interesting. An eye magnet. He’s the only thing worth staring at. He’s come across a pair of residents walking on the path; now he’s jogging backward slowly as he talks to them. His laugh rings out across the water, right through me.
“Well, well,” Renata repeats. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”
I wrench my eyes off him and wave at Mrs. Penbroke as she passes us on her scooter. “Don’t forget, Stitch and Bitch is on soon.”
“I won’t, Ruthie,” Mrs. Penbroke calls back. “I’m bringing my needlepoint. And something to bitch about.” She gives Renata a hard stare.
“Two dollars for the fund-raising tin, too, if you can please.” Knowing how much the residents drink, my fund-raising for the Christmas party starts on New Year’s Day.
“Focus,” Renata snaps at me, tapping the arm of her sunglasses on her scooter. “I heard from a little bird that you are putting yourself on the meat market shortly. She’s asked me to create a look-book for your makeover.” Renata looks me up and down. “How do you feel about the design direction at Valentino?”
Dammit, Melanie. Renata will spill everything to Sylvia.
“Yes, it�
�s true, I was thinking of starting to date, but the new owners of Providence are conducting a big review of our management processes, and Sylvia is away almost until Christmas. I’ll be focused on the review PDC has asked me to do.” Listen to me, being responsible. “I’ve also got the Christmas party to organize. You’ve never come to it, but it’s a huge event. I don’t think I can handle everything.” As I say it out loud, I realize it’s true. “I’ve got no experience in trying for a work-life balance.”
“You’re a smart girl. You can do everything, and besides, you’ve already got a crush. Here he comes.”
“Let me guess, another lap,” Teddy says and jogs past before she can reply. I feel a shimmer of energy when he passes me.
“You cannot imagine the satisfaction one feels in moments like that,” Renata says as she pretends to hold binoculars up. “It’s like my horse is out in front at the Kentucky Derby. I raised him from a foal, and now look at him go.”
“I don’t have a crush on Teddy. He’s nothing like what I’d go for, or vice versa.” I’m scared to ask this. “Is he going to last?”
“He might need to walk if he gets a stitch.”
“You know what I mean.”
Renata says with a deep sigh, “Unfortunately, I think he may complete two weeks of employment.”
“Isn’t he doing your chores and laundry?” I have to hold the words in: He’s helping you. Accept the amazing thing dropped into your life, you silly old woman. I suppose the same could be said for me, being blessed with Melanie.
“He’s depressingly competent at all that,” is all Renata will say before she changes gears. “May I give you an elderly person life lesson? Good. Life is only bearable if you have someone attractive to complain to. If I didn’t have my Aggie, I would not have survived the 1990s. Karl Lagerfeld, I will see you in hell.”
I laugh. “Okay. Thanks for the advice.”
She nods over at the lake. “You remind me so much of Aggie. She’s made of the same stuff as you. That’s how I know you will have very hurt feelings when this one gets the keys to his tattoo studio and rides off five hours in some direction without so much as a backward glance.”