Page 51 of Summer Reading

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” She sat up. “What are you doing here? You have to get ready! Where are you going? What are you wearing?” She looked me up and down. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”

“No, of course not.” I glanced down at my frayed jeans shorts and Guns N’ Roses T-shirt. “I’m going to add my leather jacket and combat boots. Duh.”

She looked appalled, and I laughed.

“I’m just joking,” I said. “Although, I didn’t think I was going to have a hot date while I was here, and I’m not sure I packed anything other than some casual sundresses that are definitely more stroll on the beach than fancy dinner out. Having worked chef’s hours forvever, most of my dates have been breakfast dates, so I am out of touch with what’s trending.”

“Let’s go.” She pushed herself off the couch and headed for the stairs.

“Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“This is an emergency,” she said. “I can rest when we have you properly outfitted.”

I picked up her tea and mine and followed her upstairs. Her bedroom was at the top and to the right, but other than location, I wouldn’t have recognized it. Gone were the piles of clothing on the floor, the candy wrappers on her nightstand, and the boy band posters that had adorned the walls back in the day.

Now it was painted a matte sage green with cream trim, and everything was neat and tidy, except for her favorite white cardigan, which was draped across the arm of a chair. The seat cushion was dented, and judging by the stuffed bookcase beside it, I imagined this was where Em spent most of her time.

It made me pause. Why wasn’t she going for Ben? They were both readers. It just made sense, like attracts like, right?

“No, no, no,” she muttered as she slid clothes across the rod in her closet. “Too simple, too slutty, desperate, not desperate enough.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’m pretty desperate.”

“No, you’re not,” she said. She didn’t even look at me. “You just haven’t had a chance to get out there.”

“Em, I haven’t had a boyfriend since I took the chef job at the Comstock. We’re talkingyearshere, and it’s not because I was too busy.”

She turned to face me and took the tea I held out to her. She pushed up her glasses and said, “You areone of the friendliest people I know. You’re also smart, funny, and a total knockout, oh, and you’re an amazing chef. If you’re single, it’s because you don’t really want a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Em, I wish everyone saw me the way you do,” I said. “But the fact is, once a guy finds out I have dyslexia, he usually ghosts me.”

“But why?” she cried. “Look at you, with that thick mane of black hair, that heart-shaped face, and those long legs!” She tugged me in front of a full length mirror. “And that’s just the packaging. You have so much to offer. How could any man walk away?”

“Well, if I remember what my last boyfriend, Bruce, said when he dumped me after a few months and the truth came out, it went something like this.” I paused to clear my throat and lower my voice. “ ‘I’m sorry, Sam, but I can’t see you anymore. I’m not getting any younger and the fact is I’m looking for wife and mother material. I can’t risk your unfortunate disability being passed down to my kids. It’s all about the genetics, nothing personal.’ ”

“He. Did. Not.” Em’s fingers tightened on her mug until they turned white.

“Oh, he did,” I said. “Spoiler alert, it was pretty effing personal to me.”

“What was his last name?” she asked. “Boron or something.”

“Brenowicz,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said through gritted teeth. “Does he still work in the Pru?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because the next time I’m in Boston, I’m going to find him and punch him in the face,” she said.

All of a sudden my throat got tight. I took a sip of tea, and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said. Then she snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “Red.”

“Red rover? Red roses? Red sky at night? Sorry, you lost me.”

“Red dress,” she said. She spun back to the closet, dug deep until she disappeared up to her armpit. “I bought this last year with the idea that red would make me bolder.”

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