“Hey, we were so young that dinner at McDonald’s was impressive then. But the stakes are higher now. You’ll have to plan something nice. Spend money for a change.”
“I resent that. I’m not cheap.”
The skeptical look on his face showed his doubt.
I continued. “Amanda doesn’t care about money. She drives a crap car and lives at home.”
“And she spent $25K to save your ass from Julie.”
“Yeah. That must mean she likes me, right?”
He nodded. “No duh, as Alexander would say.”
Suddenly, I felt a lot better. I wasn’t wrong. Amanda did like me. She was stressed and busy at work or maybe there was some kind of misunderstanding. Whatever. We could sort it out once the sale of the Vice was settled. And I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Hard work was how I got things done when I played, and maybe it was the way relationships worked too. Amanda was the most complicated woman I’d ever known, but she was worth it.
Amanda
“I thinkthat Pilates is a form of torture invented during the Spanish Inquisition,” I declared when Cynthia and I left our introductory session. “They even have the same machine.”
She shook her head. “It’s called the Reformer, not the Rack. Shall we go for a cup of tea now?”
“Okay. But we really shouldn’t have cookies this time. It defeats the purpose of working out.”
She held up a hand. “I swear we will not order cookies.” Dramatic pause. “Unless they have the peanut butter ones that are dipped in chocolate.”
Then we both giggled.
“I was thinking aboutparkournext week,” Cynthia said. She liked to plan all our activities well in advance, and I was happy to give her the responsibility.
“That’s the one where people bounce off benches and walls, right? Uh, no.”
“It’s in a controlled environment, so we don’t have to worry.”
I groaned. “I predict bruises or even injuries. Maybe we should do something artistic—like those paint-your-own-masterpiece places.”
She shook her head. “Neither of us is artistic at all. Remember when Mr. Gleason tore up our drawings and told us to begin again with our eyes open?”
“So traumatic. No wonder we’re not good at art. We should sue him for stunting our creative development.” Then we began to giggle again. It wasn’t even that funny, but we were in that adolescent mood where everything was funny. For me, laughing was a huge relief. I’d been in a terrible mood all week.
Cynthia stopped suddenly. “I love having you here, Amanda. Don’t go back to Toronto.”
I blew out a breath. I hadn’t told her that we were selling the team, but she thought that the resolution of Uncle Thomas’s mediation meant the end of my time at the Vice. Which was true as well. “I’ve enjoyed being back, but....”
“You know, you can’t run away from what you are.”
I waited, since I could tell that she was working up to some kind of lecture.
“So, you’re a Richardson. Eventually people in Toronto will know that too.”
“No, it’s different there. A bigger city and more affluent. I’m no big deal.”
“Even in the time you’ve been back, you’ve matured so much. It’s like you’re more comfortable with who you are. When you bid on that hockey package at the auction, I almost fell off my chair. You were unbelievably cool. James was so impressed.”
“I don’t want to impress people by how much money I spend.” Just thinking about that evening was making me sad.
“It wasn’t the money itself, it was you. You looked so in-charge and James thought it was exactly the right amount of money to shut the bidding down. I told him you probably learnt that at business school.”
“Yup. Auctions 101 was my best class.”