Page 1 of Rosie and the Dreamboat
Whenever my sister, Bree, and I are sitting in a waiting room, I fill the silence with the same thing. I’ve done it since we were teenagers. We look at each other now, and I know she’s waiting for me to be predictable.
Happy to oblige.
“Maybe I’ll meet my husband today.”
For someone who loves me, Bree makes a face like she hates me alot. I grin back at her.
She gestures around at the room. “Sure, Rosie. Why not? He’s around here somewhere.”
The waiting room of Kintsugi Day Spa features stark white furniture, lit candles, and magazines. There are several bouquets of red roses in vases, and heart-shaped chocolates are scattered on the coffee table.
I will make her laugh if it kills me. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! How romantic, meeting him on Valentine’s Day.”
“Doing a pricey couple’s day spa with your sister is a bit less romantic.”
I shell the pink foil off a chocolate as efficiently as a parrot. “I see a good deal and I take it. With our matching last names, will they think we’re a married couple?” I put the chocolate into her mouth. “And yes, it was very pricey. But you deserve it.”
“I really do deserve it,” she agrees through the mouthful. “My promotion reward.” She begins to snort in amusement, and I know what she’ll zing me with next. “As if we could be a couple. I’m so far out of your league.”
“You really are. Fancy lawyer lady.” I give her a nudge. “But I’m a catch, too, you know. Retail hasn’t broken my spirit, so I’m clearly made of strong stuff.”
A new look is on her face. “This must have totally cleaned you out.”
She’s not wrong, but I won’t let her dwell on it. “I want you to know, I booked this before you got the promotion. I was that damn sure you’d get it.”
“You saw me reading about this place in the in-flight magazine on the way back from Thanksgiving, didn’t you? I’ve got to get better at not giving you ideas about ... expensive stuff. I can afford it on my new salary, but you’re a little plant girl. I’ll transfer my half.”
I do my stubborn bottom lip. “No. Let me.”
“Thank you, Rosie. This means a lot. Your future husband needs to worship the ground you walk on, okay?” Bree links her fingers into mine and squeezes.
I squeeze her back. “Worshipping is optional. I just hope he’s willing to hold my hand everywhere. I fell into a bucket at work last Monday.”
“I’ll hold it until he turns up, my sweet little hot mess. What will he look like? That?”
We break into juvenile titters at a black-and-white portrait hanging on the wall of a man’s naked back. It is inconceivably muscular and is covered in glittering water droplets. Does it allude to the spa’s waxing services?
Bree strikes a thoughtful art gallery pose, hand to chin. She may spend most of her week in a suit, but she’s asridiculous as ever. “Will Rosie’s Husband look like a slippery sea otter, gliding through the waves?”
My favorite game. “Rosie’s Husband will be a dolphin with legs and a blowhole under his tuxedo jacket.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “He’ll be a muscular, headless torso, floating down the river.”
“If he looks like that, I’ll fish him out of the water myself.”
If any of the spa staff ever emerge, they’ll find us both red and crying with mirth.
I blot my eyes. “I’ll meet him in the bed next to mine in the nursing home. At this point, I don’t even care who he is or what he looks like. He’s entertained us for years.”
“I blame Grammy. It was a ridiculous notion to put into your romantic rose-petal brain.”
I quote our dearly departed Grammy now. “I’ll recognize him the moment I see him.”
“Let’s hope so. It’s been roughly ten years, and you’ve nearly recognized him fifty thousand times by now. I am so very weary. Hurry up, Rosie’s Husband.” Bree leans forward with a groan to pick up a brochure. “What’s on the menu for us today, again? All I know is we are getting into water at some point.”
The wet portrait threatens to undo us again.
We are saved by an elegant woman in a medical-white suit.
