Page 102 of Nothing Less than Magic
“Really? Who’s the date with?”
“My mechanic, if you can believe it.”
“Don’t be so snobby,” I tell her. “I think it’s great. What’s he like?”
“Well, he’s not old, he’s not in the entertainment business, and he’s divorced with two kids. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”
“Is it possible that all that sarcasm masks deep insecurity?”
“Is it possible that you’re a bitch?”
I laugh. “Where are you going?”
“Dinner and a movie. Very original.”
“I’d go with something understated. A nice pair of jeans and a dressy blouse. But not too dressy.”
“Flats or heels?”
“Boots.”
“Because they’re made for walking?”
“Yeah, something like that. How are the kids?”
“Luna is getting an F in PE, and Taylor has decided that he wants to be a garbage man when he grows up, because he likes the idea of hanging off the side of a truck. Tonight, they’re with Brent and the Ancient One.”
“You mean the woman who is Brent’s age?”
“Who’s being sarcastic now?”
“Does the mechanic stand a chance?” I ask.
There’s a long stretch of silence, then, “I like him. And he’s madly in love with me.”
“I’m not surprised, but how do you know that?” I rise from the tub, letting the water sluice off me before toweling off.
“He told me.”
“So this isn’t your first date.”
“Nope.”
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“You held out on me for twenty-four years, so we’re not even close to even,” she says. “Gotta go.”
Despite her surliness, I know she’s close to forgiving me, or else she wouldn’t have called in the first place.
I’m dressing when I hear Austin come through the door. For the last few weeks, all he’s been talking about is Bonaire. I think he needs this vacation more than I do.
I should be more excited about it than I am and find myself going through the motions just to make him happy. I bought a new bathing suit, even though my old one is perfectly good. And I called the hotel to get activity recommendations, so we don’t while away our time lying on the beach, getting skin cancer.
“Here you are.” Austin throws his tie on the bed and starts taking off his shoes.
The move has been a slow process. He’s been hammered at work, a lot of people getting divorced in this town. But most of his clothes are here, making me miss the extra space I had in the closet. He has a couple more weeks left on his lease, plenty of time, I keep telling him. Which in and of itself should be an ominous warning sign.
“Did you get that restaurant list I sent you?” he says.
