Page 66 of The Broken Heart Playlist
Tess:You had a MAN over who wasn’t a plumber.
Kate:Correct.
Tess:Don’t bowl me over with all the details.
Kate:Okay.
Tess:Come on, Kate, I’m DYING here!
Kate:Even your metaphorical death is dramatic.
Tess:What did you cook for him?
Kate:Coq au vin.
Tess:You went FRENCH. Oh, my heart. How romantic.
Kate:It’s a stew, Tess.
Tess:But it’s a FRENCH stew.
Kate:Stop with the capitals.
Tess:SPOILSPORT. Seriously, did you enjoy yourself?
Kate:I did.
Tess:Do you think there’ll be another dinner with Gideon?
Kate:... [typing]
Kate:... [typing]
Kate:Yes.
Tess:Aaron here. What’s going on? Why is Tess crying? Never mind. She says they’re happy tears.
On Sunday, Lisset and I traipse over in the cool spring air to Gideon’s house. When he opens his door and his eyes meet mine, all I can think of is him standing next to me at my kitchen sink last night, his soapy hands washing my pots while I dried them, the casual familiarity of the two of us working side by side.
“Come in,” he says, opening the door wider.
We follow him down a bright, spacious hallway to his living room, an open-plan kitchen on the left. My eyes slowly soak up his personal space. Top-of-the-range kitchen appliances. A giant television mounted on the living room wall. Hardwoodfloors and neutral rugs. Bold colors for the throw pillows and lampshades. A mahogany bookcase filled with thrillers and non-fiction titles. The incredible collection of original artwork and photography.
No personal photographs.
I am shameless in my unhurried perusal of his home. Clearly, an interior decorator was given carte blanche to go wild. The furnishings are tasteful, but expensive. My mind continues to forget just how wealthy Gideon really is.
Lisset glances around the living room. “Gideon, where are your toys?”
“Toys?” He looks puzzled. “I don’t have toys here.”
“Do you keep them upstairs?”
“Uh, no, there are no toys.” He swallows. “Upstairs or downstairs.”
Lisset stares at him, aghast. I bite my lip, trying to contain my smile. My daughter is unable to fathom that a house can exist without a single plaything inside. Even my parents and Tess keep a box of puzzles and craft items just for her.
“Not even dolls?” Lisset asks at last, a little hopefully.
