Page 49 of Someone to Remember
“Sweats and a T-shirt to sleep in. Thanks to Mary Alice’s incredible efficiency, we also have spare toothbrushes.”
“Five-star accommodations. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. It’s fun to have the company.”
I follow him into the kitchen and place the clothes he loaned me on a chair.
“How about a glass of wine, since you don’t have to drive?”
I haven’t had a drink in ages, not since I was first pregnant with Josh. One glass of wine probably won’t hurt anything. “What do you have?”
He goes to the cabinet over his refrigerator and takes a look. “My sisters were here recently, so I have Rosé and Chardonnay.” He opens a cabinet over the stove. “And Pinot Noir.”
“Rosé, please.”
“Coming right up.” As he gets out glasses and finds a corkscrew, I watch the way his soft gray T-shirt clings to his muscular torso. Why am I so interested in how his T-shirt fits him?
He spins around to ask me something and catches me looking.
A slow, lazy smile spreads across his handsome face. “Whatcha looking at?”
I’m mortified to have been caught gawking. “I, um, I was just spacing out.”
He smiles as he pours the wine and brings it to the table. “This is nice.”
“What is?”
“Your kids and my kids asleep, and you here to hang out with. This is often the toughest time of day for me, when everything is done and I’m reminded once again of how alone I am.”
“I get that. It’s the silence after everyone else is asleep.”
“No one to binge-watch shows with or talk to or just… anything. It’s such a weird void after being married for so many years.”
We’ve talked before about how he was married to Mary Alice for seven years, while I was married to Spencer for almost ten.
“Not to mention together for years before we got married,” I add.
“Same.” He takes a sip of his wine and then meets my gaze across the table. “I’m trying to figure out who I am as a single guy again. It’s the weirdest freaking thing to accept I’m not married anymore. I can date if I want to. Not that I want to. Not really.”
“You’ll be ready for that someday.”
“What about you? Do you think about that?”
We haven’t talked about this before. Most of our conversations have focused on helping our kids through the sudden, traumatic loss of a parent and getting through the days without the help of our partners. We talk about the anger, too. There’s been a lot of that over the way they died, even if we don’t blame them. Most of the time, anyway.
“I think about it, but with three little kids, including a seventeen-month-old, I’m not exactly prime dating material.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a beautiful, fun, smart, caring woman. Anyone would be lucky to date you.”
“Oh… well… thanks.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“No, it’s fine. I just haven’t thought of myself in those terms in quite some time. I’ve been very, very married.”
“Yeah, me, too. It’s incredibly strange to not be anymore.”
“Do you think about taking off your ring?”
