Chapter 22
Busy wants to have lunch with Stewart and me at the yacht club on Saturday.
It’s an opportunity to be seen on a day she hopes some of Audrey’s friends might be there, and an opportunity to wear my yellow pants.
She texts Stewart and me together to schedule it and names the chat Operation Payback.
Stewart replies: Stop it. Dolly, I’ll pick you up at noon
I decide to meet Stewart at the yacht club because Naomi insists I stop by her store first so she can see what the tailor did to my pants. I strike a pose in the doorway in the giant black sunglasses Busy had messengered over.
“Damn,” she says from behind the cash register. “I have never seen a more extroverted pair of pants.”
“I love all the clothes,” I say. “But what I love about this outfit in particular is it feels like an actual costume. I am in no way Dolly Brick when I’m wearing it.”
“Ah, just the distance you need,” she says.
She’s going somewhere with this. And it’s not somewhere I want to go. I lean in and whisper, “It was one kiss.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “A series of significant kisses, fine. But there’s no way, and if you were in on those kisses, you’d back down too. They are not safe.”
“Of course, because you’re the Motel 6.”
“How dare you? I’m the Comfort Inn. We have a lobby.”
My phone pings and it’s the Bad Teachers.
Kim: Naomi is telling us there’s a guy and you kissed him. Are you holding out on us?
I never should have introduced them. It was one night, New Year’s Eve ten years ago, and since then they’ve been colluding about my birthday plans and my love life. I thrust my phone at Naomi. “You didn’t. You signed an NDA.”
She shrugs. “I did, but I didn’t say who it was. I just feel like I need a little backup here. You’re letting this slip away, and I think you really like him.”
“Of course I like him,” I whisper-shout. “Anyone would. It’s like asking all the people at the Louvre why they’re not taking the Mona Lisa home to hang in their bathrooms. They’d like to, they think it’s pretty. But it’s not theirs to take.”
Naomi laughs. “Okay, he’s a priceless masterpiece now.”
I text the Bad Teachers: She’s being ridiculous. There was a man. I kissed him. We’re friends. It’s nothing, promise
Layla: If you’re holding out on us, we can make you talk. We’re the only people keeping Fern alive and we don’t even love her that much
Kim: I don’t love her at all
Me: You two are ruthless. He’s just a guy, not for me. More soon
I walk through the club entrance, into the big lobby and to the double doors that open to the dining room.
I’m nervous to see Stewart. My mind is stuck ruminating over not just the taste of him but the sound of his voice when he said, “We’ve got this.
” I stand there for a bit, listening to the din of conversation and letting my eyes graze the tops of freshly blown-out hairdos.
As I do, Stewart stands and makes his way to me.
“Hi,” I say, taking him in. He’s in a pale blue shirt and dove-gray pants.
“Happy,” Stewart says, and I smile. He shakes his head. “Sorry. It was a compliment just taking shape. You look happy.”
“It’s the pants, thank you,” I say.
He extends a hand to me and I hesitate. That hand is a gateway drug to something more, I know this now.
But we are in public, and this is the deal, so I take it.
We stand there for a second and I let myself feel it, the initial sliding of fingers and the soft press of his palm against mine.
I must be the best teacher in the world.
We find Busy already seated in a hot-pink tunic with green trim around the neck. “Gorgeous,” she says by way of greeting and kisses me on the cheek.
“Thank you, hi,” I say. Stewart doesn’t drop my hand and Busy notices.
“Wow, nice touch,” she says to him. “Who knew you had a little PDA in you.”
“I’ve been practicing,” he says, and shoots me a quick look that makes my face go hot. We are in the little galley kitchen, all mouths and breath.
Michael, the club manager, stops by our table. “Sunset cruises, lunch breaks. Busy, who is this man?”
Stewart nods at him. “Who knows what I’ll do next?” Michael laughs and walks off.
“Sunset cruises?” Busy asks. “Is he kidding?”
“No. It was a quick trip,” Stewart says. “For the sunset.”
Busy leans back in her chair. “You did what, now?”
“Dolly had the conn,” Stewart says, offering me the basket of bread without meeting my eyes. “She likes the conn.”
I decide to play along. “It was quite cold,” I say. “Stewart made tea.”
“I did,” he says. His eyes stay on mine for a moment too long.
I open the white napkin and close my eyes as the steam comes out and surrounds me with pure sourdough goodness. I spread a pat of seashell-shaped butter on my bread and salt it perfectly.
The waiter comes by, and they each order a Nicoise salad, so I do too.
When he’s gone, Busy takes each of us in like we’re a tennis match. “What’s going on here?”
“We had a lot of fun,” I say.
“Fun,” Busy repeats. “This is just unreal. I haven’t seen Stewart have fun since Grant got sprayed by a skunk.”
“That was very fun,” he says. “Ellen left his clothes in the laundry room, but I took them and hid them under his mattress.”
“But then there was the kitten incident in the front hall,” Busy starts. “A case of mistaken identity.”
Stewart holds up a hand to stop her. “She’s heard it. And you weren’t even born.”
“My dad brought that up this morning,” I say. “Said it reminded him of how Pepé Le Pew was always pretending to be a cat. Thought it was an honest mistake.”
Stewart bows like he’s redeemed by this, and I’m glad things are easy between us.
“Because you know her dad?” Busy asks. She’s leaning back in her chair, sizing us up.
“Yes, Freddie Brick,” Stewart says, ending that line of questioning.
He gets a text and smiles at it. Stewart is not the kind of person who spends a lot of time smiling at his phone. I am hot with jealousy, and I think I might have imagined him smiling this way during our late-night chats.
Busy notices too. “Who are you right now? Who’s texting you?”
He finishes sending his reply and looks up. “Gus,” he says. And then to me, “I texted him this morning about sailing this afternoon. He just woke up.”
“Gus, your son?” Busy asks.
“Stewart’s going to give him a sailing lesson this afternoon,” I say.
“Okay, wow,” Busy says, tossing her napkin onto the table. “Tell me you’re taking the whole day off and I might drop dead right here.”
Stewart shakes his head. “Not to worry. I was up at four to make this action-packed Saturday happen.” My face falls. “It’s fine. I wanted to.”
Our salads come, and we tuck in. Stewart asks for another basket of bread without looking at me. I’m wondering where they get their tuna, and I’m hoping it’s from us, because it’s delicious.
Stewart goes into the locker room to change for the sailing lesson, and Busy and I sip iced tea at a tall table overlooking the marina’s launching area. A small single-masted sailboat waits at the shore. It looks beautiful sitting there, so much potential waiting for the right wind.
When Stewart walks onto the sand, Gus is with him. They’re both in Red Sox caps, and they’re walking in lockstep. Stewart points up to where we’re sitting, and Gus waves.
“I can now say for sure that I’ve seen everything,” Busy says.
“It’s very nice of him,” I say, and sip my tea.
“It’s more than that,” she says. “This past month, with you, it’s been really good for him. He seems lighter. I think Audrey was just going to let him work himself into the ground.”
“I don’t think that’s on Audrey. He puts a lot of pressure on himself.”
Busy raises an eyebrow at me. “You’ve really gotten to know him.”
And I have. I want to tell her that I know everything about Stewart. I know his eyes go unfocused during a panic attack, and that fingers on his palm will calm his heart rate. I know that his mouth tastes even better than it looks and that there are ghost peppers running through his bloodstream.
Instead, I shrug and keep my mouth shut.
“Well, I wish this whole thing was real,” she says. “I like him with you. I wish we were going back to Wendell’s for wedding things and Stewart was going to spend the rest of his life like this.” She motions to where Stewart is leaning off the side of the little boat, laughing.
I laugh to let her know I’m a hundred percent sure she’s kidding, that I have never, ever entertained such a wild thought. “It’s Gus,” I say. “Kids bring you out of your own head. When he has a family, he’ll do more of this stuff. Do you want kids?”
“A hundred,” she says.
I laugh. “Start with one.”
“And I’d like to meet a guy who’s normal. Who wants to have a conversation, who listens. Like a guy I could spend a whole day with.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking out at exactly that man laughing with my son. We watch as Stewart explains things to Gus and points him toward the rudder. After a while, Stewart lets out the sail and it catches the wind, Gus lowers the rudder, and they start moving.