Chapter 14 Lucy #2
Marsh adds a side of sweet potato chips to both our plates and then guides me out of the kitchen. “Okay, Lucy, I am giving you permission to use the term my ex.”
“You can’t do that.” I follow him out to his back patio. It’s a moderate space with a cool stone patio, birds-of-paradise offering a fragrant smell, and two mature trees—one filled with lemons.
Marsh sets our plates down and then runs back inside. He returns with a bottle of orange wine and napkins, placing them on his white bistro table. It looks like one you’d find in an Italian summer beach club circa the seventies.
“Think about it,” Marsh says. “You have a bunch of these guys you dated—”
“A little more than a bunch.”
“Hundreds of these guys you dated,” Marsh amends, and I chuckle. “You can combine them all together and make one giant Super Ex.”
I throw my head back in laughter as he pours me a glass of wine. “Great, just what I need. One giant asshole.”
“Well, whenever this ends”—he looks at me and it feels like he instantly regrets what he’s started to say—“I guess I’ll technically be your first ex.”
The thought of that, what happens at the end of all of this, is something that causes a pang in my chest. I push past it and take a piece of cheese off my plate, popping it in my mouth. “Thank you for not judging me for dating an embarrassing amount of people.”
“If it makes you feel better, in the last decade, I’ve also dated an embarrassing amount of people.” Marsh holds up three fingers.
I take a bite of the sandwich. It’s only cheese, bread, and a little seasoning, but it’s delicious.
“How did you and Julia meet?” I ask, wanting to know the whole story.
“I kind of knew her my whole life.” He shrugs. “Our dads were friends. It wasn’t until we both ended up at the same college that we started getting to know each other.”
“So, you were together for almost ten years,” I ponder. I can’t imagine being with someone for ten weeks let alone ten years. “Did you think you’d get married?”
“I guess on some level I thought we would, because we’d already been together for so long.
” He sucks in his lips, taking a breath.
“But I never saw it. Does that make sense? Like getting from point A to point B would require me buying a ring, getting down on one knee, telling her I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I don’t know, I just couldn’t bring myself to do that. ”
“I see.”
“I sound like a piece of shit—”
“I mean, look who you’re talking to.” I let out a weak laugh. “If anyone understands the concept of not seeing a long-term future with someone…”
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of his wine that perfectly matches the warm orange hue in the sky. “You know, I never got to really thank you.”
“Marsh, you’ve thanked me a million times,” I say.
“For not judging me because I can’t find a plus-one.”
“Oh please.” I throw my head back. “There’s a difference between not being able to find a date and not wanting to lead someone on.”
“You’re making it sound a lot more honorable than it is.”
“You’re too hard on yourself,” I say. “Do you know how refreshing it is to find an attractive man who first off”—I use my fingers to start counting—“has a stable career, isn’t a player, and has proven that he’s been able to be in a long-term relationship?
Oh, and for some people, it’s a bonus you don’t have kids. ”
“Wait, can you say that again?” Marsh leans in. “I’m going to make that my dating profile bio.”
“I’m serious!” I nudge Marsh’s foot because apparently I need to find any excuse in the book to touch him.
“So, if hypothetically you came across someone who fit that description…you would swipe right?” he asks.
“In a heartbeat,” I say.
Marsh doesn’t say anything, just simply continues to look at me. It feels like time has slowed down as I anticipate what he’s going to say.
“Here.” He reaches for his back pocket and hands me his phone.
Dumbfounded, I stare at his palm in front of me and then back up to his gaze.
“Wait, really?”
Marsh swipes his thumb up, unlocking his phone. He clicks into an app I’m all too familiar with and then pulls up his profile. “Be nice.”
As if he’s handed me his grandma’s pearl necklace, I take his phone carefully. Marsh is bolded at the top with details like 36, 6’1, and Mar Vista below.
There’s a photo of him sitting outside on a patio smiling. In my opinion, it’s the perfect photo. He looks relaxed, he’s clearly out with friends, and the image is somewhat candid. I can tell whoever took the photo snapped it and it happened to be a winner on the first try.
Scrolling down, I read the prompts:
What’s your go-to karaoke song?
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough
I’m weirdly attracted to:
Blanche from The Golden Girls
First round is on me if you can name all three blond roommates in Three’s Company.
“Blanche from The Golden Girls?!” I cackle.
“I stand by that,” he says through a mouthful of grilled cheese.
“No judgment here,” I say. “Blanche is a babe.”
“Who are you attracted to?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Childhood crush is Tony Danza in Who’s the Boss?” I say matter-of-factly.
“Angelaaa.” Marsh lets out an alarmingly spot-on impression that makes me start laughing.
“Also, Chrissy, Cindy, and Terri.” I take a sip of wine.
Marsh stops, his face now serious. “Holy shit. I think that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said.” We’re flirting. We’re full-blown flirting and I can’t stop it. “Okay, your turn,” he says.
“Fine.” I reach for my phone in my back pocket. When I open my app, I’m immediately met with four matches that I disregard. I click on my profile and pass Marsh my phone. “Here.”
“Thank you, I—Good Lord.” Marsh’s eyes stay glued to my phone.
I’d be lying if I say his reaction doesn’t make my heart skip a beat. In theory, this is the reaction I would want from anyone looking at my profile, but with Marsh it feels real. It feels like I turned on a switch I thought until now was broken.
Marsh looks like a kid in a comic book shop, thoroughly engaged and enjoying every minute of what he’s seeing. I take another bite of my grilled cheese before I say anything. “Okay, the silence is kind of freaking me out now.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry, it’s just…How are you so photogenic?”
“It’s called lighting and angles.” I wipe my hands on a napkin.
“You’re just so beauti—” he stops and stares at the screen. I’m positive he’s come across my bikini photo in Tulum. “Uh, Chris just texted you.” He hands my phone back to me.
“What?” My face drops. I quickly take my phone and see another text notification come up at the top.
Chris:
Dinner tomorrow?
My face goes crimson and I pull up our conversation, bracing myself for the text Marsh saw before that.
Chris:
I miss you. Come over tonight
“Shit.” I shove my phone back in my pocket. “I’m sorry you saw that.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says dismissively.
Marsh isn’t asking for an explanation, but I feel like I owe him one. “Chris is just a guy that—”
“It’s none of my business,” Marsh says, taking a final bite of his grilled cheese.
“Yeah, but…” I hesitate with the second half of my thought. “I want to tell you my business. I like telling you my business.”
When I say it, it’s like I’m suddenly stripped and exposed.
It’s something I can’t take back, and whatever cool, sexy version of Lucy Marsh sees probably no longer exists.
Because that Lucy didn’t need to tell anyone anything.
She didn’t care what others thought and she definitely doesn’t need a man.
“Well, good.” Marsh takes a sip of his wine. “Because I like hearing it.”
I smile. “So, are we ready to watch a love story between a hooker and a millionaire?”
“Let’s do it.”
We get comfortable on Marsh’s couch, which, I will say, is a very comfy couch.
He makes us both decaffeinated English Breakfast tea and gives me a pair of his socks.
There’s something natural about how we fall into place, both in the middle of the sofa.
My legs curl up underneath me, and his long ones prop up on the coffee table.
What feels unnatural is the way I’m mindful of his every move.
Like I’m anticipating each breath he takes.
It almost reminds me of when I was in middle school and went to watch Twilight with a group of friends.
Wes, a boy I had a crush on, sat beside me and I waited the entire movie for him to reach over and hold my hand. He never did.
Before the movie starts, my focus shifts to a figurine sitting above the fireplace. “What’s that?”
“Oh,” Marsh says, looking at the bright orange molded figure, “that’s a clementine.”
“I didn’t know you were such a fan of fruit,” I say.
“It, uh, it was supposed to be a gift…” Marsh trails off. “For my daughter.”
I sit up and look at him, confused. “You have a daughter?”
“No.” Marsh shakes his head. “Julia had a miscarriage after three months.” He tips his face to the fireplace, somberly consumed by the orange model.
“But after our first ultrasound appointment, we found out it was a girl and I was so excited,” Marsh says.
“I wanted to get the baby a gift. Anything really. There was an old antique store in Pasadena by the hospital, and I walked in and saw it.” He looks at the figurine.
“It was sitting on the top shelf next to all this junk and it was practically glowing and I said that’s it. That’s her. Her name is Clementine.”
“Marsh…” I place my hand on his arm. This detail cementing a crack in my heart and now painting a picture of a man I’m growing to really care about.
There’s something in Marsh that I see in myself; a pain behind those thick rimmed glasses and hazel eyes when he talks about his personal life. “I’m so sorry I asked.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. It was years ago,” Marsh says. “You can always ask me anything you want.”
“Is that why you got…”