39. Never Say Never
NEVER SAY NEVER
TUESDAY AND BEYOND
Mark
“Can we go back to the pool, Daddy?” Rosie asks as I sign the dinner bill Tuesday night.
“Nope,” I say with weary firmness. “It’s already past your bedtime.” Daddy needs a twelve-dollar beer from the mini bar, a massage, and a break. “Tomorrow we’ll hit the pool, though. We’ll do all your favorite things one more time.”
“Even the teacups? Even if the line is long?”
“Yup. I promise.”
I’d bought four-day passes to the parks when three would have been plenty. Disney World is killing me. The lines. The crowds. The heat. But Rosie is having the time of her life. I’ve taken approximately one thousand photos. And I know I’ll look back on this trip fondly.
Someday. After my feet recover.
Rosie is tired, too, and she doesn’t put up a fight when I get her into her nightie up in our room. I skip bath time, though, because pool water totally counts, right?
Right.
“Good night, cupcake,” I say, kissing her forehead as she snuggles under the comforter.
My phone bleats with a text.
Her head pops off the pillow. “Is that Mommy?”
“No,” I answer immediately. Even if it is, this day is done. I’m mentally putting my feet up right now.
“How do you know if you don’t check?” my wise daughter wants to know.
Good point. I cross to the console table and peer at the phone. Asher St. James .
My stupid heart kicks just seeing his name. The text says: New episode tonight. Want to watch it together?
“Is it Mommy?” Rosie asks again.
“No, pumpkin. Just a friend.” I set the phone down and give Rosie another goodnight kiss. I turn out all the lights, mute my phone, and climb onto my own bed to contemplate Asher’s text. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him. Didn’t think we’d become text buddies. If that’s what this is.
And I haven’t reached out to Asher at all. In my defense, I’ve been busy dragging my ass all over Disney World.
But I also didn’t want to come off as clingy. The man is moving to another continent, after all.
I stare at Asher’s text, wondering what to say. After way too much thought, I go with: Hey stranger. Wish I could watch it with you. But I’m in a hotel room with my sleeping kid. You’d better watch without me .
And do every other thing without me, too . I don’t add that, even though it’s true. When do you leave for Paris? I ask, because I like to torture myself.
He replies immediately. Tomorrow .
Well that settles that, doesn’t it? I hope you have an amazing time. Be well and take care of yourself.
I almost add something flirty about his hair or his lips. God knows all the things I said to him this past week. It was a lot. It was intense.
But maybe every hot fling feels like that. How would I know? Maybe I imagined that we were something special together.
You too , he eventually replies. But that’s all I get.
I stare at my phone, wondering if there’s anything more I could say that would make a difference. Doubtful. Besides, maybe his watch-party offer is just something he does?staying pals with a hookup. Just like he rents expensive sports cars, flies first class, and knows all the DJs by name.
My phone lights up again, and for a second, joy whips through me. It’s scary how much I like being in touch with him. But Hannah’s messaging. She’s in Hawaii, where it’s mid-afternoon. Can I call you? she asks.
That gets me off the bed in a flash and tiptoeing into the bathroom, where I shut the door and tap her number. “Is everything okay?” I ask as soon as she answers.
“Just fine. Sorry to make you worry. I’m calling to say thank you again for all you did for my wedding. And also to tell you that Hawaii is amazing and I never want to leave.”
“Okay, phew,” I say quietly. “I didn’t think you’d call me on your honeymoon.”
“I wanted to get a mani-pedi, so I sent Flip golfing.”
“Ah.” It all makes sense now.
“Mark, you were totally right about Flip. He told me that he always nods along with his mom, because it’s easier than fighting. And he said that he doesn’t want our child to be raised by boarding schools. And that he’d never assume anything without discussing it with me.”
“Well, I’m a genius, clearly. But mostly, that’s a relief for you.”
“Of course it is. You were right. How’s life at Disney?”
“Exhausting,” I admit. “I’m going to need a vacation after my vacation.”
“You get a few more days off after you get back, right?”
“Right,” I agree.
“Look, I made a decision—you need a rebound guy or gal.”
I snort. Are she and Valencia in cahoots? “That’s your decision, huh?”
“Yes,” she says, as if this weren’t a silly conversation. “Your split with Bridget was a year ago, Marky Mark. So you’re not allowed to feel sorry for yourself anymore. It’s a rule.”
“I don’t,” I insist. “I’m just too busy in New York to date.”
“What about hookups?” she presses.
“Hannah! I’m not going to discuss any of those with you.”
A sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve said too much. “Ooh! That means there’s something to discuss! Oh my God. This is great. Tell me everything .”
How the hell do I get into these situations? But my sister will pry it out of me eventually, so it’s best to confess. “I had a hookup. But then it ended.”
“With who?” she squeals.
“I believe that’s with whom .”
“Mark! Spill.”
I sit down on the edge of the tub and sigh. “It’s tricky,” I say, and then I cringe. Because that makes it sound clandestine. Like my hookup was with a cheater or something.
At least, that’s how it sounded to me. But maybe not to Hannah, because she yelps with glee. “Omigod, was it Asher St. James? Omi god !”
Is she a mind reader? Hope not. “Now hang on. Why did your mind go straight there?”
“Because he’s hot, in the first place. Like, superhot . Your words. And because you stared at him during my wedding lunch. And because you came back the other day from an ‘errand’ looking tousled.”
I drag a hand along the back of my neck. “What the hell happened to my poker face?”
She giggles. “Was it amazing? I bet it was. But, wow, did you know he’s moving to Paris?”
“I’m aware,” I mutter.
Her voice drops. “Uh-oh. It was that good, huh? You sound sad.”
“Maybe. A little.” It feels good to admit that to her.
“Oh, poor Mark.”
“No,” I argue. “Don’t say poor Mark . I’m fine. He doesn’t date, and it wouldn’t have worked. We’re too different.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Honestly, I can picture you two together. You need someone spontaneous in your life. And he could use someone grounded. Someone . . . real .”
Huh. Is that what Asher got out of our fling? Maybe I wasn’t merely amusement.
“You know his ex-boyfriend dumped him, right? He called Asher a hot mess and bailed.”
She must mean Garrett. The one who called Asher a bad boyfriend. The dick who left him for another guy. Who’d ever leave Asher? “Yeah. He’s the fuckwad who’s getting married, right?”
“Someone has a strong opinion on Asher’s ex. And so do I. He didn’t deserve Asher. But now Asher is convinced that he’s not a great boyfriend.”
That tracks with what he told me in bed the morning after we slept together for the first time. I file away the added intel about Asher’s past to think about later. Or not. Because I don’t suspect his past romances even matter. “He lives in Paris now. So I guess we’ll never know.”
“Never say never. Isn’t that job only for a year?”
Like I haven’t thought that too. But those thoughts are too risky for a guy who nearly got his heart broken. “A year is a long time, Hannah. He’ll probably meet a French guy and they’ll go off and eat baguettes and brie together, and drink wine on the Pont des Arts.”
“Or not,” she says brightly, because she’s on her honeymoon, and the whole world is a happy place for her.
As it should be.
“Let’s just see what happens,” she says. “I have a good feeling about this.”
She’s the only one who does.