48
“Whew, Susan. He must be some kind of hugger if you almost caved,” Jenn says quietly to me from across the backseat. I sneak a glance at my Dad and one of our VPs up front, but they’re lost in their own conversation about the meeting we just wrapped up.
“I know!” I say back. “And he is a good hugger. But it was just…like a time machine. His smiles, his scent, having him waiting at home when I got back. It was a lot.”
“Too much. Don’t let him do that again.” she huffs. She has seen the ugliness of our separation and divorce up close, closer than anyone. The tears, the nights awake, the days I was too upset to eat.
“I won’t.”
“Good.” She looks down at my lap. “Text Pearce instead. Are you guys still meeting tomorrow?”
“Yup,” I say, feeling a host of butterflies tumble through my abdomen. I’m not just nervous. I’m freaked out.
I haven’t dated someone in forever. Adam and I didn’t even date, not really. I guess it’s been since high school? Ugh. Every time I think about it all… what do I wear? Will we hug or shake hands when we meet? Will he try to kiss me? Do I want to be kissed?
I feel old and tired and downright stupid.
But then I try to think about all the sweet messages. And Pearce has aged really well. He’s tall, lean, and muscular. His blond hair is cut short and he is always in crisp dress shirts on Instagram, but I know he’s a creative chef so he’s got to be a little unkept under all his charm.
I take Jenn’s advice.
I always feel better after chatting with him.
BoomerSuener: What are you up to today?
Sooner89: Making something new from scratch.
BoomerSuener: That’s exciting!
Sooner89: And a little terrifying.
BoomerSuener: All new ingredients?
Sooner89: Kind of. I’m pretty well known for one thing. But this is a special request that’s totally different.
BoomerSuener: I bet it will be amazing.
Sooner89: Even if it’s not, I am having a blast trying it out.
BoomerSuener: A blast at work? Weird!
Sooner89: You don’t enjoy your work?
BoomerSuener: I do but there are very few days I’d say I was having a blast.
Sooner89: Sounds like you need to change it up then.
BoomerSuener: That’s not so easy in a big business.
Sooner89: I get it. That’s why I don’t want to expand.
BoomerSuener: But at the same time, the bigger the business, the more people get to experience your work.
Sooner89: True, but there’s something about making something out of nothing, for someone. Even as I grow and expand my menu, it’s still me serving one person at a time. I like that.
BoomerSuener: And how’s today’s new creation going so far?
Sooner89: Too soon to say but I’m hopeful.
BoomerSuener: Wish I could see.
Sooner89: If it turns out, maybe I’ll send a photo.
BoomerSuener: And if it doesn’t?
Sooner89: I’ll burn it and all the evidence, of course.
BoomerSuener: That won’t make for a happy customer.
Sooner89: True but this is a regular anyway. She’ll be back.
BoomerSuener: She?
Sooner89: Is that jealousy I hear?
BoomerSuener: You can’t hear me ;)
Sooner89: She’s in her seventies. She really loves me though.
BoomerSuener: Sounds like a cougar.
Sooner89: I’m not into that.
BoomerSuener: What are you into?
Sooner89: You.
BoomerSuener: What if I’m in my seventies?
Sooner89: LOL I don’t think you’d lie on your profile like that.
BoomerSuener: I could be a seventy year old MAN for all you know!
Sooner89: I’m pretty sure I know who you are.
BoomerSuener: I’m pretty sure I know who you are too.
Sooner89: Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.
BoomerSuener: Guess so!
BoomerSuener: Good luck with the new dish!
“What?” I say to Jenn who I realize has been staring at me while I text.
“You’re blushing! And you squealed there at the end! Ugh. It’s adorable. Like a teenager. I don’t think I’ve ever been that excited about a man. Not even when I was a teenager.” There’s a sadness to her voice instead of her usual snark.
“What about Mr. Wrong?”
She sighs, “Maybe I was excited for him. No, definitely I was.” She slumps back in her seat. “I’ve got a serious problem. I want what I can’t have. Always. My favorite things are terrible for me—donuts, sugary white wine, cigarettes back in the day.” She glances over. I must be making a face about that last one. “Save it, Pollyanna, those were different times.”
“Just how much older than me are you, exactly?”
“I’ll never tell. And neither will my aesthetician!” Her eyes go wide and her sass returns.
I laugh. “You’ll find someone eventually.”
“Yeah,” she sighs but the way she looks out the window tells me she doesn’t agree. It’s weird to see her looking forlorn. She’s always so sure, so direct. I decide to distract her.
“So what does one wear to a lunch date with someone they’ve been texting for weeks and probably knows who they are, but might not?”
“Something hot.”
“You always tell me to wear something hot.”
“You should literally always be wearing something hot. You are a woman in the prime of her life. No work suits. No jeans. Actually no pants. Actually no panties! It’s not a board meeting, it's a date!” she says.
My dad chokes in the front seat. I forgot he was up there.
“Who’s going on a date?” he says.
“Mind your beeswax, Dad.”
“What she said, boss.” Jenn adds.
There’s a beat of awkward silence in the car. If I say anything, my dad will probably tell Adam. He has told me he’s staying out of it, but he’s not on board with our divorce. He was stricken when I told him Adam and I were separating. And honestly, he loves that man. Just like he loves Shep. The three of them have always had that whole football brotherhood thing going on.
“Can you turn on some music? This is getting awkward,” I say casually. Don, the VP, clears his throat and looks out the window as my father turns on the radio. It’s sports talk radio but it’ll do.
I turn to Jenn and whisper, “I’ll be going from work, you want me to take the time to change?”
“No, wear one of your more casual dresses with buttons up the entire front. But undo the buttons when you leave.” I consider it and she adds, “Both at the neck and the hem. And no sneakers or flats, seriously. You need to wear shoes he’ll imagine throwing over his shoulders.”
Now I’m the one choking. I chug some water. The thought makes me uncomfortable, having both a slit up the front and cleavage on display. Being flat on my back, legs in the air for anyone who isn’t Adam. It makes me squirmy.
She nods, like that was her goal all along.
And she has a point. It’s an important date. A first impression. I don’t want to seem like Stiff Susan, COO extreme, the most Type A Type A you can be. I want to seem—and feel—fun. Flirty. Daring.
“Okay.” I nod too.
There’s still something up with my friend. Jenn is tense, tired, and sad. She’s never those things. But I can’t get to the bottom of it today, especially not in this car with my dad trying to eavesdrop in the least subtle way.
So instead I sneak a look back at my messages and fight another squeal.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow! Eeeek!
_____
I take a seat at a table for two, trying not to be bummed that I beat Probably Pearce to the trendy little lunch spot. It’s an upscale Italian bistro in a refurbished old theater. Very hip right now. But it was only a twenty-ish minute drive south for me, and his drive north is probably a little over an hour.
I smooth my skirt and tuck a lock of long waves behind my ear. I wore exactly what Jenn said—from the push up bra, to the silky pink dress unbuttoned on both ends, down to the pretty heels that have my toes screaming in protest.
Heels are so dumb. They make my legs look amazing though.
I look over the menu and sip my water while I wait. I resist the fresh, warm garlic bread and butter in the center of the table.
At first. But then fifteen minutes have gone by and I go ahead and have a tiny slice. I would start to panic that I’ve been stood up but with such a long drive it could just be that he hit an accident or a speed trap.
My phone buzzes and I smile, knowing it’s him updating me. He’s probably nearby.
Sooner89: Hey I’m so sorry but I can’t drive up. I’m putting out a fire. Literally. There’s a literal fire.
BoomerSuener: Holy crap! Are you okay?
Sooner89: Yes, I’m so sorry.
My face heats as I swallow the delicious bread that’s lost its flavor.
Because maybe I am being stood up. Maybe he chickened out. Or maybe he saw me here, right by the hostess stand and—
“Susan?”
“Adam?”
My husband stands there, mouth open in surprise for half a breath before he lets his eyes roam. Lids lowered, he takes his time looking me over, letting his eyes pause on my cleavage. He swallows and I do too.
“You look g-gorgeous. You look gorgeous,” he says kind of awkwardly, which makes sense because I don’t think I’ve ever heard him use that word in our entire lives. “Wait,” he looks around, frowning. “You’re on a date.” He isn’t asking and he’s not particularly happy.
I clear my throat, “I’m not.”
He studies my face and then his nostrils flare. “Did some jackass stand you up?” he raises his voice.
“Shhh!” I say, noticing the hostess glancing our way. “No. Well, I don’t think so. Something came up.” He tilts his head and clamps his jaw in a way that seems somehow protective of me, angry for me, jealous over me, and also condescending to me, all at the same time. I shouldn’t explain but I do anyway. “He owns a food truck and there was a fire.”
He narrows his eyes and I realize he’s breathing hard. And he…looks really freaking good. Button up shirt with the sleeves rolled, over dark jeans and his work boots. His hair looks freshly styled and he definitely trimmed up his beard since his hilarious night with the boys.
A night, complete with hugs and confessions, that I do not allow myself to think about.
“Are you on a date?”
He almost grins, probably because the question came out sounding a lot more jealous than I wanted it to. “No, I was just going to get something to go. People won’t shut up about this place and I was nearby.”
“On this side of town?”
He lifts a shoulder, “Yeah. I’m always all over town at different sites, you know that.”
That’s true. Still…seems like the odds of us bumping into each other so far out of our home base radius are pretty low.
He looks at the chair and then at me. And like so often recently, his expression becomes earnest. Nervous. So unlike the Adam that moved out months ago.
He asks slowly, “Can I sit?” I consider it and then shake my head because I can’t seem to say no to him out loud. “I won’t stay, I'll just order something to go, Suze.” I bite my lip, a movement his eyes definitely catch. He adds, “I won’t even talk, I'll just sit here.”
I laugh a little. “That sounds awkward.”
“Not for me, I get to sit here and look at you.”
I exhale an exasperated, “Adam!” as he sits.
“What? You look p-no, damn it, you look phenomenal,” he stumbles again over his words. “And while that pisses me off like a caveman, I might as well enjoy the view while I wait for my order.”
“What is with you?” I ask, watching him manspread in his chair like a king. A tanned, angry, muscular king who knows how to chop wood and sling a sledgehammer. So sexy. He frowns at my question so I explain. “You never said stuff like that when we were, you know, married? And going to events all the time? When I was younger and thinner and wearing way prettier dresses than this.”
“Hey, you’ve never looked prettier. Never. Pretty much kills me that you’re in the prime of your life looking like that and dating other people.” he says quickly, without any of his previous hesitation. “But I know. I know I was an idiot for never saying it out loud. I should have, when you wore your tank tops and your tiny little pajama shorts. And your favorite ugly sweatpants. And the fancy dresses too. I should have said something every morning when you walked into the bathroom, and again every night when you came to bed with your face covered in that shiny stuff.”
“Serum,” I say, not thinking. Not really able to think.
“I’m not going to tell you how sorry I am again. I’m just going to show you. And keep getting better.”
“Better?”
“At communicating.”
I can feel my mouth hanging open after yet another unbelievably long string of words out of his mouth. I take a few sips of water. He raises the glass across from me and winks.
Winks?!
And then says under his breath, “Here’s looking at you…”
“Kid,” I finish the movie line automatically.
Okay movie lines now?
Wait.
Wait wait wait wait.
What if…
Is he… is Adam You’ve Got Mail- ing me?!
Pearce isn’t here. But my husband— ex-husband— somehow is. Way across town at a weird time. Those are some heavy odds.
And he’s telling me his feelings. And quoting movie lines?
I stifle a gasp at the possibility.
“Um, I need to check on something,” I say as I turn over my phone.
“Okay,” Adam narrows his eyes at me for a beat before looking down at the menu.
I open the LVR app.
BoomerSuener: Everything all right? Check in, I’m worried.
I hold my breath and watch. Adam’s hands are both on his menu. His phone is tucked away. I listen for a buzz. I watch for a reaction, a notification on his smart watch, something.
But then the reply comes through.
Sooner89: Yes, all good now just a lot of clean up. I’m so sorry.
BoomerSuener: Just glad you’re okay.
So.
Not Adam.
I should feel relieved. But that…that’s not what I’m feeling.
I’m disappointed?! Really, Susan? Still pining for this grouch after all these years? Get a grip!
“What are you getting?” Adam asks as soon as I put my phone down.
“I…I don’t think I want anything.”
He works his jaw and glances at my phone face down on the table before locking eyes with me. “Don’t let that asshole—who I hope you dump like a sack of cement mix—ruin your lunch. Stay and eat something amazing.”
I shake my head. “I’m just not hungry anymore.”
“All right,” He says, and then the server arrives. He grins at her before taking charge. “My wife and I had an emergency pop up, we’ll need our orders to-go please. Can we each get your famous sampler…”
He goes on to order a few sides and desserts that all sound amazing, one set for each of us. She leaves and he starts on a funny story about the boys’ most recent T-ball practice. Neither of us ever gets to see practice, only games, so, after the surprise that he took time out of his schedule to watch, I find myself hanging on every hilarious word.
In just a few short minutes, I’m laughing and relaxing and taken by surprise when the food shows up, all packaged and ready to go. He slips the waitress his credit card and continues our conversation, keeping things light and funny and focused on the boys.
After the check comes back, I stand and grip my food bags to me to keep him from hugging me. He doesn’t try. Instead he looks me over again, slowly. He coughs when his eyes catch on my shoes. With spots of pink appearing just above his beard, he smiles and tells me he’ll see me soon before walking out.
As I follow behind him, admiring his wide back and firm ass in those jeans, I realize it.
I didn’t correct him when he called me his wife.
And once again, when he didn’t go in for a hug or a kiss, when I should have been relieved, I was disappointed. I shake my head, trying to clear it. But it doesn’t really clear, even during the long drive back to the office.
I text with Pearce through the app and, after he apologizes profusely, we decide to meet at a diner for breakfast in two days, the morning after my trip. He said he couldn’t wait until lunch or dinner. He even offered to come up tonight but I have an HOA meeting to attend, PTO emails to answer, and bags to pack.
I throw myself into work at the office and at home, being fully present with the boys and then checking all my pre-trip lists before I turn in for the night. I finish packing and crawl into bed, but I hardly sleep. I toss and turn and mutter prayers into my pillow. Most of them are thankful that I’m headed out of town tomorrow. I need the space from Adam and the house and the memories. Space to breathe and think and find my flipping backbone.
Which is why I’m very intrigued, already exhausted, mostly irritated, and stupidly, a little excited, when I see Adam standing outside my hired car the next morning.
What now?