He smiles with wicked white teeth, judging by his tone. “I’m everybody’s type.”
“The fact that you think so just confirms you’re definitely not hers. Maybe you’re the next candidate for the Sasaki Method,” Melanie fires back at him, and I feel a moment of real, actual fear as I look in the fridge. Teddy out in the world. Teddy dating, being funny and charming. I mean, he always has been. But I know him now, and I don’t think I want him to. Oh no.
Then Melanie makes the feeling worse. “I just assumed you don’t have a girlfriend. If you do, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“If I did, do you think I’d be curled up on a sixty-year-old mattress in the middle of nowhere? Eating”— crunch, crunch, crunch— “stolen handfuls of tortoise lettuce?”
I’m walking back out with replenishments when Renata rounds the corner with a bottle of wine in her scooter’s basket and a single empty glass in her fist. “I’m here. Open this bottle,” she tasks Teddy seamlessly.
“Hi, Fashion Victim. I think your wig’s on sideways,” Melanie says and she’s right. Renata has wispy bangs over one ear.
“At my age, sideways is good enough.” Renata edges her scooter up to the table, not planning to dismount. “This is most civilized. What have I missed?”
I reply, “You missed out on me signing a very creative waiver, and we’re about to start on Week 1 of the Sasaki Method. If Mel will actually explain what that means.”
Melanie seems to compose herself for a moment, taking a new sheet out of her secret folder. “Week 1, of an eight-week program,” she announces like an infomercial, but then falters. Renata’s presence has knocked her confidence. It’s understandable. The woman could make a billionaire CEO stare into a mirror.
“It’s okay,” I encourage her.
Melanie turns through the pages. She says quietly, “Just a reminder that I’ve never done this before.”
“Pitch it,” Renata instructs. “Sell it.” Big cracker crunch. In this moment, she’s young again, at the head of a board table as her quivering staff present a mock-up of the next HOT OR NOT magazine cover.
I say to Melanie, “Just explain it to me.”
She begins. “When I thought about Ruthie, I decided that she needs to ease into this. So with that in mind, we will do different weekly activities, with a real date with a guy being the goal at the four-week midpoint. By the end of the eight weeks, I’d like to see her happily dating a really nice guy who’s into her, and she won’t need the Method anymore. Look at my first worksheet.” We all lean over it. “Ruthie will write down all the qualities she wants in a man, the sorts of things she’d enjoy doing on dates and any deal breakers. There’s a bunch of columns and lists for her to fill out here. We know she’s good at that.”
“Four weeks? Eight?” Renata is unimpressed. “What about now?”
I make eye contact with Teddy. He’s giving me that same feeling as I had at the gas station when he looked me up and down: like he’s squeezing, pausing, assessing.
Melanie’s printed out a calendar. “We’re here. By Week 6, Ruthie should have a date to the Christmas party. And by Week 8, it will be New Year’s Day. She might be waking up with somebody.” She winks, smirks, laughs. All of the above.
I ask Teddy, “Well, what do you think? Is eight weeks achievable?”
“Too achievable.” He scowls darkly and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “What if you get ahead of schedule? Don’t forget about our thin wall.”
“You’ll be long gone,” Melanie says to him dismissively. “What do you care.”
“I guess I will be.” To have the actual timeline of our remaining neighborly arrangement laid out for me in project software is quite daunting. All the more reason to lean into this process with diligence. There’s got to be one single guy in this entire town who isn’t planning on leaving ASAP.
Renata is struggling to cut into the firm cheddar. “Eight weeks is ridiculous. Find your person today.” The frailty of her arm stretched between us does give me a moment of pause.
To ignore her advice is fairly arrogant, given how long she’s been alive. I’m just considering whether an all-in approach is the better way forward when she loses her temper and says: “For God’s sake, someone with bone density cut this cheese for me. Now, what about the Parloni Method.” (We all brace ourselves.) “Go down to the bar and find someone whose teeth don’t repulse you. Boy or girl, doesn’t matter. Go home, take all your clothes off, roll around together. It’s how we did things back in the day.”
She holds out a regal hand until Teddy places a preloaded cracker in it. “I bet Panda Bear has rolled around in a fair few beds.”
“That’s sexual harassment,” I remind her. “He’s your employee.”
Teddy just shrugs. “She can’t harass me with the truth.” Is he expecting me to be scandalized? I already knew that. There’s no way a guy with this face and nuclear charm hasn’t been in every kind of bed, from sleeping bag to four-poster.
I don’t let myself look away. If I do, he’ll think I’m an inexperienced little kid. Right now, in this light, his eyes are neither brown nor green. What’s this in-between color called?
“But not lately,” he promises me. “I don’t roll around in beds anymore.”
“I’ll translate that for ya.” Renata’s gaze slides sideways to me and she tips all her wine into her mouth. Gulp. “He wants to roll around in your bed, Ruthie. Christ, does that sincere tone actually work out for you, Ted?”
Into the walkie-talkie, Teddy replies: “10–6, stand by on that, over.”
I know why they’re all laughing now. It’s funny because my bed is not very roll-worthy. I laugh, too, to show I’m a good sport, but I think I’m blushing just the same. Would he even fit in my bed? Who am I kidding. He’d fit himself in anywhere.
Melanie takes me through my worksheet. She’s put a lot of effort into it. When the air is getting chilly and the first mosquito makes its descent, Melanie turns to me as she gathers up her things. “I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor in return. You can say no.”
I nod as I help Renata into her jacket. “Go ahead.”
“With my contract ending in December, it’s made me realize I want to find my dream job. I’ve been temping for so long, I think I’ve just confused myself about what I enjoy. Can you kinda do a Midona Method on me?”
My heart squeezes at the vulnerability in her voice. She has this much faith in me? And she’s scared I’m about to say no? I think I’d walk through traffic for Melanie Sasaki.
“I only wish you’d asked me earlier, so I could have been as prepared as you were. How about this. You complete this worksheet, too, but for jobs. Turn-ons— what do you enjoy? Turnoffs— what will you never do? I’d love to help you find your dream job, Mel.”
My eyes settle on the tortoise rehabilitation zone in my courtyard. Six-year-old me would be horrified to hear that administration is my “dream job.” Little Kid Ruthie would have marched right into Teddy’s living room and snatched up that Reptiles for Dummies book.