“So, at last we meet,” he says.
“They are a persistent duo.”
“Yes. But clearly they did not exaggerate. You are most beautiful.” His gaze lingers in an appreciative but not icky way. “I understand that you are a sports agent?”
I laugh. “They didn’t send you my complete résumé?”
“Just a brief bio, I’m afraid.”
“Shocking.”
“Yes. I believe they were attempting to show restraint. But I did not require urging. I trust Jamal’s judgment in most things. And he and Thea have been truly wonderful. As a newcomer, I appreciate the hospitality and the occasional home-cooked meal.”
I blush at my own lack of hospitality and at how hard I resisted even the idea of meeting this man.
“It’s unusual to be so firmly adopted. And your sister is quite a good cook.”
“She is,” I admit. “I’m more of a dine-out and order-in person.” I look up and catch my sister watching us. Trying to hide her excitement that we seem to be hitting it off.
“We all have our individual strengths and weaknesses.” His laugh is rich and inclusive. His smile is infectious. How ironic that I might not have agreed to this date if I hadn’t been trying to put Rich Hanson in his place. One day, I’ll have to thank him.
“If you don’t stop all that smiling, Thea will have us picking out wedding china,” I warn even though I’m smiling, too. “She’s very upset that I never married.”
“She loves you and your daughter very much,” he says.
“And we love her right back. Only Thea thinks everyone has to be married in order to be happy.” I shoot a glance at my sister, who is hanging on every word. “The thing is, I have a lot on my plate, and men like Jamal aren’t that easy to find.”
“This is true,” Derrick says, seemingly unoffended.
“Are you talking smack about me?” Jamal asks.
“And if we were?” I reply.
“Just remember that I’ve known you since you were a difficult and somewhat homely child. And I’ve got pictures to prove it.”
“Ha! Derrick here was singing your praises. I told him that’s just because he doesn’t really know you yet.”
There’s laughter, then Derrick deftly changes the subject. “So, what were you doing in Dallas?”
“I have my eye on a running back out there. I went to watch him work out. Everyone thinks he’s too small. But with most teams using a two running back system, I think he could be a great addition for some team. He’s got an incredible work ethic for someone his age.”
Derrick asks intelligent questions. Most men I’m around try to impress me with their sports knowledge and fandom. Derrick admits that while he enjoys watching baseball and football, and originally left Jamaica to play basketball at Vanderbilt, he’d rather be on a beach or out on a lake than inside watching sports on television.
I like that he knows how to show interest without making a big deal of it and has no problem giving a woman the floor. In fact, he asks just enough questions about my work to demonstrate that he’s interested. But he doesn’t overdo that, either.
It’s a comfortable meal, and I realize with some surprise that it’s eased some of my angst at losing Louise. I’m enjoying the evening, if not my sister’s overjoyed expression.
When dessert has been ordered—I never miss a chance at Chef Ian’s bread pudding—my sister stands and gives me a look. “Jazmine. Can you come help me with something?”
“You need me to come with you to the ladies’ room?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. I, um, ripped my hem when we were coming in. I need some help pinning it up.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to wait until . . .”
“Now.” It’s a command and it is accompanied by a steely-eyed gaze that I’ve obeyed since childhood. “Let’s go so we can get back before these two polish off all the dessert.”
Jamal and Derrick pretend not to notice the exchange, but we all know what’s going on here.
“If I just admit that Derrick is far nicer than I was expecting and that I’m glad you forced, er, organized, this outing, can I stay here and drink my coffee?”
Derrick grins.
“She got you there!” Jamal crows to Thea.
“All right. Fine,” Thea huffs. “But I taught her better than that. There’s no need to take all the fun out of being right.”
Fourteen
Sara
Throwing Mitch’s things in the yard (the side, not the front, because—neighbors!) and watching them deteriorate in the slush hasn’t been anywhere near as satisfying as it seems in books and movies. Neither was changing the locks, since he hasn’t been in any hurry to come back to face me or his mother. But I had to do something.
So far Dorothy and I have had no meaningful conversation. We nod. Say good morning, good afternoon, good night. Both of us are still reeling from Mitch’s actions and their consequences.
I know Dorothy would love to reframe her son’s actions in some way that will make them less heinous or at least more palatable, but as difficult as she’s always been, I believe she’s intrinsically honest. Even if she could devise a suitable defense for her son twice impregnating a woman who is not his wife, I doubt she’s going to excuse his robbing her of her home in order to support that secret family.
I have my fury and my job along with a retirement account and credit cards in my own name. My car is old but paid off. He has stolen her largest and most important asset.
Although I have helped to feed and take care of her, we have no experience in comforting each other. We have been two planets orbiting her son while attempting not to collide. Now we are the collateral damage of his appalling lack of character.
I am, of course, dealing with the demise of my marriage the same way I’ve gotten through so many things in my life: by withdrawing as much as humanly possible and escaping into books. Of the six I’ve read over the last three weeks, the one I enjoyed most was Elizabeth Gilbert’s City of Girls. The lone bright spot in my immediate future is that we’ll be discussing it at book club next Tuesday night.
I’m looking for my copy when I walk into the kitchen and find Dorothy at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the bare-branched yard and the empty street beyond. City of Girls sits on the table.
“I wondered where I left that book. I can’t seem to remember anything right now. Or maybe I’m just trying so hard not to think about what happened that I can’t think at all.”