I’m sipping my drink and waiting, while pretending not to, when there’s a stir at the entrance. I turn and see Josh hugging Katrina. Slapping old friends on the back. Butting foreheads with Ty. His dark hair is short and spiky. Just the right amount of stubble edges his face. He’s wearing jeans with a plain white T-shirt under a really great-looking black blazer. That I didn’t help him pick out. Another reminder that he’s living his own life and seems more than able to fend for himself.
I don’t make a move toward him, but I don’t move away, either. I become aware that everyone’s watching us, waiting to see what will happen. I don’t care.
He looks me up and down as he approaches. His smile creases the dimple that cuts into his left cheek. When he stops in front of me, he gives a slow shake of his head and a low whistle. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks.” In the past I would have been talking a mile a minute, smiling my happiness to see him, easing us into conversation. I just smile and mentally adjust my tiara.
“You wore that dress to our engagement party.”
“Yes, I did.” I tip my head back so that I can look into his whiskey-brown eyes, like I have a million times. I see the confusion in their depths. He came prepared for anger or hurt or, worst-case scenario, tears. It never occurred to him that I might be okay.
“You were a force last night,” I say honestly. “I couldn’t believe you struck out their whole side.”
The dimple flashes. “I couldn’t believe it myself. It was like an out-of-body experience.” He drops his voice so that only I can hear. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be there or not, but I hoped you would.”
“I don’t think I could have missed it. Not after all those years that we dreamed about you one day pitching for the Braves.”
“I’m not sure I would have even had that dream if it weren’t for you. You always believed in me more than I did. I was along for the ride.” He shoves his hands in his jean pockets. His eyes search mine.
“Are you sorry you took the trip?” I meet his gaze, but my knees are kind of weak. There’s an old flutter in my stomach.
“God, no. It’s an unbelievable rush. Of course it’s not as much fun when you give up runs and hits. I discovered that in Houston and Boston.”
“Nobody’s perfect.” I smile.
“You always acted like I was.”
“Couldn’t help it.” I shrug.
“I’m not, you know.” There’s regret and a whole lot of other things packed into those four words.
“Yeah, I figured that out when you called off the wedding.”
He winces. A totally attractive crinkling of his brown eyes that’s hard to look away from. “That wasn’t about you. I was lucky to have you. To be loved that completely. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I just wasn’t ready. And it seemed wrong to marry you under false pretenses.”
I nod. Because really, what can you say to that?
“But you know, last night after the game, you were the person I wanted to tell what it felt like.” He barely hesitates before he adds, “The person I wanted to make love to.”
His eyes hold mine. I feel a way too familiar pull of what I’m pretty sure is lust. My emotions are less clear.
“After the drinking and celebrating, you mean,” I say, trying for a teasing tone I can’t quite pull off.
“Well, yeah,” he admits. “But you were in my head the whole time. And you’ll always be in my heart.” He moves closer, close enough to whisper. Everybody else disappears. “Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake. Calling things off. Giving you up.”
My body sways toward his. I inhale his scent. For an agonizing moment, all I want is to bury my head in his chest and feel his arms go around me.
Then I actually register his words, their meaning. They’re all about him. What he did. What he wants. What he lost.
I step back. With trembling hands, I smooth down the sides of my dress and look up into his eyes. “No, Josh. You were right. I set my heart on you way too early and held on too tight to something that . . . well, what kind of decision-making can you expect from a six-year-old?”
Surprise is evident on his face. I don’t know what shows on mine. Relief? Regret? A newfound confidence? I feel and am no doubt telegraphing all of those things at once.
If this were a movie, the music would swell. We’d give each other one last lingering smoldering look. I’d turn and walk away. The screen would fade to black.
But this is real life. So what actually happens is my brother Tyler walks over, throws an arm around Josh’s shoulders, and says, “Come on, man. There are drinks lined up and waiting for you.”
Then this brother, who only months ago offered to maim Josh on my behalf, turns to me and asks, “You got a couple extra dollars I can borrow for liar’s poker?”
“I got you, man,” Josh says as I shake my head at Ty.
“Brothers,” I tease. “It’s a miracle you don’t go out without your head.”
I look up and see Katrina standing in the midst of an absolute gaggle of my friends. She waves me over. I turn and walk—it’s possible I even strut just a little bit—toward a great big group of my very best girlfriends.
Judith
The front doorbell rings bright and early Monday morning, not long after Ansley’s daily text dings in.
I press my face to the front door peephole and see Susan Mandell, Realtor and head of the River Forge Bereavement Committee. Coincidence? I think not. Especially because she’s delivered numerous casseroles since Nate died and every one of them had her business card taped to the foil.
She’s not the only Realtor who appears to rely on obituaries in search of possible listings. My voice mail is full of calls apologizing for bothering me in my time of sorrow while offering to help take the worry of selling my home off my hands.
Of course, Susan does have the home court advantage, since she lives three doors down and I am the only person currently living in River Forge who has a house that’s obviously too big for her and no husband to help with upkeep or to argue against listing it.
I open the door a crack and poke my head out.
“Good morning. How are you?” she asks perkily.
“I’m all right, thank you.” This has become my stock reply because I’ve learned that this is all anyone who isn’t Meena or a long-standing member of my book club really wants to hear.
We stare at each other. I’m greatly relieved that she hasn’t brought another casserole, because Rosaria won’t touch them anymore and because the lack of casserole relieves me of the obligation to invite her in. “What’s up?”