“I know you’ve suffered a terrible loss, and I hate to intrude on that. But I’ve had several clients inquire about homes for sale in the neighborhood.”
I wait. Because while I appreciate the casseroles and her concern and all, I’m not remotely ready to even think about selling my house.
“And it occurred to me that you might be considering downsizing in view of . . .” Her voice trails off. “In view of Nate’s death. And the fact that your children live in other cities.”
She flashes me a comforting yet hopeful smile. “I wondered if you’d consider allowing an out-of-state client of mine to take a look even though it’s not listed. Yet.”
My hand closes on the knob. It takes everything I have not to tell her just how tasteless her casseroles were and how much her timing sucks.
Instead I put on a “bless your heart” smile, which Southern women are born knowing and those of us who are transplants take years to master. Then I say, “Why, that is so considerate of you to think of me. But I’m afraid I’m just not ready to have strangers in my home. I’ll be sure to let you know if that ever changes.” I hold on to the smile until the door is closed.
Then I stomp around the house in righteous indignation, which leaves some footprints in the carpet that will no doubt thrill Rosaria. After that I call Meena.
“Oh my gosh, Jude. It was absolutely heavenly,” she says when I finish griping about my Realtor-neighbor and ask for more nitty-gritty about her vacation than we were able to get to at the Braves game.
“And Frank? What was it like being together for a whole week?”
“It was amazing. Honestly, we had the most fun. He talks to everyone, only not because he’s trying to sell something but because he’s interested. And he wants to explore and do things. We went on excursions and tours and . . . he actually likes to dance.” Her voice lowers. “And I’m just going to come out and say it—the man is really good in bed.”
I try and fail to imagine myself naked in front of . . . anyone. But I feel the oddest twinge of what might be jealousy. That Meena is putting herself out there. At how she’s bounced back from her divorce and created a whole new life for herself.
“One night he even brought up the idea of being exclusive.”
Exclusive. Just one of a whole new set of dating vocabulary.
“Does that mean you’re not going to do online dating anymore?”
“I don’t think people automatically take their profile down because they’re seeing someone. I’m not looking to get married or anything. I don’t see why I shouldn’t just enjoy his company and see where it leads.”
“Goodness. How adult of you.” I say it teasingly, but I am impressed.
She laughs. “It’s a whole new ball game, that’s for sure. But I’m putting myself first for the first time in my life, and I’m having such a good time. I can’t see where there’s any harm in that. You hear about all these online dating scams and everything, but I think that’s just people who don’t do their homework or pay close enough attention.”
I’ve always admired Meena’s self-confidence. I wish I had even a tenth of her certainty about anything right now.
“Anyway, Annell has offered the use of the carriage house Saturday afternoon for what I’m calling Online Dating 101. I just sent out an email to the whole book club. A young photographer I found has offered to shoot profile pictures for anyone who’s interested. I hope you’ll come.”
“I’m not ready to think about putting the house on the market. I’m even less ready to think about dating. Nate hasn’t been gone that long.” I shudder. “It’s not just disrespectful, but as angry as I was at him . . .” Damned tears blur my vision. “I’ve started dreaming about him, Meena. And remembering the good parts of him. And our life together. And . . .”
“Aww, sweetie,” she says quietly. “There was a lot of good in Nate. And your life was so much more than the way it ended. That’s your subconscious working on it for you. You’re going to be all right. I know you are. And there’s no rush for you to do or change one more thing until you’re ready.
“But I think you should come on Saturday. Just to hear what it’s all about and maybe to cheer on whoever decides to give online dating a try. It should be fun. And really,” she says in true Meena fashion, “what have you got to lose?”
Twenty-Seven
Sara
The appointment with my attorney on Friday afternoon is not the day brightener I’m hoping for. When it’s over, I drive home in a noxious fog of gloom. In the garage, I turn off the engine and lay my forehead on the steering wheel, gathering my thoughts, looking for something positive enough to lift that fog.
When I finally enter the kitchen, I’m hit by the unexpected scent of food. Specifically, my nose tells me, Thai food. Dorothy is standing by the kitchen table smiling, which seems to be happening with increasing frequency.
“Is that . . .” I sniff again. “That’s not pad thai I smell, is it?”
She nods. “We’ve got panang chicken, too.”
The fact that she pronounces both dishes properly is almost as surprising as the fact that those dishes are here. Ethnic food is not Dorothy’s thing. I didn’t even know whether she’d eat Thai food or not until I ordered in from my favorite place the other night.
“I used the Uber Eats app you set up on my phone,” she says proudly. “You were right. It did come in handy. And it wasn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be.”
I’m not sure what stuns me most. Her acknowledgment that I was right. Or the fact that she actually used the app that she professed to see no need for. But as she steps aside, I see the takeout cartons on the kitchen table along with plates and silverware. And even more importantly, given the day I’ve had, an open bottle of wine.
“That’s so great. Thank you. I’m starving and I . . . I really appreciate you organizing dinner.”
“Can’t have you getting hangry.” She smiles again as I wash my hands at the sink. “I think that’s actually quite a clever portmanteau,” she says, using the French word for combining two very different words. “Don’t you?”
“Absolutely. And I’m glad to be sharing a meal with one of the few people I’ve met who not only knows the word ‘portmanteau’ but how to pronounce it.”
“If you read enough books, you learn all kinds of things.” She laughs, once again emitting a sound that’s becoming almost as frequent as her smiles.
We take our seats, and although I’ve been careful to keep my wine consumption to one glass a day since our supercharged Superica experience, I pour us both a full glass, then raise mine in her direction. “Thank you for the meal and the company. This is by far the best thing that has happened today.”