“He did when you originally brought it up,” he points out.
“Yeah. But the time wasn’t right,” I concede, shocked that I’m willing to admit to having made a mistake in front of this man. I hesitate before confiding the rest. “And I was thinking too small.”
With that admission, I charge forward, letting one idea lead to another until we’re actively brainstorming, arguing and rearguing, looking for holes.
Rich Hanson knows how to look at an opportunity from every possible angle, and I realize that I’m enjoying hashing this out with someone who knows how to form a cogent argument and doesn’t cling to an idea just because it’s his.
Erin delivers fresh coffee and desserts as promised with one last reminder that she’s leaving. I pop a mini cupcake into my mouth and chew it while I visualize turning the idea I once dreamed of into reality.
“How do you eat all the crap you do without putting on weight?” Rich asks.
I shrug, still thinking about the academy. “Metabolism, I guess. And these are not crap.” I hold up a perfectly formed, beautifully iced cupcake. “These are tasty items loaded with deliciousness and energy.”
“And sugar.”
“Yes, definitely sugar.” I lick the icing off my fingers. Then I challenge him on the ratio of coaches to players he suggests. The number of hard courts versus clay. At what point we might need to add an agent who specializes in tennis.
We argue about pretty much everything. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun at a meeting. Ever.
My phone alarm goes off in the middle of a debate about rankings. He knows a lot more about tennis than I want to give him credit for. Clearly, he’s not one to shirk on homework.
I’m about to make a point when I remember what the alarm was for. I glance down at my watch and jump to my feet. “Damn. Sorry. I’ve got to pick up Maya at Chastain.” I shove my files under one arm. “We’re going to have to finish this another time.”
“Sure. No problem.” He stands. “Go ahead. I’ll clean the rest of this stuff up.”
“Thanks.” I drop my files in my office and grab my purse. Then I race down to the parking garage, my keys already out to beep the BMW open. I’m reaching for the door handle when I notice that I’ve got a flat. Damn.
I start to speed-dial Erin when I remember that she’s gone. I consider calling an Uber or Lyft, but neither are ever as fast as you need them to be. I look down the row of cars and spot Rich Hanson’s. It’s an Aston Martin convertible. Midnight blue. Sleek and curvy. Even more penile than Kyle Anderson’s. I hit speed dial. When he answers, I explain.
“Be right there.”
And he is. “How did you get here so fast?”
“I was already in the elevator.” He looks down at my flat front tire. Then he tosses me his keys and reaches for mine. “You go get her. I’ll change your tire.”
My eyes narrow. “I do know how to change a tire.”
“I’m sure you do. If you want, you can stay here and prove it while I go pick up Maya.” He’s grinning.
He follows behind me as I stride to his car. “Just be careful. It accelerates like . . .”
“Men get so protective about their cars.” I lower myself into the driver’s seat, breathe in that expensive, über-masculine new car smell, and press the starter. The engine roars throatily to life.
He motions to me. I lower the window.
“Seriously,” he says. “You barely want to touch the gas pedal.”
“Got it. Be right back.” Then I smile and intentionally peel out of the parking garage like a bat out of hell.
Thirty
Judith
Meena’s already seated and waiting when I arrive at Marlow’s Tavern for lunch. It was always our go-to when she lived in River Forge because it’s only about five or six minutes from the neighborhood, it’s in the middle of a shopping district, and—asparagus fries!
“Thanks for coming out to the burbs,” I say as I slide into the banquette.
“No problem. It’s good to take a stroll down memory lane now and then. A good chunk of my life took place here. I expect it’ll always feel ‘homish.’”
“Homish.” I repeat the word, letting it roll off my tongue. “That’s how our house feels to me right now. Homelike, but not really home. It changed the night Nate died, and it hasn’t felt the same since.”
Meena reaches over the table and squeezes my hand. “The condo felt that way for a while after Stan moved out. And we hadn’t even been there that long.” She winces. “And, of course, he wasn’t gone completely.”
“It’s all right,” I say when I see her getting ready to apologize. “I know what you meant. Tell me what’s going on with the kids.”
We catch up on our four until the waiter comes to take our order.
“Okay,” I say as he departs, “I want all the juicy details. And I want to see pictures. I’ve never been on the Mayan Riviera or on a vacation with anyone besides Nate.”
She laughs and picks up her phone. “Okay. Here’s where we stayed.” She scrolls through photos, and I legitimately ooh and aah over shots of sparkling clear green water and fine-white-sand beaches. A private casita.
Then come shots of Meena smiling here and posing there. A selfie shows her grinning up at the camera with a man, presumably Frank, pressed in behind her with his arms wrapped around her, his hands clasped at her waist. His face is buried in her neck.
Another shows her at a crowded table in a restaurant. “Oh, Frank took that one,” she says when I see only an empty seat next to her. “He makes friends wherever he goes. And he loves to play photographer.”
She scrolls past a few more shots of scenery to one of a man stretched out on the beach. A straw hat covers most of his face, but his chest is bare and tan, with a dusting of dark hair threaded with gray that arrows down a trim stomach until it disappears into the waistband of a pair of bathing trunks.
“Very nice.”
“Yeah.” She winks. “We had such a great time together in Mexico. He used to go there regularly with his wife. The casita we stayed in belongs to a friend of theirs. Frank hadn’t been there since his wife died four years ago. I . . . we got along so well.”
“It’s not hard to get along on vacation,” I point out as gently as I can, even as I think of all the holidays I had with Nate. How he’d stopped inviting me when he traveled for work. How angry I was when he’d gotten back from Europe.