“I was right behind him, but yes, he did.” I can tell Ron is proud. “It didn’t take him long at all to find his legs. Now, if I can just get a stick in his hands…”
I give him an encouraging smile while he unfolds his long-term plan to get Max to the NHL. As I take a sip of my insanely delicious wine (seriously, if you can ever find a bottle, you will not be disappointed) I glance back over to the Fancy table. They are sitting across from each other, but are both leaning in. Kim seems to be doing a lot of talking while the dashing David just nods and listens. Is she reprimanding him for his affair? Is she telling him that she smacked his mistress around? That he better not dare step out on her again or there will be hell to pay? Damn, I wish my lip-reading skills were better. Or, you know, existent. The waiter, walking to our table, interrupts my view.
“Petite filet for the lady and porterhouse for you, sir. Enjoy.” He turns on his heel and walks away just as a second waiter arrives with our side dishes and of course, my onion rings. We dig in.
Dinner is so good I forget about the Fancys across the room. Ron regales me with tales from the trenches of retail and has me howling over an incident with a woman who wanted to return a tennis racket because she said it didn’t improve her game.
“How long had she been using it?”
“About a year.” Ron shakes his head. “The grip was worn down and everything. She threatened to call the Better Business Bureau if I didn’t give her a refund.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told her this wasn’t Costco and that there was no proof she had even bought the racket at our store, but I’d be happy to sell her a new one with a forty percent discount.”
“That was generous.”
“What are you going to do? Even a bad customer is still a customer.”
I drain my wineglass and sigh contentedly.
“Thank you, my darling, for this do-over dinner. I love you so very much.”
Ron grins. “Now, that’s the booze talking, but you are so very welcome.”
As we stand to leave, I look around to see that we are just about the last table in the restaurant. I love when that happens. You get into a cocoon of conversation and the entire world disappears around you.
Ron heads to the bathroom and I check my phone. There’s a text from Don.
???
I get a tight feeling in my stomach. How could I even think about having coffee with another man after such an amazing evening with my husband? He doesn’t deserve that. I text back immediately.
Nope. Sorry. Very busy day.
I put the phone back in my purse as Ron joins me.
“Everything okay at home?” he asks, assuming I was checking in on Max. Jesus, strike two. I really need to get my head out of my ass.
I nod to him and can only hope I’m right.
*
Ron has a tight hold on me as we walk through the parking lot. Half a bottle of wine is a lot for me, and I’m a little unsteady. A car pulls up beside us.
“We meet again.” Kim Fancy’s voice floats from inside a silver Mercedes. “We saw you guys in the restaurant, but you seemed so deep in conversation that we didn’t want to disturb you.”
“We’re celebrating Scoundrel’s Night,” I say with a slight slur. “How ’bout you?”
I hear a snort from the dashing David, who is behind the wheel.
“Nice,” he says to Ron appreciatively.
“I don’t get it.” Kim sounds annoyed.
Ron decides to explain.
“We’re celebrating Valentine’s a day early. Same with you guys?”
Kim Fancy lets out a very unFancy-like guffaw.
“God, no. Tomorrow I expect to be going somewhere much nicer than this place.”
And once again I’m reminded why I don’t like Kim Fancy.
15
* * *
To: Miss Ward’s Class
From: AChang
Date: 2/20
Subject: Class trip
Hello, parents,
I’m sorry to interrupt your week-long celebration of Mr. Lincoln’s birthday, but I have not yet heard from any of you regarding chaperoning the class trip to the Underground Railroad Museum on February 28. I have, however, heard from many of you about the absence of a Valentine’s party in the classroom. Miss Ward, who does not like to celebrate Valentine’s Day, was not in favor of a party. I’m sure you parents were more disappointed than the children.
Anyway, I would like to know who is volunteering for the class trip. Even if you have been on a previous class trip, you can volunteer again.
Thank you,
Asami
* * *
I’m finding Asami’s class mom emails more and more intriguing. She obviously caught shit for not having a Valentine’s Day party. I knew it was never going to happen, given Miss Ward’s aversion to “Hallmark holidays.” But seeing her beg for volunteers (oh yes, I would say opening it up to me and Peetsa is her way of begging) is interesting. I think Asami is learning the hard way that (creds to the great Erma Bombeck) the grass is always greener over the septic tank. She will get no more grief from me. She is clearly getting enough from everyone else. Looks like karma found its target after all.
*
I can barely look at Garth as we work out on Monday. I know, and he knows I know, and neither of us has said anything. It’s very distracting, picturing Garth naked and sweaty on top of Nina. I blanch for the fiftieth time in the past hour and try to keep my focus on the task at hand, which is using all my body weight to try and push Garth over.
“Come on Jen, push! Push me like you hate me!”
That’s it. I double over laughing. I can’t help myself.
“Is that how you sweet-talked Nina?” I’m panting and laughing at the same time.
Garth gives me a pensive look. “Why, yes, it was, but I said it with a growl. It’s pretty sexy when I growl.”
I stand up and hug him—for the first time, I think. “I’m guessing it must be.”
I grab a towel from the nearby dirty laundry basket and wipe off my face and arms.
“I’m really happy for you guys. It’s a big move for Nina.”
“For me, too,” Garth says, and his sincerity makes me want to know more.
“When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“A girlfriend? Probably ten years.”
“That’s quite a dry spell.” Have I mentioned I enjoy stating the obvious?
Garth laughs. “That’s putting it mildly. But it wasn’t exactly dry. I kept company with some very nice ladies over the years.”
I guess that’s his polite way of saying he slept around, which doesn’t sit well with me at all.
“I hope that’s not what Nina is.”
I can see the surprise register on his face.
“I don’t know what she is yet. But I know I like her very much and I’m pretty sure she likes me.”
I chew my cheek and debate whether I should say more or shut up. Sadly, saying more wins out.
“Well, you should know that she hasn’t ‘kept company’”—I make air quotes—“with anyone since Sid left, so, whatever your feelings are, please keep that in mind.”
And then I see it in his eyes. I have managed to piss off the nicest guy in the world.
He takes a deep breath.
“Jen, I know Nina is your best friend, but I think you should just keep out of it, at least until we figure it out.” He turns and starts putting equipment away.