“See what I mean?”
“What I’m saying is, how do you know you won’t like a fling? You’ve never tried it. And if you start having ‘feelings,’ you just end it before they’re too much.”
I put my cup down and blew on the surface of the latte until the foam was a white crescent against the edge. Francine sounded logical and right. What could it hurt?
“I saw Carl the other night,” I said.
“I know,” she replied, sitting back.
Carl and Larry were still friends. We hadn’t split our friends in the breakup. We just kept all the hurt feelings away from friends we shared. Except Francine. She was a vault.
“How did you feel about it?” she asked.
She was a vault for Carl as well. If Carl told Larry anything and Larry shared it with Francine, I’d never know.
“I looked awesome,” I said, meaning every word. I’d even felt beautiful. “He did too. He was with this girl. Woman. Big tits and lips.”
I didn’t have big tits. Mine were great, perfect for me, but not Ds. And my lips were also fine, but not Angelina Jolie pillow pets. Was that what Carl had been looking for?
I realized I didn’t care. That was new. I used to use all of my shortcomings as a reason to beat myself up about Carl, and now, in the coffee shop with Francine, I just didn’t care what kind of woman he wanted that I wasn’t.
“What did Jim think?” Francine asked. “Did he paw you to make Carl jealous?”
“He was with Michelle. I was talking to Dash at that point. I have to say, I’ve seen Carl a few times since we split up, and every time it gets easier. He looks more together, and it gets easier anyway.”
She reached across the table and held my wrist. Her hand was warm from her cup of chocolate. “You’re ready.” She tilted her head to make eye contact. “I know you think I’ve always thought you were ready. But I knew you were hurting, and I was looking for a Band-Aid. This is different. I know you don’t believe it. I know it’s hard. But I mean it this time. You’re ready.”
I let her hand stay there. Maybe I was ready to look for a man again. But I wasn’t ready to throw my body around until April. I hadn’t changed that much. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Francine whispered back. “I know, and that never goes away.”
twelve
Vivian
I couldn’t keep my mind on my work. I had a stack of books to get back on the shelves and a bunch of late notices to slip into backpacks. Iris had eaten two apples during recess and four after lunch. Which was fine, but now I had to get more. I had to write requisitions for new books. I had a proposal with the public library pending that would have them send a book for every child off the semester’s reading list. I could do all of it. I wasn’t overwhelmed, necessarily.
You’re ready.
By Wednesday morning, the physical memory of him had faded and been replaced by the plain intellectual excitement of seeing his texts. We were reading Goalpost together. I couldn’t keep up with him, but trying was so fun that I’d been up late again on Tuesday night, talking about the characters and making predictions. It wasn’t my usual romance fare, but I didn’t miss the alpha guy getting the girl, losing the girl, getting the girl. A break was nice once in a while.
I got the go-ahead to send an email to all the third-grade parents about the missing glove. By lunch, I was catching up on all the things I’d let slide in my Dash-induced haze when Iris came in with a plastic grocery bag.
“Lo siento, se?orita Foster.” She apologized, placing the bag on my desk, head hanging like a puppy.
I knew what was in the bag. I asked her why without even opening it. “?Por qué?”
“El pin era rosa. El color rosa es de ni?as.”
I tried not to laugh. This was serious. She shouldn’t have stolen, even if the glove had a pink pin and pink was for girls. There would be a punishment for sure, but I hoped to keep it gentle. Consequences were important, but Iris could get derailed easily. Her parents were very strict already.
“In English, Iris.”
She screwed up her eyes and made her brain work. Good sport. She never fought hard work. “I was just looking at it.”
“Under the table?”
“Si. Yes. I put it on my hand. There was a pink pin. Pink is for girls.”
“So you took it?”
She hung her head, nodding.
I opened the bag and was flooded by a smell I’d forgotten. Dash Wallace. I tried not to groan in front of Iris. Opening the glove, I saw a little hole in the leather but no pin anywhere. I took it out of the bag completely and inspected it.
“Where’s the pin?”
She didn’t say anything. I assumed that was what she’d been talking about when she mentioned the color. She understood English well enough to look at the carpet in shame.
“Iris? There was a princess pin.”
“My brother flushed it down the toilet.”
Uh-oh.