I feel like Mrs. O’Connor would be a bit proud.
Because I can write that check if I lose this bet fair and square and after giving it my best shot. But I know I wouldn’t be able to honor her memory with less than my best effort. So I have to keep plugging away. I have to have drinks with Milo and find more social activities, and I have to figure out how to write a cookbook proposal that at least fakes a belief that I have something of value to add to that oversaturated marketplace.
And if I’m going to do all of that? I’m going to need chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.
Since tomorrow is my free night, I figure I will swing by Teresa’s and visit, and as I recall, she always loved chocolate too. So tonight? I’m going to do a final test of my triple-chocolate chewies, dark chocolate cookies with white and milk chocolate chips, one of the recipes I’m thinking of including in the proposal, and I just want to make them one more time to be sure they are perfect.
“C’mon, girl. Come keep Mama company while she makes some cookies for Teresa.” Simca and I both haul our carcasses off the sofa and head for the kitchen, where nothing is confusing and everything is safe and I know with total certainty who I am and what I am supposed to do.
Eleven
What time tonight?” Lynne asks when I put the phone on speaker so I can keep working. I’m just crimping the top crust over a mound of apples on the second pie.
“Six thirty for cocktails. We’ll probably sit down for dinner around seven thirty.”
“And you’re sure I can’t bring anything?”
“Lynne, you are a horrible cook. Besides, between my prep, and my mom and Aunt Claire baking and filling in with the old family favorites, we already have enough food for a dozen people and there are only the four of us!”
“Sounds more like a coven meeting than Thanksgiving,” Lynne says. I had been surprised to discover while we were visiting Teresa over the weekend that Lynne didn’t have plans for Thanksgiving. Both of Lynne’s folks are gone, and while she has open invitations from her aunts, she says that Christmas with them and the extended family is plenty of quality family time and that Thanksgiving would just be too much. Teresa and her brood go to Gio’s sister’s house, and she immediately invited Lynne to join, but I saw the panicked look on Lynne’s face and jumped in to cajole her to join me and my mom and Aunt Claire. She accepted gratefully.
“Yes, it does at that. But it is a nice quiet dinner, and we’ll all get ample leftovers.”
“Wine at least?”
“That you can do.” Lynne keeps a very well-stocked wine fridge and has impeccable taste.
“Okay, just one more thing . . . A friend of mine from California just got an extended consulting job here, doesn’t know anyone, thought I’d give him your number . . .”
“Yeah, I think your matchmaking days are over. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it after the Milo debacle!”
“He still feels terrible,” Lynne says, snorting.
“As well he should!” Milo did, indeed, text me a picture as he said he would. But it wasn’t of his face. I was shocked. Then I was disgusted. Then I quickly replied to cancel the date.
“It was an accident, he just clicked the wrong picture,” Lynne says.
“Okay, the mere fact that such a thing is even possible completely squicks me out. You get that, right?”
“Completely. But at least he wasn’t trying to send you a dick pic on purpose.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes it so much better. No more fix-ups from you for now; lady, you are on probation.”
“Well, at least he didn’t take you on a date to his mother’s house.” Lynne is really laughing now.
Sigh. Cousin Joey’s friend Angelo called shortly after the Milo incident and was so respectful and sweet that I agreed to a date. And he did indeed take me to dinner at his mother’s house. It felt like an arranged marriage. It was the most awkward evening possible, with Angelo and I trying to get to know each other while his mother kept shoveling more masses of gummy, congealed lasagna onto our plates. Teresa was almost as mortified as Lynne was about the pornographic accident, and apparently Cousin Joey got quite the piece of her mind.
“Yeah, both of you are on the no-fly list for fix-ups. I’ll see you tonight.”
This doesn’t bother me in the least, because Shawn and I have had five more dates in the past two weeks, and it just keeps getting better and better. He took me for steaks at Boeufhaus, followed by ice cream sundaes at Margie’s. The next morning I met him for the swimming workout class and I was stunned at the sheer glory of his body, his muscles beautifully defined under smooth skin, with just the tiniest bit of softness over his abs keeping him at least a bit human. And, despite my concern about the form my own form is in, my new Miraclesuit bathing suit with a zillion internal panels kept everything reasonably locked down and Shawn’s gaze was all I needed to let the self-consciousness melt away. He looked at me the way I look at chocolate cake.
Our mutual competitive natures kicked in as soon as the class started, both of us working hard, encouraging each other, and pushing ourselves to the limit. Showered and changed, we had a hearty breakfast at the club café before heading to work, and Shawn, as I had hoped, asked me out for that Saturday night. We went to dinner and a movie, and made out like teenagers. We both had busy schedules last week—I had to begin Thanksgiving prep and spend some time keeping Teresa company while her sisters-in-law went through her house like cleaning machines, but we talked on the phone every day. We went to a play Friday night and on Sunday we had brunch and walked the 606 trail.
Today he is with his family, but he is coming to my house later tonight for a nightcap after we are both done with family obligations. Which has me all freaked out, since I’m pretty sure tonight is the night we are likely to actually fully consummate this relationship. Because I like him. I really like him. And I trust him. He has been such a gentleman, has taken the physical part of our relationship so gently and slowly, that now, instead of being nervous about going to bed with him, I’m beyond ready, I’m eager. I haven’t been eager since Bernard. And it is that very eagerness that scares me most.
I still haven’t told anyone about him. I mean, Lawrence knows, and has been wonderful about not prying. He is glad we connected and doesn’t push for information. Teresa and Lynne know I’m generically “dating,” obviously, for the bet. I send them pics of movie and theater tickets and menus at restaurants so that I get credit, but all they know is that Lawrence is doing a good job of fixing me up. I haven’t mentioned any of it to my mom or Aunt Claire. I’ve convinced myself that until Shawn and I are sleeping together it isn’t a real thing, so I don’t have to fess up to anyone about him. I don’t know why I’m still so skittish about telling them I’ve met someone who has real potential, but I think in some ways I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.