I think back to the things I’ve done and realize that, while I’ve had some good conversations and fun, I haven’t really connected with anyone and, no, I haven’t stayed in touch. “Nope.”
“Okay, so here is a group of women you already have a lot in common with. That’s a pretty good foundation. Why not make your last bet item one that might actually fulfill the idea behind the bet, instead of just checking something off the list? After all, you thought you were just dating for the bet to put a toe back into the water of a possible romantic life and you met your soul mate, for chrissakes!”
“I give! You’re right, evil pixie. I’m in. Bring me to meet the Dahms. Is there hazing? Blood ritual?”
She winks. “You’ll have to get nominated to find out.”
“What the hell. It’s the new me.”
“Nope, it’s just a slightly improved version of you, with all of the awesomeness that you’ve always been, just a bit shinier.”
She raises her pint glass to me, and I clink it with my own, thinking that for the first time since the bet started, I’m actually looking forward to a social event, without a moment’s uncertainty or the tiniest wish for a quiet night at home. This seems at once completely natural and totally monumental.
“So then you just have to mail out your cookbook things and you are all good!”
My heart sinks a bit, thinking about the dreaded tub, untouched for the past two weeks. Well, I am still a work in progress. I put on a big smile. “Yep!”
We finish our burgers and beers; she fills me in on the café opening plans, moved to the first week of June due to some unexpected construction delays. Her phone pings just as we’re paying the bill.
“Hot date?” I ask.
“Nope, just Sophie and a bunch of people are meeting up with the Girl and the Goat gang at the Paramount Room for cocktails.” She pauses. Then puts on a sly smirk. “Wanna come?”
I look her dead in the eye. “You bet.”
? ? ?
I snuggle back into Shawn’s chest, and he kisses the top of my head. “How are you feeling about it?”
I’ve just gotten back from the meet-and-greet dinner at Spiaggia with Lynne and Gabriel, and I’m mentally worn out. “I feel like they are weirdly a really good match, for all the wrong reasons.”
“Okay, so is that good or is that bad?”
“Are you okay with talking about this? I mean, I really want to talk to you about this, but I can completely understand if you don’t want to.”
“Lynne and I are ancient history, and whatever sadness I had about that failing has long been replaced with relief that I got out before I lost more time. Especially in the last seven months.” He pulls me in tightly. “Yeah, do I wish she wasn’t your friend? Of course. It’s fucking weird, not gonna lie. But I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to edit yourself or not talk to me about things because of our past. None of it is changing. So lay it on me.”
“Okay, so he’s one of those guys that you sort of know aren’t really listening, they’re just sort of waiting for their turn to talk?”
“Yeah, like you could be anyone, as long as you are a receptacle for their stories?”
“Exactly. And sometimes I feel like Lynne does that, so maybe neither one of them would care. He definitely wants you to know that he has a lot of money; it was all about the fancy dinner and expensive bottles of wine, and the truffle addition upcharge. And he made a very strong point at the beginning that he was treating, as if the rest of us would have been concerned about the cost.”
“Ugh, that sounds shitty.”
“I don’t know, I mean, he did it in that blithe way like he really thought he was being a nice guy and a thoughtful host, but it just landed wrong. But the weird thing is, they really do seem to genuinely like each other, Lynne and him; they laughed a lot, and told us all about their trip to L.A.”
“With an emphasis on famous people they rubbed elbows with?”
“Naturally. And his huge sailboat, and his enormous house in the hills, and his place at the beach . . .”
“Great.”
“I mean, it’s weird, it feels like they like each other and are happy together, but that part of it is because she sees herself living that life with that kind of man, and that he is the kind of guy who wants someone who is beautiful and accomplished, like he is disdainful of the guys who get the traditional younger, stupid-blond-bimbo trophy wives, so he is going to get someone smart and elegant; but she’s still sort of a trophy, just a different type of trophy.”
“But if that is what they both want, maybe that is part of the attraction?”
“Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong—he seems genuinely nice, if a little self-important.”
“Much like Lynne, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I don’t. You’re right. I just wish that it felt like more of a love match than a business arrangement. They’re certainly affectionate, but there’s no real electricity, you know? They seem comfortable, but not sparkly.”
“Not like us!” he says, nuzzling into my neck.
“Nope, we got all kinds of sparkle.” I turn to kiss him, noting that the feel of his lips on mine are still on the super-insane-wow part of the electricity scale. I pull back, and shift so that I’m sitting facing him, and Simca takes the opening to jump up and snuggle into the warmth of the space I’ve left behind in his lap.
“But you don’t think he’s a bad guy? You didn’t see some sort of red flag to cause you to want to warn her or not be supportive?”
“No, I didn’t, which weirdly, is maybe worse? Because I think Lynne just checks off a lot of boxes for him—he looks at her like he has finally found the kind of person he deserves, instead of looking at her like he can’t believe his great good fortune in finding Lynne specifically, and everything that means about her and who she is. And I can’t say that it is any different on her side, so I can’t really be anything but supportive, you know?”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad. I don’t really know if it is in Lynne to just go from the gut, from the heart, and leap into genuine love with someone. It sounds like she has found a decent guy who is everything she wants and needs, and has the same sort of attitude, so maybe they are truly perfect for each other. Ultimately, everyone has their own idea of happy, and if this is theirs, I think that’s great. Maybe if she has what she believes she needs, she can fully open up to our love.”
“That is a nice way to look at it. I’ll try and adopt it.”
“Despite your deep-down disapproval.” He tilts his head at me.
“Argh, I know, I’m very judgmental.” I keep trying to work on that, but it is a process, and some days are better than others.
“No, you just want more for her than she wants for herself.”
“I think maybe because that was always her role for me, and over the last few months I’ve finally started to want for myself some of what she always wanted for me, and so now I wish I could do the same for her a little bit.”
“You’re a good soul, my love.”
“I’m trying to be.”