The Friends We Keep

“He’s big-boned. And a dragon. They’re not skinny on purpose. Brad’s a good-looking dragon.”


His defense of a fictitious creature eased some of her nerves. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to disrespect Brad.”

“He’s not fat.”

“I got that. Just big-boned.”

“And a dragon.”

“Absolutely. A very fit, handsome dragon.”

Jairus studied her. “You’re mocking me.”

“A little, but that’s okay.”

“From your perspective. Ready to go in?”

She was. Breathing was easier and her stomach had settled. They started for the restaurant.

“You look good,” he said as he held open the door. “Very good.”

“Thank you. Um, you, too.”

Pescadores was decorated with a distinct nautical theme, but they hadn’t gone over the top. There were a few anchors and seascapes on the wall and there was plenty of wood and rope between booths, but other than that, it was a simple and elegant restaurant. The tablecloths were white, the plates heavy and the servers quiet and knowledgeable.

Nicole and Jairus were shown to a table by the window with a view of the marina. As soon as she sat down, the nerves returned and with them, the need to bolt. Even thinking about Brad being “big-boned” didn’t seem to help.

“You all right?” Jairus asked.

“Mostly. I don’t, um, date that much. Since the divorce.” She set her small handbag next to her and leaned forward. “I can’t figure out if I’m being careful or shutting myself off. I know how my friends would vote on that one.”

“Shutting yourself off?”

“Totally.”

“I knew there had to be a reason you didn’t jump at the chance to go out with me. Now I know what it is.”

She laughed. “You’re not all that.”

“I am. Really. Ask anyone.”

Humor twinkled in his eyes. Nicole relaxed a little. Their server came and told them about the specials, then took their drink orders. Nicole knew she would be driving at the end of the evening, so she got a glass of chardonnay. Something she could sip over several hours.

“You’re divorced?” Jairus asked when the server had left.

“Yes. Eric...” What? Left? That sounded too dramatic, even though it was the truth. “He wanted to be a screenwriter. So he quit his job to write a screenplay. The problem is we didn’t discuss it first. He quit and told me two days later. It was terrifying.”

Jairus leaned toward her. “Of course it was. What the hell. You’re partners. You talk about stuff when you’re married.”

“According to Eric, he didn’t say anything because he knew I wouldn’t support his dream.”

“Was he right?”

“I have no way of knowing. Seriously, I can argue both sides of it. So I supported him while he wrote and surfed.”

Jairus groaned. “No. Do not tell me he’s giving writers a bad name.”

“He is. Kind of. But it turned out he was talented. He sold his screenplay for a lot of money. A couple of months after that, he moved out.” She shrugged. “I was completely surprised and yet not at all, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“We’d grown apart. He wanted different things. I’m okay with that. People change. It’s just, he has a son and he never sees him. Eric pays his child support on time but he won’t show up. He has Tyler one Sunday every other week and he blows him off more than half the time. It’s horrible.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. The worst of it, Tyler doesn’t talk about him anymore. It’s like he doesn’t miss him. I guess you can’t miss what you don’t remember. I keep hoping that one day Eric is going to wake up and realize what he’s lost, but what if he doesn’t?”

She paused for breath, only to realize how much she’d been talking. And about what?

“Oh, no.” She pressed the tips of her fingers to her nose, then dropped her hands onto her lap. “So, if you weren’t convinced before that I don’t date much, you have clarity now.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s a little scary. You should be checking out the closest exit.”

“It’s behind me and I’m fine.”

Their server appeared with their drinks. Jairus asked that they have some time before ordering.

When they were alone again, he raised his glass. “To your dating life.”

“It might be dangerous to toast that,” she told him.

“I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

He was nice, she thought. That was unexpected. “What about you?” she asked. “Tell me something incriminating or at the very least, personal. So we’re even.”

He’d ordered a vodka tonic. Now he moved the glass against the tablecloth. “I’m divorced, as well.”

“I’m sorry.”