Ex and the Single Girl (18 page)

She waved me off. “
No. No, it
’
s not anything like that.”

“
And you
’
re not going to get arrested again, are you?”

She smiled. “
Not if I can help it.”

“
That
’
s not a comforting answer.”

She squeezed my hand. “
I won
’
t get arrested again. You have my solemn vow.”

“
So it
’
s just that you
’
re fixing things that need fixing?”

She nodded. “
Yes. Exactly.”

I took a deep breath. “
How about a truce? I agree not to push you
on this whole sad thing you
’
ve got going on, and you agree not to try to fix me. Think you can do that?”

She looked at me and grinned. “
Yes.”

“
Okay, then.”
I lifted my glass. She lifted hers.

“
Truce,”
I said.

“
Truce,”
she said.

We clinked. We drank. As it
turned out, we were both lying, but it was a nice mother-daughter moment all the same.

I stepped out of the tiny stall shower in my apartment and squinched my toes in the neon pink and yellow daisy bath mat Beauji made me buy. I had to admit, she was righ
t. Every time I looked down at it, I smiled.

I didn't hear the knocking until I opened the bathroom door, although from the sound of it, whoever was knocking was losing patience. I wrapped my hair in a towel and slipped into my old flannel robe.

“
I
’
m comin
g!”
I yelled as I opened the door. Bev.

“
Get dressed.”
She pushed past me into the apartment. I shut the door and walked around her toward my bedroom.

“
That
’
s what I was going to do before you decided to beat the hell out of my door.”
I tossed the towel on
my bed and yanked open the top drawer of the dresser, pulling out socks and underwear. “
What
’
s going on?”

Bev stopped at the doorway of the room. “
We
’
ve got a fondue.”

I shut the drawer and turned around to look at her. “
A fondue? For who?”

Her eyes trave
led around the barren room and then back to me. “
Vera.”

“
Vera? Why? What happened?”

Bev put her hand on her hip. “
I
’
ll give you the details in the car. I
’
m supposed to be out getting the oranges and the chocolate. Now get dressed. I
’
ll wait in the living r
oom.”

She shut the door. I grabbed my jeans.

“
Oh, y
’
all are making way too big a deal over this,”
Vera said, crumpling up another tissue and tossing it in the empty grocery bag at her feet. Her eyes were red, and her face was blotchy, but ever since we
’
d p
ulled out the chocolate and the orange slices, she
’
d at least stopped crying.

“
Nonsense,”
Mags said. She grabbed Vera
’
s fondue fork out of her hand, stabbed a slice of orange, and handed it back. “
Dip.”

Vera leaned over our old avocado green fondue pot and
dipped the slice into the melted chocolate. “
I
’
m fine, really. I just wasn
’
t expecting to see him, is all.”

“
Of course you weren
’
t, darlin
’,”
Bev said. I sat back in my chair and played absently with an orange slice on my plate. Mags kicked me lightly und
er the table. When I looked up at her, she whisked her hands at me. It was my turn to comfort.

“
Oh.”
I dropped the orange slice. “
Um. Haven
’
t you seen him before? I mean, it
’
s been eleven years. There are only six thousand people in town. The odds
—
ouch!”

T
he kick was harder that time. I turned to Mags. “
What the hell, Mags?”

Mags gave me a look of mild contrition. Bev opened her mouth and seemed ready to rip me a new one, but Vera held up her hand to stop her, then turned to me.

“
Yes, I
’
ve seen him a few times. Usually it
’
s at the grocery store, like today. Once I saw him at the movie theater in Fort Oglethorpe. But...I don
’
t know...”
She sighed and dumped her chocolate-dipped orange slice on her plate.

Bev leaned forward. “
It
’
s hard, bab
y. We know that.”

Mags leaned over the fondue pot and stirred. “
And I think he has a lot of nerve showing up at the Piggly Wiggly on a Tuesday afternoon.”

I looked at Mags. “
Why would Bridge know she shops there on Tuesday afternoons?”

Bev and Mags gave me
glacial stares. Vera put a protective hand on my arm.

“
No, she
’
s right.”
She reached for another tissue. “
It
’
s been long enough. I should be able to bump into him and just say hi like any normal person, ask him about his construction work, and help him pi
ck out a ripe honeydew melon w
ithout break
ing down like a damn old fool.”
Her face contorted and she blew her nose into a tissue.

“
Oh, tell me you didn
’
t help that man pick a melon,”
Bev said. “
I hope you picked one out that was rotted right through.”

“
No,
”
Mags said, waving her fondue fork in the air as she spoke. “
You should have just walked away like you didn
’
t even see him. Like he didn
’
t even register on your radar. Serve him right.”

I shifted in my seat and stared at my plate. There was a moment of si
lence. It was my turn to say something comforting, but I was drawing a blank. I figured Mags
’
s shoe was already aimed for my shin anyway, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

“
What exactly happened with you two, Vera?”

Vera raised her eyes slowly t
o mine. Mags didn
’
t need to kick me; Vera
’
s pained expression was enough to tell me I
’
d said the exact wrong thing.

“
Excuse me,”
she said, her voice barely a whisper. She grabbed another tissue, skirted around us, and left the dining room. When I looked up
, both Bev and Mags were staring at me, their faces a blend of shock and horror.

“
What?”
I asked. “
I don
’
t understand what happened. Did he just leave her? Was he seeing someone else? I don
’
t understand why two people who seem to still love each other aren
’
t together.”

“
Do you know the point of a fondue?”
Bev asked me. I rolled my eyes.

“
Of course I know the
—”

“
The point of a fondue”
Bev growled over me, “
for those of us who have been hiding under the veil of education for twelve years
—”

“
Excuse me?
Hiding
?
”

“—
is to provide a soft, safe place for someone who needs comfort. What part of that is too difficult for you to understand, Professor?”

I stood up and grabbed my plate. “
It
’
s not difficult for me to understand, Bev, I
’
m just saying
—”

She stood up and gra
bbed her plate as well. “
You don
’
t
just say
anything. You say whatever will make her feel better. If that means saying you believe that little men from Mars are stocking the shelves at the Piggly Wiggly, you say it. Are you really incapable of coming up wi
th a single nice thing to say?”

Anger pricked up the hairs on the back of my neck “
Bev, you know I love Vera as much as anybody, but I mean, come on. It
’
s been eleven years. Maybe if y
’
all didn
’
t
fondue
her every time she and Bridge Wilkins bumped elbows,
she might be over it by now.”
Bev raised her index finger at me. “
Let me tell you something, little miss
—”

Mags shot up between us.

“
Hey,”
she said, grabbing Bev
’
s raised hand and lowering it, “
who
’
s in the mood for a gin and tonic? I know I could sure use
one right about now.”

I put my plate down. My hand was shaking and my stomach felt like it was about to evict the three orange slices I
’
d eaten. I kissed Mags on the cheek before throwing my napkin on the table and beelining for the front door.

I
tossed on my bed and looked at my new alarm clock, blazing 11:45 at me in furious red. I stared at the ceiling.

Hiding under the veil of education?
What was that supposed to mean? So I
’
d gone to school. So I
’
d gone directly into grad school after undergra
d and had stayed for eight more years. I was improving myself. Investing in my future.

“
If I was hiding, I wouldn
’
t be here, I can tell you that much,”
I muttered, throwing back my new quilt and tossing my legs over the side of the bed. “
If I was hiding it
’
s a safe bet you people wouldn
’
t know where to find me.”

I sat there, staring at my toes against the old hardwood, wondering what Bev
’
s problem was, fearing I had been too hard on Vera. She
’
d needed a fondue, and I
’
d given her an inquisition. I
’
d just wan
ted to understand the problem. What was so wrong with that?

I got up and walked into the kitchen, flicking on the gas under the teakettle. I leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to whistle, staring down at my feet. It was almost midnight. I c
ouldn
’
t stand the thought of another night counting the nail holes in the walls here, but I knew sleep wasn
’
t likely.

“
Hiding,”
I muttered to myself. “
What the hell is her problem, anyway?”

I wiggled my toes against the hardwood again, then turned off the
gas and went to get my sneakers.

“
Stop right where you are!”

I screamed and dropped the hammer in my hand. It clattered to the cement floor, sharp reports echoing through the barn. A light was shining in my face. I held my hand over my eyes and squinted.

“
Ian?”

The flashlight lowered. That
’
s when I saw the shotgun.

“
Oh, for Christ
’
s…”
Ian staggered over to the sawhorse and leaned against it, gun at one side, flashlight at the other. I picked up my battery-powered lantern and walked over to him, trying to ma
sk the smile on my face.

“
You okay?”
I asked.

“
No, I
’
m bloody well not okay,”
he sputtered at me, accentuating his speech with jerks of the gun. “
You scared the bloody hell out of me.”