I’m a good daughter. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I cross the bridge into Kansas City, Kansas, to find organic prunes for my mother. There is only one grocery store within a twenty-mile radius that carries the kind she likes. Apparently they act as a laxative for my dad, who, according to my mother, “can’t get the train out of the tunnel.” She is more than capable of driving to get them herself, but honest to God, I don’t think she wants to spend the gas money. She’s getting more like my grandmother every day.
It’s actually a splendid day for a little road trip. It’s mid-February—the thirteenth, to be exact. It’s still cold, but the roads are dry and the sun is shining.
God, I love my KCK—that’s Kansas City, Kansas, for those of you not from the Wheat State. It’s where I grew up and what I know best. I remember when I was a kid my dad would take me and my friends up to Sauer Castle at night and scare the crap out of us with goofy stories that seemed so scary at the time. He’d talk about a guy with a crazy cat who lived in the castle and wasn’t allowed out; then he’d pretend to see the guy in the window. We would all scream and laugh at the same time.
But now we live in Overland Park, Kansas, essentially a suburb of Kansas City, Missouri, which is generally known as Kansas City. The two KCs are spitting distance from each other, but sometimes I feel like a traitor for moving across the bridge.
Max is spending the day at the store with Ron, so I have a little extra time on my hands. Plus the place with the magic prunes is right beside this really cool coffee shop, called Grab a Java, that I love and hardly ever get a chance to go to. It’s the kind of place where bearded lumber-sexuals and their female counterparts hang out. I feel hip just walking in there. It was the first place I ever ate avocado toast. I consider texting Don to see if he wants to meet me there, you know, for coffee, but ever since my conversation with Nina I have been trying not to instigate anything. Now I’m just a reactor.
I’m feeling pretty good about myself these days. The fallout from Brownie-gate was almost nonexistent. My sabotage efforts, though not in vain, turned out to be unnecessary. Asami took almost all the heat because of the hair debacle. And once again, as predicted by me, the chocolate-smudged class photo was absolutely adorable.
Physically, I’m feeling great. I’m at peak performance level for a woman of my age and commitment to exercise. That’s what Garth tells me, anyway. I’ve cut back on my wine since January and plan to stay semidry until after the mud run. It’s not like I have a drinking problem, but I am trying to eat and drink clean to help make my body a more efficient machine. My only indulgence is one cup of coffee a day, which is why I’m humming Katy Perry’s “Roar” when I pull into the parking lot of Rupert’s Fine Foods. I can already smell the Grab a Java brewing.
After picking up a shitload of prunes, some Ezekiel bread, coconut water, and kale, I head next door craving the double breve I’m going to revel in. As I’m walking, some yelling down the street grabs my attention. I look toward the sound and about fifty yards away are two women, a blonde and a brunette, standing beside a black SUV yelling at each other. The blonde is dressed all in black and the other seems to have a white jacket on.
I’m not much of a rubbernecker, but for some reason I’m intrigued. The words aren’t clear, but both women seem to be giving as good as they get. Then, much to my surprise, the brunette hauls off and slaps the blonde across the face and boy it’s a resounding smack. What can I say? We grow our women tough here in KCK!
I walk into Grab a Java and head to the counter, wondering under what circumstances I would slap another woman. Asami comes to mind.
Grab a Java is its usual groovy self. Today’s barista is a nymphlike little pixie with cropped jet-black hair and a stud in her lip. The chalkboard sign tells me her name is Jack. Of course it is. No girl who looks like that is ever named Susan.
“Hey.” I nod. She nods back. Very hip.
“Double breve, please.”
She nods again. I look around the tiny shop. It has a rustic charm. Metal and wood tables are scattered around the room, as are barrels filled (not really) with coffee beans. The walls are black chalkboard and present the menu of drinks and food—limited but good. Did I mention the avocado toast? All kinds of quips are also scattered around the room; my favorite is “Dear Karma, I have a list of people you missed.” It’s surprisingly quiet for a Saturday—only three people hunched over their computers with their headphones on, a guy writing music notes on a piece of paper, and an older man reading the paper with a dog sitting at his feet.
“Double breve.” Jack speaks her first words to me. “Four twenty-five.”
I pay and toss the change into a jar labeled “Tipping—Not Just for Cows.” Normally I would stay and savor my coffee—being here is like a little vacation—but my mother is probably waiting to stew up the prunes for my dad, so I jump back into the Odyssey and pull onto the street. First, though, I take a selfie in front of Grab a Java and text it to Don. So much for being the reactor.
I notice the battling women are still standing by the side of the road. I take a peek as I go by and lock eyes with Kim Fancy. Five things go through my mind immediately.
1. Hey! There’s Dr. Evil.
2. I wonder if she knows about Grab a Java.
3. Who is she with?
4. Huh, I wonder what they were arguing about?
And finally,
5. Holy shit! One of them bitch-slapped the other.
I’m way past them by the time that final thought enters my mind. I try to remember who slapped who. They were both on the street, but I’m pretty sure the one in white did the smacking so that would be Dr. Evil. Well, no surprise there.
As I’m crossing back into KCMO, my cell phone rings. It’s Nina. I put it on speaker.
“You are not going to believe what I just saw!”
“What’s going on? Where are you? I need to talk to you.”
“I’m driving home. Want to meet me?”
“Sure, but I’m hungry, so can we meet at the place with the signs?”
“I can be there in, like, ten minutes.”
“Well, slow your ass down, ’cause I won’t be there for twenty.”
“K. See you there.”
I laugh and slap the steering wheel. The caffeine is clearly kicking in.
* * *
The place with the signs is Nina’s and my favorite little diner. It’s actually called Stu’s Diner, but that name just doesn’t do it justice. Not only are there overstuffed red leather booths and an old-school jukebox that doesn’t play anything released after 1977, but also the walls of the restaurant are covered in funny signs that the owner (not named Stu, oddly enough) has collected from across the country. If he couldn’t steal the actual sign, he would take a picture and replicate it when he got home. Over the years, customers have sent him pictures of signs for him to hang as well. You can go there twenty times in a year and always find something new to read. Oh, and they happen to have the best apple pie in three counties.
The tiny place is packed, but as I walk in I spy a free table in the corner under a sign that says:
UNATTENDED CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN ESPRESSO AND A FREE PUPPY.
I commandeer the corner and wave to Stephanie, the waitress on duty.
I don’t know how long she has been working here, but she reminds me of the character Flo from the old sitcom Alice. Flo was a tall thin drink of water with a head of relentlessly bright red hair done up in a bouffant. She had a sassy southern accent and was always telling her boss to “kiss my grits” as she smacked her gum. Steph doesn’t have a southern accent, but the rest rings pretty true.
“Be with you in a jif, hon!” she yells to me across the diner. Not one person lifts their head in surprise. Everybody knows Steph.
I take out my phone and check my messages. An IM from Nina saying she is “five away,” a picture from Ron showing Max doing the flexed arm hang at the store, and a text from Don asking if he can join me. I realize that he thinks I’m still at Grab a Java. I IM Nina Here, send Ron a kiss and a hug, and text Don Sorry, no. I was just giving you a coffee update, to which I get an immediate sad-face reply. When I check my email, wouldn’t you know there’s one from Kim Fancy.
To: JDixon
From: KFancy
Subject: Was that you?
Date: February 9
Hi, Jen,
Was that you driving through KCK this morning? You should have stopped. Peggy and I were just meeting for a cup of coffee at that weird little place beside the grocery store. We were discussing the spring carnival.
See you soon.
Kim
I stare at my phone. Holy shit! I can’t believe it. She slapped Miss Ward? What the hell?
Nina makes her entrance at this opportune moment. I wave enthusiastically at her. I’m practically jumping out of my chair.
“Hey, girl—” Nina starts.
“Shut up and sit down! You are not going to believe the gossip I have for you!”
“What?” Nina looks momentarily confused.
“Okay, so I’m over in KCK getting my mom some things at the organic grocery store she loves.”
“The one by Grab a Java?” Nina asks unnecessarily.
“Yes.”
“Did you stop in for a breve?”
“Neens, stop interrupting.”
“Sorry,” she grumbles. “I need coffee.”
“Anyway as I’m going into Grab a—”
“What’s up, girls?” Steph’s voice makes me jump. “Apple pie’s almost gone, if that’s what you came in for.”
“I’ll have coffee and scrambled egg whites and wheat toast, no butter,” Nina orders.
Steph nods and looks at me.
“I’ll take the pie.”
She nods again. As she is walking away, she points to the wall.
“Did ya see the new one?”
We both look at where she’s pointing. It’s a large piece of plywood with orange letters:
PLEASE DON’T THROW CIGARETTE BUTTS ON THE FLOOR. THE COCKROACHES ARE GETTING CANCER.
Nina laughs. “Nice one, Steph!”
“Came in from Tucson,” she yells from behind the counter.
Nina looks back at me. “Okay, so you went shopping…”
I lean in.
“No. I went to the organic grocery store across the river to get my mom some prunes.”
“Uh huh. Prunes.” Nina seems distracted. I see Steph coming with her coffee, so I sit back and wait.
“Here you go, honey. Pie and toast will be up in a minute.” She looks at me. “Ice cream or Cool Whip?”
“Neither, thanks.”
I turn back to Nina. She is savoring her first sip with her eyes closed.
“Oh, my God, do I need this. You won’t believe what I did last night. I—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Me first. I have to tell you what I just saw.”
“Seriously? I called you,” Nina reminds me.
I sigh in frustration.
“Okay, I’ll say mine and you say yours and we’ll decide whose is better. Me first. I saw Kim Fancy slap Miss Ward across the face!”
Nina’s eyes widen. “Oh, man, that is good.”
“What’s yours?” I ask, pretty confident that I have won.
“I had sex with Garth last night.”
I look at her evenly. “You totally win.”
Nina nods knowingly and takes a huge gulp of her coffee.
“Holy shit! How? When? Why?” I have more questions than I know what to do with.
Nina is about to answer when Steph descends upon us with eggs and toast and pie. She also puts the check down.
“More coffee, hon?” she asks.
Nina nods gratefully.
“Okay. Spill it.”
She sighs. “It was our third date.”
“Third date? He never said a word.” I’m shaking my head. It always amazes me how men can keep a secret. You ask them not to say anything, and they actually don’t. We women could learn a thing or two from that.
“We didn’t want to freak you out, so we decided to keep it on the down low for a while.”
“Okay, whatever. How did it start? Did you start his website?”
She looks at me with surprise. “You heard about that?”
I nod. “Garth mentioned it, but didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Well, we sort of connected at your Christmas dinner. I was still in my Sid funk, and he was just really nice to talk to, you know?”
I smile. I certainly do know.
Steph swoops in with a refill and is gone.
“So after that, he would call once in a while to check in, and we just started having these great phone conversations, first about his website and then about everything else. I told him all about Sid and my parents and grandmother—about how I raised Chyna by myself. He told me about being in Afghanistan—girl, he saw some serious shit over there. He told me about his breakdown at the gym and how he still goes to therapy for post-traumatic stress.”
I can’t believe my ears. How does she know more about Garth than I do?
“He told you all that?” I ask.
“Well, I asked him about it. We’ve been talking a lot.”
“Talked yourselves right into bed,” I say, with a bit too much snark.
Nina raises her beautifully arched eyebrow at me.
“Sorry. I just can’t believe I didn’t know any of this. Wait, did you have phone sex?”
Nina snorts coffee out of her nose and starts to giggle.
“No. Oh, my God, no. Only you would ask that. No, we were talking one evening and realized we had both skipped dinner, so we decided to meet at Garozzo’s. We had a great time together. Did you know he doesn’t drink alcohol or eat pasta?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. He’s in great shape.”
“I hear that!” Nina says, and I think she’s blushing. I sit back in my chair, trying to process all this new information. The tectonic plates of my world have had a true rattling this morning.
“By the time we had our second date, it felt like our twentieth,” Nina feels the need to add.
“Uh-huh. Are you trying to rationalize your sluttiness to me or to you?”
“To you.” Nina doesn’t bat an eye. “I’m all good with my sluttiness.”
“Are you charging him for your, um, services?”
“Yes!” She smirks. “But I’m giving him the special friends discount.”
My phone buzzes and I sneak a glance at it. Don has texted me an emoji of a turd drinking coffee. I turn my phone face down.
Nina’s crystal blue eyes are staring at me. “Something important?”
“Nope. So, was Chyna home?” I deftly pivot.
“No, thank God. That’s why I wanted to meet you. When did you tell the girls about Ron?”
I scoop the last of the scrumptious apple pie into my mouth and scowl. The girls’ first time meeting Ron is not one of my favorite memories.
We had been dating for about a month before I even told him I had kids. I wish I had taken a picture of the look on his face. Here he thought he was dating this hot (his word, not mine), single thirty-something who had never been married and who seemed relatively normal. After pleasuring him in the front seat of his car one night, I casually mentioned that I was harboring two small fugitives in my home. He took it relatively well. At least, he didn’t run screaming in the other direction.
It was another month before I let him meet them. Shrinks these days will tell you to wait a year, but that wisdom wasn’t available to me, so I went with my gut. (Actually, I’m sure it was available somewhere, but I’m generally lazy when it comes to researching stuff like that.)
I invited Ron to dinner one Saturday when my parents were away on a spiritual retreat or, as I like to call it, a booty call with the Lord. There was no way I was going to bombard him with two kids and Kay and Ray.
The girls knew that I had been going on dates with someone, but they also thought I was taking a pottery class at the local Our Name Is Mud. It was the only way I could get out more than twice a week. Ron and I were at that euphoric beginning of a relationship where we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and we were having a lot of car sex. When I told the girls I was going to introduce them to the man I was dating, they reacted like the polar opposites they are. Vivs rolled her eyes and said, “Well, this should be good.” Where does her sarcasm come from? Laura started jumping up and down, beyond excited, asking if he was going to be our new dad. I thought she was joking, so in my infinite wisdom I told her yes, he absolutely was, as long as they didn’t blow it for me. But guess what? She wasn’t joking, and she didn’t think I was, either.
Ron arrived promptly at six with gift bags for the girls, who were ten and twelve at the time. I could tell he was nervous, and not just because he had pit stains the size of pizzas under the arms of his gray polo shirt. He was very jittery and kept looking around the kitchen as if someone was going to jump him. I kissed him, handed him a beer, and told him to relax.
“They’re just little girls,” I assured him with as much conviction as I could muster. I really wasn’t sure how the evening was going to play out. Good thing I didn’t have high expectations, because it ended up an unmitigated disaster.
The first to appear was Laura. She was wearing her prettiest dress and had tried to put her hair in a bun, without much success.
“Sweetie, I’d like you to meet my friend Ron. Ron, this is Laura, my little one.”
“Hi, Laura. So nice to meet you.” Ron stuck out his hand for a formal greeting, which Laura bypassed in favor of a huge hug.
“Welcome to our family,” she said sincerely.
I guess I should have seen that coming.
“Thank you.” Ron looked a little confused, but to his credit he went with it. “It’s so nice to meet you, Laura. I love your hair.”
Laura looked surprised and pleased. “Really? I just did it all by myself.”
“Well, I helped,” was how Vivs announced she had arrived in the kitchen. She had chosen to wear all black, which included the expression on her face.
“Ron, this is Vivs. Vivs, this is my friend Ron.”
Ron just smiled this time, but it was Vivs who formally put her hand out. Ron shook it.
“My grandpa says you can learn a lot about a man by his handshake,” Vivs informed him. “Yours is wet.” She wiped her palm on her black pants.
“Oh. Sorry about that,” Ron mumbled.
“Vivs!” Laura frowned at her sister. “Maybe he just washed his hands.”
“Who’s hungry?” I jumped in before it all went south.
“I am!” Ron said, a little too enthusiastically. “How about you guys?” He looked toward the girls. Laura nodded like a bobblehead. Vivs ignored him and turned to me.
“What are we having?”
“Lasagna.”
She made a face like it was the worst thing I could be serving, even though it was one of her favorites. I gave her my stone-cold stare.
“Cut it out,” I said quietly.
Ron picked up the bags he had dropped by the door.
“Hey, I brought you guys something.”
He handed the girls identical lime-green gift bags tied with pink ribbon.
Laura stepped forward and took the bag shyly.
“Thank you so much. I love it.”
“You haven’t even looked at it yet.” Vivs rolled her eyes and held out her hand to take her bag from Ron.
“Thank you.”
“It’s hard to buy for people you’ve never met, so if you don’t like it you can exchange it,” he assured them. I gave him a “You’re doing great” smile.
The girls simultaneously opened their bags to find matching pink Gap sweatshirts and a large Hershey kiss. The perfect gift for Laura and the absolute last thing my newly goth devil child would want.
Laura gave an overexaggerated gasp. “Oh, pink is my favorite color! Thank you so much.” She immediately put the sweatshirt on and gave Ron another hug. Meanwhile, Vivs and I were in an evil stare-down. Her big brown eyes registered contempt, and my eyes said, “I dare you to say anything but thank you.”
I laugh when I think about it now, but at the time I was convinced that I would never see Ron again. But he showed up the next night just before dinner with a black Gap sweatshirt for Vivs. That didn’t win her over completely, but it was a glimpse into the thaw of what was certainly the brief ice age of her tween years.
I look up and see Nina waiting for an answer.
“I guess it was about two months. We had a rough start with the girls, remember? Vivs and that goth phase?”
“Oh, my God, the one she couldn’t quite commit to?” Nina and I crack up at the memory of Vivs acting all dark and dangerous until a Backstreet Boys song came on the radio. Then she would forget herself and start singing her head off. When our laughter turns to sighs, I look directly at Nina.
“Are you sure about this?”
“About what? Garth?”
“About Garth, Chyna, everything. I feel like you just got out of the Dumpster. Are you ready to jump back into something? I mean, you barely know him.”
“Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had sex? I know I was hung up on Sid, but shit, no one is more ready than me.”
“Well, I’m glad for you, but I think you should wait to introduce him to Chyna.”
Nina nods and finishes her eggs.
“Now, tell me”—she licks her lips—“who bitch-slapped who?”
* * *
That evening, as I’m making Max’s favorite dinner, skillet tacos, I ponder the events of my day. As if the one-two punch of what I saw in KCK and Nina’s news wasn’t enough, I’d still had an entire day of errands to tackle. I got the minivan washed, took a load of stuff to the dry cleaners, replaced the battery in Ron’s favorite watch, talked to our local kids’ gym about Max’s sixth-birthday party next month, and spent a half hour on the phone with Peetsa analyzing the Dr. Evil/Miss Ward smackdown. Her theory? That Miss Ward has been making eyes at the dashing David Fancy, and Dr. Evil was just protecting her territory. I have to say, it has some legs. If Miss Ward flirted with Ron, I’d definitely be scaring her straight with a few choice words, but physical violence? Not unless she slept with him. But in that case, I’d be saving most of my rage for Ron.
I sigh as I take a sip of cooking wine, so named because it’s the wine I drink while I’m cooking. I look at the clock and realize the boys should be home any minute. Skillet tacos are ready and Chyna is on her way over to babysit. Ron and I are going out to celebrate Valentine’s Day. It isn’t until tomorrow, but Ron likes to take me out for what he calls Scoundrel’s Night. Apparently it’s the night before Valentine’s, when men take their mistresses to dinner. He thinks it’s sexy, and who am I to argue? It’s also a lot cheaper, and you aren’t locked into one of those stupid theme menus that every restaurant seems to think is necessary on February 14.
I grab my wine and sit down at the kitchen-counter office to check my emails. Hmm … Overstock.com is having a Valentine’s Day sale. Nothing says “I love you” like discount furniture. There is a note from my mom thanking me again for the prunes, which apparently did the trick for my dad. There is an email from Laura with the itinerary for our family ski trip to Utah in March, and, to my great surprise and horror, I see an email from Asami Chang. I take a deep breath and click on it.
To: JDixon
From: AChang
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Hello, Jen,
When you were class mom, did you ever hear from Sasha Lewicki, aside from her out-of-office reply?
Asami
I have to laugh. I want to tell her Sasha and I are best friends and see each other every weekend. But I don’t, because I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and embrace the Asami. I’m also slightly curious about why she’s asking, so my reply is friendly and open.
To: AChang
From: JDixon
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Hi, Asami,
No, I never did, but she sent sushi to the curriculum night party, so I
know she exists. LOL!
Jen
I know, I know: weak joke when you have to put LOL at the end, but since there is no definitive proof that Asami has a sense of humor, I thought I’d spell it out for her. Her reply is almost instantaneous.
To: JDixon
From: AChang
Subject: A question …
Date: February 13
Jen,
I don’t think she does.
Asami
I blink three times and stare at the screen. What the hell does that mean? Sasha Lewicki doesn’t exist? I’m working through this thought when the Dixon men come tramping through the door. They spent the morning at the store and the afternoon attempting to ice-skate at the indoor rink. Ron wanted to take Max to the frozen pond, but I suggested that if it was too cold he wouldn’t like it and the whole experience would be over before it even started. If Ron took him to the indoor rink and plied him with hot chocolate, he would definitely be more cooperative.
“Mom!” Max yells needlessly.
“Hey! How was your day?” I ask as I pull off his leopard-print jacket, orange hat, and soaking-wet striped mittens. I notice that he has a black scarf tied over his lime-green pants. It looks like a skirt.
“It was awesome! I made it all the way around once by myself.” Max’s cheeks are rosy and his eyes are shining. My heart bursts with love for this little munchkin. I look to Ron for confirmation and he nods.
“Next stop, hockey.” He grins.
“Or I could do what that guy was doing in the middle of the ice—remember, Dad?”
Max starts to spin around in the middle of the kitchen.
“Figure skating,” Ron mouths to me, and I have to look away so I won’t laugh at the disappointment on his face.
“Looks cool. Now go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready. Skillet tacos just for you.”
“Ninja!” Max yells, and runs to the bathroom off the kitchen.
“How was your day, babe?” Ron gives me a quick kiss on the lips and heads to the fridge.
It’s such a simple question, but with so many possible answers. I decide to keep it brief.
“Well, let’s see. My best friend slept with my trainer.”
Ron registers only mild interest. Why don’t men ever react the way you want them to?
“Really? I didn’t know they were a thing.” His head is in the fridge so I can barely hear him.
“I just found out myself. I’m a little freaked out.”
Ron turns around with one of Max’s Danimals in his hand.
“Why?”
“I think Garth might be a player.”
“A player?” Ron cracks up. “I don’t think so.” He downs the Danimals in one gulp.
“Why not?”
He keeps laughing.
“Well, to be a player you’ve got to have game. And that man just does not have it. I mean, he’s a nice guy, but there’s no way he’s playing Nina.”
“I hope you’re right. I don’t think she could take another heartbreak.”
“What heartbreak? They slept together once.”
“Sometimes once is all it takes for a woman to fall in love. A man, too, by the way.”
Ron looks at me skeptically. “Did you fall in love the first time we had sex?”
“Well, no. But it was three sweaty minutes in the back of your car. All we did was burst the dam of lust that had built up. The first time we made love in a bed, I was pretty swept away.”
“So location has something to do with falling in love.”
“Oh, my God. Are you even listening to me?”
Just then, the back door opens and Chyna walks in. At the same time Max returns with clean hands and an empty stomach, so I know that our discussion is over. Ron turns and heads into the living room and I’m relieved, because clearly I am arguing myself into a corner and making no sense to anyone.
“Chyna! Sweetie. How are you?” I give her a hug.
She smiles and hugs me back nice and tight.
“I’m good.”
She looks so much like her mom that I often wonder if she has even one drop of Sid’s DNA.
“How’s your mom?” l ask as I fill a plate for Max and place it in front of him.
“Really good. She’s been in such a great mood lately.”
“I’ve noticed that, too. Hey, can you sit with Max while he eats? I have to get ready.”
“Sure thing. Hey, Max, whatcha eating?” She sits down beside him.
“Skillet tacos.” Max answers with his mouth full, of course. “Want some?”
“Yeah, I do!” Chyna knows she can help herself to anything in our house. We have an open-fridge policy.
While they eat, I dash upstairs and find Ron in the shower. I head into the bedroom and check my phone. Two texts from Don. One is a selfie outside the Starbucks near school and the other says:
Do you have time for a Valentine’s Day coffee tomorrow?
I actually do have time tomorrow, but I hold off texting him back. Not sure where the line is these days, but I think that would definitely be crossing it.
* * *
J. Gilbert’s is the best steakhouse in Overland Park. Their dry-aged steaks are phenomenal and the restaurant has a comfortable old-school feel with its mahogany furniture and crisp white table linens. There isn’t one waiter under the age of fifty, and they are formal to the point of being rude.
But the waiters are worth tolerating because J. Gilbert’s happens to serve the most delicious onion rings I have ever tasted. They are pretzel-coated and served with three dipping sauces that are so good I don’t know which one to have first. Ron knows it’s my favorite fancy place, so he surprises me once in a while. Tonight it genuinely is a surprise, because we were just here for New Year’s Eve.
“Twice in two months? Are you cheating on me?” I narrow my eyes at him over my menu.
“Actually, New Year’s was kind of a bust, if you remember, so I thought we deserved a do-over.” Ron gives my hand a squeeze across the table.
He’s being kinder than I deserve. I was still in my class mom funk on New Year’s Eve and I was determined not to have a good time.
Mission accomplished, by the way. Not only did I have a shitty time, I was able to suck the fun away from everyone at our table, which was filled with Ron’s favorite customers and their spouses. It’s one of my superpowers, along with growing a person in my stomach and peeling labels off beer bottles intact. It was definitely not my finest moment as the wife of a successful sports-store owner, but in the moment I felt more than justified in forcing my pity party on everyone.
So on the most romantic of holidays (ahem), I’m thrilled to embrace this do-over night with the love of my life and an excellent bottle of ’94 Turley Zinfandel (clearly I’m taking a little break from that clean eating and drinking). We order dinner, then sit back and enjoy our first few sips of wine. What a perfect night.
Just as I am getting my first hint of a buzz on, my eyes are pulled across the room to a couple being seated on the other side of the restaurant. Both tall and thin, him with short salt-and-pepper hair and her with long brown hair flowing down her back.
Well, well, well, if it isn’t the dashing David and Kim Fancy, celebrating Scoundrel’s Night at the same place we are. My mind starts to click through the events of this morning—the bitch slap and all—and I try to piece together why these two would be out for a romantic dinner.
“Jen!”
“What?” Ron’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.
“What are you staring at?” He looks annoyed.
“Sorry, babe, I just noticed the Fancys sitting across the room and wondered what they’re doing here.”
Ron shrugs.
“Same as us, probably.”
I doubt it, but say nothing. Instead, I ask him to tell me all about his ice-capades with Max this afternoon.
“Man, he really loved it. Good call on the indoor rink, by the way.” He raises his glass to me in salute.
“Did he really go around the rink by himself?”
“I was right behind him, but yes, he did.” I can tell Ron is proud. “It didn’t take him long at all to find his legs. Now, if I can just get a stick in his hands…”
I give him an encouraging smile while he unfolds his long-term plan to get Max to the NHL. As I take a sip of my insanely delicious wine (seriously, if you can ever find a bottle, you will not be disappointed) I glance back over to the Fancy table. They are sitting across from each other, but are both leaning in. Kim seems to be doing a lot of talking while the dashing David just nods and listens. Is she reprimanding him for his affair? Is she telling him that she smacked his mistress around? That he better not dare step out on her again or there will be hell to pay? Damn, I wish my lip-reading skills were better. Or, you know, existent. The waiter, walking to our table, interrupts my view.
“Petite filet for the lady and porterhouse for you, sir. Enjoy.” He turns on his heel and walks away just as a second waiter arrives with our side dishes and of course, my onion rings. We dig in.
Dinner is so good I forget about the Fancys across the room. Ron regales me with tales from the trenches of retail and has me howling over an incident with a woman who wanted to return a tennis racket because she said it didn’t improve her game.
“How long had she been using it?”
“About a year.” Ron shakes his head. “The grip was worn down and everything. She threatened to call the Better Business Bureau if I didn’t give her a refund.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told her this wasn’t Costco and that there was no proof she had even bought the racket at our store, but I’d be happy to sell her a new one with a forty percent discount.”
“That was generous.”
“What are you going to do? Even a bad customer is still a customer.”
I drain my wineglass and sigh contentedly.
“Thank you, my darling, for this do-over dinner. I love you so very much.”
Ron grins. “Now, that’s the booze talking, but you are so very welcome.”
As we stand to leave, I look around to see that we are just about the last table in the restaurant. I love when that happens. You get into a cocoon of conversation and the entire world disappears around you.
Ron heads to the bathroom and I check my phone. There’s a text from Don.
???
I get a tight feeling in my stomach. How could I even think about having coffee with another man after such an amazing evening with my husband? He doesn’t deserve that. I text back immediately.
Nope. Sorry. Very busy day.
I put the phone back in my purse as Ron joins me.
“Everything okay at home?” he asks, assuming I was checking in on Max. Jesus, strike two. I really need to get my head out of my ass.
I nod to him and can only hope I’m right.
* * *
Ron has a tight hold on me as we walk through the parking lot. Half a bottle of wine is a lot for me, and I’m a little unsteady. A car pulls up beside us.
“We meet again.” Kim Fancy’s voice floats from inside a silver Mercedes. “We saw you guys in the restaurant, but you seemed so deep in conversation that we didn’t want to disturb you.”
“We’re celebrating Scoundrel’s Night,” I say with a slight slur. “How ’bout you?”
I hear a snort from the dashing David, who is behind the wheel.
“Nice,” he says to Ron appreciatively.
“I don’t get it.” Kim sounds annoyed.
Ron decides to explain.
“We’re celebrating Valentine’s a day early. Same with you guys?”
Kim Fancy lets out a very un-Fancy-like guffaw.
“God, no. Tomorrow I expect to be going somewhere much nicer than this place.”
And once again I’m reminded why I don’t like Kim Fancy.