Second First Impressions

Melanie makes a dismissive sound like pfffft. “If he were home, he’d be here right now, lying on your bed with his head on your knee, trying to get you to notice how good-looking he is.” She considers what she just said. “He lives to make you laugh. That’s a direct quote.”

I’m desperate to talk through this situation with someone. Is this my segue? “I wonder if he means the things he says to me.”

Like a karate instructor, Mel barks: “Who cares. He’s not your type.”

So I’ve been told, by the man himself. “Is he . . . your type?”

(I mean, come on. He’s everyone’s type. Except mine, apparently.)

She considers it briefly, and I feel like something important is hanging in the balance. If Melanie decides she wants him, I will have to . . . I don’t know what, exactly. Step aside? But I’m not standing in her way. I’ll have to go dig a hole with my bare hands under Renata’s lemon tree and attempt to bury this dazzle, two feet deep.

And I would do it, despite how much it would hurt. But only for Mel.

She shakes her head. “I mean, he’s gorgeous, but the moment I met him I knew there’s only room in my world for one gorgeous high-maintenance princess. And that’s me. I’m looking for an adorer.” She runs her fingers through her ponytail. “We’d have too much resentment between us. Hey, what’s that ugly old bike parked out in the courtyard? I can’t imagine he’d be caught dead on that.”

“Don’t let him hear you talk like that. He calls it the Dream Girl.” Jealous of a motorbike: an unexpected personal low. “He got it out of storage. It’s a 1939 Indian he inherited from his grandpa. They restored it together before he died, but Teddy needs to fix a few things on it. I’m pretty sure if it starts raining he’ll bring it into his living room.” I check the weather app.

He’s working on it because he said he needs to keep busy at night. To keep himself out of my cottage. Said to my face so honestly, with a gleam in his eye.

“You sure do seem to know everything about him,” Melanie remarks as she continues to judge all my clothes. The evaluation can be summarized as: nope, yuck, granny, hmm, maybe, why.

“He tells me everything.” I am thinking over what she said. “You really think he’s high maintenance? In terms of his needs, they’re pretty basic. Just laugh at his jokes, make a lot of eye contact when he’s telling you stories, and let him eat that container of leftover pasta in your fridge.”

“Spoken like a true adorer.” Melanie smells the armpit of my winter coat, like that’s a normal thing to do. She checks the care label and the coat is put on the bed. “Don’t let him take too much from you. He’s shameless.”

“He borrowed a drop of olive oil last night. I have no idea how I’m getting that back.” I’m beginning to think life would be easier if I left my front door unlocked. “But he gives me things, too, all the time.”

Flat, she challenges: “Like what.”

Melanie will be hard to impress with any of the ephemera that Teddy presents me with. He picks me dahlias from the bank of the lake. Sure, I planted them so they’re sort of mine already, but he doesn’t know that. He drew red lipstick hearts

on my rehab tortoises. He swept the leaves from the courtyard. Gingersnap cookies, still warm from the Parlonis’ oven.

My favorites have been the little artworks he’s created for me on the backs of receipts and menus. In the blank space in between Hawaiian Supreme and Mega Meatlovers, he drew a girl in a bathtub. I’m gonna design you the perfect tattoo, it’s just taking a while.

He’s a beautiful black cat, dropping feathers and ivy leaves on my doormat. He’s given me nothing but kindness, friendship, and the diamond sparkles in his tortoiseshell eyes. In my tiny universe, he’s showered me in riches.

“Still waiting to hear one single thing he’s given you. Something that cost money in a store.” When I hesitate, Melanie throws her hands in the air. “Ruthie, this is why I worry about you. You’re too charitable, and he’s going to be gone sooner than we think.”

My stomach dips unhappily. “Did he say something?”

“No, but we know by now he lands on his feet. Knowing him, he’ll find the exact money to buy into the tattoo studio on the street in a paper bag.” Melanie opens my underwear drawer. Then closes it with a rueful headshake. “I need you to not get your feelings hurt by him, Ruthie. Don’t forget, his family’s company might be coming for this place, and he won’t do a thing to help.”

Anxiety spikes in me. “We don’t know that PDC is going to be trouble.”

“I read that binder of boring media printouts about PDC you gave me ages ago. I also found an interview with Jerry online. He was talking about that life is change crap he gave us in the first meeting. I thought he was just giving us an old-white-boss pep talk, but he really believes it. They don’t buy sites and keep them the same.”

To keep calm, I pick up a silk blouse off the bed and fold it carefully on my lap. “Providence is special, though, and it’s managed perfectly. They’ll see.”

“I’ve worked a lot of places and the writing is on the wall. This place is going to change. You might get evicted. Teddy will be gone, and so will I. I mean, I’ll only be a phone call away, and we’ll still hang out. But I need to make sure you’re going to be okay. Because I am your adorer.”

In my tiny universe, I have never been this lucky.

Before I realize it, I’ve put my head down and I’m praying. The old reflex comes usually at selfish times—Please God, let me get a good parking space. But now I’m moved out of gratitude. For the first time in years, I’m thanking God for bringing these two people to me. I don’t care that one day I will be sad. I have so much.

The silk shirt on my lap has a few hot wet dots on it now.

“According to your worksheet, you want someone strong and mature. Someone to show up for you and to support you when things get hard.” Mel takes the folded silk shirt away from me, patting the tears. “It’s your turn to get taken care of now. You deserve it.”