She pursed her lips and clucked at me. “Jack was an asshole. I never met the guy, but I know that’s a fact.”
I thought about my ex-husband. He really was an asshole. “Yeah, but I got Chris out of it. Jack can’t take that away from me.” Especially now that our son was eighteen. Sure, he’d grumbled about getting custody and moving him to California to live with him, but he wouldn’t have gone through with it. He and Paralegal Sue couldn’t be bothered by a teenager since they both acted like one.
“Damn straight. Heard from him?” I knew she meant Chris, not Jack, since her tone softened.
I sighed. “Last week. I told him to settle in and not worry about me. It’s a big adjustment and the first year is extra tough.”
“Girlfriend, you raised a fine boy.”
***
An hour later, I was climbing the front steps of my row house when my neighbor, Simon, popped his head out his door. “How was it?”
Simon was a few years younger than me, an architect and gay. We’d hit it off since the day he moved in three years ago. He was from Tennessee and his accent was thick like syrup. He was tall and lanky, with blond hair cut in a very crisp, very conservative cut; short on the sides and longer on the top. He wore chunky glasses and very stylish clothes. Although I’d picked my own dress for the party last night, he’d forced me back into my closet and into the heeled sandals instead of the ballet flats I’d originally chosen. He was bossy, opinionated and had a sense for fashion I never would. He’d also been a great guy role model for Chris when his father had pretty much abandoned him, and had a surprising knack for getting through to a cranky teenager in ways a mother never could.
“It was good.” I took off my work clogs and dropped them in the vintage metal milk container outside the front door. The sun was intense and I was sweaty and ready for another shower. Even though I’d had one after my workout, I always took one after being at work or the clinic to rinse off whatever funk I carried home with me. “Christy rocked her dress.”
We stood ten feet apart, each on the short set of steps up to our front doors. The entire block was one long row of houses connected, all red brick with white stone steps.
Simon was casual in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeve button-down shirt. “Of course she did. How did the shoes work out?”
He had to gloat. I had to roll my eyes.
“I hooked an auditor named Bob or Bill.”
“Which was it?” Looking downright gleeful, he added, “Was he any good?”
I tilted my head down and gave him the stern look I used on Chris when he was a pain-in-the-ass teenager. “Any good? I didn’t catch his name and there was no way I’d sleep with that guy. He was…dry and was a little obsessed with oysters.”
Simon cringed. “Yeah, no good. You’re too normal. You need someone who’s different. Who catches you by surprise. Someone you wouldn’t expect.”
“Me, normal?” I asked, faking insult. I knew what he meant. I was plain old Emory. I worked, I worked out. I volunteered. And up until a few months ago, I was a high school parent. I was…dull. I needed some excitement and Bob/Bill wasn’t going to cut it. But Gray just might. Just thinking about him was giving me a hot flash. I could only imagine what would happen to me if he actually touched me. Or kissed me. Or got me beneath him.
Did I want to continue just to be normal? I wanted to feel like I had last night. Again and again. That was not normal. Gray had invited me to the game. He wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t meant it. So what was stopping me? My embarrassment from last night? Fear? Nerves?
Simon gave a little wave and started to go back inside. I called to him. “Yeah?” he asked.
I fiddled with the strap on my bag as I considered. Screw it. Screw normal. I was going to go see Gray. “Will you go with me to Rifkin Park tomorrow to watch a rugby game?”
I’d definitely confused him. “Explain.” He gave the circular hand gesture to keep going.
I ran my toe over the worn stone tread hot beneath my feet from the sun. “There was this other guy last night. I made a complete fool of myself.” I shook my head at my own stupidity. “Not going to say what I did. You can probably imagine.”
He looked at me for a moment, his expression serious. He must have seen something different in me because he didn’t poke fun as he normally would. “Yeah, okay. I won’t ask.”
“He asked me to come watch him play a game tomorrow at eleven. I want to go, but I’m nervous to go by myself. He makes me nervous.”
“This is so seventh grade.” A big grin split Simon’s face. “A guy that makes you nervous? I’m in. I’ll totally be your wingman.”
He gave a little wave and went inside. As I was about to do the same, I heard crying. Little kid crying. Turning around, I saw a boy of about eight or nine walking his bike down the street. He was sniffling and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He wore shorts and T-shirt, sneakers. I could see his knees were bloodied and he’d scraped an elbow.
I dropped my bag and as he continued down the sidewalk, about to pass my steps, I went down to him. “Looks like you’ve had a serious fall. Were you trying to be Evil Knievel?”
He stopped and looked up at me, all sweaty and tear stained. I stood beside him and did a quick assessment. Nothing looked broken, it didn’t look like he hit his head. Just a typical bike spill.
His face scrunched up in confusion. “Who’s that?”
“He was a man from when I was a kid who would jump across rows of cars on his motorcycle. I think he even jumped across the Grand Canyon once.”