Second First Impressions

“So you created your own nighttime routine.” Teddy looks around the room and back at me with understanding. “And you knew when Heaven Sent would be on TV. You could count on it. Like me.” A nice feeling of understanding glows between us.

“The other thing was, we usually had a stranger living in our house. There’s an emergency room in the basement, with a bed for whoever needs it. I was a fragile kid. I couldn’t deal with that, but I had to, because charity starts at home.”

A stranger brushing their teeth in the bathroom. A stranger sitting in my chair at the breakfast table.

“You asked me when we first met if I had strict parents. I did, but I think they expected me to know how to do the right thing and left me alone to work it out. I think we’ve got a bit in common there.”

“Your sacred bedtime Ruthie Ritual makes complete sense now. Maybe I should have done that, too.”

“It’s not too late to create a routine. Self-care as an adult is really important.”

He’s still thinking—about me, I think, because his eyes are on mine. “I’ll just keep sliding into your routine until you get annoyed and lock your door on me. So that amazing care package you left for me in the courtyard. You’ve done that a few times, huh? And this is why having me turn up out of the blue has been hard for you.”

I feel a little ashamed of myself. On the inside, I’ve been nothing but grudging charity. “Not hard, exactly.”

“It’s okay, I get it. Things are less peaceful with me around.”

“Who’s told you that?” I ask, but he’s finding the next episode of Heaven Sent. “You’re not going to talk through the episodes, are you? Wait, I thought of something to put in the deal breakers column.” I write on the form: Doesn’t like Heaven Sent.

Teddy performs an ab-trembling sit-up, reads what I wrote, then lies back down with a satisfied groan. “My sisters used to slap my ear if I talked. You can do that if you want.”

I press play and we sing the theme song together. I grab a knitted throw blanket for my lap and Teddy grabs the other end. We tug-of-war and laugh. How did this happen so easily?

One episode ends, the next begins. I put two chicken cordon bleus into the oven instead of one. I thought silence was all I would tolerate, but I enjoy talking during the episodes. He only offers good, funny observations at the right moment.

Including one observation I might steal as a debate prompt in my Heaven Sent You Here forum.

“I thought I was going to marry Francine Percival back in the day. She was my dream girl,” Teddy says when the credits roll and I hand him a plate of food. “Oh wow. I could get used to this.” Both statements ding a warning bell inside my brain.

“What is it about Francine you like? Other than the obvious.” The actress is now the face of a French cosmetics brand. This is a test for Teddy.

“She’s so neat and tidy.”

“Oh.” The same words Renata used to describe me, but now they’re said in his lovely husky voice. I put my plate on the coffee table and pick up my clipboard. In the turn-ons I write Honesty. Then I write, Good listener. Confident.

“She’s so reserved,” he continues as he eats. “I feel like she’s got so much going on below the surface, but nothing outwardly surprises her character. She’s self-controlled. Messes like me find that really intriguing. She’s funny as hell in that good, dry way that I’m addicted to. Almost every laugh in this show is because of her.”

I’m surprised by his insight. “I like that about her too. There’s this episode when she gets her wisdom teeth out, and her crush Ash Dangerfield visits her in hospital—”

“Oh yeah, and she’s waking up from the anesthetic.” Teddy grins. “Francine’s telling him the truth. No filter. God, I should be so lucky.”

“She’s ridiculous in that scene, but she’s still somehow dignified. Francine can handle anything. It’s liberating to talk about this out loud. I haven’t found anyone in real life who watches this show, let alone a guy.”

I go back to my clipboard and try to think of nonincriminating things to write in the turn-ons column. Reliable. Mature. Insightful. All those things could still be applied to Teddy in various ways. He’s jumped through every flaming hoop that Renata has set up for him, and he’s been admirably dedicated to his new job.

“Guys like me,” Teddy says, and my tummy takes a dangerous dip, “wonder what it would take to get a girl like Francine all . . .” He forks up a huge mouthful of food. “All messy,” is what he goes with when he swallows. “Uncontrolled and kinda wild. What would it take to get her there?” He’s got those hot eyes again.

“I’m sure you wonder about that all the time.” I hold the clipboard away when he tries to reach for it. This clipboard will confirm his suspicions. “No. Mind your own business.”

“What’d you write?” The paw marked TAKE makes another swipe. “We share everything, remember?” I left the front door open, so I can’t be surprised to have this big black kitty curled up on my couch now.

“Never mind.” I switch to the next column. “Might as well think of a few turnoffs.”

“You were just sitting there writing turn-ons? Fuck me. Scandalized.” He puts his empty plate on the coffee table and slides down to lie flat, his socked feet in my lap and a forearm across his eyes. “I love it in here. Let me stay.”

“What, for tonight?”

“Forever.” It’s declared sincerely. He looks at my untouched plate and licks the corner of his lips.