Twelve

HIS GRANDPA DIED.”

“Oh, dear,” Nicola said.

Sophie asked, “Were you close to him?”

“Not really,” I said, placing my knitting in my lap and reaching for my wineglass. We were in Angie’s pristine apartment again. It was my turn to host, but I knew that Kendra wouldn’t open up her home to a bunch of strangers. And we didn’t want her to alert the Promises Rehab Centre swat team to swoop in and haul us away for the inappropriate mixing of booze and knitting. “I didn’t know him well but he was a nice old guy. I remember he ate a lot of butterscotch candies and watched a lot of baseball.”

Martin asked, “What does Colin want you to do?” He’d started a black, wide-ribbed sweater with a beige band across the chest. While I was impressed that he felt confident jumping to such a complex project, I couldn’t help but feel a little hopeless in comparison. I mean, decreasing for armholes and tackling stripes! The mere thought made me feel like that inept little Brownie with the holey pot holder. I wasn’t sure I’d ever reach his level of expertise. Not to mention that it seemed my cream merino scarf would be the project that took me well into menopause. It never seemed to grow beyond about five inches before I made a mistake and ended up ripping out several rows.

I cleared my throat a little nervously. “He wants me to come over tomorrow night... to talk.”

“Tomorrow night?” Angie shrieked. “Tomorrow night is Valentine’s night!”

“It’s just a coincidence!” My response was defensive. “He’s upset. He needs a supportive friend right now and I’m the first person he thought of calling.”

“How convenient,” Angie muttered skeptically.

“Right. So his grandfather planned his death so Colin could invite me over on Valentine’s Day.”

“Are you going to go?” Nicola asked.

I paused. “I think so. I still care about him—as a friend—and he needs me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Angie said, placing her needle, with its single row of aquamarine stitches, in her lap and looking at me frankly. “It sounds like a ploy to me.”

“Angie,” I said, “his grandpa is dead.”

“Okay, but does he really need you to come over to his apartment to talk about it? On Valentine’s night? Couldn’t you go out for coffee to talk about it—say, on Saturday morning?”

Nicola gasped. “Do you think he’s just trying to get her into bed?”

Angie gave her a “like, duh” look. “Men will do anything for sex.”

“Of course,” I snapped, “this was just a ‘my grandpa is dead’ booty call.”

Martin, ever the voice of reason, stepped into the fray. “What matters isn’t Colin’s motivation but Beth’s state of mind.” He looked at me. “Do you think you can handle being alone with him on Valentine’s night?”

“I can,” I said, with more confidence than I actually felt. “I’ve recently realized that Colin wasn’t the right guy with the wrong attitude: He just wasn’t the right guy. We weren’t meant to be.”

Nicola was staring at me intently. “Profound,” she said, nodding. She wasn’t even being sarcastic.

Angie’s eyes narrowed as she spoke. “This is about that old guy, isn’t it?”

“Well...” I blushed, and also wished they’d stop calling him “that old guy.” “I kind of went for drinks with him last night.”

“Oh my god!” Sophie squealed excitedly.

“So . . . ? How was it?” From Martin.

“It was really nice,” I said, making a concerted effort not to sound like Angie when she talked about Thad. “He’s very interesting... and funny.”

“Ring?” Angie asked pointedly.

“No ring. He’s divorced...years ago.”

Sophie jumped in. “Are you going to see him again?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like to. He lives on Bainbridge Island and only comes into the city once in a while.”

“My parents have a summer home there,” Nicola said. “It’s beautiful. You should go visit him.”

“Slow down!” Angie said. “They’ve only gone out for drinks one time. She can’t very well show up on his doorstep.”

“Don’t worry,” I laughed. “And even if he doesn’t call again, I had a great time. Spending an evening with him made me feel so much more . . . I don’t know . . . optimistic about the future . . .”

“Sounds like fate to me,” Martin said, eyes on his knitting.

“How so?” Sophie asked, a bemused smile on her lips.

“The old guy came along just in time to make Beth strong enough to be there for Colin in his time of need—and strong enough not to sleep with him.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’m going to support him as a friend and I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“You’d better not,” Angie said, sternly. “I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces if he breaks your heart again.”

“I’m not going to, okay?” I shrieked. “Can we please just drop it?” I knew of one surefire way to steer the conversation in another direction. I turned to Nicola. “How are the wedding plans coming along?”

As usual, her face split into a wide smile and her cheeks began to glow with excitement. “Oh, it’s going to be so magnificent. Did I tell you that we’re having the reception at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel? We’ve booked the Spanish Ballroom!”

“Wow,” Martin said. “I went to a fund-raiser there once. It’s spectacular.”

“I know,” Nicola gushed, her mauve scarf now ignored in her lap. “I adore the Italian Renaissance architecture. And we just finalized the table centrepieces last night. We’re having enormous bouquets of lavender and pale pink roses, in moss ribbon-wrapped vases with flowing ostrich feathers!”

“Wow,” Angie said.

Nicola looked on the verge of happy tears when she said, with a sigh, “It really is going to be the wedding I’ve always dreamed of.”

I was starting to feel just the teensiest bit nauseous when Sophie spoke up. “What about you and Thad?” she asked Angie. “How are things going?”

While this topic was only slightly less vomit-inducing than the previous one, I’d been wondering where that relationship stood myself. Maybe they’d broken up by now? Maybe Angie and I could start spending more time together, two single gals out on the town?

Unfortunately, Angie replied excitedly, “We’re going away together for a Valentine’s weekend.”

“Where to?” Nicola asked.

“There’s this place in the desert in southern Nevada. It’s sort of a spa retreat slash holistic Native healing centre.”

Well, that figured. Leave it to flaky Thad to suggest a Valentine’s weekend away at a spa retreat slash holistic Native healing centre. My eyes darted to the others to see if they thought it a strange vacation as well, but Martin asked, pleasantly, “And what will you get up to there?”

“We’re doing a sweat lodge ceremony. It’s meant to purify the body, mind, and spirit, to allow a new sense of self to emerge. It’s like entering the womb and being reborn.”

Oh, come on! But everyone else was smiling pleasantly, knitting away as though Angie had just announced they were off on a wine-tasting tour in the Napa Valley. Sophie even murmured, “Interesting.”

I simply had to say something. “Well, that’s quite a departure from the last holiday you took.” Last November, Angie had gone to Club Hedonism in the Turks and Caicos. She’d returned home with a tan and three pairs of men’s underwear to commemorate her conquests.

She shrugged and smiled. “It’s certainly a much healthier choice. I can’t wait to be purified.” She continued her slow and painstaking knit stitches as she said, “You know, Beth, you should try something like that. It could cleanse Colin right out of your system.”

“He’s not in my system,” I retorted. “And even if he was, I don’t think I’d need to sweat him out.”

“It couldn’t hurt,” she replied, flippantly.

I was suddenly feeling defensive. “I don’t need any crazy purifying techniques to get over Colin. I’m moving on. I’m feeling optimistic about my romantic future.”

“I have faith in you,” Nicola said, with a supportive smile.

“Me too,” Sophie agreed. “When you see him tomorrow night, you’ll be a supportive friend, nothing more.”

“Thanks, guys,” I said sincerely. Then, for Angie’s benefit, “And I definitely will not sleep with him.”