Fourteen

I CAN’T BELIEVE you slept with him!” Angie shrieked. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we were back together,” I explained, blinking at the tears that threatened to spill over.

“It’s okay,” Sophie said, scooching over on the floral sofa to put her arm around me. “He tricked you. It’s not your fault.”

“I feel so stupid,” I snuffled. Martin hurried to the seashell-appliquéd tissue box sitting on top of the TV and handed me a Kleenex. Thankfully, Kendra and her mother had left that afternoon to go to a quilting bee in the Cascade Mountains, finally allowing me to host our knitting circle.

“Don’t feel stupid. It could happen to anyone.” This came, funnily enough, from Nicola. Obviously, given her technical virgin status, this could not have happened to her.

“He said he needed me! He was even crying!”

“Bastard!” Angie said.

“I thought that meant he wanted to get back together and plan a future with me,” I snivelled.

“They’re master manipulators when they want sex,” Sophie said. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“I know. It’s just that I was starting to get over him. I was finally feeling optimistic about my romantic future and now...” I stopped myself from blowing my nose on my creamy wool scarf and grabbed a Kleenex instead. “Now I feel like I have to start over.”

Martin spoke up, his voice kind but firm. “Put this behind you. It was just one night. Don’t let it destroy all the progress you’ve made.”

“He’s right,” Sophie said, flashing a smile of admiration in Martin’s direction.

“Of course I am,” he said, deftly knitting a stitch on his ebony sweater. “You’ve got so much to look forward to. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’ve got a rich old guy interested in you . . .”

“Jim,” I corrected.

“Right,” Nicola seconded. “Focus on Jim. Colin’s not worth your tears.”

“Thanks a lot, you guys,” I said, dabbing at my eyes. “I feel so lucky to have your support.”

Martin held up his wineglass in a toast. “To looking forward! To the future!”

“To the future,” we chorused, and drank. They were right. I would focus on the future. I would pretend that night with Colin never happened. It was a blip, a one-time error in judgment. It needn’t impede my healing progress.

“So . . .” Angie said, concentrating on the periwinkle yarn she was slowly casting on to her needle. She had abandoned her previous aquamarine project, claiming that wraps would be “passé” by the time she was finished. The periwinkle shell she was now embarking on should be done just in time for summer. “How are the wedding plans coming along, Nicola?”

Nicola beamed. “I’m glad you asked. I was hoping to get your opinions on something.”

“Sure . . .” the rest of us murmured.

“I have three headpieces in the backseat of my car. Would you mind terribly if I tried them on for you?” Nicola’s tone was apologetic.

“Of course not,” Martin said.

Angie added, “We’d love to see them.”

Nicola looked at me. “Are you sure this won’t be too hard for you? I understand if you’d rather we not discuss the wedding, given recent... events.”

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a wide smile. “I’m looking forward now, remember?”

“Thank you so much.” Nic sighed with relief, placing her mauve angora scarf on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”

And I truly was fine. I could handle it. It wasn’t like I was never going to get married: I just wasn’t going to get married to Colin. Nicola had been so kind in supporting me through this whole mess with him that the least I could do was give her my honest opinion on her bridal headdress options. A little more wine, a few deep breathing exercises, and I should be able to judge Nicola’s wedding attire without any nausea. And if seeing her in her bridal garb did happen to turn my stomach, at least I could throw up in my own toilet.

Nicola modelled three versions: one, a delicate tiara; next, a traditional long, sheer veil; and finally, a floral headband adorned with intricate, realistic-looking wax flowers. “Keep in mind I’ll be wearing a strapless Vera Wang,” she instructed.

“Vera Wang?” we all gasped.

“Don’t Vera Wangs cost about a kajillion dollars?” Sophie blurted.

Nicola blushed prettily. “This is the most important day of my life. My dad wanted me to have an amazing dress.”

“Hmm . . .” Angie said. “I’m leaning toward the headband. It’s really fresh and modern.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Surprisingly, I was feeling quite emotionally stable. “Although the tiara is beautiful, too. I guess it depends if you want your look to be sophisticated or flirty.”

“Or traditional,” Martin piped up, finally asserting his gayness. Really, I’d been beginning to have doubts. “You can’t go wrong with the traditional long veil.”

She turned to her reflection in the wall-mounted mirror. “Oh, I just don’t know... Sophie? What do you think?”

There was a long silence. All eyes shifted to our speechless friend. “Uh . . .” she began, but her voice was quaking with emotion. “I—I think you look beautiful in all of them, Nic.” She began to hurriedly stuff the tiny mint hat into its plastic bag. “I’ve got to go,” she said, her cheeks flushed and eyes shining. “Flynn usually wakes up around ten for a bottle and he’ll be upset if I’m not there.”

“Sophie . . .” Nicola said, but trailed off. It was obvious Sophie was desperate to leave.

“Thanks, Beth,” Sophie said, blowing me a kiss as she hurried toward the door. “I’ll see you all next week.” And with that, she was gone.

“Is she okay?” I asked. Nicola and Angie exchanged looks. They obviously had the inside scoop.

“It’s her marriage,” Angie said. “It’s going downhill, fast.”

Martin responded, “I thought so . . .”

Angie continued, “Rob’s a good guy, but he got this big promotion and it’s just consumed him. Meanwhile, poor Sophie’s stuck at home with a baby, in a new city...”

I suddenly felt terrible for not spending more time with her during the week. “I should spend more time with her during the week.”

“She’d like that.” Angie smiled at me. “But tonight, I think she was just overwhelmed. It’s hard for her, you know. Nicola’s embarking on this wonderful new chapter of her life, and Sophie . . . well, her chapter didn’t quite turn out as she’d expected.”

“Oh god,” Nicola said, yanking the tiara from her head. “I’m such an idiot. I was worried about how all my wedding stuff would affect Beth, but I didn’t even think about Sophie. I mean, I knew there was some tension between her and Rob, but I never realized it was that bad. And I had to go and have my stupid fashion show. I’m such an insensitive jerk.”

“No, you’re not,” Angie cajoled. “You’re excited. I’m sure she understands.”

“No,” Nicola insisted, “I should phone her and apologize.”

“Don’t,” Martin said, authoritatively. “It’ll just make her feel worse. I’m sure she wants to support you and she probably feels really terrible because she can’t.” Again, Martin surprised us with his insight.

“I guess we’ll just have to be there for her if she needs us,” I said, finally. Once the words had been uttered, I had a sudden flash of realization. I could do it. I could be there for Sophie during her marital troubles. Despite the fact that I had recently screwed my ex under the misguided notion that we were getting back together, my heart was still on the mend. I would put that night behind me and move forward. I had to. I had friends who needed me.

But when everyone had left and I was alone in the apartment, a feeling of desolation crept over me. While normally I would have enjoyed the solitude (not to mention the ability to watch CSI instead of Kendra’s favoured reruns of The Gilmore Girls), I suddenly felt incredibly lonely. It had been nearly a week since my dreams for a future with Colin had been shattered, yet again. And while I knew I had to stop pining for what might have been, my current isolation seemed to invite a mini-breakdown.

Moving to my bedroom, I decided a good cry and some heartfelt pillow pounding would help my state of mind immensely. Thanks to the anger I’d felt after Colin’s trickery, I had barely shed a tear since our night together. It wasn’t healthy to repress my grief like that. Besides, I’d been meeting new people, taking up handicrafts, and had even had a casual sort-of date. I deserved a good meltdown.

Flopping on my bed on my stomach, I buried my face in my pillow and wept with abandon. All the dark thoughts and fears that I’d worked so hard to overcome came bubbling to the surface. What if Colin was the only man who would ever love me? What if marriage and children just weren’t my destiny? Was I holding out for an impossible dream? And if so, should I settle for a relationship with Colin, who at least loved me, enjoyed the same TV shows, and was good at oral sex? But just as my tears and snot were threatening to stain my pillowcase, I heard it. Bong: the soft little blip from my laptop that signalled new mail. There was a moment of indecision: Did I continue with my healthy, if a little self-indulgent, crying jag, or did I check the new missive? Curiosity got the better of me and I crawled across the bed to my computer. I would be so pissed off it was just another spam mail trying to sell me female Viagra. In the darkened room the computer screen glowed eerily. I leaned toward it, reading:

1 new message.

From: Jim Davidson
To: Beth Carruthers
Subject: Dinner?

My heart leapt and my pulse was suddenly racing with anticipation. Eagerly, I clicked on the message to open it. After an agonizing three seconds, Jim’s words filled the screen.

Hi Beth,

I know this is short notice, but I’ve got a meeting in Seattle on Monday morning. Do you feel like having an early dinner before I head back to Bainbridge?

I’d love to see you again.

Jim

It was like a message from God! Okay, it was like a message from Jim Davidson, but still . . . the timing was incredible! Just when my fears and insecurities about a loveless future were threatening to overwhelm me, I received a dinner invitation! If that wasn’t a sign to move on, to look forward and embrace the future, I didn’t know what was. Yes, I would push aside all residual feelings for Colin and have dinner with Jim. I clicked the mouse on the reply icon, and with trembling fingers, I typed:

I’d love to see you again, too.
Beth

Jim Davidson picked me up at five o’clock in his navy BMW convertible. It was a far cry from Colin’s 1994 Pontiac Sunfire. Not that I was some superficial, materialistic bimbo who got excited about a fancy car, but come on! It was a BMW convertible! I was used to being driven to dates in a Dodger Blue sedan, with a loose muffler and a cassette deck. It was normal to be a little impressed. As I slid into the leather passenger seat next to my distinguished suitor, I felt slightly giddy. The scent of Jim’s expensive cologne, the proximity of his smooth, tanned skin, and the new-car smell had set my head spinning.

He took me to an upscale eatery across the bay in Alki Beach. It was virtually deserted so early in the evening, allowing us to choose an opportune table to enjoy the scenic view of Seattle. When we were seated, with lemon-drop martinis before us, Jim reached for my hand. “It’s so great to see you again,” he said. “It’s been too long.”

“It has,” I replied, smiling. I could feel my hand beginning to sweat profusely in his electrifying grip. I took a large sip of my deliciously strong drink.

“I wanted to call you sooner, but I didn’t want to seem like some desperate old bachelor.” He chuckled.

“Oh, you could never!” I said, and then realized that I was sounding like some desperate thirtysomething spinster. “I mean . . . I wouldn’t think that... you know, if you wanted to call me . . . whenever.”

He was smiling at me fondly. “So, how have you been?”

“Not bad,” I lied, forcing away the remembrance of my Colin encounter and ensuing breakdown. “I’ve been quite busy, but things have been going well.” I was striving for a light and breezy tone, but to my horror, my voice wavered with repressed emotion. I took another enormous sip.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently, reading the chagrin in my tone.

“Yeah. Fine,” I croaked through the enormous lump that had formed in my throat. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. I’ve been working on a restoration project in Pioneer Square.” He looked at me, and with a slow smile said, “I like to keep busy. It keeps me from thinking about you all day.”

My stomach began to flutter and I immersed my lips in my drink. Jim was so forthright and candid about his feelings toward me. It was slightly unnerving, and yet refreshing after four years with someone as guarded as my ex. I found myself completely charmed by the man sitting across from me. But how was that possible? Only ten days ago I’d been rolling around naked with Colin, celebrating our supposed reconciliation! Was it normal to be so fickle? Or was I just... resilient?

“Another drink?” Noticing my empty glass, the waiter had approached. I stopped myself from rather hungrily licking the sugared rim and said, “Please.”

When he departed, Jim said, “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”

I decided not to mention the rolling around naked with my ex. “Oh . . . this and that... writing, spending time with friends, doing handicrafts . . .” But, my voice would not stop trembling. What was happening to me? Was I about to have some sort of emotional breakdown in front of this handsome, successful architect? God! I was such a loser!

“You seem upset. You can talk to me, you know.”

As if! It had been a while since I’d been on a date, but I knew there were rules about this kind of thing. I seemed to remember seeing a checklist somewhere.

When on a date:

• Do not drink too much.

• Do not talk about your old boyfriend.

• Do not cry!!!!

• And never, ever drink too much, talk about your old boyfriend, and cry.

But Jim Davidson was looking at me so intently and with such understanding, that it was like he really wanted me to open up to him. I barely knew this man but he really seemed to care about my feelings, like the turmoil I’d been going through actually mattered to him. Did I dare tell him about my commitment-phobic ex and his recent wan catharsis about marriage and family? I’d leave out the part where we had sex, of course.

I took a long sip of the martini now placed before me. Clearing my throat loudly, I said, “Uh, I—I went through a difficult breakup a few months ago.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged.

And for some reason, I did. It was crazy, breaking the most obvious of all the dating rules, but it was like I was powerless to stop. Drawing a ragged breath, I told him all about my fruitless relationship with Colin and his overpowering fear of commitment. I told him how I was ready to get married and start a family (which, come to think of it, was another big no-no on the dating checklist), and I didn’t feel I could afford to waste my time with someone who didn’t share my dreams for the future. I knew I was ruining my chances with Jim, that as soon as I stopped talking, he would undoubtedly summon the waiter for our bill, mutter some excuse about an early meeting, and hightail it out of there. But it felt so good to open up to him. When I’d finally run out of words, I drained my second lemon drop. “Well . . . that’s about it,” I said, awkwardly.

“That must have been tough—for both of you,” Jim said, reaching for my hand. I braced myself for the inevitable: While you were talking about your ex-boyfriend for the last ten minutes, I remembered that I have to pick a colleague up at the airport. But instead, he leaned toward me. “I hope you don’t hate me for saying this, but I can understand Colin’s point of view.”

“What?” I squawked.

“I’m not saying he’s right, I’m just saying I remember how I was at his age. It takes some of us a long time to get our priorities straight.” He gave me an intense look that said: I finally realize that committing to a wonderful woman is the most important thing in the world. Butterflies danced in my stomach as a sudden realization struck me: This guy could be everything I was looking for.

The waiter approached, prompting us to focus on the menu. Jim made recommendations as we perused the selection—not in an arrogant way, just as someone with excellent taste and a vast knowledge of fine food. And his choices were divine. We shared a heaping bowl of mussels with ginger and cardamom to begin, followed by a light green salad with red pears, blue cheese, and raspberry vinaigrette. For the main course, Jim ordered the wild sockeye salmon, and for me, he recommended the Ahi tuna with black truffle risotto. He also chose an excellent Cabernet Shiraz, because, he said, if you really love red wine, it doesn’t matter if you’re drinking it with seafood. Again, I couldn’t help but appreciate Jim’s sophistication. It’s not like Colin and I only went out for beer and nachos, but he certainly never made informed suggestions in high-end restaurants. And he certainly never ordered an expensive bottle of accompanying wine!

Throughout the meal our conversation flowed smoothly. We left the topic of my past relationship behind, and talked mostly about our careers. Jim told me how a twelfth-grade trip to Europe inspired him to become an architect. I told him how I’d wanted to be a pop singing sensation, but intense stage fright—and the school choir director—had convinced me I had a talent for the written word. Our repartee was lively and witty, and I realized I was enjoying myself more than I had in months. In that moment, I felt the return of the optimism I’d experienced before that night with Colin. But I couldn’t let my elation get the better of me. There was one vital piece of information I had yet to find out.

Over cappuccinos and a shared plate of molten-centred chocolate cake, I tentatively broached the subject. “So . . . it’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow,” I lied.

“Nice. Do you have birthday plans for him?”

“Just a small family dinner.” I took a sip of my cappuccino. “Birthdays are really important in my family. What about yours?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “at my age you prefer to let them pass without ceremony.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” I said, flirtatiously. “And your birthday is when, exactly?”

“December 22.”

Yesssss! Capricorn! An ambitious, goal-oriented Capricorn! While I would have to look it up in more detail in my astrology book, I knew that Capricorn was an earth sign. A great match for my water sign! God, this could really be him!

When we’d drained our coffees and enjoyed the last morsel of cake, Jim said, “I can’t believe I have to go home tonight.”

Do you really? I was tempted to coo, but managed to refrain. As attracted as I was to Jim, sleeping with him so early on in the relationship was bound to be a mistake. Besides, one had to be careful with these older, sophisticated gentlemen. They were probably more traditional than my generation and might consider a proposition too forward. I didn’t want Jim to think I was a loose woman, or a floozy, or whatever term men his age used for “slut.” Besides, inviting a man like him to a sleepover at Kendra’s cluttered, girly apartment just didn’t seem right.

“That’s too bad,” I finally said, when I’d swallowed my cake. “I’m having such a nice time.”

“Me too,” he said, smiling at me. “But I’ve got to make the ten o’clock ferry. I’d better get you home.”

“Okay,” I said brightly, masking my disappointment.

As we raced through the darkened streets back to Queen Anne, I was surprised at how forlorn I felt about the evening’s demise. I wanted more time with him. I wanted to stay up, talking and drinking wine with him, until the sun began to rise. Did I want more than that? Was I ready to take this relationship to the next level? We hadn’t even kissed, and yet I felt this intense connection to him. Did I dare try to lure him into spending the night in Seattle? I mean, he could afford a hotel room, right? What was the big rush to get back to his house on Bainbridge?

Jim interrupted my internal plotting. “I hate to cut our evening short like this. I’d get a hotel room and spend the night, but I’ve got friends coming to visit first thing in the morning.”

Damn. “Oh, that’s okay. I should get my beauty sleep anyway.”

“You don’t need it.”

Jim turned onto Mercer, and all too soon, we were pulling up in front of my building. Ever the gentleman, he parked the car and walked me to the front door. “I had a great time tonight,” he said, leaning close to me.

“Me too,” I gasped, feeling nearly breathless from his proximity.

“I’m going to have to book a lot more meetings in Seattle, I think.”

“That would be nice.”

He leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle, almost tentative, but electrifying nonetheless. My knees threatened to buckle and I gripped his shoulders. He took this as a sign of passion and intensified his kissing. Oh man. Now I really did want to grab him by the tie and lead him up to my apartment, past Kendra, undoubtedly lying on the couch watching Miss Congeniality, and into my tiny bedroom. But just as I was about to make my move, he broke away.

“Wow,” he said, huskily, looking into my eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, dumbly.

“Look...” he paused. “This might seem like I’m moving kind of fast—”

Yes! Yes, I will have sex with you!

“But I’m going to Whistler this weekend for an environmental symposium. Would you . . . would you like to come with me?”

Oh my god! Had he just asked me to go away with him? “Uh . . .”

“You could ski while I’m in meetings. It’s really beautiful up there.”

“Well, then . . . yes. I’d love to go to Whistler with you.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch with the details.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got to go.” And after giving me a brief kiss on the cheek, he hurried back to his car.