Animal Husbandry by Laura Zigman Page B

sink, hovering obsessively.
    “Why do I think they liked you, or why am I sure they did?”
    “Both.”
    “Because,” I said, hoping the word would answer both questions.
    “No, really,” he said. “I mean, I barely said anything. I was just laughing like an asshole the whole night.”
    “Listen, obviously they liked you. I like you. You’re immensely likable.”
    “But why?”
    “You mean, besides the apron?”
    He nodded.
    I turned and stared at him. “Are you serious?”
    “Kind of.”
    “Why is it so important whether they liked you or not? Or whether you liked them or not?”
    “I liked them.”
    “But why do you care so much?”
    He picked at a piece of the leftover apple tart but quickly grew bored with it. “Because I hate it when people don’t like me. Mia’s friends never liked me. I never knew what to say, and then when I’d think of something, it was never the right thing. Dinners were always like an E. F. Hutton commercial: Whenever I opened my mouth, they’d all stop talking and listen, as if they were sure I was going to say something politically offensive. Which I guess I did after a while. On purpose.”
    “But tonight wasn’t like that. Joan loved you. I could tell. She would never have talked so much if she didn’t like you.” Which was true. Joan would have just sat there looking either extremely bored or extremely annoyed.
    “And what about David?”
    “What about David?”
    “I don’t know. I felt like he was watching me the whole time. As if he knew something I didn’t.”
    “That’s just the way he is. He’s very protective of me. Like a brother would be if I had one. We’ve known each other a long time—he was there when I was with Michael, and I was there when he still slept with girls. We know a lot about each other that no one else knows, and we understand each other in ways other people don’t. If he was watching you, he was doing it for me. To make sure I’m not going to get screwed.”
    “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
    “I’m always afraid of that.”
    Ray looked at me. “I’ll never screw you,” he said, pulling me out of the kitchen and over toward the bed. “At least not like that.”
    [ SCREWING SCENE DELETED .]
    “Funny,” Joan declared first thing the next morning when she called me at the office. “Definitely funny.”
    “You think?”
    “Hilarious.”
    “Really?” I tried to remember Ray being hilarious the night before, but nothing came immediately to mind, so I thought I’d just take the compliment and run.
    “Also, very, very cute.”
    “I know.”
    “I’m sure you do. Great hands too.”
    “I know.”
    “Very important.”
    “The most important.”
    “Can’t get very far without great hands.”
    “I know.”
    “And very attentive. You should see the way he looks at you. Turning his chair to stare at you while you’re talking. Ben never does that. Look rapt.”
    “Wrapped?”
    “Rapt. As in fascinated. Mesmerized. Enchanted. All of which Ray looked the entire evening.”
    “So …?”
    “So I approve. As soon as he ditches the phantom vegan …”
    One down.
    One to go.
    I waited all morning to hear from David, but by noon he hadn’t called, so I called him.
    “So what’d you think?” I asked when I reached him at his studio.
    “Great dinner,” he said.
    “And?” I said expectantly. “What did you think about Ray?”
    “You mean, besides the fact that he has a great ass?”
    I stopped short. “How could you tell he has great abs?”
    “
Ass
,” David enunciated. “I said he has a great
ass
. Obviously your
second
choice.”
    I laughed quietly. “Third, actually.”
    “I see.”
    “But what did you
think
think?”
    There was silence on the phone as he considered the question.
    “David?”
    “Yes, Jane?”
    “What?”
    David exhaled loudly, and I could tell he was fidgeting. “Look, he seemed nice. He seemed very nice.”
    “But?”
    “But I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
    “Tell