that’s how it happened. And here I thought you were just desperate to finally get married, why you were so willing to settle for my rejects. But you’re really as much of a freak as Adam, aren’t you? You two really should get married. You deserve each other.”
Arlene’s gaze is venomous, but she doesn’t respond.
I pull my feet away from Alice, apologizing as I do. “I don’t think I can stomach sitting here any longer. Something foul in the air is getting to me.”
Arlene quickly stands and steps out of the bubbly water soaking her feet. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll leave.”
As Arlene slips her wet feet into her sandals, I casually lift the magazine off my lap. But I don’t open it. Instead I face Risha.
She offers me a “You go girl!” smile, then squeezes my hand in support.
When I arrive home—which happens to be an apartment within my parents’ very large house—I kick off my shoes, then head straight into my bedroom. I fluff my down-filled pillows and settle my back against them, sighing as I do. That’s the only moment of repose I allow myself, because I need to seriously bitch to my two best friends about Arlene Nash. Hopefully I can get both Annelise and Lishelle on a three-way conference call.
I reach for the phone on my night table, but it rings before I can pick it up.
I lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
“Claudia?”
My back straightens at the faint sound of the male voice on the other end of my line. Surely, it couldn’t be…
“Adam?” I ask cautiously.
There’s a pause, and in that moment of silence, I almost hang up. But then I hear, “No, this isn’t Adam. It’s Greg. Greg Rutherford.”
Greg Rutherford? I frown, wondering why the name sounds familiar, but not recognizing who it is. Then it dawns on me. Greg Rutherford is a guy in my social circle whom I see out at various charity events.
“Oh, hello,” I say, relieved. “Greg, how are you?”
“I’m good. Good.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, though I already have a sneaking suspicion.
Another pause, long enough that I have to wonder if he heard my question. “Greg?”
“Um, sorry.” I hear some nervous laughter on his end. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“She gave me your number. Said you were, uh, interested in getting together. With me.”
“She said what?” I practically shriek. I know my mother has been desperate to marry me off, but how could she?
“I’m sorry. I thought…”
I want to tell Greg to stop apologizing, just be a man and express what he wants. But I see an image of his face and the brown eyes he hides behind thick glasses, and suddenly feel sorry for him. Almost sorry enough to spare his feelings, lie to him and tell him that yes, I did want to get together.
But that would accomplish nothing.
So I go for the truth.
“Greg…I don’t know if my mother told you or not, but I recently ended a relationship.”
“I know. You were engaged to Adam Hart.”
“Right. And…and I’m not anymore. The last thing I’m interested in doing is dating.” I don’t add that even if I weren’t nursing a broken heart, I wouldn’t be interested in dating him.
In short, I’m letting him down easy. Giving him a way to save face.
“Say no more,” Greg says.
“You understand?”
“I went through the same thing when my marriage ended. I know what you’re going through.”
“Of course.” I suddenly remember hearing the surprising news that he and his wife parted about a year ago.
“That’s why I thought…well, I wondered. You know, if you ever wanted to get dinner sometime. Do something to take your mind off your troubles…”
I appreciate the gesture, even if he isn’t my type. “Maybe in a couple months,” I tell him.
“Why don’t you take my number? Call me. Whenever. If you want, of course.”
Greg rattles off his number, and I jot it down.
We end the call, and no sooner do I drop the cordless handset
Arlene’s gaze is venomous, but she doesn’t respond.
I pull my feet away from Alice, apologizing as I do. “I don’t think I can stomach sitting here any longer. Something foul in the air is getting to me.”
Arlene quickly stands and steps out of the bubbly water soaking her feet. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll leave.”
As Arlene slips her wet feet into her sandals, I casually lift the magazine off my lap. But I don’t open it. Instead I face Risha.
She offers me a “You go girl!” smile, then squeezes my hand in support.
When I arrive home—which happens to be an apartment within my parents’ very large house—I kick off my shoes, then head straight into my bedroom. I fluff my down-filled pillows and settle my back against them, sighing as I do. That’s the only moment of repose I allow myself, because I need to seriously bitch to my two best friends about Arlene Nash. Hopefully I can get both Annelise and Lishelle on a three-way conference call.
I reach for the phone on my night table, but it rings before I can pick it up.
I lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”
“Claudia?”
My back straightens at the faint sound of the male voice on the other end of my line. Surely, it couldn’t be…
“Adam?” I ask cautiously.
There’s a pause, and in that moment of silence, I almost hang up. But then I hear, “No, this isn’t Adam. It’s Greg. Greg Rutherford.”
Greg Rutherford? I frown, wondering why the name sounds familiar, but not recognizing who it is. Then it dawns on me. Greg Rutherford is a guy in my social circle whom I see out at various charity events.
“Oh, hello,” I say, relieved. “Greg, how are you?”
“I’m good. Good.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, though I already have a sneaking suspicion.
Another pause, long enough that I have to wonder if he heard my question. “Greg?”
“Um, sorry.” I hear some nervous laughter on his end. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“She gave me your number. Said you were, uh, interested in getting together. With me.”
“She said what?” I practically shriek. I know my mother has been desperate to marry me off, but how could she?
“I’m sorry. I thought…”
I want to tell Greg to stop apologizing, just be a man and express what he wants. But I see an image of his face and the brown eyes he hides behind thick glasses, and suddenly feel sorry for him. Almost sorry enough to spare his feelings, lie to him and tell him that yes, I did want to get together.
But that would accomplish nothing.
So I go for the truth.
“Greg…I don’t know if my mother told you or not, but I recently ended a relationship.”
“I know. You were engaged to Adam Hart.”
“Right. And…and I’m not anymore. The last thing I’m interested in doing is dating.” I don’t add that even if I weren’t nursing a broken heart, I wouldn’t be interested in dating him.
In short, I’m letting him down easy. Giving him a way to save face.
“Say no more,” Greg says.
“You understand?”
“I went through the same thing when my marriage ended. I know what you’re going through.”
“Of course.” I suddenly remember hearing the surprising news that he and his wife parted about a year ago.
“That’s why I thought…well, I wondered. You know, if you ever wanted to get dinner sometime. Do something to take your mind off your troubles…”
I appreciate the gesture, even if he isn’t my type. “Maybe in a couple months,” I tell him.
“Why don’t you take my number? Call me. Whenever. If you want, of course.”
Greg rattles off his number, and I jot it down.
We end the call, and no sooner do I drop the cordless handset
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