the pervasive, gnawing lostness. But I hadn’t foreseen being introduced to a perfect stranger as his future wife. It had never crossed my mind. And it had jolted all kinds of fears and insecurities out of their carefully assigned cages.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Well-meaning people who wanted to introduce me to every available, nonsenile bachelor they knew were old hat to me. Old hat and insulting, although I knew there was a compliment hidden under the strategy of well-planned “chance encounters,” blatant hints, and sudden disappearances that left me face-to-face with unmarried specimens of the masculine persuasion. The subtext of the ploys was positive. It said, “We think you’re too good to be wasted on a collection of stray cats.” Though I appreciated the sentiment, I also found the meddling intrusive and the exhortations belittling. I didn’t want a husband any more than I wanted a festering rash. I had never had a serious boyfriend. I had never made a list of proposal scenarios. I had never designed wedding gowns in my head. Other girls’ dreams were my “nevers,” and I intended to keep it that way. But I had sworn off felines years ago in an attempt to outwit the old-maid stereotype.
And here I was in Germany, with just over twenty-four hours of international living under my belt, facing the same brand of matchmaking I’d battled all my life. I wasn’t sure if it was the jet lag or the impending start of a new career or the sight of the little girl galloping like a pony ahead of me, but the overt matchmaking didn’t feel funny at all this time. It felt invasive and insensitive and just a few notches too close to impossible on my sliding scale of life’s probabilities.
4
SIX AND A HALF MONTHS EARLIER
“DANA’S COMING OVE R ,” I said to Trey, pocketing my cell phone, “so I guess you’re finally going to meet her.”
“She’s coming here?” He was arranging pastries in his display window while we talked, stacking golden croissants in a basket and flanking it with twin towers of cream-filled religieuses .
“She wants to drive to the lawyer’s together so we can talk on the way.” I reached into his lighted display case and grabbed a coffee éclair.
“Hey! Put that back!”
I took a bite out of one end and went to put it back on the tray.
“You can’t put it back now,” Trey said in exasperation, pulling my hand away and rearranging the remaining éclairs to mask the gap where mine had been. “You owe me a buck twenty.”
I bit off another large chunk of éclair and spoke around it. “I left my purse in the car.”
“Then you can work to pay off your debt. I have another tray of those right over there that need to be filled.”
“I’ll help you with them if you help me figure my life out.” The last piece of pastry disappeared into my mouth.
“Not exactly an even trade,” he said, reaching for the pastry tube.
“Gimme the baggie,” I muttered, grabbing the bag of vanilla pudding from his hand. Filling éclairs just might offer the kind of distraction I’d been craving. I sincerely doubted it, but it was worth a try. Trey placed a tray of baked éclair shells in front of me and I picked one up. I twisted the top of the bag to force the pudding into its metallic tip, then inserted it into the end of the éclair and squeezed until the pudding evenly filled the pastry’s belly.
“So have you seen Shayla again?” Trey appeared next to me with a bowl of frosting. He took the éclair I’d just filled and proceeded to frost it.
I nodded. My eyes felt heavy from thinking, my mind a little raw. “We had a tea party.”
“And?”
“And she’s still an amazing child. And I’m still the furthest thing from a mother.”
Trey said nothing, and we worked in silence for a while.
“He was such a great guy, wasn’t he?” I said.
Trey glanced at me. “Dad?” He’d always been able to identify daddy thought lines on my face.
I nodded.
“You mean
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Well-meaning people who wanted to introduce me to every available, nonsenile bachelor they knew were old hat to me. Old hat and insulting, although I knew there was a compliment hidden under the strategy of well-planned “chance encounters,” blatant hints, and sudden disappearances that left me face-to-face with unmarried specimens of the masculine persuasion. The subtext of the ploys was positive. It said, “We think you’re too good to be wasted on a collection of stray cats.” Though I appreciated the sentiment, I also found the meddling intrusive and the exhortations belittling. I didn’t want a husband any more than I wanted a festering rash. I had never had a serious boyfriend. I had never made a list of proposal scenarios. I had never designed wedding gowns in my head. Other girls’ dreams were my “nevers,” and I intended to keep it that way. But I had sworn off felines years ago in an attempt to outwit the old-maid stereotype.
And here I was in Germany, with just over twenty-four hours of international living under my belt, facing the same brand of matchmaking I’d battled all my life. I wasn’t sure if it was the jet lag or the impending start of a new career or the sight of the little girl galloping like a pony ahead of me, but the overt matchmaking didn’t feel funny at all this time. It felt invasive and insensitive and just a few notches too close to impossible on my sliding scale of life’s probabilities.
4
SIX AND A HALF MONTHS EARLIER
“DANA’S COMING OVE R ,” I said to Trey, pocketing my cell phone, “so I guess you’re finally going to meet her.”
“She’s coming here?” He was arranging pastries in his display window while we talked, stacking golden croissants in a basket and flanking it with twin towers of cream-filled religieuses .
“She wants to drive to the lawyer’s together so we can talk on the way.” I reached into his lighted display case and grabbed a coffee éclair.
“Hey! Put that back!”
I took a bite out of one end and went to put it back on the tray.
“You can’t put it back now,” Trey said in exasperation, pulling my hand away and rearranging the remaining éclairs to mask the gap where mine had been. “You owe me a buck twenty.”
I bit off another large chunk of éclair and spoke around it. “I left my purse in the car.”
“Then you can work to pay off your debt. I have another tray of those right over there that need to be filled.”
“I’ll help you with them if you help me figure my life out.” The last piece of pastry disappeared into my mouth.
“Not exactly an even trade,” he said, reaching for the pastry tube.
“Gimme the baggie,” I muttered, grabbing the bag of vanilla pudding from his hand. Filling éclairs just might offer the kind of distraction I’d been craving. I sincerely doubted it, but it was worth a try. Trey placed a tray of baked éclair shells in front of me and I picked one up. I twisted the top of the bag to force the pudding into its metallic tip, then inserted it into the end of the éclair and squeezed until the pudding evenly filled the pastry’s belly.
“So have you seen Shayla again?” Trey appeared next to me with a bowl of frosting. He took the éclair I’d just filled and proceeded to frost it.
I nodded. My eyes felt heavy from thinking, my mind a little raw. “We had a tea party.”
“And?”
“And she’s still an amazing child. And I’m still the furthest thing from a mother.”
Trey said nothing, and we worked in silence for a while.
“He was such a great guy, wasn’t he?” I said.
Trey glanced at me. “Dad?” He’d always been able to identify daddy thought lines on my face.
I nodded.
“You mean
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