Arti offered a shrug and a knowing smile. “That’s the thing withchemistry.”
She seemed to mean it, rather than put it out there like so manythrowaway phrases about the slings and arrows of dating. “What? What is thething, exactly?”
“It’s a beast unto itself. There’s compatibility, how things lookon paper. Don’t get me wrong, those things are important. But either there’sspark or there isn’t. Everything else in the universe be damned.”
Quinn didn’t find that reassuring. Quite the opposite, actually.She wanted there to be a certain science to it, a predictability. At the veryleast, she wanted some sort of insurance policy she wouldn’t finally screw upthe courage to put herself out there, only to fall in love with someone she hadabsolutely nothing in common with.
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t disagree.” Her date with Lisa had sort of provedit—being perfectly compatible on paper didn’t count for anything in the romancedepartment.
“But? And don’t say there isn’t one. I can see your wheelsturning.”
“It all feels a little, I don’t know”—she searched for the rightword—“haphazard.”
Arti grinned. “That’s what makes it so magical.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Says the woman who’s been happily marriedfor a dozen years.”
Arti let out a sigh and drummed her fingers on the arm of thechair. “Can I tell you something?”
A knot formed below her ribs. If Arti’s marriage was fallingapart, she was seriously going to lose faith in love. “Oh, no. Is somethingwrong?”
“No. The opposite. But it’s not something everyone takes well.”
For the life of her, she had no idea where Arti was going.“Okay.”
“About four years ago, Marguerite and I decided to open ourmarriage.”
“You did?” Her voice squeaked with surprise and she wanted tokick herself. “Sorry. I mean, you did?”
Rather than looking offended, Arti laughed. “We did. We’d falleninto a rut and, as much as I didn’t want to talk about it, we did. And wedecided we wanted to stay together but didn’t want to give up that excitement.”
She could appreciate that. “I give you credit for not ignoringthat or, you know, having an affair.”
Arti offered a sympathetic smile. “Yeah.”
“So, you see other people?”
“Sort of. We did a lot of reading because we’re nerds.”
“Of course you did.” It was so Arti and completely endearing. Andit wasn’t like she’d never heard of polyamory. She just didn’t know anyonepersonally who did it. Correction: she didn’t think she knew anyone who did it.
“Yeah, so anyway. We liked what we read and we gave it a try andit’s been awesome. A lot of work, and a whole lot of talking. But awesome.”
She loved that they were having a moment, but the fact that itneeded to be a moment made her sad. “I’m happy for you. And sorry it’s notsomething you feel you can be open about.”
Arti waved her off. “Don’t apologize. It’s not very differentfrom you not wanting to talk about your love life.”
Quinn laughed. “Touché.”
“Yeah, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you changed thesubject. I still want your scoop.”
Unlike with her sisters, she really hadn’t been trying to changethe subject. “This is way more interesting than anything I have going on.”
“You know, we should grab a drink sometime.”
It was a line they hadn’t crossed. Not the having a drinktogether part, but doing so as friends, with the clear intention of sharing andbonding. “I’d like that.”
Arti stood. “How about after your next date? Then hopefully we’llboth have something juicy to dish.”
She smiled. “Deal.”
“In the meantime, don’t overthink it. If there’s a spark, enjoyit.”
Was it really that simple? “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Arti turned to leave. She made it almost to the door before Quinncalled her back. “Yeah?”
“You came in here for something and I don’t think we ever got toit.” The least she could do after being caught daydreaming was take care ofwhatever Arti wanted in the first place.
“Nah. I saw you staring into space and wanted to give you a hardtime.”
Quinn chuckled. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten so lucky in the coworkerdepartment. Or the friend department, for that matter. “Agreed.”
* * *
Amanda drummed her fingers on the table. She didn’t need theirpermission, but she also didn’t like keeping secrets from her kids. Unlike Mel,this didn’t have the weird, terrible idea factor. Also unlike her fling withMel, things with Quinn seemed like maybe they had the chance to go somewhere.If they did, she didn’t want Cal and Daniella feeling blindsided.
“I want to talk to you two about something.”
Daniella frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Cal looked at her with confusion. “How do you know something’swrong?”
Poor Daniella. She’d inherited her mother’s propensity to worry.“Nothing is wrong.”
Cal seemed relieved, but Daniella wasn’t so readily appeased.“Okay. What is it, then?”
She took a deep breath. “I want to know how you’d feel if I wasseeing someone.”
Daniella continued to frown. “Like, a girlfriend?”
“Well, she’s not going to get a boyfriend. Wait.” Cal turned toAmanda. “Do you want a boyfriend? Or have one? Because that would be fine.”
Amanda couldn’t help but chuckle. She’d raised her kids to be acceptingof everyone. It was endearing to see the principle applied to her ownpreferences. “No boyfriend. Promise.”
“But a girlfriend.” Daniella looked more suspicious than worried.
“Maybe. I wouldn’t use that word yet, but I wanted to see howyou’d feel about it.”
“You dated when we were younger, after the divorce,” Cal said.
It should make her feel better that her kids talked about thedivorce so casually, but even now, it never failed to give a pang of regret.“Yes, but it was years ago, and nothing ever serious.”
“Is this serious?” Daniella asked.
Why did this conversation make her more uncomfortable than thesex talk? “Not yet.”
“But it might be.” Daniella nodded knowingly. “Are you sleepingtogether?”
“Daniella.” Cal looked at his sister in horror.
She glared at him. “Don’t be a prude.”
“I’m…” he hesitated, like the
