I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I just did a little balancing dance from one foot to the other and waited.
“We’re making room for the home gym, but some of my stuff will have to go.” Brenda walked over and got hold of the Dane.
“The home what?” I gasped.
I could feel Tommy’s eyes on me and it made me extremely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Gym, gym.” Brenda laughed again and it occurred to me this was the first time since the ‘incident’ that I had seen her so happy and relaxed. And in spite of her nephew’s presence. Incredible.
“I have some chicken breasts in the oven. Nothing fancy because we need to get this done tonight. You’re welcome to join us.” She waited for my answer.
I looked from Bob to Tommy and my response was clear. “Huh, that’s okay, I have paperwork to do. I’m taking my car in in the morning for the tire. So, thanks. You three go ahead, get your gym done.”
Bob had already disappeared into the house and I could hear furniture being moved, scraping the floor.
“I tell you what, I’ll send Tommy over with some dinner when it’s done. OK? Wait, where is your car?”
“On the street. I’ll get it later.” I turned around and headed to my own place. I couldn’t stand Tommy’s stares. They made me feel self-conscious, like he knew something about me that he wasn’t supposed to. Yes, I had gone completely bonkers.
In spite of all my good intentions, I ended up changing into sweats and Googling all kinds of idiotic scenarios regarding unplanned pregnancies and false alarms. My stomach growled, but now that Brenda had offered me some of her chicken, nothing taking up room in my fridge looked appetizing. And just then, a light knocking at the door. I slipped on my chunky hiking shoes, because I was familiar with Tommy’s dirty tricks.
I opened the door, barely ajar, and promptly placed my foot on the threshold where I knew he would try to insert his to keep me from closing the door. He held a plate in his hand and an ambiguous smile in his dark eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“No. I’m sure Brenda and Bob need you there.”
I grabbed the edge of the warm plate and he pulled back.
“Okay then, have it your way.”
I moved back and put my weight against the door, aware if he really wanted to force his way in, I didn’t stand a chance. Tommy may have been rotten, but he wasn’t totally stupid. He handed me the dish.
“By the way, I’ll be moving in next door, to help Aunt Brenda get the gym set up.”
And on those words of forthcoming doom, he left. Good riddance, for now. The idea of my ex moving in, even if temporarily, messed up my appetite. But nothing a glass of wine couldn’t fix. The quiet of my place felt spooky. So my chewing the fabulous chicken swimming in a mild cheesy sauce surrounded by potatoes and broccoli must have sounded like a Great Dane ripping apart a large bone.
Between being late, knowing that my abusive, former husband was spending the night a few yards from my bed, and having to choose between leaving my car parked on the road overnight or go ask Bob to move his car and chance having Tommy tailing me to the Fiat, well, I didn’t have enough wine in the fridge to improve my mood.
I turned on the television and watched a rerun of Two Broke Girls even though I didn’t like the show or the way they portrayed working women. I ate every little bite of my dinner, skipped dessert and sent a mental goodnight to my poor Fiat 500 sitting alone in the cold Phoenix night. After rinsing the dish and the silverware, I filled my stem glass with ice cubes and water, turned off the television and the lights, tucked myself into bed in my sweats and cried myself to sleep.
Morning light found me in the same why me kind of attitude that had lulled me to sleep. As I brushed my teeth I remembered Kay and her catering question. I never mentioned it to Brenda just as I had never listened to any of Max’s voice mails. I hated myself. Love or hate, I needed to look the part. I wore a skirt, boots, and a sweater with matching cardigan, what I called my old lady outfit. With everything I would need for the day neatly packed in the briefcase Brenda gave me two Christmases ago.
Trying not to alert Dior of my presence, I tiptoed out of the house and down the driveway to my lonely pink beauty with the long scratch left by Celine’s key as obvious as a battle scar in the early sunlight. The seat cover felt cold against my bare legs. Note to myself, wear longer skirts on winter mornings. After all, it was a frigid 60 degrees out here. I made it to the mechanic with ten minutes to spare. And my new tire had yet to be delivered. Great.
I poured myself a cup of Mark the mechanic’s awful, strong coffee, texted Brenda about Kay’s catering question, and while I debated calling Max, J.S. arrived all bubbly and cheerful. I let Mark know about my quick escape to the new listing and he promised to keep me posted via texting.
J.S. drove the R.E. Assist small van. I liked the way the seats were higher than normal cars and I had a better view of the road and surroundings. An empty Starbucks container sat in the cup holder of the center console. “I have the sellers’ folder and the fliers in the back seat,” She said. “Are you excited?”
I nodded. “There is something different about this listing,” I said. “I’m not sure how to explain. Maybe because of
