As soon as Celia got home, her phone rang. She swore, but wasn’t Bart this time; it was her friend, Marlene.
“Hey Celia, you’ve been a stranger!” Marlene was almost always upbeat.
“I know,” Celia said. “I’ve been churning out story after story. You know I work for a slave driver.”
“John can be an ass, but I think your biggest slave driver is you,” Marlene countered. She had worked for him for years; it was how Celia met her.
“You could be right,” Celia laughed. “How’s the restaurant business?”
Marlene and her husband owned an authentic Italian restaurant; she’d left The Journal to open it. Dave, her husband, was a great businessman, and Marlene had her grandmother’s almost magical gift for cooking. Even Celia couldn’t replicate Marlene’s Italian cheesecake, and she’d repeatedly tried.
“It’s crazy too. I was worried in the beginning when things started slowly. But now Dave is trying to figure out how to make more space for us without moving locations.”
“That’s great! I saw the piece in the paper about it. I need to get over there to sample the new dishes.”
“You do! Of course, you’ll get the friend discount if you wash some dishes.”
“On second thought, maybe I’ll just have it delivered.”
Marlene laughed, and her dogs started barking in the background. “Shut up Rossini! Puccini!”
“I still can’t believe you named your great Danes after Italian composers. Or that you have two Great Danes in that townhouse.”
“That’s actually why I called,” Marlene said. “We bought a house. We’re moving.”
“Congratulations,” Celia said. “I thought you’d live in that townhouse forever.”
Well,” Marlene giggled, “we need more room...”
Celia didn’t answer for a few seconds. Then she understood what Marlene meant. “Oh my goodness. When?”
“About six months from now. We’d all but given up. I wasn’t even taking shots anymore.”
Marlene was 39, and she and Dave had been trying to have a baby for almost as long as Marlene had known her. Celia didn’t relate to the urge, but she always tried to offer the appropriate support. “You’ll understand when your clock starts ticking louder,” Marlene always said. Celia was 38, and her clock had never ticked. However, she was glad Marlene and Dave were getting what they wanted.
“I’m glad for you and Dave, Marlene. About the house and the baby.”
“Thanks,” Marlene gushed. “I want you to put the 27th on your calendar. We’ll be in the house, and we’re having a housewarming and gender reveal.”
“Oh...wow.”
“I know, I know. We used to make fun of those. But now that I’m finally pregnant, I want to do everything.”
“I’ll be there,” Celia promised. “Let me know what I can bring.”
“Actually, I think we need a girls’ night before the party. I want to hear all about your love life!” Marlene teased.
“I’d be glad to have a girls’ night, but it’ll be a boring night if that’s the only topic.”
“Oh come on, I’m married. I have to live vicariously. Surely you have some drop-dead gorgeous man in your life.”
“Drop dead gorgeous doesn’t necessarily mean sane and normal,” Celia said dryly.
Marlene’s voice changed. “Oh, it sounds like there’s a story there. What’s his name?”
“His name was Bart. He got clingy and then kind of crazy. I can’t seem to shake him.”
“That sounds a little disturbing, Celia. Is he stalking you or something?”
Celia laughed. “You’ve been watching Lifetime again, haven’t you? It’s fine.”
“Your problem is you are just too irresistible. They just can’t stay away from you.”
“Oh god, you already have a pregnancy brain, don’t you?” Celia smiled. “So when do you want to have this girls’ night?”
They set a night to meet, and then Marlene chatted for a few more minutes before saying she needed to throw up, so Celia ended the call. Marlene was sharp and loyal, and her husband had his finger on the pulse of a lot of the business in town. Their friendship had been enjoyable and beneficial. They deserved happiness.
Celia was considering what to bake for the housewarming when someone knocked at her door.
“Oh great, you’re home,” Bart said as Celia opened the door. He was holding a bouquet. “I think we should talk.”
Anger was Celia’s first impulse, but she forced herself not to react. “Bart, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“But I need to apologize. I was an ass. You were right. We weren’t exclusive yet.”
“Bart,” Celia held up a hand. “It’s fine, you’re forgiven. I think we should both just move on.” She began to close the door, but Bart stepped forward.
“Please, Celia,” he said. “Just one conversation to clear the air. Then, if you still don’t want to see me, I’ll leave you alone.”
Celia opened the door wider and stepped back so that Bart could walk into her place. She followed him to the living room, and when he sat on the sofa, she sat in an armchair.
“You look great,” Bart said.
“Thanks, you too. So what’s on your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking about our argument. I was wrong. I was moving too fast. We were having a good time and I was pushy.”
“It really is okay, Bart. It was a stupid move on my part too. I was having a rough weekend.” Celia hoped if she took some blame he’d be appeased and finally drop it.
“Me too,” Bart said, moving closer. “It was all a stupid misunderstanding. Can we just forget it, pretend it never happened?”
“I’d like that too,” Celia carefully responded. “You’re a great guy, Bart. I’d hate for us to leave it on bad terms.”
“Thank you, Celia,” Bart said, taking her hand. “I think you’re pretty awesome too.” Celia withdrew her arm, but Bart continued. “Would you be interested in dinner Saturday night?”
“Bart, I don’t think—“
“No expectation. Just friends. Dinner only. I have two tickets to the hospital gala. I know how much you like Nora Jones.”
Celia thought for a minute. She seriously doubted Bart only wanted to be friends. However, she’d love to see the singer perform in such an intimate setting. And it
