Right, they met through a dating agency. I always thought that having an algorithm choose my life’s partner wouldn’t be romantic, but…
I pull up Leslie’s engagement ring photo again. What’s not romantic about this? Nothing, it’s perfect. What does it matter how they met? Zilch. Nada. Maybe I should ask Leslie the name of the agency… An irrational fear makes me shudder at the mere suggestion. One day… We’ll see.
I grab the remote and turn on the TV, shuffling channels until the screen shows Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze making pottery. I drop the remote on the coffee table and wrap myself in a blanket. A Ghost re-run is just the heartbreaking kind of movie I need tonight.
Tegan finds me a while later, unabashedly crying to the notes of Unchained Melody.
“Ghost, Mom?”
I look up at her, wiping a few tears off my cheeks. “I couldn’t resist.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “We need ice cream for this. Vanilla, or the heavy stuff?”
Our eyes lock, and we nod, saying in unison, “The heavy stuff.”
When she comes back from the kitchen with two bowls of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, I lift the blanket and pat the empty spot on the couch next to me. Tegan scoots right in, snuggling close to me under the blanket, filling my heart with love. Five seconds later, Priscilla joins us, curling up between us. I scratch the cat behind the ears, and she begins to purr.
Who said I need a man? Maybe my daughter and our cat are enough.
Said the sad lady who cries watching decades-old romantic fantasy thrillers.
***
Wednesday morning, at the office, I drum my fingers on the desk anxiously. I hate it when a client is late. My calendar is precise, scheduled, organized down to the minute. And, no, I’m aware not everyone is as punctual or efficient as I am, so I always keep a half hour buffer between appointments. But Mrs. Thomas is now officially forty-five minutes late. I sure hope she won’t show up now, expecting me to still receive her.
Well, her separation papers are ready to go; all that’s missing is her signature. I’ll FedEx them to her, and she can have them delivered back to me. Couriers, at least, are reliable.
I search for her number in her file and call her.
After the line rings forever, I’m connected to her voicemail.
“This is Mary. I can’t pick up the phone right now. Please leave a message and I’ll call you right back.”
Right back in her vocabulary, as I soon discover, means “Whenever I get around to it.” Three days later, on a sunny Friday afternoon, she still hasn’t returned my call. Honestly, I’m getting a little worried. Considering how much in a hurry she was to get divorced, you’d think she wouldn’t ignore my calls unless she was in trouble or something.
I’m downtown shopping for Garrett and Leslie’s engagement present for the party tomorrow night when, what do you know, I spot Mary Thomas herself coming out of Eataly, a fancy food store that sells Italian specialties. She has a man on her arm, and they’re looking into each other’s eyes like two lost love birds. I smile to myself, worries vanishing into the wind. She’s not in trouble—she’s met someone! In the excitement of her new relationship, she must’ve forgotten our appointment, or to return my message. Love does that to people.
I watch as he feeds her a spoonful of gelato from his cup.
Yep, definitely two turtle doves.
I hate to crash her date, but if Mrs. Thomas wants to start a new life with that nice man, she’d better put her soon to be ex-husband well and forever in her past.
And I can help her turn that page for good. No matter how unpleasant the task, or how taken by her new relationship she might be, she’ll thank me in the end. And since she won’t return my calls or show up for her appointments, it seems the only way I can finalize her divorce is to remind her about the missing signature right now, when I have access to her.
I cross the street over to their side, calling, “Mrs. Thomas!”
Mary looks at me and pales. Wait, is she trying to avoid me? Yep, she’s steering her companion away, pretending she hasn’t seen me. Why? Is it because I know she’s still technically married, and she’s ashamed of being with someone new before the divorce papers are finalized?
I’m not one to be discouraged easily, so I run after her, still calling, “Mrs. Thomas! Mary Thomas!”
Mary tries to keep going, but the man tugs at her arm, slowing her down so I can catch up with them. As I approach, I hear him saying, “What’s wrong? You look so pale.”
“I’m fine, I just—” Mary cuts herself off as I reach their side. “Hello,” she says warily.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Thomas,” I say. “I expected you at my office on Wednesday. Did something happen? I left you a message but never heard from you.”
“Oh, right.” She’s still looking at me with that deer-caught-in-the-headlights scared look, her smile tense. “I should’ve called you, but this week has been crazy. My dad fell and broke his hip, and my dog got food poisoning.”
Even if she’s telling the truth, these are nothing but excuses. It takes all of three minutes to pick up the phone and call me. Still, I’m not in the habit of antagonizing my clients, so I move on. “I have your papers ready. All you need to do is sign, and you and your husband—”
“My husband is here,” she cuts me off, pulling on the man’s arm. “This is Cedric. I’ve decided to give him a second chance.”
My jaw drops, and I stare at the man directly for the first time. I’ve never met him before, so I didn’t recognize him. All Cedric Thomas has ever been to me is a name on a page, a mysterious figure I needed to get my client
