Ex and the Single Girl (3 page)

I slung my laptop bag over my shoulder and snatched the duffel from her, slamming the car door shut and hearing a small, fading
voice in my head calling,
Gracious!
as though from a great distance.

“
Acute pain and torture,”
I said. “
I seem to recall those exact words.”

Mags sighed and turned to me, grabbing the duffel bag back. “
Oh, baby, you
’
re dwelling. It
’
s not attractive. Now c
ome see Vera and Bev; they
’
ve missed you so.”

She turned her back to me and headed up the steps. That meant the conversation was over. I
’
d been had, and there was nothing left to discuss. Even if I had it in me to turn around and drive back to Syracuse, wh
ich would have served her right, I had sublet my apartment and I wasn
’
t getting it back until August. Best to just let it go, as I eventually did with all my grievances against Mags. She didn
’
t get it, she never would, that
’
s just who she was, and there w
a
s simply no point in staying mad.

I followed her up the steps, glaring at the back of her head the whole time. I may talk the talk of a mature adult, but it takes a while to walk the walk. The sooner I got to that gin and tonic, the better.

Vera clapped he
r hands and jumped up and down when she saw me, running toward me while Mags deposited my duffel bag inside the front door. She gave me a forceful hug, then stepped back to look at me, her hands on my shoulders.

“
Beautiful as ever,”
she said. I could smell
the jasmine incense in her hair and clothes. Her long hair trailed down her back in a fluffy braid, and if it wasn
’
t for the gentle streaks of gray in the blond, you
’
d never guess she was in her fifties. “
It
’
s so good to have you back, baby.”

“
Yes,”
Bev s
aid, walking over to me and pulling me into a firm hug. Her hugs, like everything about Bev, were always firm. “
It
’
s good to see you, girl.”

Mags returned, carrying two gin and tonics, handing one to me as she passed by to sit next to Vera on the porch swi
ng. Bev settled herself in the rocking chair, I sat on the old creaky wicker, and we all stared at each other, treading carefully in the familiar unfamiliar.

I watched them in that awkward silence, thinking how they were a lot like the bear beds that Goldi
locks had found. Vera was the soft one. Never had a bad thing to say about anyone, always cried when baby birds fell out of the oak that shaded our porch. Bev was the firm one, the one you turned to to fix everything when you
’
d been wrongly accused of che
a
ting on your math test, but not the person you
’
d seek out for comfort after, say, you saw Eddie Collier kissing Pamie Scott at the school dance. And Mags
—
well, you could say Mags was just right. She was sensitive enough to know when to ask what was bother
i
ng you, smart enough to know when to leave you alone, and kind enough not to say she told you so. She was beautiful, had impeccable taste, and her feet never seemed to hurt, no matter how cute her shoes were. She would be just right, in fact, if she wasn
’
t
just a hair shy of being certifiably nuts.

“
So,”
Vera ventured, leaning forward with a broad smile, “
tell us about your dissertation. Mags says you finished it?”

“
I finished the rough draft,”
I lied. It had been half-done and gathering dust since February
, while my tab of
Pride and Prejudice
viewings was approaching twenty-five. Epiphany be damned, old habits die hard.

“
That
’
s so exciting,”
Vera said.

“
Yes, we are so proud,”
Bev said. I thought I caught an edge in her tone, but when I looked her way, her s
mile was as bright as ever.

“
When Mary Alice Rainey comes in talking about her Son the Doctor, I just tell her all about my Daughter the Ph.D.”
Mags grinned at me and sipped her drink. I let out a small
I don
’
t believe this
chuckle. Bev coughed into her ha
nd, a warning.

I cut my eyes at her and noticed her smile had faded. She settled her glass on the table and sat back.

“
It
’
ll be nice for you to be home again after working so hard for so long,”
Bev said, her eyes driving the
shut up and be pleasant
message home. “
Maybe you can attend to... other things.”
Vera and Mags exchanged conspiratorial grins. I sipped my gin and tonic, then leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table, indicating the end of the small talk.

“
All right, ladies. Spill it. Wh
at
’
s going on?”

“
I
’
m sure I don
’
t know what you
’
re talking about,”
Bev said, in a tone that said she knew exactly what I was talking about. I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes, one door slam short of being fourteen again.

“
This. The summer. Mags calls me, all about the pain and torture in her back
—”

Mags gave a short laugh. “
Well, I
’
m sure I never said
pain and torture
—”

I pointed my index finger at her, shutting her up. “
Don
’
t push it, lady. You
’
re already on my short list.
”

Vera waved her hand at me, grabbing my attention, her face glowing in excitement. “
Oh, let
’
s just tell her. I can hardly keep it inside anymore, anyway.”

Vera looked at Bev, who nodded. Mags donned a mischievous grin and sipped her drink. Vera leaned for
ward, all bubbles. “
Oh, honey, we
’
ve found you a
Flyer.”

I froze, my drink hovering in the air on its way down to the table. “
You what?”

“
Oh, he
’
s so perfect for you, darlin
’,”
Mags said. “
He
’
s a writer.”

“
Ahhh,”
I said, turning my raised eyebrows at Bev.
“
How perfect.”

Bev gave me a subdued smile, and our eyes had a short exchange.

You
’
re serious?

Yes, we are.

And you expect me to go along with this?

Yes, we do.

And then, out loud, Bev said, “
His name is Ian Beckett.”

Mags leaned forward. “
He
’
s renting the
old Babb farm down at the end of Reddy Road. And he
’
s only here for the summer. Then he
’
s going back to London.”

“
He
’
s British!”
Vera added, in case I didn
’
t make that connection on my own.

Mags batted her eyes at me as she laid down the final stroke. “
An
d he
’
ll be at your welcome home party tomorrow night.”

I rubbed my fingers over my eyes, listening to my internal chorus singing,
shoulda known, shoulda known, shoulda known.

“
Portia?”
I heard Mags saying, “
I thought you
’
d be happy. He
’
s a
novelist
.”

There
was a moment of silence in which everyone thought about, but did not mention, the last novelist in my life.

Vera raised her drink, waving it at me for attention. “
And I did your cards. You got the Ten of Cups
—
celebration and contentment
—
as your final outc
ome.”

“
Did I, really? No Tower this time, then?”
The Tower was the card that symbolized the storm before the calm, and it usually capped every reading Vera did for me.

Vera shrugged. “
Not as the final outcome.”

I shook my head and looked from one Miz to th
e next, each of them smiling back at me as though they were doing me a great favor. “
None of you sees anything wrong with this?”

“
No,”
Mags said, then gave Vera a playful nudge. “
And neither will you when you see him.”

She waved her hand in front of her fa
ce as though she was in the middle of a hot flash, and the two of them fell into girlish giggles. I sighed. I couldn
’
t believe I ever thought for a minute that this summer was going to be all iced teas and mountain breezes. How had I allowed myself to giv
e
in to the delusion? Wasn
’
t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result?

“
Look,”
I said, “
I appreciate that you girls are trying to make sure I have a memorable summer, but you have to stop. Now.”
The giggling subsided and all three looked at me.

“
Stop?”
Mags asked. “
Why would you want us to stop? We found you a
Flyer,
darlin
’
. A sexy British Flyer. That kind of man doesn
’
t come along every day. We thought you
’
d be thrilled.”

“
Thrilled?”
I said, sh
aking my head, my words coming out in a sputter of frustration and incredulity. “
You lie to me to trick me into coming here for the summer. You act like that is no big deal. You pick out a
Flyer
for me…”

I inserted a dramatic pause, in which I imagined the
y might realize the error of their ways and beg my forgiveness. All I got was blank stares. I wasn
’
t just the definition of insanity; I was the damn poster child.

“
It
’
s
wrong,”
I said. I turned to Vera. “
Surely you know this is bad for your karma.”

Vera sh
rugged. “
The cards said it was meant to be.”

“
Oh, hell, Vera, if the cards told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?”

Vera was silent
.
Right. Don
’
t ask a question you don
’
t want the answer to
.
I threw my hands up in the air.

“
You
’
re all nuts,”
I said
. “
I don
’
t think you know what you
’
re doing.”

“
Sure we do, honey,”
Mags said, as though confirming the obvious. “
We
’
re fixing you.”

“
Fixing me?”
I blinked. “
What am I now? A stray cat?”
Vera and Mags looked at each other. Bev rocked backward. My eyes flick
ed from one to the other, looking for a clue as to what was going on.

“
I don
’
t need to be fixed,”
I said finally.

“
Of course you don
’
t, sweetie,”
Vera said.

“
The hell she doesn
’
t,”
Bev grumbled. Vera shot her a look. Bev rocked back again. This time, the e
dge was undeniable. “
Have I done something to offend you, Bev?”
I asked.

“
Of course not, darlin
’,”
Mags chimed in. As I transferred my gaze back to her, I caught the fringe end of a warning look to Bev. “
We
’
re just worried about you is all. You haven
’
t bee
n the same since you and Peter broke up.”