Spinster? (11 page)

"What do you mean?"

Tess gestured to the mantel, which was still home to a very large portrait of he and his late wife.

"I would love to help you get there, and I think you're close, but I can't be the one in between your wife and the one you fall for...I just can't."
 

He sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. Part of her was hoping he would protest. Something. His silence broke her heart a little, and took some polish off of her pride. Not because she was falling in love with him, but because he was still mourning the loss of his wife...and because he hadn't contradicted her.
 

She wanted him to be ready, but he'd get there...someday.

After a few minutes of contemplative silence, he spoke. "Tess, you made me feel things I never thought I'd feel again. Desire, butterflies...hope. And...I really like you."

"I really like you, too. You're a special person." She smiled and squeezed his hand.
 

"It's so hard...she was the love of my life."

Her heart ached for this kind man she'd come to care for. "I don't know what you're going through. Honestly, I can't even begin to fathom it...but the thing is, at least in my opinion, you're still here, Donovan. Yes, she was the love of that life, the one where she lived, but you...you have to go on. I know she wouldn't want you to spend your life pining for her. There's room in your heart for someone else...you deserve it." The last part came out soft.

"I wish it could've been you, Tess. I thought it could've been. But in case you're not, you're right. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I thought it might work, too...but ya know, I think we were supposed to meet. I think I might even heart you a little, Donovan Green."

He laughed and kissed her temple. "I think I heart you a little, too...Can we still hang out sometime? Please, say yes. I really enjoy being around you, you make me feel happy...Does that make sense? I'm not trying to use you or anything. It's just that, I could use a little happiness, ya know." He was so cute when he rambled.

"I would love to have you in my life. Besides, you're a good influence. I ate quinoa because of you."
 

Donovan suggested they still watch a movie, but Tess felt they should end things as they were, and when they walked out, their fingers tangled once again. He gave her a soft, brief kiss beside the car door.
 

"Thanks, Tess...just, thanks."

Tess gave him a tight hug. "Please, don't thank me. It wasn't charity. It was in all honesty, my pleasure."

The drive home was quiet, but pleasant, which was weird. Then one last embrace that lasted several minutes. It was goodbye, but one of the most amicable ones she'd ever experienced. Tess wasn't sure if the whole let's be friends could be a reality, but in that moment she knew she wanted to try.
 

She turned the key and walked into her condo, feeling lighter than she should have. It was a far cry from how she normally felt when a relationship ended...or the beginnings of one, in this case. Her contented sigh was indicative of the true contents of her heart. She felt things had ended as they should have. And the sad truth was, she felt she'd dodged a bullet...and it had nothing to do with his wife.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Contessa Elaine Warner...sit-up-straight. No slouching at the table."
 

Conditioned as she was, Tess threw her shoulders back and sat ram-rod straight. No one could pull her
 
marionette strings quite like her mother. In fact, only her mother.

"That's better. You'll thank me when all of your friends have a hunchback and you don't." Her mother's voice took on a sing-song quality, like she was really imparting helpful wisdom to her daughter, not berating her like a child. Maybe she wanted a hump.
 

"Tiffani, give the girl a break. We're at home, after all." In her mind she thanked her dad for the support. Instant flashbacks of dancing with him in his study. Her small bare feet fitting comfortably on the top of his wingtips. He'd hum "Brown Eyed Girl" even though her eyes were hazel. He'd say that as soon as someone wrote a song about a hazel eyed beauty he would switch. "When she finds a husband, then she can worry about her hump."
 

Record scratch.
 

Tess forked the pile of arugula that lay on the delicate ecru china. Why, oh why, did she keep coming over here for Sunday dinner? She could be having cocktails with her friends, or doing her taxes, or watching paint dry, or pulling her pubic hair out with pliers. The only thing that kept her from flipping her plate into the air, greens cascading around her head in slow mo, was the thought of Greta's custard tarts, made especially for her visit.
 

"So, how's the retirement party planning going, Mom?" Tess threw out, knowing her mother couldn't ignore that nugget. Tiffani Warner loved to throw a soiree.

Her mother clapped once, her blonde hair almost bounced. Almost. She then curbed her show of emotion, smoothing her hands down the stand of pearls around her neck.

Easy Mother, you almost got excited.
 

Tess smirked and took a healthy swig of her sauvignon blanc. She needed a robust buzz to deal with the Warner Sunday dinner. They weren't all bad. Her dad had been the stereotypical workaholic. Twelve hour days, showing up in time to kiss them on their freshly shampooed curls. "Goodnight, sweetheart." It was her favorite part of the day.
 

He attended things when he could, which wasn't often. But he didn't yell or drink too much. He was just a quiet fixture in the study. Present, but not
present.
Despite that fact, she could always count on him, unlike any other man she'd ever known. So, naturally, she adored him.

Her mother was the exact opposite. Every play, every game, every fund raiser. Carpool, PTA. You name it, Tiffani Warner was perfectly coiffed, front and center. Unfortunately, it was more a keeping up appearances and social acumen, than maternal obligation. She put on a good show, but Tess didn't buy it. She was too invisible when no one else was around to witness her tepid indifference. Her sister Bristol always said she had a skewed view of their mom, and that she never gave her any credit. They would just have to agree to disagree, like everything else.
 

She emptied her glass and shook off the trip down memory lane. Greta cleared the salad plates and served the soup course. The creamy mixture steamed, warming Tess's face. "Thank you, Greta. It looks divine." Greta smiled and rubbed Tess's shoulder. Greta came to work for them when Tess was in middle school. She credited her arrival with the fact that she only spent three years in therapy instead of fifteen.

"And that's why we chose Kressler gardens. The flowers will be in bloom and it will be breathtaking." Her mom continued, unaware of the fact Tess had checked out during the first part of the party synopsis.

"Oh, yes, that will be nice. How many people will be there?"

"The list, as it stands, is around two hundred."

"Wow, sounds intimate."

Her father chuckled. "I know. I don't need a room full of people I haven't seen in years pretending to care that I now have to find a hobby. But you know your mother." He winked at her, previous husband and hump comment forgotten, regaining his crown as the king of her heart.

"William, you've been a pillar of this community for over thirty years. You deserve a send off befitting your status." Her mother placed her spoon beside her bowl, her soup yet to be touched. "I know you don't like to make a big fuss, but can I make one on your behalf? I'm just so proud of all of your accomplishments, my love. I think you deserve one hell of a party."

Tess did a double take. One, her mom sounded sincere and, two, she said hell...at the dinner table. Her father put his large hand over her mother's slender one and squeezed. "Okay, Tif, okay." The smile her mother gave to him in return made Tess's cheeks warm. Damn it, she did not want to see her mom as a human instead of Stepford cyborg. That would make all the years before seem like an unnecessary torture. Why now? Tess didn't even want to entertain the thought that maybe she was clinging to her preconceived notions so tightly, she was the one who was the rigid and unbending one, not her mother.
 

No. Just no. That shift in her paradigm would be too unnerving. So, she surprised herself when she said, "It sounds amazing, Mom. I'd like to help, if you need an extra hand."

"That would be wonderful, Tess." A smile exploded across her mother's smooth skin and it was startling. Tess smiled in return as Greta cleared the soup. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her father was giving her a look of unbridled approval that brought a tear to her eye. And like that, she wasn't the thirty-three year old woman impervious to her parents approval. She was the seven year old girl, swinging her legs underneath a silken table cloth, absorbing every ounce like a dry sponge does water.

She sat at her parents' dining room table, and she was smiling, not with derision, but happiness. And they were smiling in kind. Hell hath frozen over. Maybe it would last more than a moment.

As if remembering that showing excitement causes wrinkles, her mother's smile melted. "I hope you can drum up a suitable escort, Tess."
 

Maybe, not.

"Oh, mother, you know me. I have a bevy of available men at my disposal."
 

"The word I used was suitable, not available. There is a difference."

"I'll make sure their tattoos are covered," Tess snarked, knowing she would go alone, but baited her mom nonetheless.

The savory aroma of the roast on her plate wafted into her olfactories. Tess was going to eat every bite, including the mashed potatoes. Then have seconds, followed by a very large custard tart.
 

Annoying her mom by calorie consumption was her favorite. Old habits die hard.

Later, she swiveled, contemplating the night's events, on a hard wooden stool. Not every second had been excruciating, that was unusual. It had ended like it usually did, with a barely touching cheek kiss from her mother and a hearty hug from her father. Had she really offered to help her mom party plan? She would have to get very creative to get out of this one. And to top it off she was single...again, which her mom pointed out a half a dozen times. Not that she and Donovan had been serious, but he had been a viable candidate. And despite his dinner invitation, she never heard from Wesley, or Wes...whatever. The newsletters had been finished, published and distributed. He was probably crowned king of the reunion, if he graced them with his attendance. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Part of her was offended, a tad bitter. But part was relieved. Sometimes it was better not have to worry about entanglements with the opposite sex.
 

So, here she sat, bellied up to the bar of her favorite watering hole—three Crown and diet Cokes in—spurring free drinks and suggestive smiles.
No gracias, dudes. This vagina was closed for business tonight.
She felt mildly sorry for herself, despite her full life. She didn't need or want a man, right? She had a job she loved and amazing friends. Men just complicated her life, made her feel things. It's better to go it solo. It was just easi...

"Anyone sitting here?" a deep voice asked.
 

Tess tilted her chin, just enough. Long fingers. Tattooed arm, trimmed beard on the chin, sparkling eyes. Aaaand...lady boner. Okay, maybe she could make an exception. Just for one night.
 

Tess woke in a knot of sheets. Her cranial fog was a reminder that she had over indulged with her hipster hunk. She sat up with a groan, palming her forehead. "Uuhrrrggh."
 
Flashes from the night before assailed her. Some were naked.
 
"Oh, god!" Remembering the make out session in his Prius, after many rounds of dry humping on the makeshift dance floor. What was his name?
 

"Bobby? Brent? No, Trent! I knew I remembered." She shuddered again—the vise grip on her frontal lobe was in full effect. He'd come into her apartment, and she was pretty sure they did it. That had her rolling out of bed, cursing as she hit the floor on all fours forgetting the origami thing she had going with her Egyptian cotton. She unravelled and threw on a t-shirt.
 
Was he still here? And this is why she stopped random hammered hook ups years ago. Once you wake up in a frat house without your top on, you make some changes...especially when you're almost old enough to be the slightly post pubescent guy's mom if you'd gotten knocked up in high school. There was a twinge of something foreign in her chest. Was that guilt? Nah, couldn't be. She never felt guilty. Perhaps it was reflux, or her Crown and Cokes attempting to make an encore appearance. Speaking of the demon that was whisky, she couldn't remember if she'd kicked him out the night before, damn it.
 
Surely she did. She always did.

She went out to an empty apartment and sighed.
 

"Yes."

And then...the toilet flushed.
 

"Ah, man."
 

 
Her discomposure fell away, a mischievous smirk taking it's place as she wondered if she could beat her get to steppin' record of ten minutes. She noted the time on the microwave.

"And go."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"So, let me get this straight. He was good looking."

"Yes."

"And nice."

"From what I can remember."

"And you slept with him."

"All signs point to the affirmative."

"But you're not going to call him or answer when he calls. Do I have it right?"

"That about covers it," Tess agreed. She'd been filling Rebel in on the previous night as they ate pho at their favorite noodle shack. She knew Rebel was trying to be supportive, but Tess could tell by the look on her friend's face that she wanted to slap some sense into her.
 

"Look, Rebel, I know it sounds crazy. I know you're thinking why not give this guy a chance. But I just can't start from square one after he's put his mouth on my beave, ya know?"