I’d meant to find her at school one day, or ask around for her number. But I just got busy, and the next thing I knew, she was with Will.
I saw her last year a few times. She never looked my way. Sometimes I thought it was on purpose. And every time I thought it was for the best.
I knew Will had died. That kind of baggage scared the shit out of me. Not that I thought I’d ever find a baggage-free single woman at my age. But ex-spouses and baby-daddies were easier to deal with. They weren’t together anymore by choice.
Like Eliza and I. We were friends. We had a mutual respect for one another. And I had love for her. I just wasn’t in love with her. I kind of thought a lot of married couples probably felt the same way. I bet a lot of them stayed together because it was convenient and peaceful, and they felt like it was too late to fall in love for real anyway. I probably would have done the same thing and stayed with Eliza forever, especially after Olive was born. Because that was the easy thing to do. But Eliza was a brave chick. She told me she was tired of taking the easy way all the time. She said we had married too young and too soon, and she wanted to try to make a go of it on her own. She said she would only do it if I was okay with it. I didn’t even put up a fight. I hated having to share Olive, and the first year was hard. But we settled into a nice routine. I missed being part of a couple, but I was glad she’d had the courage to do something for the both of us that I never would have done for myself.
Cora’s story was different. She didn’t choose to be brave. She’d been forced. When I’d found out Will had died, about a year after my divorce, I thought about reaching out to her. But in the end, I let it go. What could I offer her? I had no idea what it was like to lose the love of my life. I didn’t even know what it was like to have a love of my life.
And then we’d walked up on that intersection a few weeks ago. Same place, same time, again and again. What were the chances of walking up on my high school crush a dozen years after graduation? We were both single. We’d both been single for long enough to start dating again. I mean, if destiny was a real thing, it couldn’t have made its wishes any clearer.
But I resisted. A relationship with someone who’d been dealt such a shitty hand wouldn’t be easy. It would take work, time, and a ton of patience. I wasn’t sure I’d have enough. I didn’t know if I’d be enough.
But they said the best things never were easy. I’d gone for easy before, and I’d ended up alone. How many times would I let this girl slip through my hands? It was time for me to step out of my comfort zone, stop screwing around, and take a chance on something. I knew that. But knowing something, and acting on it, were two very different things.
Any day now. That’s what I told myself every Friday. Just ask her out. It wasn’t like I had to marry the girl. I didn’t even know her. She could be one of those people who thought eating fruit on pizza was disgusting. She could prefer cats to dogs. Or worse, she could use there, they’re, and their incorrectly.
Or she could be everything I thought she was all those years ago — smart, kind, funny, loyal.
I needed to find out. If she was a cat lady or used improper grammar, I could just start driving Olive to school, or even send her to a private academy. But I needed to know either way. I couldn’t keep thinking about this girl without acting on it.
It was adorable this morning when she thought I was asking her to babysit. And tonight, the way she shyly glanced up from her phone after reading my texts, made me want to take her home. Tonight. I didn’t know texting someone who was standing right next to me could be so stimulating.
Remember, patience.
After ninety minutes of trick-or-treating and secret texting, we were more than ready to head to the Hurrah. We rode over in Cora’s SUV. You could tell a lot about a person by the interior of their car. It was almost as personal as being in their bedroom. All signs pointed to good. It was clean, smelled like the Yankee Candle apple air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, and there was a pack of Trident gum sitting in the cup holder.
As she drove us over, I hoped we’d run into those Mean Moms at the Hurrah. I knew they gave Cora a hard time. They were like adult versions of the bully in A Christmas Story. Oh, I better find out if Cora is an A Christmas Story person or not. Nobody seemed to have mediocre feelings regarding that movie. They either loved it or hated it. If she didn’t love it, that could seriously impede our chances of a solid relationship.
We pulled up right next to Mean Mom #3, Tabitha, as she and her demon children were getting out of their ostentatious Hummer. I didn’t understand why these chicks thought they lived in Beverly Hills. This was a suburban, middle-class neighborhood, and they acted like it was the damn Hollywood Hills.
Ah, how nice it was that they would be able to see the four of us at the Hurrah together. Being here with Cora was great in and of itself. But having the opportunity to piss off those lunatics was a real nice cherry on top.
Cora grabbed Lucie by the hand, I grabbed Olive by the hand, and we walked towards the door to the gymnasium. Tabitha watched with her mouth hanging open.
7:48 P.M.
“Oh no,” Cora said, as she shook her head subtly. “We’ll sit this one out.”
“What?” I asked. “Do you have something against apples?”
We’d already been to the pumpkin bowling lane, the eyeball bounce, and the candy corn relay race.
She shrugged and gave me that shy look again — the one that made me nuts. “No, I have something against sharing germs with a bunch of strangers.”
How could I argue with that? To tell you the truth, I didn’t care if she bobbed for an apple. I just wanted her to take off her clothes.
“Eh, you’re right. Let’s move on,” I said, and we headed toward the Pin the Hat on the Witch booth.
“Yoo-hoo.”
I recognized that voice. It was a sound that made me grind my teeth. By the look of annoyance on Cora’s usually-sweet face, I knew she felt the same way.
Shauna.
“Yoo-hoo, you two.” Who said yoo-hoo? Really? “We’re about ready to start the first grade treasure hunt. You guys are going to enter, right?”
A treasure hunt? Why was I just now hearing about this?
My competitive blood started to boil immediately. They thought they were competitive. Ha.
It. Was. On.
8:00 P.M.
I wish I’d known about this sooner. I would have made us team t-shirts and water bottles.
“Each team will get an envelope,” Mrs. Lewis, one of the first grade teachers explained to all of us. “Inside you will find a list of ten items for you to take pictures of this evening. All pictures must be on the same phone or camera, and each picture must include at least one of your team members. When your team arrives back here with all ten photos, you will receive a map to help you find the treasure chest. Everyone understand?”
We all nodded and Miss Mater, another first grade teacher, started handing out envelopes.
“On the count of one, you may all open your envelopes. Five…”
There were about fifty of us standing in the corner of the gymnasium and we all started shouting the numbers out loud.
“Four, three, two, one!”
“Good luck!” the teachers yelled as the teams tore into our envelopes like animals.
I was glad to see that Cora and Lucie had the same competitive fervor as Olive and me.
I read the list quietly to our team and everyone started shouting out at once.
“The library!”
“The playground!”