“Nice,” he said. “I had one of those when I was a boy. A G.I. Joe with lifelike hair. And kung fu grip.”
“I’ve always wanted a man with kung fu grip.”
Andrew laughed. “Speaking of martial arts, how long were you married?”
“Nine years. But I should have known it was doomed from our honeymoon.”
“Why is that?”
“It was a train wreck. Clive wanted to take me to Taiwan, where he had served a church mission. I personally wanted something more romantic, but he was insistent.
“First, our flight out of San Francisco was canceled, so we ended up sitting in the airport for fourteen hours. Then we got rerouted to Japan, where we got stuck because a typhoon hit. We ended up waiting four days in a hotel in Tokyo, then flew back home because we were out of time and Clive was starting a new job. The fates were against us from the beginning.”
“I can beat your honeymoon disaster,” he said.
“You can beat a typhoon?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Jamie and I had the worst honeymoon ever. In fact, it’s so bad, someone could write a book about it.”
“What kind of book?”
“A tragicomedy.”
“This sounds interesting. Tell me.”
“All right. So, Jamie’s dream honeymoon was Bora Bora. You’ve seen the pictures—perfect Windex-blue water, white sand beaches, thatched huts.”
“Which is what I wanted,” I interjected.
He smiled. “Right. Well, I went one further and got us a place on a private island. To get there you had to go by boat.”
“Sounds dreamy,” I said.
“You would think,” he replied. “As our boat approached the island, the first thing we saw was a woman standing on the dock wearing pink cowboy boots.”
“Cowboy boots?”
“Pink ones. And nothing else.”
“Oh, my.”
“She was obviously some kind of model. I mean, she looked photoshopped. Then another nude model walked out. It turned out that I had booked the resort at the exact same time that Playboy magazine had planned their ‘Girls of Bora Bora’ issue. They took over the entire island. Every restaurant, every beach, no dress code. No shirts, no shoes, no problem.”
“I’ll bet you just hated that.”
“Think about it,” he said. “We’re on our honeymoon. Jamie kept telling me she felt like chopped meat. So I’m dealing with massive insecurity and trying to pretend that I see nothing. We ended up spending almost all our time in our room, with Jamie looking at herself in the mirror and accusing me of looking at other women. After that, she didn’t talk to me for days.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You have the typhoon beat.”
He took a drink of wine, then looked back at me. “May I ask you something about your divorce? You don’t have to answer.”
“I doubt it’s something I haven’t been asked before.”
“I was just wondering if he filed for divorce or you did.”
“I did. But it was because of something he did.”
“He cheated?”
“I wish it were that simple. He took it to the next level. Are you sure you’ve never heard of my husband?”
He shook his head. “Clive Walther? I think I would remember that name.”
“He didn’t just have another woman, he had a whole other family in Colorado.”
His brow furrowed. “Where in Colorado?”
“Thornton.”
“My Thornton?” I nodded. He thought for a moment, then said, “Wait. He wasn’t a politician—”
“He was a city councilman.”
Andrew sighed. “I guess I did hear something about that. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just so embarrassing.”
“It is for him.”
“It is for me too. People think I’m either a loser or stupid.”
He looked at me quizzically. “What people?”
“You know.” I flourished my hand through the air. “Them.”
“You mean, the public?”
“Yes.”
He set his napkin on the table. “You know public opinion is a vapor, right? Today’s hero is tomorrow’s loser and vice versa. And those who are shouting the loudest are usually those living the most desperate lives. They’re just glad that someone came along who is having a worse week than they are.
“Second, the public has the attention span of a goldfish. I know what happened must seem like the end of the world to you, but that’s because you’re in the path of the storm. Trust me, they’ve already moved on to the next drama.”
Oddly, it was the most comforting thing anyone had said to me yet. “I hope you’re right.”
He looked at me seriously. “I know I’m right. I’ve been there.”
“You’ve been in the middle of a public scandal?”
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes. But it was business-related, not family. I’m sorry that you had to share your heartbreak in the media. I think they forget that there are real people involved.”
“Forget, or don’t care?” I said.
“Maybe both,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“This will pass,” I said. “At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”
Andrew frowned. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I’d like you to think of me as someone who makes you happy.”
“You do make me happy.”
“Good. No more talk of drama.”
“I can do that,” I replied.
We went back to eating. When he finished his pasta, he asked for more, which made me glad. As he was finishing I said, “I made tiramisu for dessert.”
“I love tiramisu,” he said.
“Good, because I made a whole pan, and I’m sending the leftovers home with you.”
I got up and took our plates to the counter, cut us two rectangles of tiramisu, and brought them over to the table. He took a bite and said, “Perfect.”
“Do you know what tiramisu means?”
“No idea.”
“In Italian, tira means to lift or pick up, mi means me, and su means up. So it literally is a pick-me-up.”
“Because of all the espresso in it.”
“Exactly,” I said. “The magic of caffeine.”
“Now that I have all this caffeine in me,” he said, “should we do the dishes?”
“I can handle them,” I said.
“I know you can handle them, but should we do the dishes?”
“You’re sure you have time?”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
“All right,” I said, “you can help. You wash, I’ll dry and put them away.”
Andrew began clearing the table while I filled the sink with hot water. As I handed him a dish, he looked at my left hand. “Why are you still wearing your wedding ring?”
I shrugged. “I just never took it off.” I glanced down at my ring, a simple white-gold band with a half-carat marquise diamond. “Maybe it’s the same reason people wear cloves of garlic around their necks.”
“Who wears cloves of garlic around their necks?”
“People who are afraid of vampires.”
“Are you comparing men to vampires?”
“Some are,” I said. “I’ve even met a few female vampires.”
“I bet you have.”
“The way I see it, everyone has good and bad in them. Some just have more of one than the other.” I looked at him. “Unless they’re bloodsucking vampires.”
He nodded. “Unless they’re bloodsucking vampires.”
We both laughed. Then I looked into his eyes. “Are you a vampire?”
He met my gaze. “A real vampire would never answer that question in the affirmative. What do you think?”
I shook my head. “I think . . . you’re sweet.”
To my surprise, his mouth twisted in disappointment. “Sweet. Like a girlfriend is sweet?”