She gives me a sharp look. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Bill was a very good provider. He was a senior manager at the fish plant, you know.”
“That’s really impressive,” I say hastily. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just... looking for advice, I guess.”
“Advice?”
“Yeah. Just, like... how to know which guys to date. Not that I have anyone specific in mind,” I add. “I’m just worried about settling down with the wrong person, you know?”
Mrs. Finnamore looks more interested now. I swear, if there’s one thing people love more than talking about themselves, it’s giving advice.
“Well, you won’t find any good men on those silly apps you young girls use,” she says briskly. “You should get your mother to suggest someone for you. That way you can be sure he’s got a good character.”
“Er—right,” I say politely.
I’m pretty sure if I asked my mother to set me up with someone, she’d think I’d lost my mind. Plus, my mother spends all her time these days on bus tours for over-sixties. Where exactly is she supposed to be meeting men my age?
I take a sip of tea. “When you say a good character,” I say, “you mean someone who’s like... respectful?”
“Kind, respectful, that sort of thing,” she says, with an absent wave of her hand. I settle back in my chair, feeling a bit disappointed. That wasn’t exactly the groundbreaking advice I was hoping for.
But then she fidgets with the handle of her teacup and adds, “You should find someone who’s helpful. Most men aren’t, you know. It isn’t in their nature.”
“Helpful,” I repeat.
“Mm.”
I hesitate for a second, then ask, “Was Bill helpful?”
“Oh, he always did things when I asked him to,” she says, inthat airy tone I’m starting to realize is her way of deflecting. “But I suppose it would have been nice,” she adds, “if I hadn’t had to ask.”
My brow furrows thoughtfully. I think I know what she means. My university boyfriend was like that. He was always happy to do things for me if I asked him to, but he never did anything spontaneously. Like, we had one class together in our fourth year, and he always used to go to the coffee shop near his house before class. He never once brought me coffee, even though he knew it was my favorite coffee place. I’m sure he would have, if I had asked him to, but that wasn’t really the point. When someone does something for you, without you having to ask, it’s just really nice, isn’t it? It shows that they’re thinking about you, even when you aren’t around.
“That’s good advice,” I tell Mrs. Finnamore. “Thanks.”
“No problem, dear.”
“I’ve got to run,” I say, rising. “I’ve got about a million things to do before the weekend. You’re going to come, right?”
“If you want me to,” Mrs. Finnamore says.
She doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, but I’ll take it.
I head straight to my car without going into my house. I’m absolutely starving, but I don’t have time to make anything. The Barrel Into Summer event is the day after tomorrow, and I still haven’t picked up paper plates and cups or figured out prizes for the scavenger hunt.
My phone dings in my pocket.
[5:57]John:what do you think?
I tilt my head, confused, but a second later, an image comes through. It’s a box full of medals, the kind you get for high school sports.
[5:57]John:they’re my sister’s old volleyball medals
[5:57]John:fortunately our school was too cheap to buy specific medals for different sports, so they just have a generic pattern on them
[5:57]John:I thought you could use them for the scavenger hunt
[5:58]: That would be perfect!!
[5:58]: Thanks?
