“I have an odd talent for remembering number combinations.” Ash pauses, perhaps waiting for me to ooh and aah. Which, as a math and science geek, I would be prone to do if Ash didn’t already know he is an exceptional talent. “I’m terrible with names, though.”
“And faces,” I accuse. Ash cocks his head in curiosity.
“We ran into each other at baggage claim back in January.”
“Are you sure? I would have remembered that,” Ash corrects me confidently.
“Oh, I’m sure. I was the one who ejected your grandmother from her wheelchair.”
“No way, that was you?!” I’m crossing my fingers under the table that he is not about to yell at me like he does his assistant and accuse me of elder abuse. “My apologies. I didn’t recognize you. I was distracted.Too much on my mind that day, but I promise you did look familiar to me at the guest panel at Stanford.”
“Ah, so you’re terrible with names and faces, but you’re good with body parts.” My attempt at a little light humor lands flat when Ash responds by checking his phone. Maybe he’s more of a leg guy. Or maybe I’m too much.
“Delayed another thirty minutes.” Ash sighs, but his eyes dance when he asks, “Do you have a few more minutes to hang out?”
Before I can answer, Ash’s phone begins to vibrate.
“Not only am I not going to bark into it, I’m not going to answer it,” Ash promises, punctuated with a wink.
My eyes go straight to his ring finger, where there is no ring. I wonder if he put it in his pocket before we met. More than one man has lost his wedding ring out of his pants and onto my cart floor for me to think his bare finger is just a coincidence. It’s a sad tactic. Time to let Ash know that I know he’s not single.
“So, do you have children?”
“No,” Ash responds, and I see his grip tighten around his coffee cup, slightly crushing the paper sides. I take the misshapen cup as my cue not to continue down the kid line of questioning. “What are your girls like?”
I look at Ash confused. I guess I misread his interest in talking about kids.
“My bubbe told me about them,” Ash reveals, outing his source.Aha.Was Ash asking, or was Mrs. Eisenberg just making random conversation one afternoon between therapist appointments?
“Best twins ever,” I brag. “They’re in eighth grade.”
“Lucky you,” Ash offers kindly with a touch of wistfulness.
“Most of the time I feel pretty lucky. Not so much when I’m running late to get somewhere, and I realize one of the two has raided my closet, taking my favorite things. When I can’t find my royal-blue cardigan and boot cut jeans, I know exactly where they are, on my daughter Lou. Well, more often on her floor.” I laugh, but then rollmy lips together hoping I’m not coming across as tiresome with my domestic drivel.
“Whose low-cut shirt were you wearing the night I was speaking to your class?”
“Can we please not talk about Titsgate?” I plead, and Ash concedes with a chuckle.
“Your girls sound great,” Ash continues, eyes wide, looking like he’s encouraging me to tell him more. “Daughters seem like the best. Especially for a dad.”
“Really, you think so?” I question given how forcibly he cut me off when I asked him about children.Wouldn’t Ash rather check his email than talk about my teenage twins?
“My wife and I couldn’t have kids.” There it is. I knew the truth would eventually surface the longer I talked about my offspring. Before I can offer an awkward condolence, Ash cuts back in, “I mean my ex-wife. The day you nearly dumped my grandmother on the baggage claim floor was the day my divorce was finalized.”
“And I thought I was having a bad day when I almost broke your grandmother. Your day was much worse.”
“Yes, it was,” Ash agrees, and I turn red with embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean to compare your divorce to my clumsiness,” I stutter, unsure how to handle this personal information. “I’m sorry to hear the two of you couldn’t have a child.” And I really am. Lou and Coco may not have come at the ideal time in my life, but I can’t imagine never having them at all.
“Me too. I always pictured myself with a big family. Count yourself lucky. You have what I’ve always wanted.”
WEDNESDAY, MAY 8
“Tell me I’m not wrong here,” I challenge as Zwena and I look to Krish as the rep for all men.
“I don’t know the whole story, and I don’t want to dis the guy, but from what you’re telling me, yeah, it’s kind of a dick move.”
