“Wow.Fine,” I reply, nudging him as he passes me to get his jacket.
“Nice. Good. Normal?” he says now, laughing.
An hour later and we’re spread out on the mossy grass above the beach, on a picnic blanket, having devoured another beer each and half a large tub of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. I groan as I rub my belly, pushing it out to emphasize how full it feels. We both stare up at the night sky. Ash cracks open another can of beer, and we lie, side by side, talking. He is slightly tipsy now, and more relaxed and open because of it.
“So, the thing withMoonstruckis that Cher has kind of takenher foot off the gas. Her husband died and she thinks she’s cursed, so she’s going to do everything different this time with her new, very nice, but very dull, partner she admits she doesn’t love. But when he proposes, up pops the estranged, one-armed brother—Nicolas Cage—with his white vests and his fire-baked bread and muscles and tortured sexiness.”
“Who could resist?” he says, putting his arm behind his head.
“Exactly. And she finally looks at herself and thinks,I need to put some time intome. So, she makes herself over. That’s what I’m doing. It’s not like Sandy fromGrease. I’m not going to be a different person and mold myself for the dude. Project Mara is not going quite that far. There’s only so much mileage you can get out of this anyway.” I motion down my body. It’s a throwaway comment. I’ve said some version of it a hundred times, and yet, right now, it lands differently. Heavily.
“Don’t say shit like that,” he says.
“It’s just a joke,” I reply.
“Still.”
For a moment there is a silence between us, and in the darkness, I can feel his head turn very slightly and then turn back. As if there is something else to be said but he decides not to.
“So, what’s afterMoonstruck?”
“I’m running out of ideas. BuzzFeed suggestedMrs. Doubtfire, but, like, would you call that a makeover film?”
“I would not,” he says.
The silence returns. I pull myself up on my elbows and look out into the darkness of the ocean ahead.
“So, you’re absolutely sure he’s going to come?” Ash says.
“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes tight to bring the picture of Joe’s face, his eyes, his smile, into perfect focus in my mind. “I really do.Iknowit. This is a bit embarrassing. But I haven’t had a boyfriend since that guy from university,” I say. “Noah.”
There is always an issue. The way they administer sugar into a mug of tea could be analyzed with the obsessive detail of Stanley Kubrick. What does that slight tilt of the spoon and the too-slow spill of the uniform white grains mean? What does it reveal about his character, to leave sugar dissolving in the base of a floral cup without a single stir? And why do I even accept a date with a Scorpio? I know, though, I am just plain scared to get close.
“Really?” he says. “I mean, I only had two, but still.”
“Yep,” I say, laughing a little. “I really thought he was the one. Like, we met on my first week. He was loading camera equipment into the back of his car—a beaten-up gold eighties Datsun. A very cool car. Anyway, I helped him and we got talking because I’d just been to seeThe Dark Knight, and he hadn’t seen it yet, and then we got talking about Christopher Nolan... and, I don’t know. We were a good fit.
“Anyway, it ended so badly. So badly.” I stop for a moment as I feel the very slight sting of tears in my eyes. I cannot believe it still affects me as it does. I shrug. “It’s just too much of a risk, isn’t it? To just throw your heart out there without some kind of confirmation you’re going in the right direction.”
“I guess so,” he says. “But, Mara, everyone is someone else’s heartache.”
“Did you have yours broken?” I ask, cringing as I say it.Too dramatic.“It’s just, a while ago Jackie said something and it sounded like—”
“I was engaged to a girl I saw for six years. Kate,” he says. “And yes, she broke up with me and it sucked. But I’m open to meet someone now.”
He’s so clear about things, I think. We lie in silence for a bit, as the sound of cicadas fills the air, and the sky begins to reveal the starry night above us. I can hear the gentle crash of the waves on the shore below us as the breeze begins to cool. I rub my arms, deciding not to probe Ash anymore on whoever this Kate woman is.
“I have another question for you,” I say. “You don’t only paint houses, do you.”
“No, Mara, there’s more to my job than that. And that didn’t sound like a question,” he says, laughing.
I roll onto my side and look at him. He turns back and grins at me.
“Fine. I have another thing going on, yes,” he says. “I may as well tell you; it’s going to get pretty busy again come September.”
“What is it?” I reply.
“This,” he says, pulling my arm back down so we are both on our backs looking up at the night sky. “This.”
