I am never telling a soul about that kiss.
Chapter Seven
I just told Mari about the kiss.
I didn’t mean to. But she showed up here unannounced wearing floral overalls. And she’s been drinking a mimosa from a YETI cup, so she seems harmless and bored.
She came for a visit just as I was needing a breather from the most recent all-nighter I pulled, so we came out here to the front porch to sit on the patio furniture, and the conversation just ended up here. Right here, with me saying “It was just a kiss,” and her just staring at me in amusement.
“Oh, my,” she says.
“I know,” I say.
I can’t believe I caved that easily. To her, not to the kiss. But she was being nosy, asking me about seeing a mysterious black car in my driveway two days ago. I explained to her that it was the detective, and he had stopped by to take a statement. But when I was telling her, I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t hide it. I was blushing, I couldn’t stop smiling.
I became a flailing idiot.
Then, out of nowhere, she accused me of sleeping with him. “You’re porking the porker!” she said.
I became defensive, but instead of making a full denial, I said something like “No, I’m not! I swear, it didn’t go that far! It was just a kiss.”
That’s when she said, “Oh, my.”
And I responded with “I know.”
And now here we are. Staring at each other.
She sips from her YETI cup, a long, constant sip. “Well. Good for you. I’ve been married to Louie since I was seventeen. It wasn’t until I was in my fifties that I realized my lips had never touched another man’s and likely never would at that point because I was in my fifties and Louie was healthy as an ox. And to be honest, it made me kind of sad. Because what if Louie is a terrible kisser? What if we aren’t even doing it right? How would we know when we’ve only experienced each other?”
She’s staring off into the distance, focused on nothing in particular.
“Now my youth is gone, and the thought of Louie putting his tongue in my mouth makes me want to walk right out there to the spot where that young man ended his life the other night and do the same exact thing.”
“Jesus, Mari.”
“Have zero regrets, Petra. Kissallthe men. And the women, too, while you’re at it. Because there are some of us in the world who never got to do any of those fun things.”
Her YETI is empty now. She’s trying desperately to get the last drop to empty onto her tongue.
“At least you and Louie have had a long marriage. Not a lot of people get that.”
She waves me off with a flippant hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Wouldn’t change a thing, blah blah blah.”
I laugh. “Have you ever kissed a costar? For a role?” I ask her.
“A couple of times, but those don’t count. Makeout scenes are actually terrible. You have some sweaty director in a chair five feet away yellingactionat the two of you, and the heat from the lights is making you both sweat, while the guy you’re being forced to pretend to want tokiss has been a whiny little bitch for the last two solid weeks and you’d rather be strangling him with your hands than your tongue.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It is very,veryhard being an actress. Okay, going home. Out of alcohol.” She stands up, but I remain in my chair as she walks down the porch steps. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you smooched the cop. Hell, this is my third mimosa today—I probably won’t even remember it happened by the time I make it home.”
“Thank you.”
As Mari is walking away, she says, “And yes, I am possibly an alcoholic, but I’m too old for interventions, so don’t even try.”
“I won’t. I promise. Enjoy your next mimosa.”
“I will. Enjoy your next makeout.”
