She bit on her upper lip then went back to sprinkling olive oil and vinegar on her seeds mix.
I sat down and shoved the first bite into my mouth. I had no intention of waiting for her. She was getting on my nerves.
“Enjoy,” I said with my mouth full.
June sat down across from me a moment later. “Bon appetit,” she echoed then took a bite from her bowl.
After a long moment of silent eating, I raised my glass and expressly waited for her to raise hers. I wanted to break that sour beginning, though I hadn’t started it.
June seemed reluctant at first, but then, as if she had thought it over, took up the other wineglass and raised it.
“To our divorce.” I smiled and brought my glass to clink with hers.
“Cheers,” she said, her voice hardly audible. She took a little sip then put the glass down. Getting up, she brought two glasses of water and drank from hers.
We resumed eating in silence. The noise of her munching on her seeds amused me. How could a grown woman with her muscle tone live off that, I had no idea. The lentils must have been her protein supply, though eating them like that, with almost no embellishment, I hoped they didn’t taste as they smelled.
I finished my half shot of wine then pointed at hers. She understood me wordlessly, and her permissive hand gesture had me picking up her glass and finishing its contents. June watched me. Did she disapprove of a little drinking, or did she find this mouth-to-mouth impure?
“Listen,” June said to my back after I got up and removed my plate and utensils. “I apologize about before. I should have warned …” She cleared her throat. “I know it’s inconvenient for us both. But if we try to minimize the potential for friction, we can make it through this week.”
I didn’t want to remind her that it could take more than a week.
“Anyway, I told Rio that we’re … involved and that I wanted to keep it quiet from my family because of our age difference and cultural differences and all that.”
“Okay.” I washed the dishes in the sink with her plant-based unscented soap and half-turned my face toward her. “What if other people see me and gossip? Wouldn’t it reach your family in such a small town?” I asked, finishing up with the dishes.
“My family doesn’t have time for town gossip. My mom lives with—”
“With Tammy, full name September, and Danny and their kids,” I cut her off then named their three kids. I leaned against the counter, facing her, and dried my plate with a dish towel.
“You remember.” A shadow of a smile loomed on June’s face, mirroring her smile from before when I had named her twin nephews.
“I have to.”
We gazed at each other for a moment. I placed the plate on the counter and crossed my arms again. “I think we need to start with going over details that will get us through the interview, like our first date, latest vacation—things like that.”
“According to what we told them, it’s now been six months since we met, so there’s not a lot we could have—”
“Still, we have to invent a first date, a second, a holiday or vacation we spent together, when and where we first slept together, stuff like that.” I held myself back from grinning when June edged on her seat with a slight flush rising from her neck. I wondered how she would have reacted if I had added “and how” to the first time we slept together.
She got up and removed her dishes. I moved aside to let her wash them in the sink. Still leaning against the counter, we stood close to each other.
“No. I think, tonight, we’ll start with daily habits, work history, studies—things like that. Those are immediate details we should know about each other,” June said determinedly, her gaze focused on the task of scraping her already-clean plate and cutlery. “I have a list on my phone, divided by seven days, and a contingency one in case we’re called in earlier.”
”Just two?” I mumbled. This woman probably had a list of all her lists. Surprising that some of them were on her phone and not carved on eucalyptus leaves.
She gave me a sharp look that implied she’d heard me even over the noise of the running water.
“How long have you had the shop for?” I asked, changing the subject and jumping headfirst to our homework instead of arguing on what we should cover first.
“Ten years. And I opened the one in Wayford six months ago.”
“So, it has the same anniversary as us.” I smirked. Then, more seriously, I asked, “And that’s why you had to do this?” I waved a finger between us.
“Yes.” She turned off the tap. “I rented it first, then Jerry said either I buy it, or the gallery next door will. Eventually, I couldn’t fully afford it.”
“I’m sorry.” I could imagine how trapped she had felt. It didn’t feel good to be the price someone paid to save their business.
