1
ESME
The problem with falling in love with your best friend is that sometimes he doesn’t fall back. Or even tip in that direction. Further complicating the situation? My son, the matchmaker, is determined to find me a new husband.
Unbeknownst to my offspring, my heart had already chosen its person. A doomed thing if there ever was one. Grady Nash. Surfing instructor. Best friend. Professional man-child with a talent for dating coconut-water-drinking bikini models and living in what could generously be described as a hut.
Completely wrong for me. Completely wrong for my children. But my heart hadn’t received that correspondence.
I went to the window to look out to Harbor Avenue below. October in Willet Cove had brought crisp, bright weather, changing the leaves to crimson and gold that lined the street. The tourists had gone by this time in the year, leaving the streets and sidewalks almost empty. Locals were grateful for the commerce tourism brought us, but we let out a collective sigh of relief the day after Labor Day.
I heard Robbie’s footsteps on the stairway up to our apartment. He’d gone out for bagels at our local bakery using a gift card Seraphina had gotten us for Christmas last year.She knew how much my kids loved bagels, but I was on a tight budget, so the last few years she’d gifted us bagels every Saturday morning for the entire year.
“Mother, we’re back,” Robbie called out as he opened the door that led to the stairwell. Slight for his age, he still looked like a boy, with pink cheeks and big blue eyes. He was meticulous about his attire, ironing his shirts himself. His thick dark hair was always cut short and combed neatly. My little boy who acted like a middle-aged man. One who happened to be a genius.
“Yay, the bagels are here,” Madison said. Still in her pajamas, her dark hair mussed from sleep, she held a book aloft, reading a book about fairies from the library.
“I’m delighted to report no incidences occurred on the way there or back,” Robbie said, unclipping Trevor’s leash.
He’d taken Trevor, our golden Lab, with him to the bakery. Our beloved dog enjoyed nothing more than a walk through the city center, sniffing every bush, wagging his tail at anyone who walked by. Robbie often complained that getting anywhere with Trevor took twice as long because he was so popular. The whole town knew Trevor, the eccentric flower shop lady’s dog.
We lived in a small but cozy apartment above my flower shop. My friend Lila, an interior designer, had helped me to decorate, creating the most efficient use of the roughly eight-hundred square foot space. In addition, she’d also helped me choose paint and furnishings, always cognizant of my small budget. Our end result had pleased me very much. I loved the light blue paint on the walls, our vintage gingham curtains, and open shelves in the kitchen displaying my eclectic vases, bowls and plates. Nothing matched in my home, and they all worked together perfectly.
Trevor went to his spot under the kitchen table, chin on his paws, positioned to catch any wayward crumbs. His tail thumped once against the floor when I looked down at him.
“Yeah, I know, buddy, bagel crumbs are the best.”
Another tail thump to say he agreed.
“Mommy, can I have mine toasted?” Madison asked. “Theeverythingone?”
I nodded, heading to the kitchen. The main room of the apartment was an open space, with the kitchen built into the wall opposite the windows.
“May I put it in the toaster myself?” Madison asked, appearing by my side.
“Yes, but be careful when you take it out. The edges can get really hot. And do not stick a fork in there if it’s plugged in.”
“Mommy, I know.” Madison smiled, dimples appearing on either side of her mouth. She had her father’s dark hair, but my round face and blue eyes. The dimples were hers alone. “You say that every time. And I’ve not once done it, have I?”
“You have not. My apologies,” I said, ruffling her hair before kissing the top of her head.
Madison was still young enough to wear pajamas with feet, but had the vocabulary that rivaled most adults. I had just attended a parent/teacher conference with her first grade teacher the day before. The teacher praised her intelligence and social skills as well as her kindness toward all the children. I had explained to Mrs. Hellman that Madison’s fourteen-year-old brother, my son Robbie, had made her accepting of all sorts of people. “He sees the world differently than most,” I’d said, “which has given her a heart for anyone different.”
“She’s certainly benefited from it,” Mrs. Hellman said. “She’s particularly kind to any of her classmates who struggle in one way or the other. Her emotional intelligence is off the charts.”
Robbie helped himself to a plain bagel and went to the kitchen table, opening his laptop. “Mother, as I’m sure you’re aware, today is the day we find you a husband. You’ve stalled long enough.”
My son, the matchmaker. He and his four best friends had decided it was time their single mothers found love. Without asking for permission, they loaded our profiles onto the dating site called Second Chance. At first, horrified though slightly amused, I’d asked him to take it off. However, since Lila and Vance had found each other via the app, I’d become more and more open to the idea. Maybe there was someone out there for me.
You love someone else.
I ignored my inner voice and sat down at the table. Trevor had repositioned himself under Madison’s chair, having determined that she was more likely to drop food than I or Robbie. We ate our bagels as Robbie perused the dating site, Madison continued her coloring, and I stared into my coffee mug between bites and thinking about Grady.
As much as we all loved him, marrying a man who spent his life teaching surfing lessons and selling boards, while living in a hut, was not right for any of us. Regardless, Grady didn’t see me that way. We were simply best friends. I was his good old reliable pal. The person he came to talk to whenever the latest coconut-water-drinking-bikini-clad girlfriend dumped him.
Yep, just best friends. Nothing more.
“Yes, here he is. Mother, I have a match for you,” Robbie said, slapping his hand on the table.
