“Hey! Don’t announce that. That’s like, a HIPPA violation,” I giggle.
He grins widely. “I know you have to have a fresh glass of water to take your pills.”
“Well, yeah. Water left out overnight can become contaminated with dust and can become an incubator for bacteria?—”
“I know your favorite sweater is the green one. And you like the tie-dye socks the best.”
I give him a soft smile; he’s not wrong. “What else?”
“You don’t drink. Not because of your medications but because you don’t like the taste or the way it makes your head feels. You’ve got a weird NPR podcast fascination because you have the need to know everything, always. And you always have an extra mint or tissue in your tote bag for someone else,” He pauses to think. “Your wallet is cheap leather so it’s cracking—you’re a penny pincher when it comes to stuff like that. But you don’t mind splurging when it comes to the important things, like hotel mattresses, because you’d rather not fuck up your back.”
“You’re good,” I give him a sheepish smile. “How’d you know all that?”
“I pay attention to what you say and what you do so I think I know what you like,” Dean tells me. “Simple as that.” He downs the rest of his drink, and the gleam in his eyes is bright in the candlelight.
“Oh, you do, now?” I grin, my feet dangling off the stool. “What else do you think I like?” I tease him.
“Madeline, you’re an open book.” He gives me a long, hard look. “You like hot tea with lemon and honey. You like fresh peaches and strawberries in the summertime, roasted peanuts and almonds in the wintertime. You like swimming in freshwater over pools. You’re a sucker for a solo song on the acoustic guitar.”
“That’s not all I’m a sucker for,” I admit, shaking my head.
“What else are you a sucker for?” Dean asks, drinking his melted ice.
“The free samples at Costco. Ice-cream with caramel sauce. Puppy dogs with floppy ears. Men with dark, wavy hair and glasses, who roll their sleeves up just a little bit.”
Dean glances down at his bare forearms, grinning. “Oh, so you have a type? Do tell me more.”
“Oh, yeah, totally. Men in uniform, for sure. Firefighters, baseball players, postal carriers, doctors, nurses….”
“Pharmacists?”
“Only when they wear the white coats.”
“I can go get it. I have it in my duffel.”
“But then I won’t be able to see your forearms.” I smirk. “And I like your forearms.”
Dean blushes, and I glance at his arms in the dim light. They’re positively scrumptious. A wristwatch with a brown leather strap and a small white face adorns his left wrist.
“Where did you get your watch?” I ask.
“It was my father’s,” He says quietly. “I got the watch. Sierra got his class ring…I don’t go anywhere without it.”
I look down at my own wristwatch—the latest smart watch that monitors your heart rate for arrhythmias. It was nothing special and didn’t mean anything in particular. “It’s sweet how people carry around these little physical reminders of the ones they love.” I say.
“Did you have anything for Andy?” Dean asks me. “What about your wedding rings?”
“I have mine, of course. It’s at home. I’m too scared to lose it somewhere. But Andy was buried with his on.”
“You didn’t want to keep it?” He asks.
“No. I was adamant that it was his, and he should take it with him wherever he goes next. I wanted him to have it in the afterlife or heaven or the void or wherever the hell he ended up. He’ll always be married to me. Even if I marry someone else.”
Dean laughs at my self-admitted petulance. “So, you would get married again?”
“It depends if somebody asks me or not,” I give him a smirk, and sip my drink. “Would you?” I ask.
“Sure.” He nods. “She’d have to be my type though.”
