“You and Mom,” I practically moan. “So, he’s a coach. I’ve seen coaches before.”
“Yeah. You say that now. Wait til you see the man.”
“I’m not looking at men … or for men … or even in the vicinity of men.”
“You’re literally surrounded by four men for twenty-four hour stretches.”
“They’re my co-workers.”
“Not all men are Danny,” she says with a softness to her face.
We barely call my ex-husband by name, let alone speak of him. He all but absented himself from my life and Mia’s. Why dignify him with conversation about him?
“Danny wasn’t all bad,” I defend, mostly out of habit.
“If you call flaking out on your family good,” Avery says, her face morphing into something more stern and defensive on my behalf.
I start to say something, but what is there to say? Danny’s ambition got the better of him. And fear. And who knows what else.
“I just can’t do this,” he said. As if there was an option—as if we could change our minds and walk away. I had sat there, my hand over the hollow pit in my abdomen while he calmly laid out his exit strategy.
Danny tried to hang in through the pregnancy—even Mia’s first year of life. But, the day after her first birthday, he asked for a divorce.
I didn’t contest it. Why would I? What woman in her right mind fights to keep a man around when he’s itching to get away from her?
“Enough talk about flaky men,” Avery says. “We need to end this lunch on a positive note. You have to call me tonight to tell me what you think of the coach. Deal?”
“Of his coaching skills?”
“Whatever you want to call it. I want to hear your reaction.”
“Deal,” I say.
She practically giggles with excitement and I shake my head at her. “Why don’t you date him if you think he’s so great?”
“Not my type.”
“Yeah. That’s so obvious by the drool dripping down your chin,” I tease her.
“He’s hot. But I’m more into the artsy type.”
“Two artists,” I muse. “What could ever go wrong there?”
She laughs and tosses her napkin at me. I catch it and hand it back to her. She insists on paying for lunch and we walk out, thanking the waitress and hostess on our way.
“We have to come back here again,” Avery says.
“I’ll treat next time,” I tell her.
“We’ll see,” she says.
She leans in and gives me a hug, holding on longer than most people do. I tug her close, letting our connection ease even more of the unacknowledged stress I’ve been lugging around.
“I’m so grateful for you,” I tell her.
“Back at ya,” she says, smiling. “Remember to call me tonight with a hot coach report.”
“I will.” I almost roll my eyes. “Just prepare to be underwhelmed.”
