“For someone who told me they gave their asshole of an ex-husband birthday blowjobs the first night we met and never stops talking,” he says, raising two good eyebrows as he looks at me. “A lot goes on in that head of yours you don’t say.”
The darkness is a blessed thing for hiding the blaze on my flesh that is burning me alive. The first night I met Jay I was a wreck and could have easily read into his kindness and attention just as much as I could have read into the way I swore he looked at me last weekend while I was under the influence of romantic Christmas trees and spiked hot chocolate. Divorce and dating at this age make my feet feel slippery and my judgment untrustworthy. I have no way of knowing if my reaction to him is driven by my desperation for companionship this season, a silly me-sided crush, or if he’s feeling whatever this is that I’m feeling.
Plus, I’m not just one person, I’m five, including my kids. I can’t just chase after the first man who reminds me I have a neglected vagina. I have to make sure it’s right. For all of us.
Instead of saying any of that, I deflect.
“Why do you have the mustache?”
He chuckles. “Because I like it.” He sweeps popcorn crumbs off his hands and strokes said mustache, playful expression consuming his face. “The ladiesreallyseem to like it.” I ignore the new kind of wondering that unleashes in me. “And that’s not what you want to ask.”
“It was,” I argue.
He looks at me, smug and reading my lie. “Then why are you asking?”
“Fine.” I chew my lip, debating how to redirect this conversation to something closer to what I want to know. “Do you date?”
He sends me a sideways look and a smirk. “You asking me out?”
I scoff. “No.”
“Doyoudate?” he tosses back.
I bring a hand to my throat. Tug at the neck of my sweater. Fumble with the dial of the AC.Why am I hot?“I’m a mom.”
“Ah,” he says, turning his attention back to the screen; Bruce Willis found another gun. “Moms don’t date, I forgot.”
“That’s not—that’s—” I huff a flustered breath, bothered. He’s a nice man being nice to a lonely woman by letting me be here. That’s all this is, and I’m not ruining it by acting on a weird, illogical crush. “I’m thinking of going online. To date. Men. Romantically.”
I have never once considered that.
“Really?” He looks at me, curiosity consuming his face. “Online?”
I pull my shoulders back with a sniff. “Maybe. It’s what I’ve read people do at my age. I don’t know how to meet men.”
Even my skeleton is mortified by this ridiculous confession.
His brows pinch as he fills his mouth with popcorn. A piece misses and lands on his lap; he makes no effort to clear it.
“And I was thinking since we are spending time together—” I clear my throat. “You could give me pointers.”
“Really?” Jay says around a mouthful of popcorn. “About what?”
I swallow. “What men like.”
He stares at me; eleven years pass. “I see.”
“You don’tsee,” I defend. “There’s nothing to see. You asked if I date, I told you I might and?—”
“Online strangers.”
I let out a sharp exhale. “Most people are strangers when they start to date, where they meet is irrelevant.”
He reaches into the back seat for the thermos and refills our adult hot chocolates. “Your profile saymust love annoying traditions?”
I blow out a flustered breath as he tops off my mug. “I’m ignoring you.”
He chuckles, relaxing into his seat before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. He drapes his free arm over the center console that separates us.
