“Yes, very decent of you indeed,” adds the other.
I look back and forth between the two wily women, and the sight of their open, smiling faces softens me. It’s not like I have anything better to do, anyway. And maybe a good deed will earn me some karma brownie points.
We cross the road and continue walking for a few minutes, before turning at the corner and heading down a quieter street. We stop outside a worn residence sandwiched between two new builds. The women don’t seem to want me to go, and so I let them lead me up to their apartment.
“Welcome to our home, Lois.”
“It’s lovely,” I offer politely, doing a double take on the lewd trinkets littering the surfaces.
“Sit down and we’ll have a glass of Shafer.”
“That’s wine,” Hope whispers, noticing my confusion. “Our grandchildren gifted us a whole crateful for our eightieth birthday.”
“Thank you for the invitation, but I—”
“Tsk! It’s not often we have visitors. Humor us, won’t you?”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Are you guilt-tripping me?”
“Can you grab the pretzels from up there?” Hope points at the top cupboard before evaporating into another room.
I snort to myself. Tonight is turning out to be even randomer than I expected.Whatever. At least it buys me a little time before I head back to Lane’s.
I place the pretzels on the coffee table and settle into the roomy pale pink armchair Prudence shepherds me toward.
“Did you enjoy the class?”
“I’m barely getting started with my fitness journey, so it was pretty intense.”
“Ethan is incredibly demanding. If it weren’t for the miracles he works on my vaginal dryness, I would have given up a long time ago.”
I nearly choke on my pretzel.
“So! Talk us through your heartache,” she continues, as Hope settles in next to her.
“Heartache?” Her twin gasps, filling our glasses to the brim. “It’s a good thing we have a second bottle!”
“How did you…”
“I recognize a bruised heart when I see one.” Prudence brings the wine to her lips.
I nibble at another pretzel. It’s not on my diet sheet, but I can’t be bothered tonight. I shift in my seat, overcome by a sudden urge to jump out of the armchair and run far away. There’s no way I feel like going over my breakup, especially not in the company of two grandmas straight out of a sitcom.
I drain my first glass of wine, and I don’t need too much convincing to accept a second.
“Come now, my sweet. Hope has been married four times, she’s full of good advice.”
“You strike me as so very lonely…”
I sigh, feeling my throat relax. I could do with some advice, to be honest. I sink back in my chair, resting my hands on the polished armrests, and take a deep breath in.
“My boyfriend broke up with me two weeks ago,” I hear myself explain. “We had just moved in together, and though we had been together for four years, he broke up with me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Just two days before we started college. Can you imagine?”
“My poor dear, now I understand why you have that hangdog look about you.”
“Did he say why?”
Trick question alert.I’m neither ready nor drunk enough to rattle off the reasons.
