A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos
Say the word, and I’ll abandon this meal.”
“Not so fast, Bucko.” I playfully wrenched free. “What’s a woman gotta do around here to get fed?”
“She needs to stop seducing the cook,” he said with that crooked grin I loved.
I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and exposed a little of my white slip. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“You’re a wicked tease,” he said, lifting his right eyebrow. “You’d better plan on tipping the help…if you know what I mean.”
“Incorrigible…”
“That’s because you’re a wanton sexy hussy.”
I glanced down at my gray pinstriped business suit. “I’d hate to think how you’d react if I were wearing a camisole and garters.”
“That’s an interesting premise. Go ahead, I dare you….” His smile deepened. His eyes darkened a few shades.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I was planning on changing into jeans and a flannel shirt.”
“You’ll look sexy no matter what you wear.” He picked up the wooden spoon and winked.
“Hold that thought,” I said as I turned and walked through the living room and into my bedroom.
In the short time we’d been living together, I’d come to enjoy the camaraderie. And the dynamite sex. More than lovers, we were friends. Tony made me happy.
We completed each other….
But I’d thought the same thing about Paul.
How could I trust my judgment?
The following Friday morning after a meeting, my administrative assistant Roberta greeted me. “Here’s a list of the people who called while you were out. The Thompsons are hoping to close early next week.”
“Please call them back and set up an appointment for Tuesday.” I took the tablet she handed me and glanced down. One name stuck out. Violet Jacobs. My heartbeat quickened.
“Thanks,” I said, hurrying into my office and shutting the door.
I braced myself as I punched in the number. Vi was a gracious woman. She wasn’t the type of person who’d call to argue or reiterate that I was a disgrace to her son’s memory. Though I was certain her opinion of my situation hadn’t changed, I was hoping we could get beyond that.
“The Jacobs residence, Violet Jacobs speaking.”
Violet had lived alone for years, since she’d ordered her cheating husband to leave, yet she’d insisted on answering the phone as though others resided in her house.
“Vi, it’s Annie.”
I heard her inhale a slow breath. “Annie, how nice to hear from you. The roses you sent are beautiful. How thoughtful of you.”
“I wanted you to know that I still care,” I said, swallowing back the knot in my throat.
“I’ve missed you, too. I was hoping you could come over for lunch tomorrow. Alone, just you and me…like old times.”
Clear and to the point.
Tony wasn’t welcome.
But I was willing to compromise. Plus, Tony had to work tomorrow. His architectural firm was preparing a bid on a new mall. “Yes, is noon good for you?”
“Perfect.”
We spoke for a few more minutes about incidentals: the rising cost of gas, oil heat and the weather. Once we’d exhausted topics of no importance, we hung up.
I spun around in my desk chair and while glancing out at the Portland skyline, I realized how much I’d missed hearing from Vi. I hoped tomorrow we could start to bridge the gap in our relationship.
Later that day I met Mallory and Carrie at DiMillo’s. The hostess led us to a table by a window. The light mist that had started falling that afternoon had become intermittent rain which now pelted the pane of glass. A raw, crisp wind stirred the ocean into choppy waves, causing boats in the harbor to sway on their moorings.
We sat down and took the menus from the hostess who filled our glasses with water. “Your server will be right with you.”
“Anything new?” Carrie asked me.
“I’m meeting Vi for lunch tomorrow.”
“That’s great,” Carrie replied.
“You keep up a strong front,” Mallory said. “Don’t let her make you feel guilty about wanting a life for yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you and Tony living together. You’re adults for cripes sake.”
“This isn’t about who’s right and who’s wrong. I want us to be friends.”
“What if that’s not possible?” Mallory asked.
I’d wondered the same thing. Would I have to choose between Tony and Vi? “Then I’ll deal with that, too.”
John, the waiter we’d had last week, walked past our table. He and Mallory exchanged searing glances as he hurried into the kitchen.
“Let me guess…” I covered my mouth with my right hand. “Something’s going on between you two.”
Carrie fanned her face. “Something hot, hot, hot!”
“And it’s a wonder I can still walk,” Mallory said with a low laugh.
Carrie shook her head. “I’d love to find a nice guy and settle down. But no one’s willing to take on the responsibility of a ready-made family.”
Mallory looked down at the dessert menu. “Men are afraid of getting married. But they’re always willing to move in for a week of fun and games, right, Annie?”
I was a bit irritated that Mallory would compare what I had with Tony to her fly-by-night encounters.
“Why are you asking me? I know nothing about sampling the flavor of the week.”
Mallory’s mouth curved into a wide smile. “Neither of you know what you’re missing.” She set the menu down. “Most men are terrified of commitment. They do a convincing song and dance about love and how you don’t need a piece of paper to prove how you feel. But it’s the same bull.”
What Mallory had said sounded very familiar, and it stung. True, I’d agreed with Tony: marriage was just a piece of paper, a certificate that bound two people together until the good times disappeared.
The concept of marriage was a farce.
It was far more sensible to live together and know that person was there because he/she wanted to be there, not because that piece of paper said they couldn’t leave.
It made sense, so why did I feel as though I needed to defend my live-in relationship? Plus, I certainly wasn’t ready for more than a bedmate—a sexy, turn my legs to mush, kissable bedmate.
Mallory turned to Carrie. “If you want a man, then pretend you aren’t looking for ‘the one.’”
“You mean lie?”
Mallory nodded. “I prefer to think of it as bending the truth a little.”
“I’m a mother so I have to project a certain image.”
“You need to loosen up,” Mallory said, her gaze following John as he took an older couple’s order several tables away. “Hmmm-hmmm, nice butt.”
“Not bad,” I said, tapping my fingernail against the water glass. “For a kid.”
Mallory’s hazel eyes sparkled. “John’s in his second year of college at the University of Southern Maine.”
“You’re kidding,” Carrie