Adult Assembly Required, page 5
They headed north and ordered tacos. Then they sat on a low brick wall nearby and waited.
“So,” said Polly, “did you see Maggie this morning?”
“No,” Laura said, and shook her head. The taco place called their number, and Polly went to grab the tray. As always, the food made everything better. Dogs and good food: universal improvers.
For a while they munched in silence, and then Laura said, “So, tell me about Maggie. What’s her deal?”
Polly looked at her and finished chewing before answering, “How do you mean?”
“Is she married?”
“Divorced.”
“Happily?”
“No clue.” Polly took a sip of her drink. “She’s chatty but not informative, if you know what I mean. And besides, we’re not friends or anything. She’s got to be, like, sixty. And she’s a therapist, so, you know. I always end up saying more than I mean to.”
Laura said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a shrink.” This wasn’t entirely true, but there was no need to go into it then and there.
Polly looked surprised. “You haven’t? What’s wrong with you?”
Laura made a face. “Nothing. That’s the point.”
Polly considered this. Then she said, “I go to the movies with Libby and Anna sometimes.”
“Are they dating?”
“No,” Polly replied. “It’s a romance of the mind only. I think, anyway.”
“Lots of Scrabble?”
“Yeah. And other games. Do you play bridge?”
Laura nodded. “Yes, actually. My grandmother taught me when I was a teenager, so I could make up a four when one of her friends failed to show up for their weekly game. I’m no good, but I do love playing cards.”
“Well, don’t admit it unless you want to play. They’re hustlers.”
“Bridge hustlers?”
“Making tricks and taking money.” Polly grinned. “They play competitive bridge as a team, which strikes me as bizarre. Not to mention how weird it is that the universe put each of them in a house with the only other young person in Los Angeles who was looking for a bridge crony.”
Laura shrugged, not finding it all that weird. “Maybe the universe likes card games?”
Polly said, “Doubtful,” and stuffed another taco in her face. That done, she said, “And did you meet Impossibly Handsome Bob?”
Laura coughed, having inhaled a piece of lettuce.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Polly, thumping her on the back. “Yup, he’s disarmingly attractive.” Her smile was benign but her eyes were sharp as she watched Laura coughing.
Laura got her breath back. “Sorry, yes. Or at least, I think I saw him in the garden.”
Polly raised one eyebrow enviably high. “Laura, if you’ve seen Bob, you’d know it. The fact that you nearly choked to death tells me everything.”
“And what’s his deal?” asked Laura, purely interested in information gathering.
“Fancy him, do you?” said Polly, looking unsurprised. “I don’t blame you, though he’s not my type.”
Laura was blushing. “What is your type?”
“Eclectic,” replied Polly airily. “Bob’s only been there a few months, and he’s a cool customer, I know that.” She drank some more of her horchata. “What’s your deal, while we’re discussing deals? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Neither or both?”
Laura stayed red. “Neither. I was . . . engaged, kind of, but we broke it off before I moved here.”
Polly widened her eyes. “Ooh, a tragic past, tell me all about it.”
Laura laughed. “It’s not tragic at all. We’d known each other a long time, we’d grown apart, I wanted to take a break, he didn’t, so I came here.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think I’ll make it and will show up back home in a few months.”
“Why?” Polly was amazed. “You’re going to grad school, right? Not joining a death cult.”
Laura tried to decide how to frame it. “I know, but he wasn’t the only one. My family is pretty certain I’m making a huge mistake.”
“Los Angeles,” said Polly owlishly, “is often the wrong choice, but it’s never a mistake.” She tapped the end of her nose and then pointed at Laura.
“What does that mean?” Laura asked.
“Wait and see,” said Polly. “Everyone comes here for one thing and usually ends up finding another.” She grinned, then looked at her phone. “Crap, I have to go back. Where are you parked?”
Laura laughed. “I take the bus, remember?”
Polly stared at her. “And it brought you right here?”
Laura nodded. “Honestly, Polly, you should expand your horizons a bit. Public transportation is better for the planet, cheaper, easier . . . you should try it.”
They started walking back to the bookstore, and Polly shook her head. “I already drive an electric car, and I love it like a brother. It’s my traveling capsule hotel of happiness.” She looked at Laura. “You don’t really like driving, do you?” Before Laura had a chance to say anything, Polly added, “Speaking of Bob . . .”
“We weren’t,” said Laura, surprised Polly had been able to tell how uncomfortable she’d been in the car the night before.
Polly ignored her. “He and I are having a small interpersonal beef right now and you need to pick a side.”
Laura shrugged at her and said, “Your side, of course. What’s the beef about?”
“Daisy.”
“Daisy who?”
“The pug.”
“OK, yes. I met her this morning. She’s very . . .”
“Plump? Rubenesque? Well covered?” said Polly. “She appreciates fine dining, it’s true. She’s always slept in my room, or at least she did until Impossibly Handsome Bob showed up.”
“Why do you call him that?” asked Laura. “I mean, apart from the fact that it’s accurate.”
Polly wrinkled her brow. “It’s what Nina calls him. I guess I caught it from her. Anyway, a few weeks ago I came downstairs around eleven to get a snack and a glass of water. Normally”—she stressed the word—“normally, that was when Daisy would follow me upstairs and settle in for the night. She’s like a professional hot-water bottle, that dog. She goes under the covers and I rest my toes on her and love her deeply. But that night I came down in time to see madam swishing into Bob’s room, with him holding the door open like a velvet rope.” They had reached the store and Polly paused outside the window. “I said, Hey, Daisy sleeps with me, and he said—”
“Wait,” said Laura. “You said that to him?”
Polly was indignant. “Yes! Daisy is my dog.”
“Literally?”
“No, of course not literally.” Polly was unabashed. “But emotionally. And he had the balls to say, I noticed it’s hard for her to get up the stairs. I got her a heating pad.”
They stared at each other.
“Yeah,” said Laura, “I see your problem.”
“Right?” Polly sighed. “Like I said, cool customer.”
Inside the store Laura could see a short line had formed at the register and pointed it out to Polly.
“Gotta go,” Polly said. “See you later. Dinner?”
Laura nodded. “Will you tell Maggie? I forgot to get her number.”
“I’ll text it to you. She wants only first-person dinner reservations, it’s one of her rules.” Polly went in, then turned around and said, “Try and think of a good plan to thwart the dognapper.”
Laura nodded. “I’m not sure ‘dognapper’ is the right term, he only gave her a warmer welcome.”
Polly narrowed her eyes. “Remember who brought you in, Laura. Love the one you’re with.”
Laura grinned and nodded, waving as she turned to head home.
* * *
• • •
Polly hurried back into the store and smiled at Nina. “Sorry, I got chatting.”
“Nooo,” said Nina quietly. “How unusual, you’re normally such a Trappist.” She helped another customer, handing them their book and adding, “Although, you know, Trappists don’t literally take a vow of silence, they simply maintain a pretty radical silence, generally speaking.”
“Radical Silence is an excellent band name,” said Polly. “I think the new girl fancies Bob.”
Nina frowned. “Everyone fancies Bob, he’s empirically fanciable. Doesn’t mean she actually wants to, you know, date him.”
Polly shrugged. “I’m going to stick my nose in.”
“Don’t do it,” warned Nina. “It never works the way you want it to.”
“I won’t do anything drastic,” said Polly, ringing up a customer who was buying a romance novel and drinking in this conversation.
“Pol, don’t stickybeak. Remember what happened in Ventura.”
The customer leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What happened in Ventura?”
Polly shook her head. “My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah,” muttered Nina. “By court order.”
They fell silent until the customer left, and then Nina turned to Polly and fastened her with a firm stare. “Polly, you don’t know Bob very well, and you don’t know Laura at all. Stay out of it.”
Polly sighed, and perched on the counter. “Nina, I am not a super-educated person, as you know.” She held up her hand to interrupt Nina’s immediate contradiction. “Dude, I didn’t go to college, it’s OK, I didn’t want to, I’m happy I didn’t, and I’ve never regretted it for a second.” She pointed a finger. “Don’t get brainwashed by the hegemony, Nina. Not going to college doesn’t make you an idiot, and going to college makes you a debt-burdened lemming. Think for yourself!”
Nina didn’t have an immediate comeback to this, as she hadn’t been expecting that turn to the conversation.
Polly pressed her advantage. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know people, because I do. There is nothing I know better than attraction—getting it, causing it, losing it, ruining it. I have done them all. Laura Costello—and props to me for remembering her last name—has a broken heart.”
Nina frowned. “She does?”
Polly nodded. “She does. A broken engagement she pretended to be all cool about, but I could tell. As you know, the best way to get over someone—”
Nina interrupted her, waving one hand and putting the other over her ear. “Don’t say it, you know I hate—”
Polly ignored her. “Is to get under someone else.”
Nina made a furball sound. “There is so much wrong with that, I don’t know where to begin.”
Polly shook her head. “No, it’s provably true. I’ve proved it. The best cure for a sad heart is a—”
“No,” said Nina.
“Happy vagina.”
“Stop.”
“I’ve got more.”
“Please don’t.”
All of a sudden they realized there was another customer standing on the other side of the graphic novel shelf, staring at them in wonderment. He was maybe thirteen and had understood only a fraction of what he’d heard until he’d very clearly heard the word “vagina” and looked up just as Polly and Nina looked at him, causing him to suffer such an extreme anguish of embarrassment that he literally turned and left the store, never to return. This was a pity, because he had plenty of allowance to spend on books and had been a pretty regular customer.
Nina hissed like a swan. “Now look what you’ve done. I just got him started on Percy Jackson, I had him on a book-hook for months.”
She turned and headed to the back office, and Polly realized she was genuinely a little ticked off.
Nina turned back at the door. “Listen, Polly. I love you dearly, you’re a local celebrity and a moderately good employee, but you are not a matchmaker. Stay out of it.”
Polly nodded. “OK, Nina.”
Nina closed the door fully aware she’d been snowed. Oh well. Laura was a grown-up. She could handle Polly.
Hopefully.
SIX
When Laura got home the house was quiet, apart from the animals who trickled in from three different directions and congregated in the kitchen, interested to see what thrilling diversions she was going to provide. She did her best to ignore them and opened the refrigerator door and stared into it as everyone does, hoping something would metaphorically leap out at her. She wasn’t even hungry, she was simply thinking something sweet might be nice. She shut the fridge and opened the freezer.
Popsicles! Marked very clearly: For sharing, help yourself, love, Libby. She looked on another shelf and spotted a box of frozen mini-pizzas, with a label: For anyone, love, Polly. A container of ice cream was a gift from Anna, and a nearly empty bottle of vodka was from Maggie, with Happy Holidays on a label around its neck. Ah, thought Laura, I see how it is. Conspicuous and competitive generosity. I can play that game.
She reached for a Popsicle and shut the freezer door. She turned and realized that Daisy the pug was the only animal left, waiting patiently to see what she’d found in the Cold Cupboard of Food. Laura looked down, Daisy looked up. One tooth underbit her top lip on the right. Her ears were folded like rose petals, but one was flipped inside out. Both of her bulging eyes were a bit gummy and slightly misty, but her focus on Laura was laser-esque. Laura narrowed her eyes and took a bite of the rocket-shaped Popsicle, which promptly separated as if directed by mission control. The jettisoned tail section was caught before it hit the ground, yet Daisy appeared not to have moved at all. After holding Laura’s gaze for a few seconds, she swallowed.
Laura finished the Popsicle and wandered out into the garden again, wanting to explore further. Tiny high feels followed her, and she turned to see Daisy in determined pursuit, curved toenails clacking on the flagstones. She really was shaped like a footstool, or a loaf of very dense bread. She walked like a woman wearing a too-tight dress and too-small shoes, but she had gravitas.
The two of them crossed the terrace and descended the shallow stairs to the lower lawn. It was late afternoon and the sun was gilding all the flowers as they made their way across the grass. Daisy wheezed a little and Laura slowed her pace. No need to make enemies at floor level.
The lawn was dotted with dandelions and daisies despite being cleanly mown. Presumably they were spared on purpose, and it reminded Laura of the rug in a preschool. She wandered past the vegetable garden, checking to make sure no one was hiding in the tomatoes, and through a narrow gap between two tall hedges. At first she’d expected to find a garage or maybe a guesthouse, but it was actually a small rose garden, arranged around a pair of benches and a low table. In the distance she heard the front door closing and paused to listen, but there was no further sound.
It was summer and the roses were in full bloom. Her grandmother loved roses, and her apartment was always full of flowers, her balconies dangerously heavy with containers. Laura bent over to sniff, and the first rose was so deeply rich with scent she found herself literally pushing her nose into it, like a large, flightless bee.
“Oh, hello,” said a voice from behind her, and Laura turned to see—of course—Bob the whatever it was Polly called him. Impossibly handsome. Which he was, especially in the soft low sunshine of early evening.
“Hi,” said Laura, backing out of the flower quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry, I was, you know, smelling them.”
Bob frowned at her in puzzlement. “Uh, you’re allowed to smell the roses. I think there’s even a phrase about it.” He was taller than he’d seemed at a distance, and broader.
Laura wasn’t understanding him and could feel a blush creeping up her neck. Fantastic self-possession, Laura.
“Take time to stop and smell the roses?” Bob said, possibly wondering if he’d come upon a concussion victim. He could feel himself going pink, his usual shyness around other people—particularly women—starting to take over.
“Oh, right,” said Laura, giving up and going for a big smile. It usually worked.
After a slight pause, Bob smiled back and stepped past her, going closer to the roses. He touched a flower, pulled off a brown petal here and there. “They do smell great, but you can also smell night-blooming jasmine.” He turned and pointed at a nearby shrub. “I’m Bob, by the way.” He stuck out his hand, and Laura shook it.
“I’m Laura,” she replied. “I think we share a bathroom.”
He grinned, which was honestly a little painful because it made his nose crinkle. “I know, but so far you’re tidier than the last guy.”
“I stole two of your Advil,” said Laura. Tidier, but more larcenous.
“That’s OK,” he said, unable to come up with anything cleverer than that to say.
“I had a headache,” she added.
“That’s OK,” he said again, then shook his head. “I don’t mean OK that you had a headache, OK that you borrowed Advil.”
“Right,” said Laura. “Although I won’t be giving them back.” Stop talking, stop talking. “Because I swallowed them.”
Bob’s mouth dropped open a little as his brain struggled to come up with a response to that. After five seconds it came up with something: Change the subject.
“I have to pick roses for Maggie,” said Bob, pulling a pair of pruning shears from his pocket and waving them. He looked at Laura. “Which ones do you like?”
Laura looked around. “Which ones smell best?”
He pointed at a creamy yellow one. “That one’s nice, very lemony.” He walked over and snipped a long stem, then a couple more. He sniffed them, and Laura came over to smell them for herself.
She looked up from the flower and smiled a question. “Will lemons go with dinner?”
Bob shrugged, noticing her cheekbones, her eyelashes, a splattering of pale freckles across her nose. He went over to a dark yellow rose with red petal edges and added a couple of those. Then another bush gave up two dark red flowers, more tightly furled than the others. He looked around, finally adding three white roses. He considered the bunch in his hand. “That should do, I think.” He held the bouquet out to Laura. “What do you think?”
“So,” said Polly, “did you see Maggie this morning?”
“No,” Laura said, and shook her head. The taco place called their number, and Polly went to grab the tray. As always, the food made everything better. Dogs and good food: universal improvers.
For a while they munched in silence, and then Laura said, “So, tell me about Maggie. What’s her deal?”
Polly looked at her and finished chewing before answering, “How do you mean?”
“Is she married?”
“Divorced.”
“Happily?”
“No clue.” Polly took a sip of her drink. “She’s chatty but not informative, if you know what I mean. And besides, we’re not friends or anything. She’s got to be, like, sixty. And she’s a therapist, so, you know. I always end up saying more than I mean to.”
Laura said, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen a shrink.” This wasn’t entirely true, but there was no need to go into it then and there.
Polly looked surprised. “You haven’t? What’s wrong with you?”
Laura made a face. “Nothing. That’s the point.”
Polly considered this. Then she said, “I go to the movies with Libby and Anna sometimes.”
“Are they dating?”
“No,” Polly replied. “It’s a romance of the mind only. I think, anyway.”
“Lots of Scrabble?”
“Yeah. And other games. Do you play bridge?”
Laura nodded. “Yes, actually. My grandmother taught me when I was a teenager, so I could make up a four when one of her friends failed to show up for their weekly game. I’m no good, but I do love playing cards.”
“Well, don’t admit it unless you want to play. They’re hustlers.”
“Bridge hustlers?”
“Making tricks and taking money.” Polly grinned. “They play competitive bridge as a team, which strikes me as bizarre. Not to mention how weird it is that the universe put each of them in a house with the only other young person in Los Angeles who was looking for a bridge crony.”
Laura shrugged, not finding it all that weird. “Maybe the universe likes card games?”
Polly said, “Doubtful,” and stuffed another taco in her face. That done, she said, “And did you meet Impossibly Handsome Bob?”
Laura coughed, having inhaled a piece of lettuce.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Polly, thumping her on the back. “Yup, he’s disarmingly attractive.” Her smile was benign but her eyes were sharp as she watched Laura coughing.
Laura got her breath back. “Sorry, yes. Or at least, I think I saw him in the garden.”
Polly raised one eyebrow enviably high. “Laura, if you’ve seen Bob, you’d know it. The fact that you nearly choked to death tells me everything.”
“And what’s his deal?” asked Laura, purely interested in information gathering.
“Fancy him, do you?” said Polly, looking unsurprised. “I don’t blame you, though he’s not my type.”
Laura was blushing. “What is your type?”
“Eclectic,” replied Polly airily. “Bob’s only been there a few months, and he’s a cool customer, I know that.” She drank some more of her horchata. “What’s your deal, while we’re discussing deals? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Neither or both?”
Laura stayed red. “Neither. I was . . . engaged, kind of, but we broke it off before I moved here.”
Polly widened her eyes. “Ooh, a tragic past, tell me all about it.”
Laura laughed. “It’s not tragic at all. We’d known each other a long time, we’d grown apart, I wanted to take a break, he didn’t, so I came here.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think I’ll make it and will show up back home in a few months.”
“Why?” Polly was amazed. “You’re going to grad school, right? Not joining a death cult.”
Laura tried to decide how to frame it. “I know, but he wasn’t the only one. My family is pretty certain I’m making a huge mistake.”
“Los Angeles,” said Polly owlishly, “is often the wrong choice, but it’s never a mistake.” She tapped the end of her nose and then pointed at Laura.
“What does that mean?” Laura asked.
“Wait and see,” said Polly. “Everyone comes here for one thing and usually ends up finding another.” She grinned, then looked at her phone. “Crap, I have to go back. Where are you parked?”
Laura laughed. “I take the bus, remember?”
Polly stared at her. “And it brought you right here?”
Laura nodded. “Honestly, Polly, you should expand your horizons a bit. Public transportation is better for the planet, cheaper, easier . . . you should try it.”
They started walking back to the bookstore, and Polly shook her head. “I already drive an electric car, and I love it like a brother. It’s my traveling capsule hotel of happiness.” She looked at Laura. “You don’t really like driving, do you?” Before Laura had a chance to say anything, Polly added, “Speaking of Bob . . .”
“We weren’t,” said Laura, surprised Polly had been able to tell how uncomfortable she’d been in the car the night before.
Polly ignored her. “He and I are having a small interpersonal beef right now and you need to pick a side.”
Laura shrugged at her and said, “Your side, of course. What’s the beef about?”
“Daisy.”
“Daisy who?”
“The pug.”
“OK, yes. I met her this morning. She’s very . . .”
“Plump? Rubenesque? Well covered?” said Polly. “She appreciates fine dining, it’s true. She’s always slept in my room, or at least she did until Impossibly Handsome Bob showed up.”
“Why do you call him that?” asked Laura. “I mean, apart from the fact that it’s accurate.”
Polly wrinkled her brow. “It’s what Nina calls him. I guess I caught it from her. Anyway, a few weeks ago I came downstairs around eleven to get a snack and a glass of water. Normally”—she stressed the word—“normally, that was when Daisy would follow me upstairs and settle in for the night. She’s like a professional hot-water bottle, that dog. She goes under the covers and I rest my toes on her and love her deeply. But that night I came down in time to see madam swishing into Bob’s room, with him holding the door open like a velvet rope.” They had reached the store and Polly paused outside the window. “I said, Hey, Daisy sleeps with me, and he said—”
“Wait,” said Laura. “You said that to him?”
Polly was indignant. “Yes! Daisy is my dog.”
“Literally?”
“No, of course not literally.” Polly was unabashed. “But emotionally. And he had the balls to say, I noticed it’s hard for her to get up the stairs. I got her a heating pad.”
They stared at each other.
“Yeah,” said Laura, “I see your problem.”
“Right?” Polly sighed. “Like I said, cool customer.”
Inside the store Laura could see a short line had formed at the register and pointed it out to Polly.
“Gotta go,” Polly said. “See you later. Dinner?”
Laura nodded. “Will you tell Maggie? I forgot to get her number.”
“I’ll text it to you. She wants only first-person dinner reservations, it’s one of her rules.” Polly went in, then turned around and said, “Try and think of a good plan to thwart the dognapper.”
Laura nodded. “I’m not sure ‘dognapper’ is the right term, he only gave her a warmer welcome.”
Polly narrowed her eyes. “Remember who brought you in, Laura. Love the one you’re with.”
Laura grinned and nodded, waving as she turned to head home.
* * *
• • •
Polly hurried back into the store and smiled at Nina. “Sorry, I got chatting.”
“Nooo,” said Nina quietly. “How unusual, you’re normally such a Trappist.” She helped another customer, handing them their book and adding, “Although, you know, Trappists don’t literally take a vow of silence, they simply maintain a pretty radical silence, generally speaking.”
“Radical Silence is an excellent band name,” said Polly. “I think the new girl fancies Bob.”
Nina frowned. “Everyone fancies Bob, he’s empirically fanciable. Doesn’t mean she actually wants to, you know, date him.”
Polly shrugged. “I’m going to stick my nose in.”
“Don’t do it,” warned Nina. “It never works the way you want it to.”
“I won’t do anything drastic,” said Polly, ringing up a customer who was buying a romance novel and drinking in this conversation.
“Pol, don’t stickybeak. Remember what happened in Ventura.”
The customer leaned forward, her eyes wide. “What happened in Ventura?”
Polly shook her head. “My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah,” muttered Nina. “By court order.”
They fell silent until the customer left, and then Nina turned to Polly and fastened her with a firm stare. “Polly, you don’t know Bob very well, and you don’t know Laura at all. Stay out of it.”
Polly sighed, and perched on the counter. “Nina, I am not a super-educated person, as you know.” She held up her hand to interrupt Nina’s immediate contradiction. “Dude, I didn’t go to college, it’s OK, I didn’t want to, I’m happy I didn’t, and I’ve never regretted it for a second.” She pointed a finger. “Don’t get brainwashed by the hegemony, Nina. Not going to college doesn’t make you an idiot, and going to college makes you a debt-burdened lemming. Think for yourself!”
Nina didn’t have an immediate comeback to this, as she hadn’t been expecting that turn to the conversation.
Polly pressed her advantage. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know people, because I do. There is nothing I know better than attraction—getting it, causing it, losing it, ruining it. I have done them all. Laura Costello—and props to me for remembering her last name—has a broken heart.”
Nina frowned. “She does?”
Polly nodded. “She does. A broken engagement she pretended to be all cool about, but I could tell. As you know, the best way to get over someone—”
Nina interrupted her, waving one hand and putting the other over her ear. “Don’t say it, you know I hate—”
Polly ignored her. “Is to get under someone else.”
Nina made a furball sound. “There is so much wrong with that, I don’t know where to begin.”
Polly shook her head. “No, it’s provably true. I’ve proved it. The best cure for a sad heart is a—”
“No,” said Nina.
“Happy vagina.”
“Stop.”
“I’ve got more.”
“Please don’t.”
All of a sudden they realized there was another customer standing on the other side of the graphic novel shelf, staring at them in wonderment. He was maybe thirteen and had understood only a fraction of what he’d heard until he’d very clearly heard the word “vagina” and looked up just as Polly and Nina looked at him, causing him to suffer such an extreme anguish of embarrassment that he literally turned and left the store, never to return. This was a pity, because he had plenty of allowance to spend on books and had been a pretty regular customer.
Nina hissed like a swan. “Now look what you’ve done. I just got him started on Percy Jackson, I had him on a book-hook for months.”
She turned and headed to the back office, and Polly realized she was genuinely a little ticked off.
Nina turned back at the door. “Listen, Polly. I love you dearly, you’re a local celebrity and a moderately good employee, but you are not a matchmaker. Stay out of it.”
Polly nodded. “OK, Nina.”
Nina closed the door fully aware she’d been snowed. Oh well. Laura was a grown-up. She could handle Polly.
Hopefully.
SIX
When Laura got home the house was quiet, apart from the animals who trickled in from three different directions and congregated in the kitchen, interested to see what thrilling diversions she was going to provide. She did her best to ignore them and opened the refrigerator door and stared into it as everyone does, hoping something would metaphorically leap out at her. She wasn’t even hungry, she was simply thinking something sweet might be nice. She shut the fridge and opened the freezer.
Popsicles! Marked very clearly: For sharing, help yourself, love, Libby. She looked on another shelf and spotted a box of frozen mini-pizzas, with a label: For anyone, love, Polly. A container of ice cream was a gift from Anna, and a nearly empty bottle of vodka was from Maggie, with Happy Holidays on a label around its neck. Ah, thought Laura, I see how it is. Conspicuous and competitive generosity. I can play that game.
She reached for a Popsicle and shut the freezer door. She turned and realized that Daisy the pug was the only animal left, waiting patiently to see what she’d found in the Cold Cupboard of Food. Laura looked down, Daisy looked up. One tooth underbit her top lip on the right. Her ears were folded like rose petals, but one was flipped inside out. Both of her bulging eyes were a bit gummy and slightly misty, but her focus on Laura was laser-esque. Laura narrowed her eyes and took a bite of the rocket-shaped Popsicle, which promptly separated as if directed by mission control. The jettisoned tail section was caught before it hit the ground, yet Daisy appeared not to have moved at all. After holding Laura’s gaze for a few seconds, she swallowed.
Laura finished the Popsicle and wandered out into the garden again, wanting to explore further. Tiny high feels followed her, and she turned to see Daisy in determined pursuit, curved toenails clacking on the flagstones. She really was shaped like a footstool, or a loaf of very dense bread. She walked like a woman wearing a too-tight dress and too-small shoes, but she had gravitas.
The two of them crossed the terrace and descended the shallow stairs to the lower lawn. It was late afternoon and the sun was gilding all the flowers as they made their way across the grass. Daisy wheezed a little and Laura slowed her pace. No need to make enemies at floor level.
The lawn was dotted with dandelions and daisies despite being cleanly mown. Presumably they were spared on purpose, and it reminded Laura of the rug in a preschool. She wandered past the vegetable garden, checking to make sure no one was hiding in the tomatoes, and through a narrow gap between two tall hedges. At first she’d expected to find a garage or maybe a guesthouse, but it was actually a small rose garden, arranged around a pair of benches and a low table. In the distance she heard the front door closing and paused to listen, but there was no further sound.
It was summer and the roses were in full bloom. Her grandmother loved roses, and her apartment was always full of flowers, her balconies dangerously heavy with containers. Laura bent over to sniff, and the first rose was so deeply rich with scent she found herself literally pushing her nose into it, like a large, flightless bee.
“Oh, hello,” said a voice from behind her, and Laura turned to see—of course—Bob the whatever it was Polly called him. Impossibly handsome. Which he was, especially in the soft low sunshine of early evening.
“Hi,” said Laura, backing out of the flower quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry, I was, you know, smelling them.”
Bob frowned at her in puzzlement. “Uh, you’re allowed to smell the roses. I think there’s even a phrase about it.” He was taller than he’d seemed at a distance, and broader.
Laura wasn’t understanding him and could feel a blush creeping up her neck. Fantastic self-possession, Laura.
“Take time to stop and smell the roses?” Bob said, possibly wondering if he’d come upon a concussion victim. He could feel himself going pink, his usual shyness around other people—particularly women—starting to take over.
“Oh, right,” said Laura, giving up and going for a big smile. It usually worked.
After a slight pause, Bob smiled back and stepped past her, going closer to the roses. He touched a flower, pulled off a brown petal here and there. “They do smell great, but you can also smell night-blooming jasmine.” He turned and pointed at a nearby shrub. “I’m Bob, by the way.” He stuck out his hand, and Laura shook it.
“I’m Laura,” she replied. “I think we share a bathroom.”
He grinned, which was honestly a little painful because it made his nose crinkle. “I know, but so far you’re tidier than the last guy.”
“I stole two of your Advil,” said Laura. Tidier, but more larcenous.
“That’s OK,” he said, unable to come up with anything cleverer than that to say.
“I had a headache,” she added.
“That’s OK,” he said again, then shook his head. “I don’t mean OK that you had a headache, OK that you borrowed Advil.”
“Right,” said Laura. “Although I won’t be giving them back.” Stop talking, stop talking. “Because I swallowed them.”
Bob’s mouth dropped open a little as his brain struggled to come up with a response to that. After five seconds it came up with something: Change the subject.
“I have to pick roses for Maggie,” said Bob, pulling a pair of pruning shears from his pocket and waving them. He looked at Laura. “Which ones do you like?”
Laura looked around. “Which ones smell best?”
He pointed at a creamy yellow one. “That one’s nice, very lemony.” He walked over and snipped a long stem, then a couple more. He sniffed them, and Laura came over to smell them for herself.
She looked up from the flower and smiled a question. “Will lemons go with dinner?”
Bob shrugged, noticing her cheekbones, her eyelashes, a splattering of pale freckles across her nose. He went over to a dark yellow rose with red petal edges and added a couple of those. Then another bush gave up two dark red flowers, more tightly furled than the others. He looked around, finally adding three white roses. He considered the bunch in his hand. “That should do, I think.” He held the bouquet out to Laura. “What do you think?”
