Adult Assembly Required, page 6
I think you standing there holding out a bunch of roses looks like the search results for “romantic images of handsome men,” thought Laura, but what she said was, “Beautiful, she’ll love them,” then she turned and headed back to the house. Bob watched her hair swing as she turned, and felt his stomach drop. Maggie had said there was a new tenant. She’d said Laura was nice, from New York, and recently arrived in Los Angeles. She had completely neglected to mention Laura was gorgeous. He willed himself not to stare at her back view, but as she walked across the lawn ahead of him, it was unavoidable. She was tall, strong, and absolutely, in every single way, his type. When she’d smiled at him not three minutes earlier, he’d been momentarily stunned, tiny bluebirds circling his head like in an old cartoon.
Daisy looked up at Bob, then followed Laura. Bob said, “I see you’ve made friends with Daisy.” He fell into step alongside Laura, the scent of the roses trailing them like a veil. “I warn you, she’s demanding.”
“She seems pretty low-key to me,” said Laura. “What’s she going to do, run over my foot?” She laughed. “Even if she jumped up and down it wouldn’t hurt.”
Bob paused and bent down to scratch Daisy’s head. “Don’t listen to her,” he said. He straightened up and grinned at Laura. “You’ll see.” He loped up the steps to the house ahead of her, and Laura realized she was standing there staring after him. He was even more attractive close up than he had been at a distance, and she was grateful she wasn’t looking for a relationship of any kind.
Otherwise she’d be in real trouble.
* * *
• • •
Despite the fact that Laura had forgotten to text Maggie about dinner, there was plenty to go around. Anna and Libby were out at a movie, so it was only the four of them. Not counting the dogs, who sat supportively nearby in case anyone needed help with their chicken, or advice on gravy ratios.
“So, you have to go to grad school to become a physical therapist?” asked Polly. “Isn’t it just massage?” She made a face in response to Laura’s expression. “I’m going to guess not, don’t shoot me.”
Laura relaxed her face and pondered, because the answer could be simple or complicated. She finished her mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy and went for simple. “Physical therapists are experts in the way people move and operate their bodies. Humans are biological machines, right? We have levers and joints and tendons and muscles, and everything works together. Break one part and the whole machine falls out of whack, break more than one and it can crumble completely. PTs help people regain strength and function after they’ve had an illness or accident.” She shrugged. “That’s simplifying it, but even a small injury can have a huge impact if it stops you from living your life the way you want to.”
“I broke my big toe when I was pregnant,” said Maggie, helping herself to more vegetables, “and firstly, it was almost as painful as childbirth, I’m not even joking, and it took forever to heal. Walking was impossible for weeks.”
Laura nodded. “The big toe is completely pivotal to walking upright, and gets no respect until it’s injured.” She stood and kicked off her sandal. “Watch.” She took a slow step and demonstrated. “You hit the ground with your heel first, then roll forward through your foot, and then you actually push off using your big toe. Break that puppy and walking is really hard.” She sat back down. “And of course injuries can be much more serious and complicated, and sometimes you need a team of PTs and other therapists working together.” She blushed. “I don’t really know that much yet. I start the program next month.”
“How long is the program?” asked Maggie.
“Three years. It’s a doctor of physical therapy, it’s pretty intense.”
“What made you want to do it?” asked Maggie. “And why here?”
Laura sighed. She didn’t want to go into it in detail, but there was something about Maggie that made it easy to talk. “Well, my undergraduate degree is in biology, like I said, and originally I was going to keep doing that, getting my PhD and going into research or something.” She felt her chest start to tighten up the way it did when she had to explain herself, and wondered if it would get easier soon. “But then, before graduation, I got into an accident and was badly hurt. I was in the hospital for weeks, and it took a really long time to walk again and things like that. It made me, you know, reevaluate.”
“Is that why you have a limp?” Polly asked, mildly ashamed of being nosy, but not enough to not want to know. It’s not the kind of thing you can ask about immediately, at least not once you leave preschool, but she’d wondered.
Laura nodded.
“What kind of accident was it?” continued Polly, hoping for something interesting like being crushed by a falling piano, or attacked by a tiger.
“Car crash,” said Laura, laughing when she saw Polly’s disappointed expression. “Sorry. I was driving back from snowboarding upstate. I hit a truck.” She swallowed, feeling her heart speeding up. “I don’t remember much, because several other cars got involved and I was unconscious for a while, and then I was awake but not totally . . . you know . . . together.” She shrugged again, as if nothing could be less important. “It wasn’t ideal.”
Polly, Maggie, and Bob stared at her, and she felt herself getting redder. “I’m fine now.” She added inconsequentially, “It was on the news.”
Maggie had such an expression of sympathy on her face that Laura couldn’t look at her. Instead she looked down at her legs and waited through the silence. She’d learned there really wasn’t anything good to say about the accident, and that no one was really sure how to react.
Bob, however, coughed and said, “That’s terrible, could you pass me the potatoes?”
Laura passed the bowl. She could tell, as her eyes met his, that he knew she didn’t want to talk about this and was happy to change the subject. I don’t need the details, said his face. I can tell it hurts.
Polly wasn’t as ready to move on. “Wow, how long did it take you to walk again?”
“Months,” replied Laura, “and that’s how I found out about PTs and what they do.” She thought of her therapist’s face, his kind eyes, his certainty. “My PT never quit on me, and after a while I was fine.” Well, physically fine, anyway. “I decided to pay it forward very literally by becoming a PT myself. I guess I lack imagination.”
“That sounds extremely stressful,” said Maggie.
“I guess,” replied Laura breezily. She looked around. “What about you guys? Did you all grow up here?”
Maggie looked at her thoughtfully, but let it go. “Not me, I’m from the Midwest. Detroit. I came here for college and never left. My husband and I met here, raised the kids here, and here I still am.” She shrugged. “I love my house, I love the weather, my business is thriving, why would I leave?”
Laura wanted to ask about her husband but didn’t. She turned to Bob. “And you?”
Bob grinned. “Genuine Angeleno. Born and raised in Echo Park, east of here.” He pointed at Polly. “She will claim to be one, too, but she’s from Long Beach.”
Polly pulled a face. “You’re jealous because I had the beach.”
Bob shook his head. “Not a beach guy.” He stood and started clearing the plates and serving dishes. “We’ll clean up, Maggie. Go enjoy the garden.”
“I will, thanks.” The older woman refilled her wineglass and headed outside. This was how it worked; she cooked, they cleaned. She considered it more than a fair trade, because who wouldn’t rather cook than clean?
Loading the dishwasher, Laura decided to ask some questions of her own. “And you’re a gardener? Or a landscaper? What’s the difference?”
Bob smiled. “Not a lot. I guess a landscaper works with more than plants, and a gardener focuses on what grows. Maybe?”
“Did you go to school for it?” That sounded vaguely insulting, but a quick glance at his face showed he hadn’t taken it that way. I am such a klutz.
“Yeah, I have a degree in horticulture.” Bob looked unconcerned about Laura’s opinion of his education, and something inside her relaxed a little. He reminded her of her brother’s friends. She was the youngest of four, and the only girl. Her brother’s friends had been everywhere throughout her teens, some of them quite consistently. But even if she’d liked any of them, and once or twice she did, she’d gotten the impression they considered her off-limits. Bob had that same reserved energy, the same quiet vibe.
“That’s how I met him, kind of,” said Polly, who’d helped clear the table but was now sitting at it eating a bowl of ice cream.
“Kind of?” Laura was interested.
They both laughed and Polly rubbed her eyebrow and said, “You explain it, I’ve got brain freeze.”
“No,” said Bob, looking under the sink for the dishwasher tablets, “it’s too confusing.”
Polly swallowed her ice cream and looked at Laura. “Follow this if you can: His teacher from college is dating Nina’s boyfriend’s brother’s sister-in-law. That same woman, Lili, has a kid in one of Nina’s book clubs at work, so they met that way, and then Nina met her boyfriend at Lili’s wedding.”
Laura was struggling and frowned. “Wait, the mother’s boyfriend?”
Polly shook her head. “No, her own boyfriend, Tom. Lili’s sister was marrying Tom’s brother. That’s how it all fits together.”
Laura was still confused. “And where do you come into it?” She looked at Bob. “Were you at the wedding, too?”
“Nope.” He’d started the dishwasher and was wiping down the counters. “But I’m close with my old teacher and Lili and her sister, met Nina a few times and then Polly, and Polly told me about the room . . .” He shrugged. “Friends of friends of friends. It’s confusing to me, and I’m part of it.”
“It’s just backstory,” said Polly. “All you need to remember is I am a good person to know when you need somewhere to live.”
“As you proved within twenty minutes of meeting me.” Laura sat down at the table again.
Bob hung the dish towel on the oven door handle and turned to leave the kitchen. “Uh . . . good night, ladies.”
Polly and Laura watched him leave. Daisy got up and followed him. Then Polly turned to Laura and made a combination facial expression and hand gesture that somehow conveyed everything Laura was thinking. She realized it was one of Polly’s trademarks, using her body to express things her words couldn’t. Maybe it was an actor thing, or maybe it was a Polly thing.
“Don’t worry,” Polly said. “After you’ve known him awhile, the handsome wears off.” She licked her ice cream spoon. “You don’t stop seeing it, you simply accept it’s part of the totally normal and mostly friendly dog thief who lives in the house.”
“The one who looks like a movie star?”
“Yes. The totally normal and mostly friendly dog thief who lives in the house and looks like a movie star.” Polly carried her dish over and rinsed it. “And starts the dishwasher before I’m ready and is possibly trying to steal my emotional support dog.” She washed and dried the dish and looked at her watch. “I’ve got an hour to kill before meeting some friends. Do you want to watch some peak TV?”
SEVEN
As Bob walked away from the kitchen, he heard the gentle clicking of claws and turned to see Daisy trickling along behind him. He slowed down to let her catch up. He heard Laura saying “movie star,” back in the kitchen, and let his imagination fill with the sound of her voice. He’d watched her across the table, looking up from under her ridiculous lashes, like a giraffe, or the soft unicorn toy of one of his nieces. He’d observed that she was quick to smile and slower to laugh. She had a heavy hand with the salt. She didn’t drink a lot; she still had half a glass of wine left when the dinner was over. She was wearing hummingbird earrings. She didn’t mention a boyfriend. She liked animals and he’d noticed her slipping food to the dogs more than once. She’d been hurt badly and didn’t want to talk about it, and he could relate to that.
The women had lowered their voices and Bob couldn’t hear anything else from the kitchen. Daisy came to a gentle halt in front of his door and turned back to look questioningly at him.
As he held the door for her, Polly came out of the kitchen and saw the tableau. She made a tongue-clicking noise, presumably by clicking her tongue.
“I see how it is,” she said, coming to her own gentle halt at the bottom of the stairs.
Bob grinned at her shamelessly. “You’re welcome to change rooms with me, I don’t have a problem climbing stairs.” Daisy looked at Polly for a second, then trundled in.
Polly narrowed her eyes. “Your room is bigger.”
“Yes, but your room is in the back. It’s quieter.”
Polly turned and headed up the stairs. “True, but then you’d be farther away from our lovely new tenant, and wouldn’t that be a shame?”
Bob wasn’t sure how to respond to this, and as she reached the first landing, Polly turned a little and said, quietly, “She’s single, you know.” She carried on up the stairs, not looking directly at him. “She was engaged, but now she’s not, FYI.”
As she went into her room, Polly decided that sharing factual information couldn’t possibly be considered sticking her nose in. Nina, of all people, would support that . . . right?
* * *
• • •
Bob closed his bedroom door and looked at Daisy, who was turning circles on her heated bed and occasionally poking it with a firm paw.
“She’s single,” Bob said to her. “She was engaged, but now she’s not.”
Daisy looked at him and said nothing.
“I completely agree,” said Bob, wondering if there was a baseball game on. “But the chances that a girl who looks like that would be interested in me are pretty small.”
Daisy disagreed, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it.
Bob sat down on his sofa, opened his laptop and found the baseball game, then texted his big sister.
“Hey,” he said.
A pause, three dots, then, “Yo.”
“ ’Sup,” he responded. There was a longer pause, then three dots, then his sister texted him again.
“What’s wrong?”
He smiled wryly at the screen. He’d typed all of six letters.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied.
“Money, work, or girls?” she texted.
Bob gave up pretending. “Girl.”
“Spill.”
“New housemate. Gorgeous.”
There was a very brief pause, then the phone rang. He grinned, and answered it.
“Hey,” he said.
“Robert,” his sister said, “I hope I don’t have to remind you of the danger of shitting where you eat.”
Bob made a face. “Firstly, that’s a horrible saying, and secondly, I’ve always taken that to mean don’t have a relationship in the workplace.”
Roxana made a familiar snorting noise. “Don’t argue semantics, you know what I mean.”
“She’s literally across the hall. We share a bathroom.”
“No, really, you cannot take this any further. You can’t live with someone and then start dating them, it’s backward.” Roxy was only semi-joking. She didn’t want her baby brother getting his heart broken again.
Bob’s smile faded. “She probably wouldn’t even be interested.” He leaned down and undid his laces. One of the knots had gotten wet, and he had to wedge the phone under his ear and use both hands.
His sister made another familiar noise, this time more sarcastic. “Right, because women are never interested in you.”
Bob shrugged. “At first, maybe. Then they get to know me and it’s all over. I’m not flashy enough for LA girls.” He worked his foot out of the first boot and tossed it in the corner, startling Daisy.
“Oh, quit it.” Roxy knew this was genuinely an issue for her brother, who was as cute as a bug but suffered from PPST: piss-poor small talk. No matter how relaxed he was, how confidently he started the evening, the minute an attractive girl spoke to him, his tongue turned into a wooden spoon. He could no more make lighthearted and humorous conversation of a seductive nature than he could have sprouted a jet pack and blown out of there. His looks were a big initial draw, but then—as his best friend in college had bluntly pointed out—he choked in the clutch. This was great for the friend because he was less attractive but quick and funny, so going to a bar with Bob was like bringing a golden retriever puppy; girls simply materialized. While Bob blushed and answered in monosyllables, his friend turned on the charm and got lucky a lot more frequently than Bob did.
“Are you watching the game?” Bob wished he’d never reached out to his sister. She meant well, but her encouragement reminded him that he needed encouragement, and it was giving him a stomachache.
“Don’t change the subject, but yes.” Roxana sighed. “What’s the girl’s name?”
“Laura.”
“Grandma’s name?” Roxy sounded uncertain. “Great, another layer of weird.”
“Really . . . let’s change the subject.” Bob’s voice was quiet.
Roxy relented. “Could you believe that double play?”
Bob leaned back into the sofa, relieved. “When? I only turned on the game thirty seconds ago. What did I miss?”
“Oh,” said his sister, settling into her own couch, miles away. “Get comfortable, I’ll bring you up to speed.”
EIGHT
The next morning after she’d run, showered, and dressed, Laura made herself a cup of tea and called her grandmother.
