Chapter Five
Several days went by since meeting Nina, but the memory of her jubilant, Caribbean-water eyes as they flickered between Daphne’s and the lamp recurred like a dream she hated to wake up from. She’d checked her phone almost hourly for the arrival of a phantom text that suggested a get-together for that antiques discussion. But when she’d googled Nina just for the hell of it and found her mentioned in a Forbes Magazine “Top 20 Female Executives in the US” article, she’d promptly put her phone away and ceased waiting for that unknown-number notification.
On this day, she sat in the break room at work moping as she nibbled her egg-salad sandwich and googled images of Nina. One was from the company website, another from her LinkedIn profile, and a third from some county woman-of-the-year dinner. What an accomplished woman.
The only coworker she bothered with outside of work, Pascale, joined her at the table.
“What’s wrong with you today?”
“You work here, too,” she said. “Do you really have to ask?”
“What are you looking at on your phone?” He hovered over her as he stood at the microwave heating his lunch leftovers.
“You’re awfully nosy today.” Suddenly, the smell hit her. “Oh, gross, Pascale. You’re really gonna be that guy who microwaves fish in the company lunchroom?”
“I made ahi-tuna tacos last night. They’re awesome. I saved you one.”
“No, thanks.” She fanned the air in front of her nose.
He sat down next to her with his plastic container. “You should talk about stinking up the lunchroom. Your sandwich smells like an old dog farted in here.”
She rolled her eyes as she chased a bite of her sandwich with some potato chips.
“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing to her screen.
“The lamp lady. She’s a bigwig at some health-insurance company.”
“Is that so?” He scoffed. “You should ask her if she can explain why our health plan here gets shittier and more expensive every year. Probably so she could buy a new vacation home.”
“I spoke to her only that one time. She never texted me to hang out,” she added with a frown.
“Of course she didn’t. She’s too busy pressing the flesh with the other muckety-muck one-percenters at the country club we pay for.”
“She didn’t come across that way at all,” Daphne said. “She seemed down-to-earth, really genuine.” She slipped the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. “Now that I think about it, though, her shoes and purse probably cost more than my car.”
“Exactly my point.”
“I don’t know why I’m so disappointed. It’s not like I ever had a chance with someone like her, friend or otherwise. I’m the one you hang out with on the way up and then ditch once you get there.”
“Daph,” he said, softening his tone. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re cool enough for anybody, your narcissistic ex aside. This one’s probably straight anyway.”
Daphne shrugged. “I thought I picked up a vibe from her. But even if I did get my wires crossed, that has nothing to do with being friends with someone. We bonded over antiques.”
Pascale shrugged as he tossed his container into the trash. “What do you need more friends for? You got me and the old lady. Between the two of us, we’ll go antiquing with you.”
She smirked at him knowingly. “You only go with me when you’re single, hoping to meet lonely, divorced MILFs. When you have a girl, you just tell me to borrow your truck.”
He gave her a guilty smile.
“As for Sophie, I love her to death, and she’s my bestie and all, but let’s face it—an eighty-two-year-old isn’t exactly wingman material.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But I don’t think this one is either.”
As much as she didn’t want it to be true, Daphne had a feeling Pascale was on to something. In truth, she’d dodged a bullet—nothing good ever came out of befriending attractive straight women.
But she would’ve loved to take her chances with this one.
* * *
Daphne pulled into her driveway after work, looking forward to another evening of Netflix streaming and a food-delivery service. What a great time to be alive. So what if that had become more the rule than an exception? Barbecue ribs, cornbread, and an unlimited supply of dramatic series to binge until she fell asleep on her sofa. What else did a woman need? It was Nina’s loss. When it came to antiques, Daphne sniffed them out better than anyone.
When she got out of the car, Sophie called her over from her porch.
“Have you heard from her?” Sophie asked, holding open her screen door.
“No, and I’m not going to either, so can we just forget it? You guys asking me about it every day makes her blowing me off even more depressing.”
“I have something that’ll cheer you up.” She opened the door wider and tilted her head for Daphne to come in.
Daphne flapped her hands against her thighs. “Sophie, if you keep trying to fill the emptiness in my life with food, they’re going to need a forklift to remove me from my house someday.”
“Shut up and follow me.” Sophie led her into the kitchen. She opened her refrigerator and took out a small red box. “This came for you today, but the driver couldn’t leave it on your porch in this warm weather.”
“Aww, Sophie, are you trying to cheer me up sending me chocolate-covered strawberries from a fake secret admirer?”
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to send something like this.”
“Then who did?” Daphne gasped. “You don’t think…”
“Read the card and find out, for Pete’s sake.”
Daphne tore it open and read it aloud. “‘Thanks again. Let’s go antiquing some time.’” As she looked up, her smile felt like it was about to leap clear off her face. “She gave me her phone number.”
“Call her. Now.” Sophie picked up the phone on her wall and thrust it at her.
“What? Get out of here,” Daphne said, struggling to wrench the receiver from Sophie’s hand. “I’m not calling her. Nobody calls, especially from a landline. I’ll text her, but not now.”
“Why not? She’s interested in you, and you’re interested in her. You better let her know you feel the same.”
“Simmer down, Sophie. She’s interested in antiquing, not me. And that’s fine. I have to go home and think about what to say before I text her.”
“Think? What’s to think about? ‘The strawberries are delicious’ and ‘yes’ and then press send. Even I can do that.”
Daphne bit into a juicy chocolate-covered strawberry and offered the box to Sophie. “I’m too nervous. Let me go home, have a glass of wine, and then I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” Sophie said. “Call me as soon as you talk to her.”
After giving Sophie another strawberry, Daphne walked home and tried to settle the butterflies flitting around her stomach with a glass of chardonnay.
She sat on her sofa with her phone resting on the cushion next to her. Before composing the text, she warned herself not to build her hopes too high. Whether Nina was straight or a lesbian, she needed to understand this was about a friendship and nothing more. Now that she’d finally processed her breakup with Savannah (funny how her marrying someone else helped accelerate that process), she needed to widen her social circle beyond her eccentric coworker, Pascale, and her octogenarian neighbor—not that she didn’t love them both and value their friendships.
Since breaking up with Savannah after spending her entire adult life with her, she had been missing the companionship she would have with a woman who was more of a contemporary and shared similar life experiences. And Nina seemed like the ideal person to pursue that type of relationship with.
By the end of the glass of chard, she was ready to compose, read it back a dozen times, and finally press send.
* * *
As soon as Nina got home from work and picking up Noah from her mom’s, she headed upstairs
to her bedroom to change out of her pantsuit into comfy sweats. She turned on the lamp on her nightstand, noting again how she needed to have the frayed cord repaired and smiled at the golden glow coming through the glass. She loved the unique style of the lamp and how the glass appeared cracked, giving it an antique look. She chuckled, picturing her grandmother saying something like, “You bloody well better not lose it again, eh?” She then wondered if Daphne was enjoying her thank-you gift.
Noah came in and dove on her bed. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“I have pulled pork in the slow cooker. Ready to eat?”
“Yes. I’m starving,” he said and walked over to examine the lamp.
“Doesn’t it look good here next to my bed?”
He nodded. “I’m glad I helped you get it back.”
“Me, too.” She tickled under his chin. “I sent that nice lady, Daphne, some chocolate-covered strawberries to thank her. What do you think?”
He nodded again. “You should take her for waffles and French toast.”
Nina laughed at his cute suggestion. “Oh, yes. That’s the proper way to show gratitude to somebody. I guess the strawberries were a fail?”
“No, but I’d like to be thanked with waffles. No, hang on. Cinnamon French toast.”
“Then I’m definitely taking you out for it this weekend. Your thank-you is long overdue. Does Saturday morning work for you?”
“Yes,” he said with a fist pump.
“Excellent.”
“You can ask Daphne to come, too, if you want,” Noah said.
She laughed again. “You have the kindest soul. Come on. Let’s get some food in you.”
As they walked downstairs she thought about Noah’s suggestion. Why not invite her to meet for breakfast some time? It would certainly drive home her level of appreciation. Then who knew? Maybe they could check out a garage sale or two after breakfast.
What was the worst that could happen? She’d say no? Nothing ventured…Besides, how else was she supposed to meet new people in this part of the state?
Chapter Six
If Daphne thought preparing and sending a thank-you text to Nina for the strawberries was nerve-wracking, getting ready to meet her for breakfast that Saturday morning nearly sent her cortisol levels orbiting into a previously unknown galaxy. They’d agreed upon the Route One diner for breakfast before embarking on their day of treasure-seeking. Daphne had chosen that one because it also featured a vegan menu. Nina had the healthy glow and fit physique of a grass-eater, so she figured this would cover the bases just in case.
Thanks to her anticipation anxiety, Daphne was always the first one to arrive anywhere. Seated in a booth facing the entrance, she played with sweetener packets as she watched the door. If she’d stuck her leg inside a vat of cream, she would’ve churned it into butter by now. What was she so nervous about? It wasn’t even a date.
Nina breezed in a few minutes later and waved as she headed over to the booth.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she slid into the side opposite Daphne. “I had to put out a fire with the board over an international-client account this morning.”
“Oh?” Daphne tried to sound invested but had no clue how to relate in Nina’s career world. “I work on Saturdays sometimes, too.” That was the best she could offer.
Nina gulped from her tiny diner glass of ice water. “We were about to lose a European hotel chain, so I had to explain to the board that an eighth of a percent loss in profit margin over one year is nothing to panic over, especially if it means locking them into another two-year contract. We’d recoup it and then some in the second year. They’re not so easily convinced. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Daphne struggled for something more scintillating, but at the moment, the well was dry.
“So what do you do for a living?”
Nina’s blue eyes, framed by wavy, golden-brown locks, peered over the menu and momentarily distracted Daphne. After she realized she couldn’t possibly make her job sound even remotely as cool as Nina’s, she said, “Answer complaints at an airline call center.”
“Ooh. That sounds stressful. Which airline?”
Daphne exhaled. Nina’s tone and the way she stared at her, as though she was genuinely engaged, helped her relax a little. “Sky-Hi.”
“They suck,” Nina said excitedly, then toned it down. “I mean at a corporate level, not the service level. I know the front-line employees do the best they can with what little they have to work with. We had to cancel our corporate contract with them.”
“Good,” Daphne said. “They do suck. They sold out to another major airline, downsized the staff, and now the customers and worker bees have to suffer because they have fewer airlines to choose from—all so a bunch of CEOs can earn fatter compensation packages.” Suddenly, she remembered her audience. “You’re not a CEO, are you?”
“No. Not exactly,” she said with a giggle. “I’m a DEO, Director of Executive Operations, that is. I’m actually one of four in the US for Global Health Insurance, but please don’t hold that against me.” She embellished her plea with that adorable solo dimpled smile.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Daphne said, furious at her faux pas. “What I meant was…um, so I hear they have a fantastic veggie-and-tofu omelet here.”
Nina laughed. “Best non sequitur ever.” She opened the menu and browsed it with a demure grin. “I can go for a bacon-and-cheddar omelet.”
Daphne smiled. “Make that two.”
* * *
After breakfast they’d decided to leave Daphne’s car in the diner parking lot and take Nina’s SUV on their excursion in case one of them found a larger, must-have item. They planned to stop at an estate sale in an affluent neighborhood, scan the area for curbside bulk trash, and then hit a few antique shops along the way.
As they drove the winding country road, Daphne couldn’t help sneaking peeks at Nina’s profile. Her skin was flawless, probably from regular spa days, overpriced wrinkle creams, and other foo-foo indulgences popular among people with disposable income. She then cautioned herself about making assumptions about others. She’d already mislabeled her as a vegan.
“So tell me about your great-grandmother’s lamp. Collectors don’t really hunt for Tiffany these days, so there must be a great story behind it.”
Nina chuckled. “Well, it’s not Jane Austen great, but it’s pretty special to me. As I’d said, it belonged to my great-grandmother, whom I met only once when I was around six. She lived in the UK, and my family traveled there to vacation and visit with her. She was ailing and knew she probably wouldn’t see anyone again, so she gave the lamp to my grandmother to take back to the US.”
“How cool. Kind of like a memento from a matriarchal figure?”
“Mmm, sort of, but actually its sentimental value comes more from my relationship with her daughter, my grandmother. She passed last year and left the lamp specifically for me.”
“I’m sorry. So it honors your relationship with her.”
Nina chuckled again. “Yeah. Here’s where the story gets interesting. You know how it’s made out of that funky opaque glass?”
“Yeah, the streaky, pressed glass. It’s called malachite, I think.”
“Have you ever heard it referred to as ‘slag glass’?” Nina asked.
“Now that you mention it, yes, I have.”
“Well, when I was like twelve, my grandmother told me that a ‘slag’ is another name for a slut in the UK.”
“No way.” Daphne laughed.
“That became a running joke between my grams and me, mainly because I went around calling everyone that name, and my mother was furious with her for teaching me what it meant.”
“That’s hilarious,” Daphne said. She wanted Nina to keep talking because of the way her face illuminated with happiness as she relayed the story. “Your grandmother sounds like a hoot.”
“She was a hot ticket,” Nina said, her eyes still sparkling
with memories. “Loved telling raunchy jokes, and with her British accent it was hysterical to listen to her. It was like hearing Queen Elizabeth talk dirty. She’d told my mother that my great-grandmother had the lamp from her days working in a brothel, and that my mom should be proud that she hails from a hearty line of prostitutes.”
After their laughter died down, Daphne said, “That’s awesome. Now I see why you would’ve paid any amount of money to get it back.”
Nina nodded. “Every time I look at it sitting there on my nightstand, I hear her voice saying something cheeky to make me laugh. I really miss her.”
“I can tell,” Daphne said.
Nina turned to her and smiled warmly. “I think we’re coming up to the estate sale.”
They pulled in front of an enormous Victorian home, the circular driveway lined with furniture and tables filled with various high-end items. As they moved through the small group of treasure-seekers, they stopped at a collection of crystal pieces.
“This is Waterford,” Nina said as she gently examined the bowl from top to bottom.
Daphne edged closer to Nina for a look. She smelled so good—a fresh, citrusy lotion or something. Then she actually noticed the bowl. “Oh my God. I love that. It’s from the Lismore Essence collection. What do they want for it?”
“Thirty bucks,” Nina muttered out the side of her mouth. “Can you believe it? What a steal.”
“That’s why I love estate sales,” Daphne replied, equally clandestine. “Most of the time the family just wants to get rid of their old relative’s crap so they can get the manse on the market.”
“I’d hardly call this crap,” Nina said.
“In some cases, I don’t think they have any idea the value of what they’re selling. Or care. Who wants to wait around to get everything appraised?”
Nina frowned. “Now I feel guilty, like I’m taking advantage of a grieving family.”
Daphne studied her with a cocked eyebrow. “You’re really not the typical CEO, are you?”
One Woman’s Treasure Page 4
