Spinster?

by Thompson, Nikki Mathis

  "Thanks, guys. I may already be halfway between like and love. I've never felt like this before, but I'm going to take it slow, I promise."

  "So, you haven't slept with him yet?" Willa asked.

  "Did you look at him? Of course I've freaking slept with him! And I can tell you he inherited his penis from his Viking side as well," Jen admitted with a wink. The table erupted in "oohs," "how awesome," and "you lucky bitch."

  Tess hugged Jen and whispered in her ear, "No matter where it goes, just enjoy the moment. He seems like a great guy."

  Jen hugged her back. "I will."

  Love was in the air and Tess was happy for her friend, but there was a niggling in the back of her mind. What if this guy was the one? Her biggest fear was being the only single left standing. Not because she needed a guy, but if everyone was coupled she'd be the odd woman out. A selfish part of her didn't want Alex to be the guy. Tess liked things how they were. But, she knew change was inevitable, and you either went with the ebb and flow or you got left behind.

  Guilt washed over her. She refused to begrudge her dear friend true love, if there was a such thing.

  Tess wasn't sure, and if there was, she sure as shiitake hadn't found it yet.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The cozy restaurant was almost empty, closing time not far off, yet they lingered, huddled around a small table in the corner. The only lights were small candles on each table and a dim overhead light shrouded in a cerulean fabric shade. Their plates had been cleared long ago, but they still had wine to drink. One thing was certain, Donovan Green was a nice guy. Sensing her trepidation with Ethiopian food, he let her switch it to Thai. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, let her order for herself...unlike that one douche bag who ordered for her while she was in the ladies' room, which wouldn't have been a problem if she'd told him what she wanted. Tess liked how his eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled, and how his hands bounced around when he told a story, causing his striped button down to pull tight on his biceps. He was nice...didn't she say that already? There was nothing wrong with nice. Nice was comforting. Nice was reliable. Nice didn't screw his assistant in the supply closet even though he knew you were coming to meet him for lunch.

  And although she couldn't speak to the value of plant based proteins over milk based, it seemed a hot topic in the patchouli scented confines of his store she liked to call Kale Corner. Despite that fact, she nodded and mhmm'd frequently, asking open ended questions that kept him talking.

  When your profession requires interviewing all walks of life, you have to have the whole "your life is so interesting to me," face down pat. Even when it couldn't be further from the truth. Like, for example, eighty-nine-year-old Bernice Tilton, the sweet, if not one saucer short of a tea set, subject of one of her first articles for the magazine. Her claim to fame being the largest collection of garden gnomes in the state. Tess thought her boss Gabe was joking when he threw out that gem during a pitch session. When she was the only one to laugh, she took in the silence around her and knew it was legit. Tess, who Gabe said had a way with old people—basis of opinion unknown—got the assignment.

  She was never the first to laugh during a pitch session again. Lesson learned.

  Four hours. That's how long she spent meandering through the lush gardens of Bea's grand estate. Arm in arm, Tess escorted Mrs. Tilton while the saucy matriarch regaled her with stories of her precious plaster collectables, her smoky gray hair in a firm nest on top of her head. Despite her age, Bea's memory was sharp and detailed. Every gnome had a story and a name. To this day, she was baffled where one would procure garden gnomes fashioned after the queens of England. She had to admit it was a little creepy, especially when the tour included the collection she kept in one of the spare bathrooms. Tess was pretty sure she wouldn't have been able to drum up a drop with that Elvis gnome watching.

  Needless to say, she'd honed that skill long ago. Donovan wasn't boring. He really wasn't. His new line of organic granola was interesting...ish, but he spoke with such enthusiasm that she couldn't help but smile.

  "I'm sorry. I'm going on and on about my store and organic produce. I promise I'll stop talking shop...about my shop." He shook his head, as if embarrassed. His tendency toward the charmingly awkward was a direct contradiction to his outward appearance. That leveled the playing field for Tess, who might otherwise have been intimidated by his above par good looks and overtly outdoorsy lifestyle.

  "You're fine. I like watching you talk about things you're passionate about—your whole body takes on this childlike animation. I find it adorable, if you must know."

  "Adorable, huh? I guess that's better than hopelessly geeky."

  "Hey, I have way too many things in my geekery closet to throw stones."

  He leaned back in his chair. "Do tell."

  "There's so much to choose from I would't know where to start...hmmm. Well, for one I wasn't always the greatness you see before you." She swept her hand down with flourish.

  "I find that hard to believe."

  "Oh, believe it. I was a second chair flautist...aaaand, member of the yearbook staff and the poetry club."

  "That's not so bad."

  "It is if you have braces and frizzy hair. And that was just my first two years of high school. Later I had the dubious honor of being saddled with an extremely embarrassing nickname." He raised his eyebrow. She let out a deep breath and said, "Chubbles." She groaned, putting her hands over her face. She kept the origin of said nickname to herself. She didn't want to come off pathetic, even though it was very much so in her opinion.

  Donovan laughed. "You're full of it."

  She peeked through her fingers, then smiled. "Oh, Donny, I wish I were."

  His smile faltered. "Sorry, go ahead."

  Her hands dropped. "Did I say something wrong? Too much geekery?"

  His smile returned. "No, not at all. When you called me Donny...it just reminded me of someone."

  One guess who used to call him that. Embarrassed, she hoped her neck wasn't as red as the cherry silk of her blouse. Her heart fluttered in a most uncomfortable way.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I was trying to be funny and it slipped out. From now on, it's Donovan, I promise." She smiled, hoping to shed the oppressive blanket that was his wife's memory.

  "Tess, no, please...it's...damn. I hate when that happens. It'll sneak up on me when I least expect it," he admitted, running his hands through his sandy curls. "You were saying, Chubbles?"

  That caught Tess by surprise, so she let out a loud inelegant snort, causing him to laugh. Then they were both laughing. When her shoulders stopped shaking, she said, "That nickname is off the table, mister."

  "Agreed. And for the record, that nickname no longer fits the beautiful woman before me...In fact, the only chubbles around is in my pants." He winked.

  She laughed, and shook her head. "Thank you, I think."

  They walked around the park trail after dinner, fingers entwined. The sky was clear and the moon large, almost blinding in it's brightness. Tess spotted two ducks swimming through the moonbeams reflecting on the dark waters of the pond. She was thinking what a pleasant date this had been, when Donovan pulled her to a stop, pulling her close. Her heart fluttered.

  "My house is right up the road. Would you like to come over and have a drink? Or we could watch a movie. Not trying to be a creeper or anything. You know, luring you back to my lair to have my way with you, or anything..."

  She put a gentle hand on his cheek. "Donovan, stop...I'd love to go back to your place, but on one condition."

  He grinned. "Name it."

  She lifted her chin to close the slight gap between them. "If, and only if, you do have your way with me," Tess whispered against his mouth.

  His breath caught slightly, his only answer was the lazy trace of his tongue on her lip.

  One of her legs wrapped around his waist as he backed her against the wall in his front hallway. They were still fully clothed, yet she was well apprised on the
full effect of his hardening situation. She could work with this. His hands were on her face, then in her hair, then to the backs of her thighs until he was cupping her ass. Tess rocked into him, her mind had checked out as soon as the seam of her jeans dug into her skin. His lips were soft, his tongue, forceful. This was far from "nice"...thank god. Her body was making decisions quicker than she could process them. She dropped her leg down onto the ground and pulled back, out of breath and flushed. "What are we doing?"

  "I know it's been a while for me, but I'm pretty sure we're making out." He smiled and slid his hands down her legs, hoisting them both up and around his waist. He moved into the living room, as he continued their kissing session, deftly carrying her like she weighed nothing. She felt the give of the couch cushion before she saw it. Donovan laid between her legs and the kissing and soft fondling continued. She focused on the feel of his hands on her sides and stomach. His fingers were soft, but the pads of his palms had roughened spots. She liked how they scraped, then smoothed across her skin. When he lowered his mouth onto her neck, she sighed. She opened her eyes for a second. Her line of sight went to the wood mantel above the unlit fireplace. Her breath caught in her throat and she pushed him away. If she'd been a bull, her hoof would've been plowing into the dirt, because as far as red flags went, this one was huge and waving in her face.

  "Stop...Donovan. We can't do this."

  He looked confused, then went in to kiss her neck again, "Yes, we can."

  "No, really, stop." That got his attention and he sat back. Tess pulled herself up and adjusted her shirt, feet now firmly on the ground and her head clear of hormones.

  "What's wrong, Tess? I was really enjoying that. It seemed like you were, too. Was I reading it wrong?...I must be rustier than I thought."

  She couldn't help but smile, and it pained her to say, "I was, but...Donovan...you're not ready."

  "What do you mean?"

  Tess gestured to the mantel, which was still home to a very large portrait of he and his late wife.

  "I would love to help you get there, and I think you're close, but I can't be the one in between your wife and the one you fall for...I just can't."

  He sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. Part of her was hoping he would protest. Something. His silence broke her heart a little, and took some polish off of her pride. Not because she was falling in love with him, but because he was still mourning the loss of his wife...and because he hadn't contradicted her.

  She wanted him to be ready, but he'd get there...someday.

  After a few minutes of contemplative silence, he spoke. "Tess, you made me feel things I never thought I'd feel again. Desire, butterflies...hope. And...I really like you."

  "I really like you, too. You're a special person." She smiled and squeezed his hand.

  "It's so hard...she was the love of my life."

  Her heart ached for this kind man she'd come to care for. "I don't know what you're going through. Honestly, I can't even begin to fathom it...but the thing is, at least in my opinion, you're still here, Donovan. Yes, she was the love of that life, the one where she lived, but you...you have to go on. I know she wouldn't want you to spend your life pining for her. There's room in your heart for someone else...you deserve it." The last part came out soft.

  "I wish it could've been you, Tess. I thought it could've been. But in case you're not, you're right. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

  "I thought it might work, too...but ya know, I think we were supposed to meet. I think I might even heart you a little, Donovan Green."

  He laughed and kissed her temple. "I think I heart you a little, too...Can we still hang out sometime? Please, say yes. I really enjoy being around you, you make me feel happy...Does that make sense? I'm not trying to use you or anything. It's just that, I could use a little happiness, ya know." He was so cute when he rambled.

  "I would love to have you in my life. Besides, you're a good influence. I ate quinoa because of you."

  Donovan suggested they still watch a movie, but Tess felt they should end things as they were, and when they walked out, their fingers tangled once again. He gave her a soft, brief kiss beside the car door.

  "Thanks, Tess...just, thanks."

  Tess gave him a tight hug. "Please, don't thank me. It wasn't charity. It was in all honesty, my pleasure."

  The drive home was quiet, but pleasant, which was weird. Then one last embrace that lasted several minutes. It was goodbye, but one of the most amicable ones she'd ever experienced. Tess wasn't sure if the whole let's be friends could be a reality, but in that moment she knew she wanted to try.

  She turned the key and walked into her condo, feeling lighter than she should have. It was a far cry from how she normally felt when a relationship ended...or the beginnings of one, in this case. Her contented sigh was indicative of the true contents of her heart. She felt things had ended as they should have. And the sad truth was, she felt she'd dodged a bullet...and it had nothing to do with his wife.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Contessa Elaine Warner...sit-up-straight. No slouching at the table."

  Conditioned as she was, Tess threw her shoulders back and sat ram-rod straight. No one could pull her marionette strings quite like her mother. In fact, only her mother.

  "That's better. You'll thank me when all of your friends have a hunchback and you don't." Her mother's voice took on a sing-song quality, like she was really imparting helpful wisdom to her daughter, not berating her like a child. Maybe she wanted a hump.

  "Tiffani, give the girl a break. We're at home, after all." In her mind she thanked her dad for the support. Instant flashbacks of dancing with him in his study. Her small bare feet fitting comfortably on the top of his wingtips. He'd hum "Brown Eyed Girl" even though her eyes were hazel. He'd say that as soon as someone wrote a song about a hazel eyed beauty he would switch. "When she finds a husband, then she can worry about her hump."

  Record scratch.

  Tess forked the pile of arugula that lay on the delicate ecru china. Why, oh why, did she keep coming over here for Sunday dinner? She could be having cocktails with her friends, or doing her taxes, or watching paint dry, or pulling her pubic hair out with pliers. The only thing that kept her from flipping her plate into the air, greens cascading around her head in slow mo, was the thought of Greta's custard tarts, made especially for her visit.

  "So, how's the retirement party planning going, Mom?" Tess threw out, knowing her mother couldn't ignore that nugget. Tiffani Warner loved to throw a soiree.

  Her mother clapped once, her blonde hair almost bounced. Almost. She then curbed her show of emotion, smoothing her hands down the stand of pearls around her neck.

  Easy Mother, you almost got excited.

  Tess smirked and took a healthy swig of her sauvignon blanc. She needed a robust buzz to deal with the Warner Sunday dinner. They weren't all bad. Her dad had been the stereotypical workaholic. Twelve hour days, showing up in time to kiss them on their freshly shampooed curls. "Goodnight, sweetheart." It was her favorite part of the day.

  He attended things when he could, which wasn't often. But he didn't yell or drink too much. He was just a quiet fixture in the study. Present, but not present. Despite that fact, she could always count on him, unlike any other man she'd ever known. So, naturally, she adored him.

  Her mother was the exact opposite. Every play, every game, every fund raiser. Carpool, PTA. You name it, Tiffani Warner was perfectly coiffed, front and center. Unfortunately, it was more a keeping up appearances and social acumen, than maternal obligation. She put on a good show, but Tess didn't buy it. She was too invisible when no one else was around to witness her tepid indifference. Her sister Bristol always said she had a skewed view of their mom, and that she never gave her any credit. They would just have to agree to disagree, like everything else.

  She emptied her glass and shook off the trip down memory lane. Greta cleared the salad plates and served the soup course. The creamy mixture steamed, warming
Tess's face. "Thank you, Greta. It looks divine." Greta smiled and rubbed Tess's shoulder. Greta came to work for them when Tess was in middle school. She credited her arrival with the fact that she only spent three years in therapy instead of fifteen.

  "And that's why we chose Kressler gardens. The flowers will be in bloom and it will be breathtaking." Her mom continued, unaware of the fact Tess had checked out during the first part of the party synopsis.

  "Oh, yes, that will be nice. How many people will be there?"

  "The list, as it stands, is around two hundred."

  "Wow, sounds intimate."

  Her father chuckled. "I know. I don't need a room full of people I haven't seen in years pretending to care that I now have to find a hobby. But you know your mother." He winked at her, previous husband and hump comment forgotten, regaining his crown as the king of her heart.

  "William, you've been a pillar of this community for over thirty years. You deserve a send off befitting your status." Her mother placed her spoon beside her bowl, her soup yet to be touched. "I know you don't like to make a big fuss, but can I make one on your behalf? I'm just so proud of all of your accomplishments, my love. I think you deserve one hell of a party."

  Tess did a double take. One, her mom sounded sincere and, two, she said hell...at the dinner table. Her father put his large hand over her mother's slender one and squeezed. "Okay, Tif, okay." The smile her mother gave to him in return made Tess's cheeks warm. Damn it, she did not want to see her mom as a human instead of Stepford cyborg. That would make all the years before seem like an unnecessary torture. Why now? Tess didn't even want to entertain the thought that maybe she was clinging to her preconceived notions so tightly, she was the one who was the rigid and unbending one, not her mother.