“Oh my God,” Suzette says, her voice a slight screech. She holds her glass by the stem and the wine trembles as her eyes lock on something. She points at the curtain rod above the living room window. “A bat!”
Ahmed feels his adrenaline boil to action. His heart pounds. He hates bats. And snakes. And mice. He wishes it were a spider. He would pick up the spider without hesitating and bring it outside and let it crawl away. He looks at the thick burlap-type curtain, and sees a small peaceful bat hanging from the rod.
Damon grabs a broom from a long cabinet and holds it like a baseball bat. “I’ve got it,” he says, and charges into the living room.
“Shit, shit,” Ahmed says. He wonders if Damon will let it scoot out the door, or if he plans on pulverizing the bat. He is gripping the broom so tightly that Ahmed can see the veins in his arms.
“Wait,” Ginger says. She puts down her wine and doesn’t look bothered at all. “Do you guys have an empty coffee can or something?”
“Here.” Suzette runs to the cupboard, grabs what looks like an expensive can of espresso, and dumps it all in the sink.
“That’s like ten bucks,” Damon says.
“Hush.” Suzette hands the can to Ginger. Ginger holds the can, picks up a brochure from the mail pile by the refrigerator, and tiptoes toward the sleeping bat while the three of them watch. In seconds, she stands barefoot on the dining room chair, guiding the coffee can under the bat, wiggling the brochure over it.
“Got it,” she whispers. Damon opens the French doors to the back, and Ginger walks outside with the can, her back straight, her hand keeping the brochure in place on top. She strides across the big stretch of grass to an oak tree and stands back as she releases the animal from its container like a magician. She smiles a satisfied smile as it flies up and disappears.
* * *
Later, after a glass of wine, after snacking on figs and cheese and spicy almonds, after Ahmed has fist-bumped Ginger and called her Bat Woman more than once, Damon goes outside to light the grill, and Suzette follows him with a plate of steaks and some kind of fish wrapped in foil. Ahmed looks at them through the French doors, and they don’t even realize it, but they are a painting out there. Young and good looking and full of promise. The evening spring sun on them, the stylish deck with two chaise longues. The big rhododendron blooming.
Inside, there is a glass bowl of salad on the kitchen counter, and a basket of sliced bread from a good bakery. He sits on one of the barstools around the kitchen island and Ginger starts to clear some of the appetizer plates. “So,” she says. “I never got a chance to apologize for that night.” Her words sound rehearsed, as though she has been anxious about seeing him, too.
“What?” he says. This feels like that moment when a roller coaster drops—that light-headed fear rushing at him. It would be easier to not have this conversation, to just keep it light. It’s funny that they barely know each other, but already he feels like he’s in a serious relationship. She makes him so nervous—the way no other woman has. “Oh, well. Nah, don’t apologize.” He gulps his wine.
“No,” she says. He can see the hint of blush on her. “It was a hard night.” Yes. He heard from Damon about how upset she was, how she stayed at her parents’ house for a while afterward, how Suzette would take long walks with her and tell her there was nothing she could have done.
“Yeah, I just wish I could have helped you. I stayed in the parking lot for a little while in case you needed me.”
She sits on a barstool next to him. “I should have told you about Luke when we were talking. I should have said how torn up I’d been feeling.”
“It’s your business, you know?” He hates being a guy at that moment, keeping his feelings so close to his chest. He can’t stop thinking about the wedding. How he kept engaging her in conversation, how she kept listening to him, the way her arm felt locked in his. It had been a perfect start. During dinner, during all the toasts, he kept hoping maybe at the end of the night she would lean in to kiss him—even if it was a quick one, even if he never saw her again after that. He remembers the nervous excitement and possibility the night seemed to have—before it didn’t.
She shakes her head. “I was having a good time with you.”
This washes him in something. Joy. Longing. He feels a deep, deep pull. It meant something to her, too. It mattered. He sighs inside. “Yeah. Me, too.”
He feels like he’s the one out to sea now, out in the blank water by himself. He glances at Damon and Suzette. Suzette is pointing to something in the yard and Damon is listening. Probably planning a pool. Or maybe a guesthouse next to the barn. “Me, too,” Ahmed says again.