“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say. “Tim isn’t your dad.”
Josh looks crushed. He looks so sad that a tiny part of me wishes I had just lied about it and dealt with the consequences later. But of course, I couldn’t do that. I had to tell him the truth.
I start to put my arm around him, but the doorbell rings, echoing through the house. When Josh hears it, he grabs his Nintendo controller and restarts his game. “I just want to finish this level before dinner,” he says.
“Josh,” I say, “I want to talk to you more about this… I know you’re disappointed…”
“No, I’m not.” His eyes are back on the TV screen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Fine. There’s no chance of competing with Nintendo, so I may as well answer the door. Of course, it’s almost certainly Tim, having arrived for dinner. I should just give him a key. Not in a relationship kind of way, but in the kind of way that you give your neighbor a spare key. Like for if I get locked out or something. I mean, the only other person who has the key is Margie, and she lives all the way in the next town.
Tim is standing at the front door, wearing the same khaki pants and dress shirt that he wore to work, but minus a tie. He holds out his arms, because every time he comes over, we hug at the door. That’s what friends do, right? We hug. It’s not like we greet each other by making out.
“Hey, Brooke,” he says. “Smells great in here.”
“Thanks,” I say, even though it’s not like I was the one who cooked the shrimp.
It does smell good in the entire house though. I could smell it down the hallway. And it’s only when I’m in Tim’s arms that I notice another smell. Something extremely familiar, but not nearly as pleasant as garlic and butter.
It’s sandalwood.
I jerk away from Tim, my nose crinkled in disgust. “Oh my God, what are you wearing?”
Tim’s eyes fly open and he grasps at the collar of his shirt. “What? This is just a cotton dress shirt.”
“No! I mean, that smell!”
“Smell?” He runs a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. “I did shave before I came over, and I put on some aftershave. But—”
The smell of sandalwood has embedded itself in my nostrils. Every time I inhale, I feel the chains of that necklace tightening around my throat. I take a step away from him. “Please go wash it off. Now.”
“But—”
“Now. Please.”
Tim obediently trots off to the bathroom. I hear running water, and he’s in there for quite a few minutes, which I think is a good sign that he is making a serious effort to get all the aftershave off. When he comes out of the bathroom, his skin looks slightly pink.
“Okay,” he says. “I think it’s off.”
I take an experimental breath. I don’t smell it anymore. Thank God. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” He has a deep groove between his eyebrows. “No problem…”
Well, now he thinks I’m out of my mind. I need to explain this to him. Unlike other guys, he’ll get it. “When Shane tried to… you know… he was wearing sandalwood aftershave. The smell of it makes me sick now.”
“Oh!” Tim rubs his jaw. “Jesus, Brooke, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I got that aftershave as a present, but I’m going to throw it away.”
“You don’t have to do that…”
“Obviously I do.” He flashes a lopsided smile. “It’s okay. I hate aftershave anyway.”