“We aim for just right.”
“You’re doing a spectacular job.”
Begonia beams.
Kristine smiles back hesitantly, like she doesn’t want to but can’t help herself.
I saw my mother do the same yesterday when Begonia spilled the take-out lobster rolls she’d insisted on ordering for dinner for all of us. And there’s one for the floor, and one for Marshmallow, and one for a reminder to me to be less clumsy next time. We all have our moments, don’t we? Here. Take mine. I ate too much cheesecake yesterday anyway and I’m still not hungry.
“We should get going,” Begonia says brightly. “Lots to do today. Thank you so much for all of your kindness. Marshmallow! Drop the crab and c’mon, boy. You don’t want that thing biting your nose or tongue or your ears. Who’s a good dog? Marshmallow’s such a good dog.”
She waves at Kristine with a non-threatening smile. “He’s smart, but not always bright, you know? And we love him exactly as he is.”
With Kristine fully smiling back now, Begonia tugs my hand, and then we’re back on the path, me holding the bicycle with my other hand, her dog racing ahead of us with a live crab in its mouth.
We look like we’re in a damn Razzle Dazzle film.
But while Jonas always plays a character who’s charmingly baffled by his feelings for his on-screen love interest, I merely feel awkward and uncomfortable at suddenly being alone and the very picture of romantic perfection with the woman who put me to sleep last night.
How did she manage that?
She’s a virtual stranger, and when my brain starts spinning, there’s nothing that will calm it.
Except, apparently, lying in Begonia’s lap, with the scent of lavender mingling with the fresh sea air, getting a head massage that I never should’ve agreed to in the first place.
Maybe it was the incense. Is it possible to be overly sensitive to incense? I’ve never used the damn stuff before.
“Why did you get divorced?” I ask Begonia in the silence. It’s better than getting lost in my own head.
Also, I should know these things for the inquisition that’ll be coming from my mother. She clearly suspects this is fake, which means I need to improve my game if I don’t want to have to threaten to make a scene with the media.
And the truth is, I don’t want to have to threaten to make a scene.
I’ve made my peace with the media, but that doesn’t mean I go looking for opportunities for my social life to be featured.
Walking back with Begonia was, in fact, the better option for keeping up appearances.
“He didn’t like my dog.”
“You didn’t adopt the dog until after you filed paperwork.”
“Just how thorough was that background check, and did you memorize it?”
“Why did you get divorced? As your boyfriend, I should know.”
She lifts a thoughtful gaze to me. “You should, shouldn’t you? Okay. I’ll tell you. But first, you have to tell me if you’ve ever had a pet.”
Any other woman I’ve ever dated would’ve asked about my history with Kristine, and while Begonia might come off as flaky, I suspect she’s wiser about the world than the casual observer might notice when she hides it behind the compliments and bubbles of her personality, though time will tell if those bubbles are real or put-on. Either way, they’re suspicious.
“You don’t want to ask how many other women will be arriving on my doorstep vying for my attention?”
“Oh, you think there’ll be more? Will there be any actresses? Oh! What about famous artists? Wait. They probably don’t want you for your money, and your personality isn’t exactly the type that usually jives with artists. We like to be the temperamental ones in a relationship, and we love being broke, because it gives us something to complain about. Oh, barf. Tell me you’re not expecting a bunch of lady CEOs. Don’t get me wrong, I admire the crap out of them for the things they accomplish, and Amelia is lovely in her own way—I mean, she can’t be barf when she was on Dancing with the Stars—but give me someone who wants to talk about how difficult clay can be in humidity, and I’ll have a new BFF.”
Her eyes are sparkling like she doesn’t expect me to know what a BFF is.
Who am I to disappoint? “Clay is related to bank failure Fridays?”
She squeals with laughter and pokes me in the bicep. “You did it again. You made a joke. Sleeping was really good for you, wasn’t it?”
“Please tell me you don’t drink coffee. Or that you’ve already had six cups today. One or the other. Nothing in between.”