She pushes her red bangs out of her eyes. “Changed my mind. I think I’m in the mood to be surrounded by cute boys.”
“Really?” I say in surprise. “What about the new boyfriend? Is there trouble in paradise already?” Megan has been so cagey about this new guy she’s dating, but I assumed they were doing okay. Normally she’s a huge chatterbox when it comes to her love life, but not this time. All I know about him is that he lives in Boston and she only sees him on the weekends.
“No, we’re fine.” She pauses. “Well, not really.” Another pause. “It’s complicated.”
“You know, if you actually told me something about him instead of being Ms. Secretive, I might be able to offer some advice…”
Her green eyes stay focused on the road. Even if she wasn’t driving, I know she’d still be avoiding my gaze.
“Okay. Spill. What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him.”
“Bullshit. There has to be, otherwise you wouldn’t be hiding him from all of us. So what is it? Does he like to set barns on fire in his spare time? Does he kill squirrels and make little hats out of their fur? Does he have a weird mole that takes up his whole face? Does he—”
“Thirty seven,” she interrupts. “He’s thirty-seven.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Wow. That’s…”
Old, I want to say, but I’ve always believed in the age is nothin’ but a number philosophy. Or at least I want to be that open-minded. I mean, I think it’s hella creepy when a sixty-year-old man dates an eighteen-year-old girl. But thirty-seven isn’t exactly geezer status. It’s only fifteen years older than me and Meg.
“See? This is why I didn’t tell you guys.” Accusation colors her tone. “I knew you’d be all judgy.”
I hold up both hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. You surprised me, that’s all.”
Her pretty features relax.
“Tell me more about Mr. Thirty-Seven,” I urge. “I promise there’s no judgment on my end.”
She grudgingly provides a few more details. “His name’s Trevor. He’s a pediatric surgeon at Boston General.”
Okay, I’m impressed.
“He’s divorced, and he has a five-year-old daughter.”
Hmmm. Not so impressed anymore. “And you’re cool with that?” I ask carefully. “You’re only twenty-two, hon. Are you ready to be someone’s stepmother?”
“That’s the problem,” she moans. “I wasn’t even thinking that far ahead. Trevor and I met online. We were chatting all through September, but we didn’t meet in person until a month ago. He’s sweet. Smart, gorgeous, easy to talk to. But we’re still in the early stages of the relationship, you know? More casual than serious.” She taps her polished nails against the steering wheel. “When I saw him last weekend, he said he wants me to meet his daughter.”
Eek.
“Eek,” I say out loud.
“I know, right? So now I’m second-guessing the whole relationship. Meeting his kid is a huge deal. What if she hates me? Or worse, what if she loves me, and then me and her dad break up and this poor kid ends up traumatized?”
“She won’t fall in love with you after one meeting,” I assure her. “But I agree—this is a huge deal.”
Meg stops her little red Toyota at the intersection one block from Hastings’ main stretch. “I don’t know… I told him I’d let him know on Friday when I see him, but I’m super confused. I have no idea what to do.” She goes quiet for a second, then lets out a heavy breath. “If we go to Malone’s, can you DD on the way home? I might want something stronger than soda.”
“No prob.” I wasn’t planning on drinking tonight, anyway. I have rehearsal at seven a.m., and a pounding hangover will make it hard for me to cry on command. In the opening scene alone, my character wails like a newborn three times. “Should we go to another bar, though?” I ask hopefully. “Maybe the one in Munsen?”
“Why would we do that?”
I shrug. “The hockey crowd can get kinda rowdy.”
“I could use a little rowdy,” she admits. “Trevor is great, but he’s not much into partying anymore. He’s in bed by ten o’clock every night. Even on weekends.” Her bottom lip sticks out. “Maybe that’s another reason I should end it, huh?”