Page 26 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I was fluffing the pillows on the couch, still wearing my street clothes—jean shorts and white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and the bottom tied in a knot on the side—when the doorman called up.

What the heck? Looking at the clock, I noted it was a few minutes before four.

Opening my door, I said, “You’re here.”

“I was out when I called so I figured why not come over.”

“We said dinner…are we having the early bird?”

He crossed the threshold, taking in my apartment.

I took him in—jeans, white T-shirt, sneakers, wide smile—he was unrecognizable from his typical staunch suit and firm smile.

“Nice place. I didn’t take you for a UES lady with all the boxing and running off at the mouth. Little stiff up here for you?”

Ignoring me, he roamed the open living space, stopping to look out the window next to my treadmill, his elbow leaning on the side rail. “You use this?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I like it, when it’s dark or cold.”

“You take the classes or just run?”

“Classes. If you don’t get credit or a blue dot, does it even count?”

“Didn’t take you for a Pelo-junkie, but noted.”

I noted he knew what a Peloton-obsessed person was.

“I like it here.” He seemed to switch gears. “Feels like a good space. Homier than mine.”

“Older,” I corrected.

“That too. But less severe. Rounded edges and crown molding.”

“Would you like some water? A beer? I think I have a few.” I didn’t want to examine my apartment; it was where I lived, but it didn’t hold warm memories.

I turned toward the kitchen area, and when I was sure he wasn’t looking I licked my lips, checking to see if I still had lipstick on.

I did.

“I’m up for a drink. You have a bottle of wine?” he said behind me.

Standing in front of the fridge, I thought this could not be weirder. The man had told me less than a week ago he didn’t do commitments, relationships, or anything of the sort. Now he was here, unannounced, seemingly wanting to hang out. If I thought about it too much, I’d get a migraine.

“This your Paps?”

Turning, I saw him holding the picture I loved, but hated to share. “Yeah, right before he got sick.”

“You look so happy here.” His finger traced my face.

I nodded. “He wasn’t,” I blurted.

“Hmmm, a story there. Maybe open the wine first. Then, you can dive in…to both. The wine and the juicy tale.”

“Did you want to go get groceries instead?” Sweat pooled under my arms. I opened the freezer pretending to look for something, cooling off. Checking my supply of ice cream and thinking it would be needed later.

“Why don’t you tell me what we need, and I can send for it…then we can relax with the wine.”

“No, you can do something like regular people,” I pushed. “Not all of us send out for whatever we please.”

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