Page 64 of Gifted & Talented

I looked up at him, and the moment our eyes met, Arthur couldn’t believe he hadn’t placed me sooner. To him, I looked exactly the same, as if no time had passed, and at the same time, I was so much older. I’d grown into my cheeks. The shorter hair suited me. So did the lack of aggressive straightening that had been such a sign of the times.

“Am I to assume you’re looking for me?” I asked, and for a moment, Arthur couldn’t bear to admit that he had wanted something from me—that he had actually thought I might even give it, even though we hadn’t spoken in over ten years and I was a mother now and probably married and he didn’t know anything about me—didn’t know who my husband was and whether he made me laugh; didn’t know whether I knew that Arthur had gotten married, too; didn’t know that now Arthur had one of those fancy stand mixers on his kitchen counter. Not because it was a symptom of adulthood, but because he had really, genuinely wanted one.

“This is your house?” said Arthur. “What a weird coincidence!”

“Well, Lou’s not home,” announced Gillian, unfortunately choosing that moment to retreat from my front porch. “Assuming she actually lives here.”

“She does,” I confirmed, as Gillian blinked, acknowledging my presence and then making adjustments to her tone as only Gillian was capable of doing (a thing I hadn’t learned yet, but would soon enough).

“Oh, hello,” Gillian said, extending a hand. “I’m Gillian Wren, Arthur’s wife.”

I glanced briefly at Arthur before taking Gillian’s hand. “I won’t consider surrogacy for anything less than a million dollars,” I said to Arthur, because there are only so many things a married couple wants from an estranged woman that one of them once knew. “No, two million. No, actually, I’ve reconsidered. You couldn’t pay me.”

“Mygfiuosjbfjth?” asked Monster, who hasn’t been formally introduced yet. (He was ostensibly now “Lou’s son” to Arthur.)

“Yes, of course, sweetheart, go play,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead with such crushing fondness that Arthur felt a pang of something he told himself couldn’t possibly be jealousy. Then I straightened and said, “And if this is a weird threesome proposition”—I didn’t know yet about Yves and Philippa—“then you should know that the third person is supposed to be a stranger, not someone you fucked once when you were in high school.”

Monster, who hadn’t run off quite as quickly as I’d hoped he would, looked up at me.

“It’s a root vegetable, like beets,” I offered in explanation for my language.

“Cahhhhhhhhh,” said Monster, and then he began shooting arrows at the house’s front window, apparently satisfied with that explanation.

“That’s not the first time I’ve slipped up and dropped an f-bomb,” I admitted in an aside to Gillian. “I assume that at some point he’ll stop believing me, if he even has a clue what I’m saying now. But he’s a little behind verbally, and you wouldn’t believe how much he hates beets.”

“I’ve never cared for them either,” said Gillian tactfully.

“They’re a real faff, but they turn smoothies pink, and for the longest time he wouldn’t—well, anyway.” I turned to Arthur, scouring his face for a moment. “Well, congratulations. You didn’t peak in high school.”

“Thank you?” said Arthur.

“Also, your knuckles are doing that thing again. That streetlight just popped,” I observed aloud, and then tilted my head. “Ah, I see, that’s why you’re here. You have a magical problem.”

“No,” said Arthur loudly. “I was just—”

“Oh wow, Lou,” said Meredith, who had hung up the phone by then and joined us. She said it as if I were a public monument of some kind, or thething she’d been digging around for in her junk drawer. “Did Arthur already tell you about the weird magical problem he’s having?”

I gave Arthur a sly, knowing smile before turning my attention to Meredith. “Hello to you, too, Meredith,” I said, seeming to Arthur quite impressively unmoved by the suddenness of her presence. “What’s it been, twelve years? Thirteen, give or take one or two instances of irreconcilable betrayal?”

“Thirteen, I think,” said Meredith.

“Great. Auspicious. Congrats on the app,” I added. “I see ads for it all the time on the bus.”

“Thank you,” said Meredith, a little uncomfortably, and with an air of surprise.

“I hear it doesn’t work,” I remarked with an obsequious smile.

Meredith’s expression stiffened.

“We’re having a bit of a problem,” Gillian cut in, helpfully redirecting the energy of the conversation. “Arthur seems to be going a bit… awry. And Meredith felt sure you were the only person who’d know what to do,” she added, selecting the tactic of flattery. Arthur was unsure as of that moment as to its effectiveness, which might have succeeded on another person, and perhapsmightwork on me, although it was difficult to say. “So we thought we’d try to see if we could find you.”

I fixed a glance at Meredith. “My phone number is the same.”

I said it in a conclusive tone. Meaning,You could have called me and you didn’t, and now you can fuck off because I—and I can’t emphasize this enough—don’t care.

Meredith said nothing.

“Oh,” said Arthur. “I see.”

---