Page 15 of The Love Dose
Sam has never seen me cry. My intention is that she never will.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay . . .”
In an attempt to change the subject I say, “Was that Spanish I heard you speaking to Larry?”
She takes the hint and smiles shyly. “I enrolled for free classes at the library. The teacher said it’s best to practice in real life. I gave it a shot.”
I’m strangely proud of her. For a woman with more plates in the air than a professional juggler, she seems to keep taking on more. As they say, when you need a job done, give it to a busy person. Which is what I’m planning to do today.
I’m about to say how impressed I am when Mrs. Reinhold squeezes between me and Sam, her dog taut on the leash, donning a hideous red and green sweater. There is an entire lobby around us and the Witch chooses to interrupt our conversation.
Sam must see the expression on my face and whispers, “Bet she’s lonely.”
“More like starved for attention,” I retort, my tone revealing my strong distaste for the woman. Still, I realize how unkind it sounds.
“Ready?” I ask Sam.
“Yup, let’s go.”
We walkpast the frozen pond in Central Park, me taking a moment to appreciate the sun on my face. It’s the first day this month that I haven’t dreaded being outside. I can’t remember a colder New York December but today is perfect. Chilly but sunny. Kids frolic nearby, their parents seemingly ecstatic to give their pent-up kids a release. Sam and I walk in companionable silence, taking in the joyful vibe.
The Boathouse is buzzing today. Holiday lights and pine garlands lend a festive feel to the elegant dining room. I spot mistletoe, and my mind disturbingly goes straight to Calvin.
After handing over our coats, Sam and I are led to the back next to the window with views of the pond. She glances around with a tight, unsure smile.
It was my idea to come here. Sam needs a bit of pampering. Okay, maybea lotof pampering. But I need to tread carefully. If she smells a handout she’ll be out the door in a heartbeat. I’ve already planned my reason for footing the bill. “Thanks for meeting me today,” I say.
“Glad it worked out. The kids are with Alan this weekend.”
There it is. Mention of her ex. At least it’s out of the way early. I don’t like waiting for his name to pop up. Next month, I’m going to suggest to the club that we institute a drinking game. Every time Sam mentions the jerk’s name, she’ll need to take a shot. It will either result in stopping the sad habit or earn her the nickname, Slammin’ Sam.
She and I are developing a friendship. While Evie is hands down my bestie, out of the remaining Fab Fifty club, I can see being good friends with Sam. Which is interesting. More than any of the ladies, I have the most in common with Mo. Butshe grates on my nerves to no end. Not so with Sam. She and I couldn’t be more different but she’s sweet and lovable and I need that around me now more than ever. It’s the first time we’re meeting alone without any of the other gals.
I catch her eye and she smiles, sheepishly, then removes her hat. I immediately notice her hair. She’s sporting an inch of salt and pepper. She pulls out a tube of lipstick, applying it at the table. It’s a shade darker than fitting her fair complexion but certainly better than none. Her boho dress, popular in the last decade, hides her figure.
She needs a makeover, stat.
I want desperately to slide her my stylist’s card but Evie warned me not to comment on Sam’s appearance as she may react poorly, like by bringing any improvements to a screeching halt. Sam is an underratedly complex woman.
“What a gorgeous place,” she says.
“It’s one of my favorites,” I pull a notepad from my D & G purse. “I hope you don’t mind but I needed to meet you for a consultation.”
“Huh?” she says, barely above a whisper, the lines between her eyes deepening. When I invited her to join me for brunch I omitted that I had an ulterior motive beyond girl time.
A white-gloved waiter comes by, placing menus in our hands, then pulls a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket. “Ladies, our specials for today are gnocchi with candied sweet potatoes and the catch of the day, seared salmon with green bean almondine.”
He speaks like he’s reciting the Declaration of Independence. I love it and can tell Sam does, too. After all, she is a tenured professor of English literature. Given her soft-spoken voice I’ve wondered more than once how her students stay awake. She would lull me to sleep in seconds.
Sam looks at me and I resist ordering for her. “I’ll have the gnocchi,” I say.
The waiter turns to Sam who looks flustered. She’s staring at the prices.
I speak as casually as I can. “I nearly forgot to tell you. This meeting is covered by the foundation as a tax-deductible expense.”
I note the fleeting glint in her eye.
