Page 58 of Mr. Wrong Number

“Oh, my God—Glenda! I thought it was you!” A girl who looked around my age came over and hugged Glenda. She shot me a nice smile—man, the girl had perfect teeth—and said to Glenda, “Howareyou?”

The two of them caught up for a second, so I nibbled on the tiny piece of crust left on my plate until they were done. I kind of wished I’d ordered two slices instead of one. After they hugged and the girl walked away, Glenda turned her beaming face to me.

“I’m so sorry, Liv; she used to intern for me and I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Oh, my gosh—no big deal at all.”

Glenda said, “So where were we?”

I honestly couldn’t remember. “I think I was thanking you for taking me to lunch.”

“Well,” she said, sitting back in her chair, “I just wanted to do something nice because we’re all so happy with the column. It’s exactly what we wanted but more. Bob thinks you’ve got a solid number of nonparents reading your articles.”

“Really?” I had no idea who Bob was but I wasn’t about to ask. If “Bob” thought people liked it, I was a happy girl. “That’s so awesome.”

She hugged me when we were leaving the restaurant, and said, “I knew I was right about you, Olivia. Congratulations on your success.”

I couldn’t stop smiling for two blocks as I walked home, blown away by my good fortune. But by the third block, I started to worry. It was just too good to be true—things didn’twork like that for me. Someone was going to find out it was me or that I didn’t have kids; I just knew it. And they would tell Glenda and everything would be ruined.

It was only a matter of time.

My phone buzzed.

Colin:Did you nap on my bed?

I smiled and responded with:It’s only 2:00.

Colin:So?

Me:So only drunks and frat boys nap early. I’m headed home right now, and I’ll probably snuggle into your bed soon after my arrival.

Colin:Where are you now?

Me:Just had lunch with my editor.

Colin:Wow, fancy.

Me:I am, in fact, the fanciest.

Colin:Restaurant?

Me:Zio’s.

Colin:Did you get the New York King?

Me:Why not ask me if I got the vomit-and-poo pizza? Gross.

Colin:You don’t like sausage?

Me:I do not.

Colin:I would’ve pegged you for a meat lover.

Me:Is that some sort of ribald suggestion about penises?

Colin:Now who’s gross, perv? I literally meant you seem like someone who enjoys foods that were once animals.

Me:I don’t like meat mixes that are squirted into casings.

---