Page 73 of The Singles Club

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“There’s a friend.”

“And does this friend have a name?”

I sipped my coffee. “Vivian.”

“Will she be joining you at the wedding?”

I swallowed through the tightness in my throat. “No, she’s moving to Paris that weekend.”

“Oh… that’s too bad.”

An understatement.

I put her on speaker while I fished out a bagel from the fridge. “How’s Dad?”

“Calm as a cucumber. Here I am fretting over flowers and catering… and he’s over here saying, ‘It will all work out just fine.’”

“It will,” I said. “Did you finish your renewal vows yet?”

She sighed. “No, but I have a feeling your father has. Of course he won’t let me see it.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be surprised?”

“No! I want to make sure there isn’t anything in there that will embarrass me… you know how sappy he can get.”

“And one of the reasons you love him.”

“True.” She chuckled. “So, this Vivian, your friend. How did you meet her?”

I smiled, thinking back to that night at Longfellow. “It began with a bet and escalated from there.”

“A bet?”

“Long story. She’s a fashion stylist and helped me get ready for a big client. She’s very good.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How did you becomefriends?”

She said the word as if she were air quoting. Her way of telling me I was full of crap.

“We both love the classics.”

There was a long silence before she spoke again. “Which actor does she prefer? Cary Grant or Jimmy Stewart?”

“Jimmy Stewart.” I narrowed my eyes toward the phone. “Why?”

“No reason, just curious.”

“Mmm-hmm.” My bagel popped up. “Just to reiterate. We’re not dating, she’s just a friend.”

“The man doth protest too much.”

“From what I remember of Hamlet, it’s the lady who protested too much.”

And Vivian certainly did.

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