Page 116 of Lovebug
“No,” I breathe out the word with no hesitation. “I didn’t feel that way about Bert. But… I do feel that way about Wally.”
“Yeah, you do!” she shouts. I think she even does a fist pump in the air. Either that or she was punching someone out of frame. Oh gosh, I probably should have asked her if Ralph was secretly pleasuring her during this call as well—you never know with those two—but she seemed to be behaving herself, so I think we’re in the clear.
The door to Wally’s house swings open. “He’s coming back,” I whisper. “Dinner time. Gotta go.”
“What are you having?” she whispers back.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because whispering is fun. Everyone knows that. Quick, what are you having?” she repeats. “You know, besides the sex.”
I ignore her unnecessary sex assumption and rattle off the menu he told me before. “Broiled wild striped bass drizzled in ginger-scallion oil with stir-fried asparagus and lemon-encrusted potato wedges for sides, and a spiced pear, blueberry, and almond shortcake with whiskey chocolate glaze for dessert.”
“Holy shit. Marry him, Mabel. Marry him today,” she says with complete seriousness.
“Shhh!” I hiss. “Goodbye!”
I slip my phone back into my skort pocket right as Wally settles our plates on the long wooden table and looks over at me. “How was Calliope?”
“How did you know it was Calliope?” I ask as I make my way over to join him at the table.
“Because the look on your face is the same as it’s been every time I’ve seen you in her presence.”
“And how is that?”
“Equal parts shocked and delighted.”
“Ha, that sounds about right.”
“Shall we?” He gestures to the truly gorgeous plates of food set side by side, so we can sit next to each other and face the water.
“Wow, this looks… amazing.”
“Glad you think so. Sit. Eat,” he says while grabbing our bottle of wine from near the tree swing and topping off our glasses.
I take a bite, and before I think better of it, I say, “Fuuuuuuuuck me.”
“If you insist, madam.” He laughs, a hint of surprise in his voice.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me and my language, but hole-eeeee shit on a stick, this is delicious!”
“Thank you. And lady, let your language be free. You never have to excuse it with me.”
“That there sounded like a little poem, sir.”
“What can I say? You inspire me.”
We eat for a few minutes in comfortable almost-silence, the chirps of birds overhead and the rowboat tapping gently against the dock the only sounds we hear.
“You know, this is all pretty Walden Pond of you.”
“What, romancing a beautiful woman by a body of water and feeding her striped bass? I wasn’t aware Thoreau was stealing my best moves.” He snaps on a stalk of asparagus and takes a sip of wine.
I laugh. ”I meant the whole living by the water in a tiny home, growing your own food, and attempting to hide yourself away from other humans thing.”
“Attempting is the operative word, yeah? Because let’s be honest. If I hadtrulywanted to give up on humanity, I could have chosen a more suitable locale than a nature reserve with rigorous educational programming and full-on summer camp operations, don’t you think?” He laughs, then gets quiet. “I suppose, on some level, I wasn’t actually looking to cut myself off but to connect. With natureandpeople.” He looks out over the water. “Fun fact: they call it WaldenPond, but it’s actually a classic kettle hole. Did you know that?”
“No, I did not.”
