Page 59 of Tangled Up

Picking up the orange bowl of candy, I carry it to the counter and sort it into Aunt Viv’s canisters. “You forget I don’t live here anymore.”

“They were the toddlers dressed up as peanut butter and jelly. The beige tutu and the purple tutu? With the little headbands? I just wanted to squeeze them.”

“Don’t squeeze the infants.” I pour a glass of wine and switch off the outside light. “I liked the kid who dressed up as Life and handed out lemons. That was classic.”

“And the girl who was Amy Winehouse? I wasn’t sure if that was cool or creepy.”

“I thought that was a character fromGrease.”

“I don’t think anybody had a beehive inGrease. Hold your ears.” The noise of a blender blasts over my phone, and I look at my sad little glass of wine, wishing it were a margarita. “Okay, I’m ready. Read me your list.”

“I didn’t get very far.” I walk over to where I scrawled a few words and numbers in my aunt’s grocery-list notepad. “The kids kept interrupting, and I couldn’t concentrate.”

“Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

“Okay…” I lean forward again, twiddling the pen. “Start with the Pros. One, he’s kind to old people.”

“Is he ever!” she shouts in my ear. “I swear, if another blue-haired old lady comes in the salon raving about how wonderful Dr. Munroe is and asking if you two are still dating—”

“You’ll what? Eat your face wax?”

“Gross! No.” I hear her door slam shut. “They all want to set their granddaughters up with him. You’d better lock him down.”

“Back to the list. Number two…”

“Number two—you’ll move back to Eden and be near your favorite person in the whole wide world?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting that idea. His work is in Tampa. Mine’s in Pensacola. Neither are in Eden.”

“Technicalities,” she grouses. “He has that big ole house, and we have so many old people here. He could easily start a practice in Eden, and we can be the future Mrs. Daigle and Mrs. Garvey.”

I exhale a groan. “Okay, number two, move home,possiblyin parentheses.”

“Did you write that down?”

“I did.”

“Yesss…”

“Let’s get serious. Number three…”

“He’s great in bed.”

“Jess!” I cry.

“Well, he is, isn’t he? He’s a doctor. He ought to be.”

Pressing my lips together, I hold the pen over the paper beside the number. “He was good in bed before he was a doctor.” Warmth tingles in my stomach.

He was always so good…

“That’s totally something to base a decision on,” she says with authority.

“Okay, fine.” I touch pen to paper. “Number three, good in bed.”

“Number four, he’s hot.”

My eyes narrow, and I glance at my phone. “This list is starting to feel very superficial.”

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