Page 9 of Love Rescheduled

“Look at the road!” I implored loudly.

She focused back on driving. “Sorry, but I can’t believe it. When were you going to tell us?”

“I wanted to surprise you in person.”

“Give me all the details,” she demanded.

“Well, he’s a proctologist.” I waited for the laughter. And did it ever come.

Tara started uncontrollably giggling. She started snorting for how hard she was laughing.

“It’s a very respectable career. He really helped Stu out with his hemorrhoid issue.”

She kept chuckling while taking our exit at a frightening speed, only to blow through a very yellow light. If we survived, it was going to be a miracle. “And you’re okay knowing a man who specializes in rectal issues might touch you?”

When she put it that way, it didn’t sound all that appealing. But … “Stu says he’s meticulous about washing his hands when he walks into the exam room.” Hygiene was a must on the list I had given to Hal and Stu.

“I would be, too, if I touched butts all day long.” She grinned over at me.

“Oh, ha ha.” I grabbed my phone from my bag and pulled up the picture of Dr. Seth Kristoff I’d found on his clinic’s website. We would see if she thought it was still funny after she saw how attractive the thirty-six-year-old doctor, who had never been married and believed in being punctual, was. Stu had assured me he had done a thorough interview of Seth while he was helping him with his little “problem.” Stu said Dr. Kristoff met all my qualifications and then some.

“At the next stoplight, if you don’t run it, I’ll show you a picture of him.”

“I’m not running them. I’m casually pausing.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Thanks to me, we are totally going to be on time.”

“If we live,” I deadpanned.

“Don’t you worry—we will all live to see you walk down the aisle this fall.”

I rubbed my lips together. “That sounds so close.”

“Hey, Jolene’s mom only knew her last two husbands for a few days before she married them.”

Pauline. She was a character. But she was no role model. Don’t get me wrong: we all loved her. Including Jolene, who had a very unusual childhood. She used a lot of her experiences in her comedy bit about growing up with a woman who took her wherever the wind blew. One of Jolene’s funniest routines began with, “What native Tennessee mother names their daughter Jolene? Was she predicting my future, or did she just hate me?” It referred to Dolly Parton’s wildly popular song “Jolene,” about a man-stealing woman. Another one of Jolene’s zingers began with making fun of the fact that she was conceived in Cancún during spring break and all her mom could tell her about her father was he was from North or South Dakota and every single one of his tattoos was spelled wrong. Jolene would say something like, “With a start to life like that, I was bound to end up in the prison system.”

I would say this about Pauline: for as carefree as she was, she always put Jolene first and made sure her daughter had every opportunity. Unlike my parents, who only thought of themselves.

“That’s so not comforting,” I replied.

Tara halted, screeching her tires, at the next red light she had most likely pondered running. “So maybe Pauline isn’t the best example. Show me the doctor.”

I held up my phone, displaying a photo of a very handsome man with eyes as blue as the sea and a strong jawline like Henry Cavill’s.

“Ooh la la. He’s gorgeous enough to make me forget he’s shoving his hands up anuses all day long.”

That made me snort laugh.

As soon as the light turned green, she went all fast and furious. “When is your date?”

I held on to the door handle for dear life. “Wednesday. I’m meeting him at a cozy French café in Greenville.”

“I’m sure you’ve already checked out the menu and know what you’ll be ordering.”

“Of course.” I made no attempt to hide my weirdness. She was well aware.

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