“Dumb and Dumber,” he said.
“Really?”
He half smiled and shook his head. “Pinot and Cab. The smaller one’s Pinot.”
“Ah, so you must be a wine person?”
The more this guy appealed to me, the more my IQ seemed to plunge.
“Yeah. I own a small vineyard in Virginia.”
I could almost hear Preston saying “OMG.” I looked over, and he gave me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up.
“That’s great. I love wine.” After a short, painful silence, I added, “Especially with painkillers.”
He looked at me with wide eyes and grinned. It never failed to surprise me—a flash of a boy coming through a grown man. He was so perfect that I thought he must have cut-up bodies in his basement, or an unhealthy obsession with Jimmy Buffett. Or maybe he wears those shoes with the toes.
“Kidding. Mostly.”
He chuckled, and again the boy came through. He looked at me like Barkley and Preston did, like I mattered, and I was starting to get used to it.
“So, umm, do you know that person over there?”
He was referring to Preston, who wasn’t doing a good job of acting normal.
“Yeah, that’s my nephew. We don’t let him out of his cage much.”
“Ah. Well, I think he’s trying to get your attention . . .”
Nephew? Where had that come from? Now if I actually did date him, not only would I have to confess about not owning Sumner, but having only recently met Preston. Upside, it would be a good story for our grandchildren.
He tilted his head a little, as if he was debating giving me his number, or pulling out his phone to take mine, but then he just shrugged and smiled. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”
“Thanks!”
I tried to walk slowly back to Preston without appearing like a dog park model, the Astroturf my runway.
Thanks? Why did I say that?
Preston was so impressed he could hardly contain himself. “You slayed it. He watched you the whole way.”
“Well, it wasn’t half as awkward as I expected it to be. And you’re not going to believe this. He owns a winery, and the dogs are named Pinot and Cab.”
“Shut up. And, I know he’s straight ’cause he hasn’t looked at me once.”
“Does every gay man look at you?”
“The hot ones, yeah.”
Oh, the hubris. Maybe that’s what I needed. I’d spent my whole life in the background. I could never be that woman, the one who has her own successful business and dates sexy men who owned wineries. Or could I?
When I returned home after meeting Preston and the god that was Banana Republic, I drew a bath in Brady’s master bathroom and grabbed some chardonnay from his sleek wine fridge I could barely open. I played the new Robyn song on my phone, which I set in a glass, and danced a little while I took my clothes off. I knew that BR liking me would be a bit of a stretch, but I did make him laugh. Twice. It was a tiny seed of hope, and right then, I clung to it.
CHAPTER 5
HOT MESS IN A BLACK DRESS
The next day, after googling every winery in Virginia and not finding any proprietor that looked like BR, I figured I’d work on real life and not the fantasy one. I started emailing more résumés to the galleries in DC. Unlike before, I felt a small sparkle of possibility every time I hit send and heard the swoosh sound.
It was a dry, crisp day, so I celebrated my extensive job searching with a ride on Brady’s fancy hybrid bike along the Potomac River. Like any city river, it looked nice from afar, but you wouldn’t dare imagine what was beneath the surface. Appliances, the body of an old car, corpses wrapped in plastic and held down by bricks. The scene above the surface was the opposite. Sailboats darted around the shimmering water, and the people I passed, on bikes and otherwise, seemed content and carefree, nothing like the resting New York scowl face I was used to. Washington, DC, in general, seemed more approachable. Tourists fed ducks and joggers smiled, while an old couple sat on a bench sharing a sandwich, watching the world go by. The world was clearly in chaos, but not right there. Looking at the scene, one would never guess our country was at war, kids went to bed hungry, or school shootings were becoming commonplace. I could hear the sounds of birds, the laughter of children, the gentle lapping of the water over the rocks. I wondered, as I had since I arrived, what I was actually doing here. How had I lived so much of my adult life with basically nothing to show for it? Still, I knew I was way better off than a lot of people in the world, and I felt a wave of gratitude as I rode faster, strands of my hair catching the wind.
When I got home, I took a long, hot “rain” shower and created a mantra in my head: boyfriend, job, dog. Or maybe job, dog, boyfriend. Or boyfriend, dog, job. Whatever. I put on one of Brady’s pale-blue shirts and my favorite pair of jeans and headed back out to grab a coffee at the corner. The guy with the sleeve tattoos washing the windows smiled at me. Could he see my deep desperation or my wellspring of potential?
When I got to the EDP, freshly showered, coffee in hand, I didn’t recognize anyone. There were only three people there, so it was blatantly obvious that I came without a dog. A young girl with a pug smirked at me, an old guy with a terrier gave me a quick wave, and a very large man with a golden retriever squinted in my direction. I sat down and opened the paperback I had found on the street for a dollar. I tried to hide the cover—a soft-focused, shirtless man on a horse. The book was so bad it was good. I became so engrossed that I’m not sure how long Barkley and Sumner were there before I noticed them. No Pellegrino this time, but Barkley, dressed in a gray striped suit, carried a container of what looked like homemade dog treats. I walked over to him, and he immediately recognized me, letting a smile slide over his face.
“You really don’t have a dog?” he asked.
“No. Did Preston tell you?”
“Yes. You’re a mere observer, then?”
He sounded like he was trying to speak old English or something. I hoped it was a one-off and not a regular thing.
“Dogs make me happy. Just being around them.”
He seemed to weigh my answer in his head. Then he approved with barely a hint of a nod.
“Plus, they don’t talk,” he added.
“Yes, there’s that.”
We sat and watched Sumner avoid the pug who had crazy energy, practically jumping on top of me. I imagined if the whining between the licks were actually diction it would sound something like, oh my god I can smell everything you just ate and there is too much freedom in this park and why can’t I catch any of the squirrels and I can’t ever remember being this hungry in my life oh my god I know you’re not my owner but DO YOU HAVE ANY TREATS?
I smiled as the pug finally tired of me and scrambled to the other side of the park.
“That dog reminds me of Preston,” Barkley mused.
“Yeah, he’s pretty intense, huh?”
“Yes,” Barkley said. “Good or bad, he’ll always make an impression.”
“Mostly good,” I said.
“Did you know he’s a clothing designer? He could whip something up for you.”
“Are you implying I need better clothes?”
He laughed now. “On the contrary. You look great. Office chic.”