Fletcher said to Cynthie.
The two women sat at the kitchen table of the Fletcher family’s bed-and-breakfast while the girls—Hannah and Madison and Meg’s niece, Taylor—played with the puppy outside.
“You’ve got this sweet, smart, sexy guy who’s totally crazy about you,” Meg continued. “He likes your kids, he has a job, he doesn’t live with his mother. I don’t see an issue here. Unless he’s, like, I don’t know, a meth addict. Or has the bodies of his six ex-wives stashed in the attic.”
Cynthie smiled, wiggling her toes inside her ugly black server’s shoes under the table. It was a treat to sit down in the middle of the day, to share coffee and confidences with a girlfriend. But even Meg’s teasing couldn’t chase away her lingering insecurities. “No drugs. One ex-girlfriend. And she’s out of the picture.”
“And how long have you been dating?”
“We’re not exactly . . . ” Cynthie met Meg’s eyes and gave up the pretense. “Three months.”
“So?”
“So, he invited me to this big fund-raiser for the aquarium. For the exhibit expansion he’s been working on? Cocktails, dancing, semiformal, he said.” Cynthie twisted her coffee cup in her hands, her stomach knotting with nerves. “All the board of directors, everybody in his department will be there. Maybe even his parents.”
“Well, that’s a good sign. He wants you to meet his friends. His colleagues.”
“I can’t go.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not?”
All her old self-doubt rushed in at her, all the times she’d been told she wasn’t smart enough, good enough, deserving enough. “It’s movie night at the kids’ school.”
“They can go with Taylor,” Meg said promptly.
“We wouldn’t be home until late.”
“Then they can spend the night.” Meg shook her head. “Still not seeing a problem here.”
Cynthie sighed. For all her Harvard education, Meg could be really dumb sometimes. “It’s like, if our lives were a high school movie, Max would be the cute nerd, you would be the brainy girl who lands the captain of the football team, and I would be the girl who gets knocked up under the stadium bleachers.”
Meg laughed, but her eyes were sympathetic. “News flash for you, pal. High school was over for us a long time ago.”
“In my head, I get that. But in my gut . . .” Cynthie pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach. Her gut was Jell-O, quivering between terrifying panic and an even more terrifying hope. “Max and I are from totally different worlds. He’s so far out of my league, we’re not even playing the same game.”
“Forget your head and your gut,” Meg advised. “What does your heart say?”
“My heart is a great big scaredy-cat,” Cynthie admitted. “Meg, he says he’s falling in love with me.”
“Wow. The big
L.
And what did you say?”
“Nothing. I’ve got all these feelings for him churning around inside me, here.” Cynthie thumped her chest with her fist. “But when I open my mouth, they get stuck. And every day I don’t tell him how I feel, it’s like a brick in this wall I’m building between us.”
Meg pursed her lips. “You’re afraid of being hurt. That’s natural.”
“I think I’m more afraid of letting him down,” Cynthie confessed. “He’s so good to me. He deserves someone who fits into his life. Who won’t embarrass him. What if I can’t be the person he needs?”
“Isn’t that up to him to decide?” Meg asked gently.
From the sunlit backyard drifted the sound of the girls’ laughter, interspersed with the dog’s happy barks.
“You can tell me what you want. What you’re afraid of,”
Max had said, in his quiet, unyielding voice.
“But you can’t tell me how I feel.”
“Look, I’m not in any position to tell you what to do,” Meg said finally. “But I do know that sometimes in life you have to take risks to get what you want.”
Great. Cynthie stared into her coffee mug as if it held a fortune-teller’s
The two women sat at the kitchen table of the Fletcher family’s bed-and-breakfast while the girls—Hannah and Madison and Meg’s niece, Taylor—played with the puppy outside.
“You’ve got this sweet, smart, sexy guy who’s totally crazy about you,” Meg continued. “He likes your kids, he has a job, he doesn’t live with his mother. I don’t see an issue here. Unless he’s, like, I don’t know, a meth addict. Or has the bodies of his six ex-wives stashed in the attic.”
Cynthie smiled, wiggling her toes inside her ugly black server’s shoes under the table. It was a treat to sit down in the middle of the day, to share coffee and confidences with a girlfriend. But even Meg’s teasing couldn’t chase away her lingering insecurities. “No drugs. One ex-girlfriend. And she’s out of the picture.”
“And how long have you been dating?”
“We’re not exactly . . . ” Cynthie met Meg’s eyes and gave up the pretense. “Three months.”
“So?”
“So, he invited me to this big fund-raiser for the aquarium. For the exhibit expansion he’s been working on? Cocktails, dancing, semiformal, he said.” Cynthie twisted her coffee cup in her hands, her stomach knotting with nerves. “All the board of directors, everybody in his department will be there. Maybe even his parents.”
“Well, that’s a good sign. He wants you to meet his friends. His colleagues.”
“I can’t go.”
“For heaven’s sake, why not?”
All her old self-doubt rushed in at her, all the times she’d been told she wasn’t smart enough, good enough, deserving enough. “It’s movie night at the kids’ school.”
“They can go with Taylor,” Meg said promptly.
“We wouldn’t be home until late.”
“Then they can spend the night.” Meg shook her head. “Still not seeing a problem here.”
Cynthie sighed. For all her Harvard education, Meg could be really dumb sometimes. “It’s like, if our lives were a high school movie, Max would be the cute nerd, you would be the brainy girl who lands the captain of the football team, and I would be the girl who gets knocked up under the stadium bleachers.”
Meg laughed, but her eyes were sympathetic. “News flash for you, pal. High school was over for us a long time ago.”
“In my head, I get that. But in my gut . . .” Cynthie pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach. Her gut was Jell-O, quivering between terrifying panic and an even more terrifying hope. “Max and I are from totally different worlds. He’s so far out of my league, we’re not even playing the same game.”
“Forget your head and your gut,” Meg advised. “What does your heart say?”
“My heart is a great big scaredy-cat,” Cynthie admitted. “Meg, he says he’s falling in love with me.”
“Wow. The big
L.
And what did you say?”
“Nothing. I’ve got all these feelings for him churning around inside me, here.” Cynthie thumped her chest with her fist. “But when I open my mouth, they get stuck. And every day I don’t tell him how I feel, it’s like a brick in this wall I’m building between us.”
Meg pursed her lips. “You’re afraid of being hurt. That’s natural.”
“I think I’m more afraid of letting him down,” Cynthie confessed. “He’s so good to me. He deserves someone who fits into his life. Who won’t embarrass him. What if I can’t be the person he needs?”
“Isn’t that up to him to decide?” Meg asked gently.
From the sunlit backyard drifted the sound of the girls’ laughter, interspersed with the dog’s happy barks.
“You can tell me what you want. What you’re afraid of,”
Max had said, in his quiet, unyielding voice.
“But you can’t tell me how I feel.”
“Look, I’m not in any position to tell you what to do,” Meg said finally. “But I do know that sometimes in life you have to take risks to get what you want.”
Great. Cynthie stared into her coffee mug as if it held a fortune-teller’s
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