tile floor. The pan hits with a hearty
clang
and the spanakopita make no sound at all.
God, I am so glad I put on lipstick.
Ben grins. Really, what else can he do? “Hi,” is all he says.
I collapse to the floor to gather the fallen appetizers, using a napkin to sweep up the phyllo crumbs. “Hi,” I say, my focus firmly fixed on the tile.
“This is my new next-door neighbor, Ben Campbell,” Jill says nonchalantly, as though my toppling over hors d’oeuvres happens all the time. To Ben she says, “And this is my cousin Ellen. Don’t mind her. She’s kind of a klutz.”
Thanks a goddamn lot!
I think.
“Good to see you again,” Ben says as I haul myself to my feet. I throw the spanakopita away, despite the spanking-clean floor, and set the pan next to the sink. With nowhere else to look, I finally meet his eyes.
“You, too.”
Jill cocks her head in my direction, and although I am not looking at her, I can feel her speculative gaze.
“We’ve actually met several times,” Ben says.
“Ben’s son, Liam? He’s on Matt’s soccer team,” I explain.
He furrows his brow and looks at his watch. “What’s it been, eight hours since our last rendezvous?”
“We ran into each other at Trader Joe’s.”
“Your cousin had the decency to show me around the store,” he adds.
Jill nods and says, “Ah. Well, Ben just came over to give me his wife’s regrets. I invited her to join tonight, but she can’t make it.”
“Duty calls,” Ben says, then shrugs. “She’s working on the wetlands suit.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I see Jill’s eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s major!” she says, clearly impressed.
I guess I ought to brush up on local current events. Are the wetlands suing somebody, or is somebody suing the wetlands, and how would that work anyway? How does a piece of land instigate a lawsuit in the first place? Uh-oh. I need more wine.
“Well, I know you’ve got people coming,” Ben says. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“No, no!” Jill exclaims. “The girls won’t be here for another fifteen minutes, at least. Have a glass of wine.”
He shakes his head regretfully. “The boys are waiting for me. Pizza night, you know.” He turns toward the foyer, thenglances back at me. “By the way. How’d the cheese balls come out?”
I smile modestly and let Jill do my bragging for me.
“They are the best she’s ever made, Ben, really! Here. Try one.” Using silver-plated tongs, she daintily and deftly lifts one of the golden orbs from the tray and places it on a napkin. (My Auntie Pam would be proud.) She then puts the napkin in his waiting hand. Without the reverence Jill so clearly thinks is due, he grabs it and tosses it into his mouth. I watch him as he chews, note his slight pause as the flavors hit his taste buds. He shakes his head, chewing more slowly now, as if savoring every second that my cheese ball graces his tongue.
Am I sweating? Very definitely.
“That is amazing,” he finally proclaims, then gives me one of those direct gazes. And yes, it has the same impact this time as it had before. “You’re good.”
Must be the oven
, I tell myself, resisting the urge to fan myself.
“Thanks. Secret family recipe.”
“I better go before I steal the whole tray.”
“Take another,” Jill insists, tongs at the ready.
“No, really, thanks,” he tells her, then shifts his focus to me. “But if you have any left over, you know where to find me.”
“What the h-e-l-l was that?”
“What are you talking about?” I say, injecting as much innocence into my tone as I possibly can. Which isn’t much, I’m afraid. I’m feeling too pleased with myself and my cheese balls. It wouldn’t matter anyway because Jill is on to me.
“I’m talking about you and my hubba-hubba next-door neighbor. Since when are the two of you so chummy?”
“For God’s sake, Jill, I just met him last week, in front of your house.” Was it really only last week? I
clang
and the spanakopita make no sound at all.
God, I am so glad I put on lipstick.
Ben grins. Really, what else can he do? “Hi,” is all he says.
I collapse to the floor to gather the fallen appetizers, using a napkin to sweep up the phyllo crumbs. “Hi,” I say, my focus firmly fixed on the tile.
“This is my new next-door neighbor, Ben Campbell,” Jill says nonchalantly, as though my toppling over hors d’oeuvres happens all the time. To Ben she says, “And this is my cousin Ellen. Don’t mind her. She’s kind of a klutz.”
Thanks a goddamn lot!
I think.
“Good to see you again,” Ben says as I haul myself to my feet. I throw the spanakopita away, despite the spanking-clean floor, and set the pan next to the sink. With nowhere else to look, I finally meet his eyes.
“You, too.”
Jill cocks her head in my direction, and although I am not looking at her, I can feel her speculative gaze.
“We’ve actually met several times,” Ben says.
“Ben’s son, Liam? He’s on Matt’s soccer team,” I explain.
He furrows his brow and looks at his watch. “What’s it been, eight hours since our last rendezvous?”
“We ran into each other at Trader Joe’s.”
“Your cousin had the decency to show me around the store,” he adds.
Jill nods and says, “Ah. Well, Ben just came over to give me his wife’s regrets. I invited her to join tonight, but she can’t make it.”
“Duty calls,” Ben says, then shrugs. “She’s working on the wetlands suit.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I see Jill’s eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s major!” she says, clearly impressed.
I guess I ought to brush up on local current events. Are the wetlands suing somebody, or is somebody suing the wetlands, and how would that work anyway? How does a piece of land instigate a lawsuit in the first place? Uh-oh. I need more wine.
“Well, I know you’ve got people coming,” Ben says. “I’ll get out of your way.”
“No, no!” Jill exclaims. “The girls won’t be here for another fifteen minutes, at least. Have a glass of wine.”
He shakes his head regretfully. “The boys are waiting for me. Pizza night, you know.” He turns toward the foyer, thenglances back at me. “By the way. How’d the cheese balls come out?”
I smile modestly and let Jill do my bragging for me.
“They are the best she’s ever made, Ben, really! Here. Try one.” Using silver-plated tongs, she daintily and deftly lifts one of the golden orbs from the tray and places it on a napkin. (My Auntie Pam would be proud.) She then puts the napkin in his waiting hand. Without the reverence Jill so clearly thinks is due, he grabs it and tosses it into his mouth. I watch him as he chews, note his slight pause as the flavors hit his taste buds. He shakes his head, chewing more slowly now, as if savoring every second that my cheese ball graces his tongue.
Am I sweating? Very definitely.
“That is amazing,” he finally proclaims, then gives me one of those direct gazes. And yes, it has the same impact this time as it had before. “You’re good.”
Must be the oven
, I tell myself, resisting the urge to fan myself.
“Thanks. Secret family recipe.”
“I better go before I steal the whole tray.”
“Take another,” Jill insists, tongs at the ready.
“No, really, thanks,” he tells her, then shifts his focus to me. “But if you have any left over, you know where to find me.”
“What the h-e-l-l was that?”
“What are you talking about?” I say, injecting as much innocence into my tone as I possibly can. Which isn’t much, I’m afraid. I’m feeling too pleased with myself and my cheese balls. It wouldn’t matter anyway because Jill is on to me.
“I’m talking about you and my hubba-hubba next-door neighbor. Since when are the two of you so chummy?”
“For God’s sake, Jill, I just met him last week, in front of your house.” Was it really only last week? I
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