Dating da Vinci (21 page)

While the cool twenty-something wore sporty decaled sweatshirts and ripped jeans, I wore a smart cardigan and khakis and boots. Not cool cowboy boots like this young girl Katie wore, mind you, but boring brown boots that I'd had for eons. I wondered why I hadn't taken my sister's advice on updating my wardrobe, but it hadn't seemed out of date to me until I was around other college students. I'd just been thankful I fit into my pants with buttons again. The moment you find out you are a girlfriend is one you'll never forget. Here's how it went down for me:

Da Vinci and I were in line to see a romantic comedy, my mood light and relaxed until we saw his friends coming toward us. I could feel my cheeks begin to burn, and scolded myself for thinking that it mattered. Of course it was time I met some of da Vinci's friends. After all, we'd been sleeping together for three weeks—not long by any
means, but long enough to figure that sleeping together might continue or, by some standards, this would mean we had a “relationship.” I don't know what I thought, except for that I was very much enjoying sleeping with someone again and with da Vinci in particular.

Every last one of them gave me the up–down, the look that I had read about in my flirting research, which is the moment I realized I must look more like da Vinci's mother than his girlfriend. Okay, big sister. But still.

I showed my age further by sticking out my hand when da Vinci introduced them. College students don't shake hands. They nod and utter, “Hey, wassup?” or “How's it goin'?” Hand-shaking is saved for the truly adult moments such as interviewing for a job or meeting someone's parents. If shaking their hands wasn't shocking enough, what came out of da Vinci's beautiful mouth next did the trick: “Everybody, this is Ramona,” he said proudly. “My girlfriend.”

Katie's jaw dropped. Just a little. Maybe she didn't mean to, but I saw it, I swear. One guy—Paul, was it?—muttered, “Cool,” but I'm sure he was thinking it was anything other than cool.

After an embarrassing, awkward moment where da Vinci told them that I had been his English teacher (how cool is that?), we walked into the dark theater. “You didn't have to tell them I was your teacher,” I said. “Or your girlfriend.”

“Why not?” da Vinci said, stuffing his mouth with way too much popcorn. “You
were
my teacher. I have you to thank for good English speaking. And you
are
my girlfriend, correct?”

Instead of answering him, I took a long slurp of Dr. Pepper while da Vinci pulled me into him and kissed me atop the head with his buttery mouth, and it occurred to me that I had to ask myself if I really
wanted
to be da Vinci's girlfriend. I hadn't considered what we were doing was
dating.
If I had known
that's
what we were doing, I would've said no to the Italian dinner we had the weekend before at an actual restaurant, and the day after that when we walked hand in
hand at the arts festival, and the week after that at the movies. I did think we were hanging out, having fun and some amazing sex, but surely not “dating.”

And girlfriend/boyfriend? Such a juvenile expression for someone who had been married for ten years and wears khakis and boots while her boyfriend wears ripped jeans and athletic shoes.

“Face it,” Anh said later that evening while the boys were watching a rerun of
America's Funniest Home Videos,
and we ate greasy potato chips with onion dip when I should've been eating carrot sticks with fat-free ranch. “You're dating.”

I moaned. “I knew you were going to take his side.”

“This coming from a walking, talking dictionary. Seriously, Ramona. When two people go out on a social engagement with just each other, then it's a date. Especially when the date ends with kissing and sex.”

I stuffed another chip in my mouth. “Fine. We're dating. But that doesn't mean we have to be exclusive.”

Anh eyed me suspiciously. “You've got other hot young guys beating down your door you haven't told me about?”

“Not me,
him
. I mean da Vinci should definitely be dating other people.”

Anh made a sour face. “Not in this day and age. All those diseases. Besides, who cares? What difference does it make if you're exclusive?”

I wiped my greasy fingers on my jeans—not mom jeans, but cool ones I'd picked up at Abercrombie the day before, proof I obviously
did
care. “Well, because I don't want him to become too emotionally attached.”

“Him or you?”

“So what if I don't want to fall for him and get my heart broken when he dumps me for a younger coed? That makes me a normal woman. And I'm not ready for a serious relationship, anyway. I can't have my boys believing da Vinci is my boyfriend. What would they
think? That he'll be their next daddy? It's ludicrous. Preposterous. Ridiculously absurd. Besides, I think about Monica Blevins more than I think about da Vinci. How screwed up is that?”

“Has she called you back yet?”

“No, but her flight came in yesterday, according to her assistant, so I'm expecting her to call any day now.”

Anh grabbed the chip bag and rolled it up. “I knew something was eating at you. You inhale Lays and onion dip when you're nervous. But you keep this up, you're going to gain back those pounds you've lost.”

I admired my slimmer frame. My new jeans were a size smaller than anything I had in my closet. A little tight after half a bag of Lays, but they still fit. I'd lost twelve pounds without even trying, or rather, I lost pounds without obsessing over losing them. Much like da Vinci becoming my boyfriend, the weight loss had surprised me. I didn't lose the weight to
Get Up and Move It, Texas!
like my mother and Rachel assumed. I didn't lose the weight by eating any less, either, or at least I don't think I ate any less with chocolate and ice cream and non-stop carbs from da Vinci's pasta.

Anh claimed it was falling in love that did it, but I don't think it was falling in love with da Vinci, but falling in love with life again. I was more active than I had been in years. As my sister said on a daily basis, “When you move it, you lose it.”

“Speaking of dating, you and Michael still a thing?”

“Not dating,” Anh said, reapplying her lipstick. “Unlike some people I know, we are not going out on social engagements. Just my house and his. Taking care of me and Vi when we were sick did score him a few brownie points, though.”

“I don't know. I think you're closet dating. How many affairs go on that never make it out into the public? Are they not dating?”

“No. That's why it's called ‘having an affair.‘ Two different things. See, if you'd have asked if Michael and I are having a sexual affair, I would've said yes.”

“Thanks for setting the record straight. We'll see how long it takes before you slip up and wind up in public like da Vinci and I did.”

“Not gonna happen. Besides, I'm still holding out for Cortland. He dumped your sister yet?”

“So not gonna happen. If anything, she'll dump him. She brags about how often she gets hit on every day. I just want to shake her and scream, 'I get it! You're hot! But you're still not good enough for Cortland!”

“I may not be the only one with a little crush on Cortland.”

“You mean
me?
Don't be ridiculous. But he did call me earlier to see if I needed any help dog shopping. I'm going to surprise the boys.”

“Maybe he's a little hot for sister.”

I waved my hand as if to swat away the absurdity of her idea, though I secretly thought she could be on to something. “More like feeling sorry for his girlfriend's widowed sister. But I may take him up on it. I'm terrified of picking out the wrong dog. And he's done all the research on the best dog for kids. He knows a breeder who has pups for sale.”

“I don't know,” Anh said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“I don't see you as the yappy dog type,” Cortland said the following day as we sipped coffee at Starbucks. He thought it would be easier to meet up and drive out into the country together, as it was twenty minutes into the middle of nowhere.

“What? You can't see me dressing a little Chihuahua in a cute striped sweater and carrying it around in my purse?”

Cortland's face broke into a smile and I wondered if it was the caffeine that made my heart begin to race or that smile. Now here was a man who knew how to dress sexy for his age. He wore a black mock turtleneck with pressed dark denim jeans and black boots.

“You need a dog like my Leibe. Good dog for growing boys. And a great jogging companion, too. Of course,
you
already have a jogging companion.”

“I do? Oh, you mean da Vinci? I guess so.”

“You two serious?”

I shook my head. I vaguely remembered how this happens. You start dating someone, people ask you if you're serious, will you get married, do you want more kids? I couldn't believe people assumed that romantic evolution for da Vinci and me. Either I was delusional or I didn't like da Vinci as much as he liked me. “I can't see getting into a serious relationship right now,” I said. “Maybe it's the timing. Or maybe it's just him. I don't know.”

Cortland's smile turned down, though the twinkle in his eye showed the opposite. “Well, that's too bad. You deserve to be happy, Ramona.”

I wrapped my fingers around the hot ceramic mug. “I am happy. Okay,
happier
, anyway. But I'm not sure I need a man to feel that. The way I see it, it either happens or it doesn't. I've done some research on those pesky love hormones. I'd like your professional opinion, actually.”

“A professional opinion about love? Didn't know there was such a thing, but I'll give it my best shot.”

“Vasopressin.”

“The monogamy drug.”

“So you've heard of it?”

“I happen to believe humans can very much be monogamous.”

“By choice or biology?”

“Everything in life is a choice, whether inspired by biology or not.”

“But you agree love is a chemical attraction? That the endorphins cause us to fall in love and stay in love?”

He crossed his arms in front of him and I found myself staring at his large hands, and longed to reach out and touch them. Anh had to
be wrong. I couldn't have feelings for him. It would not only be crazy, but wrong.

“I think chemistry is a huge part of it,” he said, leaning in to the table. “But in the end, our brains have to tell us if it's the right thing or not. Otherwise, who knows who we might end up with?”

He may not have meant it as a put down, but that's how I took it. That he thought my loving da Vinci was a colossally bad idea. “You're right,” I said, holding my head high. “We might end up with someone like a fame-obsessed TV star with fake boobs.
For instance
.”

I could feel my cheeks flame and Cortland stared at me for a long moment before he spoke. “Or an immigrant preying on a lonely widow.”

If he hadn't meant it as a put-down
before
… “Oh, is
that
what you think?”

“If it's not love, it's at least convenient. A backyard beefcake at your beck and call.”

He hadn't sounded snappish—it's the women who come off that way—and I couldn't control the shrill of my tone. “Who do you think you are?” I grabbed my jacket to get up and leave, but he grabbed my hand.

“I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It was rude and completely out of line.”

I stood and fought back the tears, releasing his hand. “I started it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't speak that way about my own sister. I don't know what got into me.”

“No,
I'm
sorry. Now that I've acted like a complete dog, perhaps it's time we go look for one. If you'll still get in a car with me?”

His apology sounded sincere, and I really did want to surprise the boys with a dog. They'd been getting along so much better lately, and while their rooms still weren't immaculate, I didn't exactly set the best example in the good housekeeping department. We drove in silence most of the way to the breeder's house, my head pressed against
the cool window as I watched the sunflower fields sway in the wind. The temperature had dropped considerably, and by the time we played with the litter of German Shepherd puppies in the breeder's backyard, it began to drizzle.

“Which one?” the breeder asked, tugging at his rain slicker, clearly ready to take cover.

A wooly gray furball pounced over and playfully bit my hand. Love at first bite. “I think he picked me,” I said, looking up at Cortland.

“You three will be very happy together,” the breeder said dryly, as he led us into the house to do the paperwork. Obviously, he thought Cortland and I were a couple, but I didn't correct him. Neither did Cortland.

“They can be tough to house-train,” the breeder said, handing the puppy over to me.

“I've done it before,” Cortland said assuredly, and I grinned at the prospect of his help. Presumptuous, but kind. I was probably his future sister-in-law and my sons, his future nephews. He was helping out family, was all.

“Could be fun,” he said as he peered over the backseat at the little pup whimpering in the crate, and then looked back to me again.

I don't know who needed more help at the moment—me or the dog—but I looked forward to it all the same.