Unravelled (10 page)

When he departed, Jim said, “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”

I decided not to mention the rolling around naked with my ex. “Oh . . . this and that... writing, spending time with friends, doing handicrafts . . .” But, my voice would not stop trembling. What was happening to me? Was I about to have some sort of emotional breakdown in front of this handsome, successful architect? God! I was such a loser!

“You seem upset. You can talk to me, you know.”

As if! It had been a while since I’d been on a date, but I knew there were rules about this kind of thing. I seemed to remember seeing a checklist somewhere.

When on a date:

• Do not drink too much.

• Do not talk about your old boyfriend.

• Do not cry!!!!

• And never, ever drink too much, talk about your old boyfriend, and cry.

But Jim Davidson was looking at me so intently and with such understanding, that it was like he really wanted me to open up to him. I barely knew this man but he really seemed to care about my feelings, like the turmoil I’d been going through actually mattered to him. Did I dare tell him about my commitment-phobic ex and his recent wan catharsis about marriage and family? I’d leave out the part where we had sex, of course.

I took a long sip of the martini now placed before me. Clearing my throat loudly, I said, “Uh, I—I went through a difficult breakup a few months ago.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged.

And for some reason, I did. It was crazy, breaking the most obvious of all the dating rules, but it was like I was powerless to stop. Drawing a ragged breath, I told him all about my fruitless relationship with Colin and his overpowering fear of commitment. I told him how I was ready to get married and start a family (which, come to think of it, was another big no-no on the dating checklist), and I didn’t feel I could afford to waste my time with someone who didn’t share my dreams for the future. I knew I was ruining my chances with Jim, that as soon as I stopped talking, he would undoubtedly summon the waiter for our bill, mutter some excuse about an early meeting, and hightail it out of there. But it felt so good to open up to him. When I’d finally run out of words, I drained my second lemon drop. “Well . . . that’s about it,” I said, awkwardly.

“That must have been tough—for both of you,” Jim said, reaching for my hand. I braced myself for the inevitable:
While you were talking about your ex-boyfriend for the last ten minutes, I remembered that I have to pick a colleague up at the airport.
But instead, he leaned toward me. “I hope you don’t hate me for saying this, but I can understand Colin’s point of view.”

“What?” I squawked.

“I’m not saying he’s right, I’m just saying I remember how I was at his age. It takes some of us a long time to get our priorities straight.” He gave me an intense look that said:
I finally realize that committing to a wonderful woman is the most important thing in the world.
Butterflies danced in my stomach as a sudden realization struck me: This guy could be everything I was looking for.

The waiter approached, prompting us to focus on the menu. Jim made recommendations as we perused the selection—not in an arrogant way, just as someone with excellent taste and a vast knowledge of fine food. And his choices were divine. We shared a heaping bowl of mussels with ginger and cardamom to begin, followed by a light green salad with red pears, blue cheese, and raspberry vinaigrette. For the main course, Jim ordered the wild sockeye salmon, and for me, he recommended the Ahi tuna with black truffle risotto. He also chose an excellent Cabernet Shiraz, because, he said, if you really love red wine, it doesn’t matter if you’re drinking it with seafood. Again, I couldn’t help but appreciate Jim’s sophistication. It’s not like Colin and I only went out for beer and nachos, but he certainly never made informed suggestions in high-end restaurants. And he certainly never ordered an expensive bottle of accompanying wine!

Throughout the meal our conversation flowed smoothly. We left the topic of my past relationship behind, and talked mostly about our careers. Jim told me how a twelfth-grade trip to Europe inspired him to become an architect. I told him how I’d wanted to be a pop singing sensation, but intense stage fright—and the school choir director—had convinced me I had a talent for the written word. Our repartee was lively and witty, and I realized I was enjoying myself more than I had in months. In that moment, I felt the return of the optimism I’d experienced before that night with Colin. But I couldn’t let my elation get the better of me. There was one vital piece of information I had yet to find out.

Over cappuccinos and a shared plate of molten-centred chocolate cake, I tentatively broached the subject. “So . . . it’s my brother’s birthday tomorrow,” I lied.

“Nice. Do you have birthday plans for him?”

“Just a small family dinner.” I took a sip of my cappuccino. “Birthdays are really important in my family. What about yours?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “at my age you prefer to let them pass without ceremony.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” I said, flirtatiously. “And your birthday is when,
exactly
?”

“December 22.”

Yesssss! Capricorn! An ambitious, goal-oriented Capricorn! While I would have to look it up in more detail in my astrology book, I knew that Capricorn was an earth sign. A great match for my water sign! God, this could really be him!

When we’d drained our coffees and enjoyed the last morsel of cake, Jim said, “I can’t believe I have to go home tonight.”

Do you really? I was tempted to coo, but managed to refrain. As attracted as I was to Jim, sleeping with him so early on in the relationship was bound to be a mistake. Besides, one had to be careful with these older, sophisticated gentlemen. They were probably more traditional than my generation and might consider a proposition too forward. I didn’t want Jim to think I was a loose woman, or a floozy, or whatever term men his age used for “slut.” Besides, inviting a man like him to a sleepover at Kendra’s cluttered, girly apartment just didn’t seem right.

“That’s too bad,” I finally said, when I’d swallowed my cake. “I’m having such a nice time.”

“Me too,” he said, smiling at me. “But I’ve got to make the ten o’clock ferry. I’d better get you home.”

“Okay,” I said brightly, masking my disappointment.

As we raced through the darkened streets back to Queen Anne, I was surprised at how forlorn I felt about the evening’s demise. I wanted more time with him. I wanted to stay up, talking and drinking wine with him, until the sun began to rise. Did I want more than that? Was I ready to take this relationship to the next level? We hadn’t even kissed, and yet I felt this intense connection to him. Did I dare try to
lure
him into spending the night in Seattle? I mean, he could afford a hotel room, right? What was the big rush to get back to his house on Bainbridge?

Jim interrupted my internal plotting. “I hate to cut our evening short like this. I’d get a hotel room and spend the night, but I’ve got friends coming to visit first thing in the morning.”

Damn. “Oh, that’s okay. I should get my beauty sleep anyway.”

“You don’t need it.”

Jim turned onto Mercer, and all too soon, we were pulling up in front of my building. Ever the gentleman, he parked the car and walked me to the front door. “I had a great time tonight,” he said, leaning close to me.

“Me too,” I gasped, feeling nearly breathless from his proximity.

“I’m going to have to book a lot more meetings in Seattle, I think.”

“That would be nice.”

He leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle, almost tentative, but electrifying nonetheless. My knees threatened to buckle and I gripped his shoulders. He took this as a sign of passion and intensified his kissing. Oh man. Now I really did want to grab him by the tie and lead him up to my apartment, past Kendra, undoubtedly lying on the couch watching
Miss Congeniality,
and into my tiny bedroom. But just as I was about to make my move, he broke away.

“Wow,” he said, huskily, looking into my eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, dumbly.

“Look...” he paused. “This might seem like I’m moving kind of fast—”

Yes! Yes, I will have sex with you!

“But I’m going to Whistler this weekend for an environmental symposium. Would you . . . would you like to come with me?”

Oh my god! Had he just asked me to go away with him? “Uh . . .”

“You could ski while I’m in meetings. It’s really beautiful up there.”

“Well, then . . . yes. I’d love to go to Whistler with you.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch with the details.” He looked at his watch again. “I’ve got to go.” And after giving me a brief kiss on the cheek, he hurried back to his car.

Fifteen

LET ME GET this straight,” Angie said, gesturing with her knitting needle, which, incidentally, now held exactly three rows of periwinkle stitches. “Last week, you were in tears over Colin, and now you’re going to Whistler with the old guy?”

“Jim,” I corrected her, leaning back onto Nicola’s luxurious sofa. “And yes.”

“God,” Sophie said, taking a sip of Merlot, “your life is so exciting.”

“Do you ski?” Nicola asked. “Blackcomb Mountain is spectacular. We spent Christmas with my parents there a couple of years ago.”

“Not really,” I said. I had tried, once, on a high school ski trip, but ended up removing my skis in frustration and walking down the mountain. It took me three hours to reach the bottom, and I spent the rest of the weekend in the lodge eating french fries and drinking hot chocolate.

“Maybe you could take a lesson?” Nicola continued. “It’s so much fun!”

“Maybe.” I shrugged indifferently, purling two stitches. French fries and hot chocolate actually sounded like a lot of fun to me too.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of soon to be going away with this Jim guy?” Angie said. “I mean, how long have you known him?”

“Look,” I said defensively, “Colin and I took things slowly and I wasted four years of my life with him. Going away with Jim feels right, so I’m going to do it. And I’m not going to over-analyze it.”

Of course, I
had
overanalyzed it, nearly every night this week as I lay in bed wondering if it was too soon to be spending a weekend away with Jim. I had listed the pros:

• I felt comfortable with him.

• I was attracted to him.

• I felt confident that he was a good, trustworthy person.

• He was a Capricorn, a sign that was given “two enthusiastic thumbs up” in the relationship section of my astrology book.

There were also a few cons:

• We were going to a foreign country. (It was just Canada and only a five-hour drive from home, but still...there was an increased risk.)

• I barely knew him.

• It had only been a few months since Colin and I had broken up.

• It had only been two weeks since Colin and I had had sex.

But something told me to jump at this opportunity, that I would regret it if I dragged my heels on this burgeoning relationship. Besides, who was Angie to judge? She’d only been seeing Thad for a short time and she was already wearing one of those silly red Kabbalah strings around her wrist.

“Will you be sharing a room?” Sophie asked.

“I—I don’t know.” I couldn’t help blushing. “He didn’t mention it.”

Nicola gasped. “I would hope not! You barely know him.”

Angie said, “Obviously he feels he knows her well enough to invite her to Whistler for the weekend. He’s probably planning to bang her.”

“Not if he’s any kind of gentleman, he’s not,” Nicola countered.

“Too bad Martin couldn’t make it this week,” Sophie commented. “We need a male opinion on this.”

“He had some business in San Francisco,” I explained, eager to shift the subject from Jim’s and my sleeping arrangements. “A conference or a convention or something. But we should take this opportunity to catch up to him with our knitting. He’s already on his second project and we’re not even done our first!”

I looked around at the startling lack of progress we’d made in our weeks together. While Sophie’s tiny mint hat was nearly ready to be bound off and sewn, Angie had done virtually nothing but cast on stitches. She was keen on the initial stages of buying beautiful yarn and glossy pattern books, but she seemed to lack the follow-through to complete anything. Nicola’s mauve angora scarf, on the other hand, was nearly half done. Her method of knitting was incredibly painstaking and precise, as she regularly checked her gauge and periodically stopped to count stitches. Slowly but surely, she was making progress.

In contrast, I knitted with abandon. My fingers seemed to fly once I got going. Like Mel had said, it became an almost unconscious Zen act. But when I broke for a sip of wine or a snack, an inspection of my work found any number of mistakes. I was continually ripping out rows, resulting in my mom’s (or, at this rate, my sister-in-law’s) birthday scarf still being only five inches long. Really, other than Martin, none of us would have qualified as “natural” knitters.

Angie would not be distracted by talk of our lack of knitting prowess. “I may not be a man, but I certainly know them. Sex is definitely on the agenda.”

“But maybe it’s different with older guys?” Sophie said.

“Please!” Angie said, like the possibility was completely ludicrous. “He’s forty-eight. Not ninety! He’s going to want some. I guarantee it.”

“You guarantee it?” I said, giggling nervously. The thought of having sex with Jim this weekend brought up a jumble of emotions: anxiety, apprehension, mixed with a little excitement. Unfortunately, my uncontrolled giggling made it sound like I was simply
dying
to fuck his brains out.

“I’m not so sure,” Sophie said. “If he was in his twenties or thirties, I’d agree. But he’s almost fifty. Maybe he wants to take it slow?”

“You’ve only been on what—two dates—with him?” Nicola said. “I can’t imagine that he expects you to consummate your relationship already!”

“True,” I mumbled, while thinking that Nicola really didn’t know men very well.

“You’re so naive!” Angie scoffed. “Of course he wants to do the nasty with her. Why do you think he’s inviting her away for the weekend—for her great conversational skills?”

“Gee, thanks,” I snapped.

“Sorry.” Angie tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean that you don’t have great conversational skills. You do.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said dismissively. “Nice bracelet, by the way.”

“Thanks,” she said, haughtily, fingering the string. “It was a gift from Thad. It protects me from the evil eye.”

“The evil eye?” Sophie asked.

“Like, other people’s negative thoughts and stuff.” It appeared to be working against mine, because she continued, unfazed. “And it reminds me not to have negative thoughts about other people . . . so I can live a more positive, fulfilling existence.”

Oh brother. I simply couldn’t take another detailed account of Angie and Thad’s freaky belief system, nor did I want to further discuss Jim’s sexual expectations. I turned to my tried-and-true subject change. “So Nic, how are the wedding plans coming along?”

Nicola’s eyes darted nervously toward Sophie. Damn! In my self-absorbed state, I had completely forgotten about her untimely exit last week when Nicola was trying on bridal headresses. “Oh, fine,” she said, dismissively, staring intently at her mauve stitches.

There was an awkward silence as we all scrambled for a light and breezy discussion topic. I was just about to ask Angie if she’d enjoyed any more fantastic lighthouse sex when Sophie said, “Look . . . I want to apologize for last week.” She turned to Nicola. “I don’t know why I got so emotional when you were trying on wedding veils. I guess I was just overwhelmed with disappointment about how my marriage has turned out. But I’m sure yours will be wonderful, and I want you to feel comfortable talking about it around me.”

“No, it was insensitive of me,” Nicola cried. “I’m always going on and on about my dress, my hair, the most special day of my life, blah blah blah. I’m sure you’re all bored to tears hearing about it.”

“Not at all,” Sophie said, reaching to squeeze Nicola’s hand. “I want to hear all the details. I was premenstrual. It was a moment of weakness. I’m fine now.”

“Well, thank you,” Nicola said, smiling at her. “But even I’m getting tired of talking about it. How’s Flynn? He must be getting so big. And that hat is going to be so cute on him!”

“He’s fine.” Sophie shrugged. “He’s been remarkably unaffected by all the tension between Rob and me.”

“Things haven’t improved, then?” Angie asked, leaning forward to cut a piece of brie.

“No,” Sophie said, her voice tinged with sadness. “They’re worse than ever. I can feel myself emotionally checking out of the relationship.”

“You mustn’t!” Nicola cried. “You have to fight for your marriage! You can’t give up.”

“Have you thought of counselling?” I suggested.

Sophie gave a humourless laugh. “Rob would actually have to take time off work to go to counselling. He’d never do it.”

Angie leaned over and patted Sophie’s knee. “I’m sure he would if he realized how upset you are.”

“It’s actually . . . It’s actually a bit complicated,” Sophie said, nervously, reaching for her glass of wine. We all remained silent as she took a long drink. I, for one, was dying to know what the complication was, but pretended to focus on my knitting. I didn’t want to push her. Finally, she put down her glass and said, “I may as well tell you. I—I’ve been developing feelings for someone else.”

“Oh god!” Nicola gasped, reaching for her own glass of wine.

“I didn’t intend for it to happen,” Sophie continued. “It just sort of snuck up on me, but now... now I’m not sure I even want my marriage to work.”

“Are you sleeping with this guy?” Angie asked.

Nicola nearly choked on her mouthful of wine, hurriedly holding a napkin to her lips. I guess it was a lot for a technical virgin to take in.

“No, no,” Sophie assured us. “There’s nothing physical going on. I mean, he doesn’t even know I have these feelings.”

“So . . . maybe it’s just a crush?” I said, hopefully. “Maybe it’ll pass?”

“It won’t pass,” Sophie replied, morosely. “These are
real
feelings.” She stopped to take another drink. “I think . . . I might be falling in love with this guy.”

“No, Sophie!” Nicola the Pure cried out. “What about Flynn? You can’t break up his family!”

“Let’s not jump the gun,” Angie said. “Is this guy even interested in you?”

“I—I don’t know. Sometimes I think he is, but then other times . . . I just don’t know.”

Angie continued, “Where did you meet him?”

“At a . . . uh . . . place that I go to.”

“A bar?” Nicola said, sounding incredibly judgmental. “You can’t leave your husband for a guy you met in a bar.”

“Not a bar,” Sophie said. “Where we met is irrelevant. What matters is that I feel like I want to pursue something with this guy. I can’t stop thinking about what we might have together if . . . if I were available.”

“Oh no,” Nicola said quietly, absently placing her scarf in its bag. Sophie’s admission was upsetting, of course, but Nicola was acting like Sophie’s mystery man was her own fiancé, Neil.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, my own scarf sitting forgotten in my lap.

“I don’t know. I’m open to advice.”

“Well,” Angie began knowledgeably, “first, you need to find out if this guy—what’s his name?”

“Uh . . . I’d rather not say.”

“Okay, if this
guy
has feelings for you, too. It would be stupid to leave Rob only to find out that the guy’s not interested.”

“True.” Sophie nodded her head. “So how do I find out?”

“Next time you’re at the place that you go where you see the guy, you’re going to have to lay it on the line,” Angie said.

“I can’t!” Sophie cried, covering her face.

“You have to,” Angie retorted.

“No she doesn’t.” Nicola jumped in. “She should stop going to the place where she sees the guy. She should talk to Rob about her feelings before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late,” Sophie cried. “I really care about him—the guy.”

“Then you need to tell the guy,” Angie said. “And you need to do it soon. If you find out that the guy’s not interested, then you can stop going to the place where you see him and focus on your marriage.”

I addressed Sophie. “But how can you have such strong feelings for the guy already? I mean, I don’t know what you do at this place where you go, but have you really had a chance to talk to him? Are you just physically attracted to the guy, or do you really
know
him?”

Angie said, “But what if the guy
is
interested? Are you really prepared to leave Rob for him? Is he prepared to be a father to Flynn?”

“Flynn has a father!” Nicola cried. “This guy will never be Flynn’s real father!”

“Stop!” Sophie cried. “Enough with the speculation!” She buried her face in her hands for a long moment. When she lifted it and spoke, her voice was hushed. “The place where I see him is here, at the stitch ’n bitch club.”

Three jaws dropped open in shock.

“And the guy... is Martin.”

“Gay Martin?” I shrieked. “You’re falling in love with gay Martin?” So I hadn’t imagined her flirting with him!

“He’s not gay!” Sophie cried. “Why do you say he’s gay?”

“Because he
is
gay!” Nicola said.

“No he isn’t,” Angie countered. “What makes you think he’s gay?”

“His gayness!” I screeched. “He wears nice clothes. He always smells good. He’s in a knitting circle!”