Getting Some

“Oh, hello,” I say, relieved. “Greg, how are you?”

“I’m good. Good.”

“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, though I already have a sneaking suspicion.

Another pause, long enough that I have to wonder if he heard my question. “Greg?”

“Um, sorry.” I hear some nervous laughter on his end. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She gave me your number. Said you were, uh, interested in getting together. With me.”

“She said what?” I practically shriek. I know my mother has been desperate to marry me off, but how could she?

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

I want to tell Greg to stop apologizing, just be a man and express what he wants. But I see an image of his face and the brown eyes he hides behind thick glasses, and suddenly feel sorry for him. Almost sorry enough to spare his feelings, lie to him and tell him that yes, I did want to get together.

But that would accomplish nothing.

So I go for the truth.

“Greg…I don’t know if my mother told you or not, but I recently ended a relationship.”

“I know. You were engaged to Adam Hart.”

“Right. And…and I’m not anymore. The last thing I’m interested in doing is dating.” I don’t add that even if I weren’t nursing a broken heart, I wouldn’t be interested in dating him.

In short, I’m letting him down easy. Giving him a way to save face.

“Say no more,” Greg says.

“You understand?”

“I went through the same thing when my marriage ended. I know what you’re going through.”

“Of course.” I suddenly remember hearing the surprising news that he and his wife parted about a year ago.

“That’s why I thought…well, I wondered. You know, if you ever wanted to get dinner sometime. Do something to take your mind off your troubles…”

I appreciate the gesture, even if he isn’t my type. “Maybe in a couple months,” I tell him.

“Why don’t you take my number? Call me. Whenever. If you want, of course.”

Greg rattles off his number, and I jot it down.

We end the call, and no sooner do I drop the cordless handset on my bed, than I shoot to my feet. I head out of my apartment through the door that connects to my parents’ house by way of their kitchen.

I find my mother upstairs in the laundry room, standing at the counter folding towels. Seeing me, she smiles brightly.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

I walk into the room, saying, “I just heard from Greg.”

“Oh, he called.” Her hands rest on the pile of unfolded bath towels and face cloths. “Did you make a date for dinner?”

“What were you thinking?” I ask her. “Greg? He is totally not my type.”

“Which is exactly why I thought he’d be perfect for you. You haven’t exactly chosen wisely before.”

My mouth falls open. “How can you say that? You liked Adam! You couldn’t wait for me to marry him!”

“That’s not exactly true. I always had reservations about your union. His father is a womanizer, and that’s a trait I believe runs in the family.”

“You never said—”

“I was hopeful, but proven wrong. I’ve come to terms with that now.”

I eye my mother skeptically. I’m not sure I should believe her. She was helping me plan the most lavish wedding Atlanta’s black society would ever see. Why would she do that if she didn’t think I’d be happy with Adam?

“But Greg,” my mother goes on. “I’ve never heard a bad thing said about him, nor his father or his uncles. And from what I can tell, they absolutely adore their wives.”

“That’s because they have no choice,” I quip. “They aren’t exactly the most attractive guys in Atlanta.”

My mother stops folding a large white towel to gape at me. “Claudia Fisher. I did not raise you to judge people by their looks.”

“Mom, it’s true.”

“It’s also true that Greg is a well-respected doctor.”

“A plastic surgeon. Hmm, I wonder if he’s ever thought of going under the knife himself.”

“That’s awful!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Just that you like all the pretty boys—boys like Adam Hart?”

“Well. Yeah,” I answer honestly. “Besides, Greg’s divorced.”

“With no children. No baggage to tie him to his ex. For a man his age—”

“I’m not interested,” I stress. “The truth is I’m not really interested in anyone.”

Now my mother moves toward me. “If you tell me that you still have feelings for Adam—”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”