Before She Knew Him(11)
“You scared the shit out of me, Vinnie,” she said, and the cat meowed back plaintively.
Feeling guilty, Hen went down to the basement to check Vinegar’s food bowl, which was empty, and his litter box, which was full. She amended the situation, and Vinegar even rubbed against Hen’s ankles while she dished out the dry food.
Back upstairs, Hen had a moment when she couldn’t remember what she’d been doing when she’d been interrupted by the cat, but then remembered. She breathed deeply, wondering again if it was a smart decision, but then stepped through her front door and walked to her neighbors’ house.
She rang the bell, deciding too late that she should have brought something as a thank-you gift for dinner—a bag of muffins or something—but then the door was swinging open, and there was Mira, smiling.
“Hi, Hen,” she said.
“Mira, hi. I hope you don’t mind my just dropping by, but I was going to email, then decided how ridiculous it is to email someone when they live right next door to you. So I just came over. Is this a good time?”
“It is. Come in.” Mira held open the door. She was wearing yoga pants and a threadbare University of New Hampshire T-shirt.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” Hen said. “Were you working out?”
Mira smiled, her upper gums visible. “Ha, no! I’m packing. I’m going on a business trip this afternoon.”
“Sorry. Please keep packing. I’ll come back some other time.”
Hen was backing up, but Mira shut the front door. “Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty much done, and my taxi’s not coming until one. It’s not a problem at all. Can I get you something? Some coffee?”
“Actually, Mira, I came by because I was hoping to get another look around your house. It’s just . . . I got back to our place on Saturday night and it looked so plain, and now I’m just nonstop thinking about decorating ideas and where to put furniture. And since we have essentially the same house . . .”
“I get it. Happy to show you around again. Let me run up and change, and I’ll give you the grand tour without the bored husbands looking on.”
“Thank you. Perfect.”
“You sure you don’t want coffee? It’s already made, in the kitchen. You can help yourself.”
Mira turned and bounded up the stairs. Hen felt guilty for barging in, especially since Mira—who had been dressed beautifully on Saturday night—was probably one of those women who hated being seen in regular clothes. But then Hen reminded herself that she was on a mission. She entered the kitchen. The coffee did smell good, and there was a clean mug next to the coffeepot, so she poured herself a cup. It was some sort of flavored brew, hazelnut or vanilla, the type of thing she would never buy for herself but enjoyed when she had it at someone else’s house. She leaned against the granite countertop and looked at the clean, stylish kitchen. It was like looking at something in a catalog, everything perfectly in tune with the current kitchen fads. It had some sort of cork flooring, subway tile backsplashes, simple white cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen in Hen’s house had ornate rustic cabinets and a linoleum floor that had probably been white once upon a time, and it had come with a mustard-yellow refrigerator. Hen actually loved the vintage-y fridge but despised the rest of it. Still, if she changed it around she’d do something more exciting than what Mira had done with her kitchen.
“Oh, good. You got coffee.” Mira was entering the kitchen. She hadn’t changed, exactly, but she’d put on a sweatshirt—also with a UNH logo—over her shirt. It wasn’t cold in the house, and Hen quickly decided that Mira was being modest, covering up just how much the well-worn T-shirt had revealed of her body.
“I did. It’s delicious. Where are you flying to?”
Mira hesitated for a brief moment, then said, “Charlotte, North Carolina.”
“Oh,” Hen said, unable to come up with anything to say about that particular location.
“You know, I almost forgot where I was going. It’s always the same. I stay at a Marriott that’s near the airport and right next to a Chili’s or an Outback.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I love it. It’s just . . . it’s not glamorous. You tell people you travel a lot for work and they think you’re jetting around, living the life.”
“I know you already told me, but you sell . . . educational software, right?”
“To school systems mainly. Charlotte is one of my biggest clients. I’m there a lot.”
“Matthew doesn’t mind?”
“That I’m away a lot? He says he does, but who knows? I’d hate it if it were the reverse. I don’t like being alone, and I just don’t think he minds it.”
“So it all works out,” Hen proclaimed, putting down her mug of coffee.
“Shall we do the tour again? Want to see upstairs?”
“Sure,” Hen said. “If I’m not intruding.”
They went so slowly through the house, Mira clearly thrilled to be able to talk about every design decision, that Hen began to worry they’d never make it back to Matthew’s office. Upstairs, they looked at the master bedroom, Mira saying, “I think it’s really important where you place the bed. Have you noticed the morning light that the bedrooms get?”