Life and Other Inconveniences(101)

“I’m thirty-five.”

“Like I said, highlighting can be your best friend.”

A half hour later, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a little jacket, sandals, borrowed earrings and with my hair sprayed with argan oil and with a solemn promise not to put it in a ponytail, I was deemed fit for a date. Riley led me into the den, where Donelle, Gigi and the five dogs were relaxing (or slowly dying) in a fog of canine gas.

“Ta-da! Doesn’t she look great?” Riley said.

“Gorge,” Donelle said. “Hope you get a little some-some, sweetie.”

“Donelle! Gross! That’s my mother we’re talking about! Gigi, what do you think?”

“I think Donelle should stop aborting words in order to sound youthful,” she said, flicking a glance at me. “You look much better, Emma.”

“Thank you, Genevieve.” I rolled my eyes.

“You look quite nice,” she amended.

“Thank you,” I answered without eye rolling.

The doorbell rang its multi-toned chimes. “I’ll get it,” I said.

“Oh, we’re all coming,” Donelle said, and so I greeted Miller with my three womenfolk and five dogs. Allegra mounted his leg, and Mac attempted to jump on him.

“Let’s run for it before these dogs get rapey,” I said. “Bye, girls! Have a fun night!”

“Bye!” they called, and I have to say, it was kind of sweet, all of them watching, Riley holding Minuet, Mac barking at the hydrangea bush, Donelle making gestures that probably meant get a little some-some, Carmen squatting to pee, and my grandmother giving us a regal wave.

“How are you?” I asked my date.

“Great,” he said, not sounding particularly happy. “I thought we could go to Mystic, okay?”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t want . . . well, basically, everyone in town will talk if they see us together, and my mother-in-law is already upset because you brought up Ashley at the party.”

“I . . . yeah. I felt bad that she . . . felt bad.”

“It wasn’t you.”

He was driving in jerks and sprints. “Hey, there. Relax, okay? We’re gonna have a nice dinner. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

Not in the most talkative mood . . . “How’s Tess?”

“She was screaming and naked when I left.”

“So, normal, then?”

He didn’t smile. “Sorry. That was rude. I was trying to lighten things up.”

“It’s fine.”

I was fairly carsick by the time we got there. “Miller,” I said as he closed the car door, “if you want to go back home—”

“No. I don’t. I’m sorry. I just . . .” He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “This is the first date I’ve had since Ashley died. The last first date I had was when I was fifteen.”

I nodded. “Should we call it something other than a date, then? Like, dinner between friends?”

“No. Let’s call it what it is. A date.”

This did not appear to make him happy. “Okay! Super!” Easy on the jolliness, Emma.

We went inside the restaurant, which was one of those kitschy “guess what? we’re near the ocean!” places with nets and mermaids and shells for décor. A wooden pirate with a hook for a hand and a patch over his eye stood next to the ma?tre d’ stand.

“Uh . . . this place was different the last time I came,” Miller said.

“It’s cute!” I said. “It’s fine!” Exclamation points seemed to be my stress go-to.

“G’day, mateys,” said the hostess in a toneless voice. She was dressed like a porno version of a sailor—a shirt tied under her breasts and a skirt that barely covered her butt. On her head was a little white hat with red horns. “Can I get ye a table by the water, me pretties?”

“So much wrong with this picture,” I murmured.

“If you want to go somewhere else, we can,” Miller said.

“Please don’t!” the girl said. “Hardly anyone comes here, and I really need this job. Please, please, just look like you’re having fun. Don’t leave.”

Miller looked at me.

“It’ll be super fun!” I said.

“Thank you. I mean, thanks, my hearties. Or something. Do you have a reservation?”

“Finlay,” Miller said.

“Right. Okay. Welcome aboard, then,” she said. “Right this way, mateys.”

The poor girl. It was chilly tonight, and she was barely dressed. Plus, she was wearing three-inch heels. “Are you cold, honey?” I asked as we sat down.

“Freezing,” she muttered. “Here’s our grog list. Avast, me fine beauties.”

“Poor girl,” I said as she walked away. “I hope you speak pirate, because I’m a little lost.”

If there’d been a stage, this place would’ve passed for a strip bar. The servers were all women, all dressed like the hostess, and all having about as much fun. The lighting was dim and red, the tables adorned with plastic parrots and lanterns. Miller was rubbing his forehead.

“Hey,” I said. “It’ll be fun. It’s different, right?”