Serious Moonlight(13)

“Fellas, coincidence and fate figure largely in our lives.”

—Special Agent Dale Cooper, Twin Peaks (1990)





5




* * *



Aunt Mona had taken me to Pike Place Market since I was old enough to stroll the tiled waterfront arcade. It was only a few blocks away from the Moonlight Diner, and even now, as we approached the iconic Public Market Center clock in the late afternoon before my third hotel shift, my mind still associated it with pleasure-filled Saturdays: watching fishmongers throw halibut for the delight of tourists; pressing my nose against the window of Beecher’s as cheese was made; rubbing the snout of Rachel, the bronze pig at the market’s entrance, for good luck. The market’s acres of shops spread over multiple floors were a never-ending labyrinth of discoveries waiting to be found.

But this afternoon, I was tagging along while she picked up a check from a stall that sold her People of Seattle prints—quirky drawings of quirky residents.

I’d worked another shift at the hotel last night. A Daniel-free shift, as he wasn’t scheduled. To be honest, after reading his Missed Connections ad, I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed that I didn’t have to see him. Or what, if anything, I would say when I eventually did. But I thought about it. A lot.

After I’d woken up today, I called into work to check the schedule and found that a staff meeting was being held at seven thirty p.m. to discuss the ongoing sewage cleanup in the hotel garage, so I decided to take the ferry over a little early with Aunt Mona to waste time and perhaps get some advice.

“Okay, ’kay, ’kay. You’re telling me that the boy who wrote this unbelievably romantic Missed Connections ad is your coworker? Rewind what you just told me,” Aunt Mona said, handing me back my phone. Today she was wearing her Oscar Wilde “dandy” outfit: green velvet jacket with tails, tweed waistcoat, oversize neck scarf with twinkling pin, and heeled spats. A tiny top hat was tipped rakishly over one brow, and her wig beneath it might not have been out of place in Victorian England if it weren’t a color that was somewhere between lime and shamrock. As she strolled, she tapped the tip of a sparkly cane on the floor as if she were Willy Wonka touring his own chocolate factory.

“Please don’t make me say it again,” I begged as we passed a movie-worthy gray view of Puget Sound through the dingy restaurant window where Tom Hanks talked to Rob Reiner in Sleepless in Seattle.

Aunt Mona blinked eyes trimmed in enormous fake green lashes and dramatic eye shadow. “You’re telling me that this is the guy you did the four-leg frolic with in the back seat of a car—”

“Shh!”

“He works with you at the hotel? Holy smoke, Birdie, that’s . . .”

“A nightmare?”

“More like destiny,” she said, grinning at me like a deranged psychopath. The green lipstick didn’t help.

“Don’t start with that,” I said, shoving my phone in my purse. “Daniel already said something about fate.”

“Daniel,” she says, shivering dramatically with both shoulders, causing the LED-lit boutonniere pinned to her velvet jacket to blink. “Sounds so sophisticated. I need to see a photo.”

“Keep on needing. I don’t have one.”

“I’m a visual person, mi corazón. I cannot give you my blessing until I see how hot he is.”

“I’m not asking for your blessing. I’m asking what I should do. He wants to talk about what we did.”

“The banging? The horizontal mambo? A little pickle-me, tickle-me?”

“Please stop,” I begged, glancing around to make sure no one heard her.

“Stop being your prudish grandmother. She’s gone, Birdie. It’s okay to live a little.”

“Like mother, like daughter, huh?”

Aunt Mona stopped in the middle of the market, hooked her cane on her forearm, and grasped my shoulders with both hands. “Your mother was a goddess. Not a whore. Not a sinner. You know this.”

A sudden swell of emotion tightened my throat. I whispered, “I think I made a huge mistake.”

“Look. So, you had sex. Big deal. I’ve told you a million times—virginity isn’t something you lose. It’s not a missing sock. It’s a state of mind.”

“It was weird and awkward.”

“Because you ran away afterward?”

“No. It’s why I ran. It was . . . not like what I expected. It wasn’t magical. It wasn’t . . . I don’t know . . . Disneyland.”

“Disneyland?”

“You know. Matterhorn. Churros. Fireworks. The happiest place on earth.”

Mona laughed softly. “God, I love you, kid.”

“Really?” I said, scowling. “Because it sure seems like you’re laughing while I’m trying to spill my guts to you, which is what you’re always begging me to do.”

“You’re absolutely right, darling. Forgive me.” She slung an arm around my shoulder, and we strolled together while she talked. “Look. Sure, my first time was magical—”

I’d heard about it. In detail. Many times. I really wish I hadn’t.

“But since then? Pfft. Do you know how much weird sex I’ve had in my life?”