Mrs. Fletcher(41)



“Good for you.”

Amanda laughed a little sadly, like she was unworthy of her own fantasy. Eve wanted to tell her she was beautiful already, but instead she made a toast.

“To Ursula and Juniper.”

“Juniper and Ursula,” Amanda replied, and they clinked their tiny glasses.

*

By the time they left the restaurant, Eve had come full circle, back to the idea that this was a date, and a pretty good one at that. They’d talked for hours without hitting any dead spots, they’d drunk a little too much wine, they’d laughed and told the truth about their lives.

It was quiet as she walked Amanda to her car, a bracing autumnal chill in the air. The fluttery feeling in Eve’s chest was even stronger than it had been before.

“Thanks for dinner,” Amanda said. “I really enjoyed it.”

“Me too.”

Instead of getting in her car, Amanda just stood there, smiling shyly, like she was waiting for something else to happen. Eve wanted to kiss her, but she was paralyzed, unsure about which one of them was the confident one.

It has to be me, she thought.

She was older. She was the boss. But she didn’t feel confident at all. She felt lost and scared, like she was floating in space, completely untethered.

And then, almost as if she were reading Eve’s mind, Amanda stepped forward, opening her arms and tilting her chin at an inviting angle. Eve swooped in and kissed her on the mouth.

“Whoa!” Amanda stiffened and pulled away with a shocked expression, raising both hands in self-defense. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Eve was mortified. “I just thought—”

“Wow.” Amanda laughed nervously, wiping her wrist across her mouth. The gesture seemed a little excessive—the kiss had only lasted a second, no tongue or saliva involved. “I just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Oh, God.” Eve hid her face in her hands. “I’m so stupid. I drank too much. I’m so so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Amanda told her, still sounding a little shocked. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yes it is,” Eve muttered into her palm. “I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t right.”

“Really. It’s okay.”

Eve uncovered her face. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry.” Amanda touched her gently on the arm. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Eve felt a little sick. She hadn’t thought about the possibility of Amanda telling anyone.

“Thank you,” she said. “I would really appreciate that.”

*

She drove home in a fog of regret, wondering how she could have done something so irresponsible, so unlike herself. Was she that lonely, that desperate for sexual contact? It made no sense, taking a risk like that—jeopardizing her job, her home, her son’s college education—just to pretend for a night that she was living in a porn video.

You are so stupid, she told herself, trying not to think about the bitter disappointment she’d felt when Amanda’s lips had failed to open.

She was normally a careful person—careful to a fault—and now she’d gone and put her livelihood in the hands of a young woman she barely knew, a girl with a grenade tattooed on her chest, probably not the best decision-maker in the world. It was a terrible thing to hand someone that kind of power, even someone who claimed to be your friend.

She wanted to call Amanda and repeat her apology, let her know that it would never happen again, that their relationship would be cordial and professional for however long Amanda remained at the Senior Center. But maybe a call wasn’t the best idea, not so soon. Maybe that would only aggravate the situation, make it seem like a bigger deal than it already was. But she had to say something, for her own peace of mind, so she sent the blandest text she could think of:

You okay?

Yeah, Amanda replied, almost immediately. Fine.

Are we still friends?

Totally, Amanda replied, with a smiley face added for reassurance.

A moment later, another text arrived, a single word trapped in a separate bubble.

Ursula

Just the name, no exclamation mark. It looked sad like that, all alone, dead on arrival.





Parents Weekend


“This is Ellen.” The freckly redhead handed her phone to the hipster Asian dude sitting next to her. “She’s twenty-two and fairly high-functioning. She has a GED and works full time at CVS. She’s a really good cashier, as long as the customers don’t ask a lot of questions or try to use an expired coupon. She used to freak out when people made small talk, but she’s trained herself to handle the common stuff.”

The Asian guy took a quick glance at the screen, then passed the phone to Amber, who made a point of staring at it for a long time, because everybody’s autistic sibling was uniquely wonderful and important. It was easy to see why she’d been elected president of the club as a sophomore.

“She looks so serious,” Amber said. “I bet she’s really smart.” She passed the phone to her veep, a petite sorority girl named Cat who kept a jumbo dispenser of Purell in her purse and squirted it on her hands every five minutes. The whole room reeked of it. “What was it like for you, having a big sister like Ellen?”

Tom Perrotta's Books