Mrs. Fletcher(83)

His reply arrived in multiple parts, a rapidly accumulating stack of bubbles.

Vermont

Visiting my friend at UVM

This girl was hitting on me at a party

and I kept thinking

Id rather be with u

Eve laughed, because it was so crazy for him to be thinking of her under those circumstances. Except it wasn’t completely crazy.

Not crazy at all, come to think of it.

This girl, Eve wrote, because she suddenly needed to know. Was she pretty?

I guess

What did she look like?

Julian took another moment to gather his thoughts.

u r hotter . . .

Waaay fucking hotter

That’s sweet, she told him, adding a smile emoji. I’m flattered.

Two more messages arrived just as she’d sent hers off.

I jack off all the time

thinking of u

Eve grimaced. A murky sound escaped from her throat.

Julian . . . This isn’t a good idea.

Im so fucking hard right now

She closed her eyes and tried not to think about that.

I could send u a pic, he added.

Good night, Julian. I’m turning off my phone now.

He didn’t protest, didn’t even try to change her mind.

night eve

She didn’t really turn off her phone, but he didn’t text her again, which was too bad in a way, because she really did miss him, and thought he would’ve liked to know—not that she ever would have told him—that she was touching herself and thinking about his body. The orgasm that had eluded her before was suddenly within easy reach—right there at her fingertips—and a lot more intense than any she’d had in recent memory.

Thank you, she would have liked to tell him. Thank you for that.





Dirty Martini


Eve knew it was time to start dating again—it was one of her top three New Year’s resolutions—but it was hard to get motivated, to convince herself that she’d have any more success this time around than she’d had in the past.

Feeling the need for moral support, she invited her closest friends—Peggy, Jane, and Liza—for a pep talk/brainstorming session at the Haddington Brasserie and Lounge. It had been months since they’d had a girls’ night out—everyone had been so busy in the fall—and they all jumped at the opportunity to escape their houses on a weeknight in late winter, to drink a few glasses of wine, and put their collective romantic wisdom to work on behalf of such a good cause.

As excited as they were to strategize about the revival of Eve’s love life, they began where they always did, with a quick update on their kids, which was how they’d all become friends in the first place: young mothers in the schoolyard, on the sidelines at soccer games, at school plays and award ceremonies and graduations, a whole era of their lives—it had felt so permanent while it was happening—suddenly behind them. Just a chapter, and not the story itself.

Jane was missing her daughters, the smart, sweet-natured twins, both of whom were thriving in college. Liza’s son, Grant, had just embarked on a semester at sea, and the pictures looked amazing. Peggy was thrilled to report that Wade had survived the fall term, buckling down after a couple of disastrous midterms, and earning Bs and Cs on all his finals, which was better than anyone had expected.

“That’s great,” said Eve. “You must be so proud of him.”

Peggy nodded reluctantly, apologizing for her pride. Jane and Liza regarded Eve with identical sympathetic expressions.

“Brendan’s fine,” she said, deflecting their pity. “He just had a hard time. He was partying too much and . . . I don’t know. Something didn’t click. He still has some growing up to do.”

“He’ll get it together,” Liza said.

“On the bright side,” Jane added, “at least he’s back home. That must be nice.”

“I guess. But I was just getting used to having my own life again. I don’t want to lose that. I just want to get out and have some fun, you know?”

Eve’s friends were full of encouragement, confident that she would find love on the internet, or at least meet some appealing prospects. You just had to go into it with a positive attitude.

“My sister’s friend, Denise, met a great guy on Match.com,” Jane said. “They just got married. The husband’s a little older, a retired dermatologist. They travel all the time. Couldn’t be happier.”

“When you say a little older,” Eve inquired, “are we talking late fifties, early sixties?”

“More like mid-seventies,” Jane replied. “But he’s in good shape.”

“Stop right there,” Eve said. “I don’t want to date a guy in his mid-seventies. I don’t care how active he is.”

“The point is, Denise hired a dating coach, and that was why things worked out so well. The coach helped her write her profile, recommended a professional photographer to take her pictures, and advised her on how to respond to the men who reached out. She held Denise’s hand every step of the way.” Jane looked at Eve. “Just something to consider.”

“Out of curiosity,” Eve said. “Do you know what that would cost?”

“A lot,” Jane admitted. “But Denise said it was the best investment she ever made.”