The Dirty Book Club(63)

“You haven’t messed things up, Dan, I promise,” M.J. said. “Fine, it’s been an adjustment. But I don’t want you to give it all up for me.”

“I’m not.” Dan turned to face her, touching the tip of his nose to hers. “I’m giving it up for us.” His sentiment settled over her like a beautiful but itchy sweater; it flattered but didn’t feel right. She didn’t deserve his loyalty. Not lately, anyway, with all her omissions and lies.

M.J. traced her finger around the smooth knot of his outie belly button and wondered if Gayle’s silence had been more of a blessing than a curse, like a divine nudge. As though it was Mom and Dad’s way of keeping her in Pearl Beach so she could fight for the best relationship she’ll ever have.

“Are you hungry?” Dan asked as he slid on his jeans.

She watched him walk stiffly to the kitchen, admired the muscles in his back that fired when his arms swung. He opened the fridge, realized it was empty, and then released the door. “What are you feeling?”

Guilty. Confused. Pathetic.

“Italian or Thai?”

“Oh.” M.J. giggled. “Doesn’t matter.”

Dan opened the junk drawer, shifted papers, batted around pens and loose change in search of his restaurant delivery list. Then the shifting and batting stopped. “What’s this?” he asked, flipping through a document. He lingered on the final page.

M.J. felt a sting of recognition as she glimpsed the pages in his shaky grip. As if the curtains of amnesia blew open, offering a quick peek of something familiar, but not yet identifiable. Those steely gray letters centered at the top of the cover letter. The numbered paragraphs that followed. Her signature, signed, dated, and not at all in Gayle’s office.

The curtains parted again. This time shedding light on why Gayle hadn’t responded. The woman was sent a list of local restaurants, why would she?

Dan’s gold bursts in his eyes turned dark. “When were you going to tell me about this?” he asked flatly.

She tried for his hand.

He pulled it away.

“I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were in Boston,” she lied. Again.

“The cover letter was dated May nineteenth, M.J. You’ve known about this for over two months and never mentioned it.”

She opened her mouth, ready to hose him down with more excuses, then stopped. Nothing could wash the disappointment off his face.

“I was going to give up everything for you, and you were just going to give up.”

“If I wanted to give up I would have sent it, Dan, but I didn’t. It’s right here. And so am I.”

He was looking at her like he wanted to believe her, and M.J. was looking back like she needed him to.

“I’m going for a surf.”

“Now?”

“What’s wrong with now?”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

“I know. And I think better in the water.”

“I bet sitting on your board staring out at the horizon is a great way to solve your problems.”

His upper lip curled. “Wow, M.J.’s being facetious, how refreshing.” He wiggled out of his jeans, purposely left them on the kitchen floor as he walked off naked to get his trunks.

“For one, what you said was just as facetious, and for two, I was being sincere!”

“Sincere?”

“Yes, sincere,” M.J. said, following him into the bedroom. “I was on the deck thinking about it the other day. When you’re surfing you have to be present. If you’re not you’re going to get crushed. It’s humbling and probably puts everything into perspective.” She went on to share her thoughts on waves and how they’re a perfect metaphor for the ups and downs of life. She showed him the pages in her journal as proof.

“You’re insane.”

M.J. bowed her head, turned to face the wall.

“Do you actually listen to the things you say? The way you connect ideas and express yourself? It’s inspiring, M.J., and you’re insane if you waste another day editing that magazine when you should be writing for it.”

“Oh,” M.J. said, relieved. She turned back to face him. “I thought you meant—”

“Stop thinking, M.J., and just go for it already. Gayle obviously wants you back so you have the upper hand.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’ve been given a chance to start over. If you want to work for that magazine fine, but do it on your own terms.”

The little girl inside her began to tug. Dan had a point. She could work for City but as a writer who lived in Pearl Beach with her handsome boyfriend, a doctor who was opening his own practice and staying put. And she would start just as soon as she called Gayle, apologized for sending her a list of restaurants, and humbly asked for it back. Because for the first time in a long time, M.J. was starving.



* * *



IT WAS TWO days before Gayle returned her calls.

“It was an accident,” M.J. assured her as she settled into the porch swing, journal in hand. “I meant to send the contract. The restaurant list must have been right beside it and—”

“So what’s next? Your microwave manual? The local Penny Saver?” Gayle teased.

M.J. smiled with her entire body. After several apologetic e-mails and multiple voice messages, she was finally absolved.