Room-maid(34)

He looked worried. “So all these people, I danced with their daughters? And now they want to meet with me? In case I might marry one of them?”

“Sounds about right.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “When you suggested it, I honestly didn’t think this would happen. And now that it has . . . it doesn’t seem right to have them come in and try to turn them into clients when I have no intention of going out with any of their offspring.”

“I get it, but that’s not really the point. You networked your butt off. They might come in with these hopes and ulterior motives and then you’ll either turn them into clients or you won’t. The dating thing will be irrelevant once you charm them with your business acumen.”

“How do you know I have acumen?” I loved that teasing tone.

“A woman just knows these things.”

He laughed, and the sound warmed me. It was one of the things I was coming to enjoy most about him. Brad never thought I was funny. We weren’t that couple who sat around and laughed together.

Another text came in to Tyler’s phone. It was from Mary-Kate Martinez. “Okay,” I told him, “this one is weird because I happen to know her oldest daughter’s in high school.”

“I’m not into committing felonies,” he told me.

I smiled. “Maybe they want to get a dating rain check for when she’s legal. Or someday have her be your second wife after you get tired of your first one.”

He made a sound of disgust and this time it was my turn to laugh.

“Or maybe,” I continued, “what I told you was correct and rich people hate missing out and they’re not all trying to get you to marry their daughters. Tonight you became the hot new finance guy that people want to use and the rest of them will line up to get your attention. You’ve become the new Birkin bag.”

“What is that?”

“To get a Birkin bag you have to get on a waiting list. Which rich people hate doing. But it makes them want that thing even more. You’re going to be swimming in appointments when you get back from Singapore.”

We came to a red light and he grinned at me, his eyes bright. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“You’re welcome.”

I looked at his phone again as three more texts rolled in. It seemed like I had done a good thing and helped him.

So why did it feel like I’d just made a big mistake?



Tyler spent the next morning with Pigeon until he had to leave for the airport. I was out at the grocery store when he left, and I came home to find a Post-it note on my door. It said:

Forgot to tell you—mi DVR es su DVR. Record to your heart’s content. Also, don’t buy any more cars unless I’m there to see it.

His note made me smile so hard that my face hurt a little. And he had no idea what he’d just agreed to. I spent Sunday afternoon and evening creating timers for my favorite shows. Pigeon came and sat next to me on the couch. At some point she rested her chin on my knee, and I held my breath when I slowly reached over to pet the top of her head. She closed her eyes when I did so, seeming to enjoy it. I almost texted Tyler to tell him about it because the moment seemed so monumental, but I was worried it might get lost in the avalanche of potential new clients. I opted for leaving him a Post-it note about it instead.

Part of me wanted to ask him how the text messages were going, but the bigger part of me was happy to leave all that in his hands and not think about it any longer. It was one thing to step into that world temporarily, for one night, in order to help a friend, but I wasn’t interested in it as a lifestyle any longer. I hated having to worry about how I looked, what people were saying about me, if I was in with the right people and excluding the wrong ones. Where everything was about the facade and nobody cared about the things in life that really mattered.

I didn’t envy Tyler having to still play those games. The one benefit of staying just friends was that I wouldn’t have to go to those charity events all the time.

I tried not to think too hard about all the other benefits of being his girlfriend.

The next day I was back at work, and we had a teacher professional development day. Which meant time for us to work on our lesson plans, catch up on our grading, and then attend a meeting in the afternoon organized by the headmistress.

I grabbed lunch with Delia and Shay, and since the cafeteria was totally empty, we decided to eat in there. We were discussing our classes in part because one of our friends, Jennifer, had gone on maternity leave and Delia had filled in for her until a long-term substitute teacher could be found.

My teacher’s pet, Brinley, had struck again with a question I didn’t have an answer for. “One of my kids asked me if either the S or the C is silent in the word scent.”

Delia twisted her mouth to one side. “I have no idea. Every time I fill in for a non-art class I realize how many things I don’t know. Speaking of scents, we’ve been discussing insects this week and I learned a certain type of orb-weaver spider puts out a scent that smells just like a female moth in heat in order to attract and trap male moths. It made me wonder what my lure scent would be. You know, the thing that would make me fly blindly to my death. I think it would probably be warm apple cider and cinnamon sugar doughnuts.”

Shay laughed. “I would have guessed patchouli and incense.” Delia lightly shoved her shoulder, protesting, and then Shay added, “My lure scent would probably be expensive shoes and an Italian leather bag. What about you, Madison?”