Page 34 of Seven Summer Weekends
“Not Philip, Philip wasn’t a wet noodle,” Addison proclaimed, defending herself.
“That’s correct. Ergo, the broken engagement followed by the mad escape to the East Coast.”
Oh my God. Had she left Philip because she was too scared that he would break her heart? No. She remembered it perfectly. She was too young—she felt trapped.
“It’s time to shuffle the playlist, man,” Pru insisted.
Addison laughed and conceded, “You may have a point—but this is a different scenario. I actually think I may hate this guy. He took advantage of my houseguest.”
“Let me get this straight. You liked the guy that you met on the ferry, but at the same time you hated the guy whose dog keeps showing up in your living room.”
“Not hated, disliked.”
“OK. Then you liked the guy who lost his wife in the book, but disliked your neighbor who you think tricked you and then berated you over the bungee cord fiasco?”
“Hated.”
“And now?”
Pru cut in. “Let’s see a picture of this guy.”
Addison pulled a few of his books from the shelves and passed them out. They all turned to various iterations of his author photo, followed by a deep dive into their phones. There was no shortage of images and reading material about Benjamin Morse. Pru was the first to pick her head up from the scroll.
“At least he’s not boring.”
“Stop!” said Addison.
“Remember that last guy who came for dinner with us. He said nothing for like five hours,” Pru said, supplying evidence.
Lisa stood up for Addison.
“OK, enough, you two. Addison. Do not go for this guy. He clearly has a host of issues.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I can’t stand him.”
“You couldn’t stand that guy from the gym who never wiped off the treadmill, but you dated him for two months,” Pru observed slyly.
“God. I really thought Kizzy’s issues would take the spotlight off of me. Can we change the subject from my questionable sexual escapades?”
“You could probably use some questionable sexual escapades,” Kizzy added under her breath. Addison wasn’t having it.
“What I could use is a job. Let’s figure that out, please.”
Lucky for Addison, the last clam in the pan popped open, and they all sat down to break bread. Dinner was delicious, and after they had cleaned up, Addison brought them to the studio for the big surprise. She had set up four canvases in a circle and filled a table with some of the most eclectic objects she could find in the house. It was right out of Painting and Drawing 101. They all dove in, painting and laughing and drinking wine and eating Rome’s birthday cake from the box until three in the morning, when they finally crashed.
Addison and Lisa (and Sally) awoke in the morning to a note on the fridge from Pru and Kizzy.
Gone for a bike ride. If you want to meet us, call.
They headed for the beach instead, where Lisa took the time to quietly slip in some friendly analysis.
“Why do you think you pick the wrong men?” she asked Addison.
“I’m not sure—but I have a feeling you have a theory.”
“I do. I think it’s a form of self-preservation.”
Lisa really was a brilliant analyst—but Addison was in no mood for it. She thought back to her own developing theory—how, at the tender age of twelve, when kids are beginning to think about boys or girls in that coupling way, Addison had herheart broken by the finest man she thought she knew. Naturally, she pivoted.
