“Go for a walk! Maybe you’ll meet a husband.”
She’s still harassing me to find love. Like she thinks I purposely avoid it. Like she didn’t do exactly that for nearly two decades.
“Don’t make me hang up on you,” I say.
“Anyway, have you heard the news?” she asks.
“Youjustasked me that.”
“Seth Rubenstein wasleft at the altar,” she stage-whispers. “I heard from Jan Kemp at the store that—”
“Seth was not left at the altar,” I interrupt, rubbing my eyes. “His fiancée broke up with him.”
“Jan says he’s heartbroken!”
“How would Jan know?”
“She’s best friends with Bonny O’Dell,” my mother says triumphantly.
Bonny O’Dell is Seth’s parents’ next-door neighbor.
I know that I should sidestep this conversation, but I have not had caffeine and my wits are not yet fully about me.
“I heard it was amicable,” I say.
“Heard from who?” she asks suspiciously.
“Uh… Seth.”
There is a long silence.
“Seth Rubenstein?” she asks.
“Um, yes, Mother. The Seth that we’re talking about.”
“Why were you talking to Seth Rubenstein?”
“We’re friendly. He emailed me about something else, to ask a favor, and it came up.”
“Baloney.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
“What are you talking about, baloney?”
“A man doesn’t just email asking for some favor the day he’s left at the altar.”
“Which, as we’ve established, did not happen.”
“You be careful with him. He’s slippery.”
“Oh good God. He’s maybe the least slippery person I know. Why do you have this axe to grind with him?”
“Because he’s a divorce lawyer. Have you ever heard of one single nice divorce lawyer?”
“Well, luckily his job is utterly irrelevant to your life.”
“Not if he’s emailing my daughter to drown his sorrows.”
