Every Other Saturday (11 page)

The selfish truth was, Julia couldn’t stand the thought of her whole family at Adam’s traditional Labor Day barbecue without her. It was absurd, because all the other holidays were looming in the coming months and she would have to rip the Band-Aid off eventually. But just for this year, Julia was clinging to her memories: leaving the store on Sunday afternoon, coming home to the enticing smell of beef ribs smoking on the Big Green Egg. She’d given it to Adam for Father’s Day a few years ago, when the store first started selling them. The smell would waft out even to her van, but when she opened the front door, it would be a wall of mouth-watering, smoky heaven.

Brandon and Mia raced around with neighborhood kids in tow, as she made her way through the house to change out of her hardware clothes into a sundress and flip-flops. Adam would be out back, holding court with the neighbors over an icy tub of beer. Even mid-conversation, he would see her the instant she came out of the house, and hand her a chilled glass of white wine he’d set aside just for her. She would kiss him on the cheek and prop up her feet, fading into the conversation at her own pace as the stress of Sunday at the store puddled out of her. Watching Adam talk, sinking into the wicker lounge chair with the smell of the ribs surrounding her—forget those stupid commercials about the beach, those moments were her happy place.

Julia could accept that Adam was gone, and she could even feel relief when she considered what he’d done to her since last Labor Day. But she wasn’t ready yet to go home alone, knowing that the idyllic barbecue scene was going on without her, in its new location at Christy’s apartment.

“Man, you are intense about your chairs.” Sean startled her. “You’re brushing that one like it did something really, really wrong.”

Julia paused in her ministrations on the cushions for one of the chairs at the head table, which in truth was very dusty. She supposed she’d been smacking it a little harder than she meant to, though. “Can’t have the bride sitting on a dusty chair.”

He gave a significant look with a raised eyebrow. “Did I mention that I’m dusty, too? I could use a going-over myself.”

“Ugh,” Julia said. “You’re a pig.” But she could feel herself smiling at him.
Stop it, stop it, stop it.

“I am, darlin’. I’m a man. Isn’t it just the same thing?”

His brows were still raised, his eyes a crystal-clear blue. The whole shtick probably worked on the college girls and young waitresses, not that Julia could blame them—that accent, holy God—but his smile was too broad, and the freckles…cocky. He had cocky freckles.

She tossed the dusted cushion back in the seat and picked up the next one, nodding toward the bar. “Are you all set up over there?”

Sean shrugged. “Yeah. I thought I’d see if you needed a hand.”

“Because I look so clueless over here? Taking pity on the new girl?”

“Something like that. And, I reckon you’re tolerable company.” It was flirtatious. It definitely, definitely was. The tips of her ears burned. This only increased when she saw Caroline over his shoulder, walking toward them with a determined scowl.

“Sean.” The warning tone in Caroline’s voice was so eerily reminiscent of Julia’s own childhood, she had a sudden irrational fear that she’d moved her little silver top hat one too many spaces in Monopoly. But Sean seemed unfazed, giving Caroline an elaborate bow with a flourish of his hand.

Caroline furrowed her brow; as Sean made to go around her, she reached out and grabbed his elbow, pulling him in and whispering something intently. Julia saw her sister’s eyes flick in her own direction and felt suddenly beyond embarrassed. Did Caroline think she couldn’t look out for herself? She was thirty-seven. Damn. It had been like, two minutes of mildly flirty conversation.

When Caroline came closer, Julia didn’t hold back. “I don’t need your protection.”

“What are you talking about?”

“With Sean. You clearly said something to him about me, and I just want you to know I can handle myself. I’m not some vulnerable divorcee.”

Caroline looked confused. Julia wished she hadn’t said anything. God, she just wanted to be at home, curled up on her couch with her kids, watching the Disney Channel.

“That’s like, the least sexy-sounding French word,” Caroline said. “Divorcee. You sound like an Audrey Hepburn movie.”

Before Julia could respond, her sister hurried in the other direction.

Dave’s third date was Ashley, a redhead in her early thirties wearing a sparkly silver dress the size of a dinner napkin. She had chosen a pricey steakhouse downtown, explaining that there was a club nearby where she knew the owner and they could drink for free all night.

“So, what do you do?” He cut a bite of steak. “For work, I mean?”

“A little of everything. I started out modeling as a teenager. I still pay a few bills that way, but acting is my passion.”

“That’s awesome. Atlanta is becoming quite the hub for movie-making these days.”

She nodded, sipping her cosmopolitan. “Of course, I’ll have to move to LA eventually, but I love it here. I’ve been an extra in three different Tyler Perry films, and I got to walk behind Jason Bateman for like fifteen seconds in
The Change-Up
.”

“Is that the one with Jennifer Aniston? With the sperm?”

“No. But, man, I would give my right tit to work with her.”

He glanced reflexively at her ample cleavage, barely covered by the sparkly halter dress. “Let’s hope you don’t have to do that.”

Dave was still a little rusty on the whole flirting thing. When he was his Cave Man self, flirting with sports bar waitresses and the t-shirt girls at the stadiums was simple enough. With nothing at stake, he could somehow pull off charming. He did well on the radio: the few women who called in to
Morning Breath
responded well to his false bravado. But sitting across from one woman trying to be coy was still awkward as ass.

Ashley didn’t seem to mind. She laughed—a high-pitched, rattling sound—and tossed her coppery locks over a bare shoulder. She met his eyes suggestively. “Are you saying that you like what you see?”

“
The Switch!
” Dave said, remembering suddenly. “That’s the one I’m thinking of. Debbie—my ex—dragged me to see it. He puts his own sperm in the cup she’s going to use for artificial insemination. It was pretty funny, actually.”

She relaxed back against her seat with the change in tone. “Yeah, Jason is so talented. I got to talk with him for a few minutes and he was a
doll
.”

“Have you been in anything else I would have seen?”

“I’ve done some reality shows.
Atlanta Underground,
that was last year—they canceled it after three episodes. The producers kept trying to get us girls into catfights, and the guys were all idiots. I was on Season Three of
Naked Ambush
, did you see it? In Borneo. Right before it started to go downhill.”

Dave shook his head, thinking if he told her he’d never heard of
Naked Ambush
, it would hurt her feelings. “I must’ve missed that season.”

She shrugged and pulled the speared cherry from her empty glass. “I made the finals, but then I had to be hospitalized for three weeks. Severe dehydration—they had to fly me out on a helicopter. The home audience loved me, though. I got way more votes than the skank who ended up winning.”

“At least you got some good exposure, I guess?”

Her laugh was more piercing this time. He could feel heads at nearby tables turn toward them. The waiter stopped by, and Ashley ordered another round.

“Whoa.” Dave stopped the waiter. He changed his order to club soda and asked for the check. “I do have to drive tonight.”

She pouted, chewing flirtatiously on the plastic sword from her drink. “You mean there’s no chance we can just hang out down here and party all night?”

If it hadn’t happened on the first two dates, Dave might have been more shocked by the come-on. He had never been a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but when had women gotten so
bold
? Maybe he’d been out of the game longer than he realized. “As tempting as that would be, I can’t. I have my little girl tonight. She’s with a sitter.”

“Oh. My. Gosh. I forgot. Can I say? It is so incredibly sweet that you have a daughter. Dads are so
sexy
.”

Dave smiled, making a show of straightening his tie. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I do. I love children. Love, love, love them. So is your daughter going to help you decide the winner?”

“The winner?”

“The girl you choose in January. Are you going to do, like, a whole reveal show?”

“A reveal show.” He tried to process it.

“Maybe live on the radio? TV would be better, obviously. You could probably get a local station to cover it. Ooh! Or, do it at like, halftime at a basketball game or something. You could have the two finalists there on the court, and then…ah!” She gasped and clapped her hands together. “Your
daughter
could be the one who announces the winner. You can’t do roses, of course.
The Bachelor
does that. Let’s see, Jewish stuff, Jewish stuff…what about a ketubah? You could have a rabbi on there and sign the ketubah in front of everyone! So romantic. People would eat it up.”

Dave’s mouth hung open. A ketubah was a Jewish wedding contract, traditionally signed to seal an engagement. Arguably just as sacred as the wedding bands, they had become ornate religious artifacts that people framed and kept near the entryways of their homes. His first one was still at Debbie’s house, rendered invalid by their religious divorce, but saved in case Lyric would want it someday. Taking it off the wall and carrying it to the attic had been the single hardest moment of his life.

He swallowed hard, looking at Ashley’s excited face. “Maybe you misunderstood this thing. I’m just starting to date again after my divorce. I’m not planning to get engaged to anyone in January, much less sign a religious wedding contract with the whole city watching.”

“You wouldn’t have to go through with it, of course.” Ashley frowned. “But I see your point. Maybe the ketubah is overkill.”

“You
think
?”

“Plus it’s kind of cumbersome to do in public.” She bit her lip, considering. “Oh! What about a Star of David necklace? A nice one, with diamonds. Your little girl could give it to the winner. That would be so sweet. Not a dry eye in the house.”

“Ashley, seriously, I’m not…” He considered what to say.
I’m not going to use my daughter to promote my career? My love life isn’t a publicity stunt? I’m looking for a real relationship here?
Was any of it true? “I’m not ready to figure all this out.”

She was unfazed. “Keep me in mind when you do. I’ve got loads of experience in front of crowds and I look ah-dorable in sports jerseys. I’d be amazing arm candy for you.”

“You might be too much arm candy for me.” He smiled, putting cash in the bill folder. “I’m afraid you’d give me cavities.”

# # #

Still reeking of garlic and tomato sauce, Julia got home right after Dave, just in time to see Elizabeth off and pay her half of the babysitting tab. Too tired to remain standing, she collapsed on the couch while Dave stood in the foyer and watched Elizabeth drive away. He didn’t close the front door, Julia noticed, until she was safely on her way down Julia’s street. Dave was a pain in the ass, but she had to admit, he was going to be a good dad to a teenage daughter one day.

“So how is it going?” Julia asked as he came back into the living room. “Date Three, right?” She took her shoes off to rub her sore feet, grateful that any unpleasant odors they produced would at least be covered by garlic.

“Yeah.” Dave plopped into Adam’s old recliner. “It went okay, I guess. She had an annoying laugh, among other things. You don’t have beer, do you?”

“Not a beer girl. I can pick some up, though?”

He shook his head and rocked backward in the chair. “I’ll bring some next time. If you don’t mind.”

“So, annoying like Fran Drescher, or Janice from
Friends
?” Julia sunk blissfully onto the couch. Even her bone marrow was tired.

He squinted one eye, as though it hurt to recall. “Not a nasal laugh. Higher, like a cartoon character on meth.”

Julia snorted, and Dave cocked an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “I guess I wouldn’t pass the delicate, feminine laugh test either. So does that rule her out for a January date?”

“Not necessarily. But the fact that she seemed more interested in some kind of weird reality show angle probably does.” He sighed. “In all honesty, of the three women I’ve been out with so far, I wouldn’t consider any of them by the time January rolls around.”

“I think you sold Betty Rubble a little short, based on her reply.”

“You read it? I didn’t know you read my blog.”

“Just that one. And…a couple of others. I was avoiding work. Plus, I was curious to see how you’re
not
a womanizer.”

He smiled. “Hard to be a womanizer if you never get past a first date. I’m starting to think this whole experiment is going to do more for my blog than my personal life. None of these women are doing anything for me.”

“It makes sense,” Julia said thoughtfully, releasing her hair from the painfully tight bun she’d constructed with her wet hair this morning. It was still damp in a couple of spots and smelled like shampoo, sawdust, and garlic. “Not enough proximity.”

“What?”

“There’s been research—I can’t remember where I read this—that shows you are more likely to form attachments with people you’re around the most. That’s why so many people get involved in workplace relationships. We’re hard-wired to look for love where it’s convenient.”

“That’s ridiculous. By that logic, I’m going to end up with my regular waitress at Flingers. I see her more than just about any other woman. Besides you.”

With effort, Julia ignored the rush of blood to her face. “Either way, you’d be stuck with a waitress.” She gestured at her uniform in an attempt at a deflecting joke.

“You’re not a waitress. You own a business.”

“Does it still count as a career if you’re not bringing home a salary?” She said it before realizing this was not the kind of thing she wanted to share with Dave Bernstein. “Your waitress probably makes more than I do.”

“
Slight
difference between you,” he said. “For one thing, I don’t think the server at Flingers knows anything about proximity and relationships, much less reads studies about it.”

“She probably doesn’t regularly drop whole trays of lasagna, either,” Julia lamented. “I swear if I weren’t her sister, Caroline would have fired me by now. She’s probably trying to figure out how much more lost food she can afford before nepotism goes out the door.”

He smiled. “You’ll get the hang of it. You should try some ball work.”

“Beg your pardon?” What was it about guys and balls?

“Fitness balls. You stand on them for balance. Or you can just sit on one instead of a chair while you’re working. It will build your core.”

She sucked in her stomach. “I never get to sit at work. And just what I need for my spare time, building stamina for a job I’m not even supposed to be doing.”

“Pssht. How many people are actually doing what they’re supposed to be doing?”

“You seem to be.”

He shrugged. After a pause, he said, “So, proximity, huh? Would you say it’s more likely that I’m going to end up dating one of the women I meet toward the end of the experiment? Like the December candidates have the best shot?”

Julia considered. “The research I read was all about physical proximity over a period of time. So, like, people who see each other often are more likely to develop feelings for each other. Which makes sense. I’ve always believed we have thousands of potential partners out there, and which one you end up with has as much to do with luck, as with some kind of soul mate connection.”

“Jeez. That’s romantic,” he said. “I thought women were supposed to believe in all that true love stuff.”

“Do you?” she countered, maybe too defensively. “I mean, you can’t possibly still think there’s one person for everyone?”

“I don’t know. I still want to believe that.”

They were both quiet. Julia couldn’t get a read on him. Unable to stand the silence, she finally said, “That would make divorce even more depressing, wouldn’t it? To think you’d found your one and only soul mate and it just didn’t work out?”

Dave shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I didn’t find her. Or you didn’t find him.” He wasn’t looking at her, but at a pinkish spot on the rug where she’d spilled Merlot several months ago.

“That’s even worse,” she countered.

“How is that worse? It leaves hope.”

“But what if there
is
only one guy for me, and I haven’t found him because he lives in Hawaii? Or Tanzania?”

“That’s terrible,” he said. “I can’t imagine there are many Jews in Tanzania.”

“See? Your situation is even more complicated. You will only marry someone Jewish, right? So what are the chances that this one and only person for you is not only somewhere you can meet her conveniently but also happens to be Jewish? The odds are incredible.”

He laughed. “I guess that part of it is about faith. The right person for me, if there is one, would be Jewish, because that’s part of what makes her right for me.”

“Whoa,” she said, “I’m too tired to decide if that’s circular logic or not.”

He shook his head. “Anyway, it’s moot. I’m not sure I still believe in one person for everyone. Because my one person is now dating my best friend.”

“I’m sorry…” she started.

He waved her off. “Don’t. I guess I’m just hoping that if I do the right stuff, and I date only Jewish girls, someone else who is a soul mate type, not just ‘the Soul Mate,’ will come across my path.”

“I hope she does,” Julia said, not sure what else to say.

“Me, too,” he said, a little sadly. “Of course, according to your research, I probably have to move in next door to these women, instead of going on one date, to get proximity.”

“Oh, don’t listen to me,” she said. “I don’t even remember where I read that study. It’s probably been debunked by now.”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Thanks. I’m going to get Lyric and go home and try not to kill myself.”

“Oh, Dave. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you down.”

“You didn’t. And now I know I need to start looking for waitresses with Stars of David around their necks from here on out, just in case.”

“Or your barista,” she said. “Or the parking attendant.”

Dave shook his head. “Too bad most of the people I see every day are guys who smell like locker rooms.”

Tired though she was, Julia found it hard to sleep that night—wondering how many cute Jewish girls worked at Flingers.