I finally find my voice. “Wow, that's a really generous offer, Kay. You've just completely caught me off guard. I don't know what to say.”
“Take your time and think about it. I just think living together works for us: we don't get in each other's way, it's nice to have you help with the weekly Bible study, and you keep your mess in your room.” Kay grabs a pair of teak forks and tosses the salad. “I think it would be good for you, too. You would have a write-off and get to keep more of your money. Maybe you'd be able to do more shopping. You seem to enjoy that.”
Fear and trembling
. Kay is forty-three now, and she's said numerous times she won't ever get married. She came from an abusive home and doesn't think much of the male species, in general. But her idea makes me feel icky. Like if I get too comfortable in this situation, I won't ever have the chance for another boyfriend because people will assume I don't want one. And I do want one. I just happen to want one particular person who doesn't seem to return the emotion. At least not in full.
“I'd really have to think on that, Kay. I don't mind the mess if you're going to remodel, but wow, buying part of it! Are you sure?”
“I think it's good for Christian women to help other Christian women. Lord knows, we don't get much help otherwise.” Her barb sends a shiver of fear through my soul. I don't hate men. And even though God hasn't given me a particular man, I still hold out hope. Kay is well past that.
“Do you think I need the help?” I ask, knowing she'll guess I'm referring to Seth.
“I just don't think you should put all your eggs in one basket. Especially when the Easter Bunny isn't real.”
Kay made a funny. Go figure. “Did Seth call me while I was gone?” I ask sheepishly, knowing full well he didn't.
“Yeah, he did. Well, he called here anyway.”
Then she says nothing. For as long as I've lived with Kay, I just don't get how she doesn't share “girl” information readily. Isn't that just part of being a woman? The dish?
“Well? What did he say?”
“He actually called for me.” She grimaces, as though she's sorry, but not surprised. “There's a special at Laser Quest. Three games for the price of two. Seth wanted to know if he should organize a singles' night there.”
Of course he did.
“Laser Quest. So Kay, I have a question. Do you think Seth will ever get married?”
“Are you asking me if I think he'll ever marry you?”
“No, I'm not asking that. Lord knows, I don't want the answer to that. I'm asking, do you think he'll ever get married at all?”
Kay shrugs, pops a bright red hothouse tomato into her mouth, and tosses the salad again. “Hard to say. You're the only woman I remember him dating for any length of time, and he hasn't asked you. Regardless, I don't think any woman should put her life on hold for a man who isn't willing to commit. Everyone else seems to date, and . . .” she snaps her fingers. “Boom, they get married. There's something about girls like us, Ashley. Perhaps we just were never meant for that kind of life.”
Girls like us.
I have now completely stopped breathing. I always thought I was a girl like Brea, but maybe that's just completely wishful thinking. I study Kay carefully. She's very pretty, not hard on the eyes at all. Gorgeous gray-green eyes, clear complexion, not a wrinkle on her. Granted, her clothes and hair could use the female version of
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
, but I can't see anything physically wrong with her. I rush to the mirror at the front door.
Maybe that's why I can't see anything wrong with me, either.
Coming back into the kitchen, I smile. “There's a singles' Christian cruise going out of Long Beach next month. I'm thinking of taking it.” There. That sounds decisive and not passive.
Kay wrinkles her nose. “That sounds fun if you're into that kind of thing. I think it would be the equivalent of a floating pickup bar. It doesn't really interest me, and I can't imagine you there either, Ash.”
I lean against the doorjamb. My mouth is watering over Kay's salad. “Why do you think Seth came to Las Vegas to get me at my brother's wedding? I mean, it was the most romantic gesture, but I can't imagine him doing that now. Why did he nix that job in Phoenix if he never intended to get married?”
Kay washes and dries her hands, looking thoughtfully at me. “If you're asking me about the male psyche, you're asking the wrong person. Ashley, just tell Seth what you're feeling. Why do you put your-self through all this emotion, when it can be solved with a simple conversation? I mean, a cruise, Ash? If you want to meet the kind of guy who would win the hairy-chest contest on deck, that's great. But you can't control everything. If God doesn't want you to be married, I've got news for you . . .”
“Why do you say that? That God doesn't want me married.”
“I didn't say that. I said
if
He doesn't, there's really nothing you can do about it.”
I stand up taller. I am not the kind of woman who stays single. I'm just not. Why can't everyone see that? I've got a great job, an incredible shoe collection, just a million things to offer a guy, and I'm not going to be single forever.
I'm not, I'm not, I'm not!
My cell phone rings, this time with my boss's specially programmed ring. “Hello, Hans.” Jokingly, I call the man Hands because he seems to have eight of them. No, he's never touched me, but something about the way he oozes sensuality makes me feel like he has.
“How was your day off, Ashley?”
“Fun. I went shopping with my friend and her baby.” And apparently, that is the end of our small talk.
“One of our engineers came up with an idea that I think has legs.”
“Great! We can talk about it first thing tomorrow. Do you want to schedule me in?”
“Actually, I mean this product has real legs. I'd like you to meet me for dinner at Il Fornaio. Can you be there by seven?”
I've just started this job after being out of work for six months. Although I had a nice severance package and never feared financially, I don't care to go through the job-hunting process again anytime soon. “Sure, Hans. I'll be there.” Call waiting breaks in. “I've got another call. See you soon.”
“Hello.”
Caller ID is not showing up. Grr.
“Ashley Stockingdale.”
“Ash, it's Seth.”
“Hi.” I automatically start fiddling with my hair.
“You want to meet me at the Soup House for dinner?”
The Soup House. Complete meals for both of us for $11, compared to the elegant Italian Il Fornaio in downtown Palo Alto. Without question I'd rather go cheap with Seth, but I can't. “I'm sorry, but I have to work tonight. I'm meeting my boss for dinner at Il Fornaio.”
“Sure, I understand.” I can tell by his voice that he
doesn't
understand. He's not jealous, just annoyed that I'm not available when he has a whim. How am I supposed to know there's a blue moon tonight?
“Maybe we could meet tomorrow,” I say brightly.
“I'm flying to Seattle tomorrow. I'll have to call you when I get back, okay?”
“Sure.” We sound like two complete strangers. This isn't how it used to be. We had passion and desire for one another and it was a battle of wills for each of us to stay pure. Now I feel like I'm talking to my history professor, rather than the man I might have married. I guess it really is over, and this is what it feels like when nobody mentions that fact.
Nine months ago, when I thought Seth was leaving for Arizona, I was content at being a “Reason,” someone who probably wouldn't get married. But now that I've been in love, now that I've felt what it's like to have someone look at me with “those” eyes, I know what I'm missing. The hole feels bigger and darker than I imagined, and I don't want to go back down there like a hobbit in the caves of Moria. With all my heart, I want to avoid that pit.
Kay's putting the finishing touches on her salad, tossing the greens with a homemade citrus-cilantro dressing and placing it on her Crate and Barrel table. The only thing Kay spends money on is kitchenware. “Are you ready to eat?” She asks me.
“I have to go meet Hands.”
“Ashley! No.”
“What? I was without a job for six months, Kay. I am not going that route again.”
“You never wanted for anything when you were out of work. Quit acting like you were on the verge of insanity.”
“Even with my severance package, I didn't feel safe to shop or go to the fancy market. I, Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale, actually shopped at Kmart,” I say, like I'm at an AA meeting. “I don't ever want to do that again.”
“You've spent ministry summers in Mexico. Surely you know what poverty is really like. Shopping at Kmart is not poverty.”
“I was perfectly content to live the simple life in Mexico. But not here in Silicon Valley. Not where you're judged by what you do. God created me to be a lawyer. I love patents. What kind of geek loves patents? He didn't give me Ann Taylor tastes without a purpose.”
Kay is laughing heartily. “Are you trying to tell me it's God's will that you should be able to shop at Stanford?”
I cross my arms.
Oh, how I hate to be laughed at
. “No, I'm trying to tell you that I am a very capable person. I tithe more than my 10 percent. I don't have anyone depending on me, and since I'm a conscientious, hard-working Christian, God enables me to do some of the things I enjoy. Like buying clothing that fits my lifestyle as a top patent attorney. I don't ever again want to be unable to do what I was born to do.”
Kay shakes her head. “I'll never be hungry for couture again!” she declares, holding up a fist. “Don't give God the control speech, Ashley. It's like saying you'll never go to Iraq on a mission. Tell Him that and you might as well just pack your bags.”
“I'm going to get dressed for my dinner.”
“Suit yourself. But don't say I didn't warn you.”
Warn me
. Oh yeah, she warned me all right. Kay warned me I'd be living in this same house with seven cats at eighty years old. We'd be the old-lady house where the kids are afraid to trick-or-treat. All I can say is
not in this lifetime
. If it's over with Seth, it is, but I refuse to believe
I'm
over.
T
here's nothing to make you feel common like parking in down-town Palo Alto. There aren't many parking places, and they are all filled with Mercedes and BMWs. I'm too cheap to pay for valet, so I'm schlepping up the street in my heels, thinking it would have been easier to walk from home. There's a November chill in the air. It's only about sixty degrees or so, but with the ocean to the left and the bay to the right, the moist air seeps into your bones. I am wearing this great white wool nautical coat, and I feel like a million, even if I am unwilling to part with five dollars for parking.
Il Fornaio is a bit “yesterday” in Palo Alto, but Hans is well-known here and likes to sit at
his
table, drinking an entire bottle of wine while conducting business. He's not married any longer. He left his wife for the nanny of his two children and I can't fathom the switch, because Sophia, the nanny, is the dimmest bulb I have ever come into acquaintance with. She makes Fran Drescher's version look like Einstein. Yes, Sophia is extremely beautiful, but so was Hans's wife, and she also possessed a brain. Sophia doesn't drive and spends her day calling Hans to tell him they need cereal or milk or bonbons. Since Hans does everything on speakerphone, it's a surreal moment when you learn that your CEO is out of toilet paper. Kind of an
I don't want to go there
place.
Now, I'm sure you're thinking Hans is a total jerk. And he is, technically speaking. But he possesses this charm that is all-encompassing and spans the limits of time and race. I've seen women sixty-plus swoon over him, as well as twentysomethings. When he speaks, he silences everyone around him, and you find yourself drawn in with an unexplainable desire and a ridiculous giggle.
I, myself, knowing he left his wife for the nanny, still find him utterly entrancing, which is so unlike me, being the “good girl.” I am aware of this frailty, so I steer clear of him as much as possible. He's the male version of the adulteress in Proverbs 7, and he could rip you away from all you know to be true in a matter of moments. He looks like Mikhail Baryshnikov in younger days, and probably has the same type of reputation. Not a great feature in your boss. So I ask my friends for a lot of prayer and try to stay on guard.
I arrive at the restaurant parched and a glowing a bit, which is a nice way of saying I'm hot and sweaty. Even in the cool November weather, my trek up University Avenue has taken its toll, and I'd rip off my wool coat in a second, were it not for my pride in its appearance. The maître d' is dressed in a black suit, with an attitude, unaware that his spot is no longer hip among those who care about such things.
“I'm here for Hans Kerchner.”
“Ah yes, but of course. He's at his regular table. Right this way.” Grabbing a leather-bound menu, the maître d' leads me to the back of the restaurant near the fireplace. Just what I need: warmth. I take off my coat reluctantly, and the maître d' runs off with it. I watch it go, like a friend leaving for the mission field.
When I appear, Hans stands up. The fireplace is glowing behind the table, and it highlights the wine bottle, which is already half empty. “Ashley, you look lovely.”
“Won't Sophia be joining us tonight?” I like to remind him about Sophia whenever I get the chance.
“She has no interest in discussing technology,” he replies in his harsh German accent. “She's home watching her favorite dating show.”
“Yes,
Joe Millionaire
is on tonight.” I smile, letting Hans know I'd like to be home watching bad reality television too. Hans starts to fill my glass with wine, and I place my hand over the edge. “I don't drink, remember?”