“Dottie?” I prodded.
Finally, she returned. “Have you considered trimming your hair?”
“Uh…no?”
“Come on over to the tea shop, my dear, we’ll take care of everything for you. You needn’t worry about a thing. We’ll make sure Nora sees you in a whole new light.”
“Nora?” I asked, scratching my head. “I told you it was fake, didn’t I? She isn’t interested in me. This is all about José. I think she’s in love with him.”
“Oh no, they’re not right for each other at all,” Dottie said. “Not to worry. Ann, the other Wise Elders, and I will make your light shine ever brighter.”
Good God, there were more of them?
“And Nora will surely take notice of what’s in front of her face,” she continued.
“But…I don’t want Nora to take notice. I mean, we barely get along?—”
“Oh, my dear boy. We observed you together at the wedding. That sort of chemistry can’t be created with artifice.”
“But that’s exactly what created it.”
She changed tack. “Don’t you want to shine for your own sake, dear?”
I considered saying no—considered it strongly—but if Dottie and her friends wanted to help me with my hair and whatnot, I figured I should let them. No one ever bothered talking to me about such things except for my father, who gaveme the gruff, nonspecific advice that a man should always be impeccably groomed—advice I’ve followed to an extent. I shower every day at precisely the same time—an alarm on my phone guarantees it—and I wash all of my clothes when they’re dirty. But I’ve never really cared about clothes, other than whether they’re clean. To my eyes, everything looks just about the same.
So I agreed, and the next thing I knew, I had a new haircut, new glasses, and a new wardrobe. I insisted on paying for the new things, of course, but the haircut had come courtesy of Ann, who’d learned how to cut hair from YouTube videos. All things considered, it looked pretty good.
But it didn’t end there. The little old ladies programmed a group chat into my phone before releasing me into the wild, insisting that I give them regular updates.
Now I’m standing in the doorway to my house, Cookie sitting at my feet, watching Nora Leigh walk away from me.
It still feels impossible that she’s staying here this weekend.
I can’t believe she agreed to it, and thatIagreed to it, and that we’ll be going on that awful dinner date together next week, in a restaurant whose awning is covered with cutesy laughing vegetables. (Yes, I looked it up on Google Maps. I prefer to be prepared.) Honestly, I don’t know who the restaurateurs are trying to fool. If plants had any sentience, they wouldn’t be overjoyed to be eaten, and no one can convince me that consuming an overpriced stalk of broccoli will be an unforgettable culinary experience.
But Ididagree, and even though it’s sure to be a disaster, I’m looking forward to it.
Not because I think Nora’s going to be bowled over by the continued evidence of the little old ladies’ work, of course, but because it’s…interesting.
Yes, that’s a good word for it. How many times in the courseof your life are you asked to pose as the secret fake boyfriend of your high school crush turned nemesis?
Before Nora closes the fence behind her, she turns and gives me another of those little Queen of England waves, a saucy smile on her face. There’s a familiar lurch in my chest as I return the gesture. Her smile spreads wider, and there’s nothing more beautiful on this earth than Nora Leigh with an honest-to-God smile.
I got several of them today, and suddenly I feel like a greedy man.
“This isn’t good,” I mutter to Cookie. “This isn’t a good development at all.”
Cookie barks in agreement.
When we get back inside, I decide to tilt into the insanity and dial Dottie Hendrickson on my phone.
“Oh, wonderful,” Dottie says into the speaker before addressing her next comment to someone else, probably Ann or another of her Little Old Lady crew. “It’s Cormac with an update.”
A groan escapes me. I hate gossip, and hate it even more when I’m at the center of it. Why am I playing along with them?
“I’m not…I’m not doing that,” I insist. “I was just calling to say thank you, you’ve all been very kind, but I don’t need any more help. Nora’s just a friend, and friends don’t care about what each other looks like. I mean, I wouldn’t even say that we’re friends. We’re just at a ceasefire.”
“What’d he say?” It’s Ann’s voice, muffled.
