Things had become awkward. He drew a breath like he was going to start talking, but he didn’t. The easy fellowship ofbefore, when we’d been talking about me, felt miles away. I wondered if I should tell him about my disastrous date with Scott. On the one hand, it wasn’t any of his business. And did Scott even deserve the airtime? What was he but another example of a bad date with a mediocre man—the kind of date that was firmly in my past?
On the other hand, it was starting to feel weird that Teddy was grappling with stuff to do with Scott while I was keeping quiet about my own recent encounter with him.
There was also the issue of Scott’s wife, Cinda Lewis. I’d crept her Instagram, too, but there wasn’t much to see. All her posts were professional—fashion shows and the like.
Anyway, now was not the time for any of it. It could wait until we were unlost. “So I remind you of your sister, huh?” I asked, sending myself back to the part of our previous conversation where Teddy had first deflected attention from himself. Talking about his sister was probably less fraught than talking about himself.
“Yeah. She’s that same mix of creative and practical.” I could hear the affection in his voice.
“Is she a musician, too? You said you grew up singing together?”
“She sings and plays piano and paints and does photography. And she’s always picking up these oddball arts and crafts, like one minute she’ll be doing origami and the next she’s learning traditional rug hooking.”
“Wow.”
“But it’s all in the hobby realm. By day she’s an actuary.”
“Wow again.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, she likes her job. She was always really good at math. But I think she probably made a consciouschoice to follow a career path that would bring money and stability to her life.”
“I get that.”
“I thought you would.”
“But is she undergoing a dark night of the soul that’s making her question her life’s path?”
He chuckled. “No, that’s you.” He paused. “And me.”
“Do go on.” We had circled back to the topic, but this time the awkwardness was gone.
“It’s not some big thing. Just that I’m supposed to be writing songs for a new album, and I’m… not.”
“What do you mean ‘supposed to be’?”
“That was my whole goal for my time here. The point in coming. I was going to write songs for a solo album.”
“You’re allowed to change your goals. Marion didn’t take notes on anything anyone said. You didn’t sign your name in blood. You’re allowed to change your mind—youjust toldmethat.”
There was a pause before he asked, “Did you change your mind about your goals for your time here?”
“I’m befuddled on that topic. As you know—we just talked about that.”
“That’s not what you said your goal for your time here was.”
Oh. “You mean my man cleanse. My become-a-crone project.”
“Yourwhatproject?”
I ignored his question. I didn’t want to get into it. “No, I’m not changing my mind about that goal. My man cleanse is… still underway.”Say it like you mean it, lady.Jeez. I cleared my throat and said, with false cheer, “We’re supposed to be doing you. So you’re not writing the songs you thought you would, or should?”
He sighed but did not speak. I’d made things too heavy with my questioning. I had a sudden inspiration for how to lighten the mood and reached into my pocket, where I had some cash. “Ten dollars for your thoughts.”
He cracked up as I handed him a wrinkled bill. “Is that the same ten dollars?”
“Yep. We were supposedly stopping for fast food on the way home.” I moaned. “What would you give for a Big Mac right now?”
He took the money with a wry smile. The awkwardness had dissipated, and he looked right at me and said, “I think I’m not writing because I don’t want to write the same kind of stuff anymore.”
