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“I will.”
I follow Jade out of the bar and back onto Main Street. Should I say something? I bite my lower lip. I’m at a loss for words, which is unlike me.
Finally, I open my mouth, when—
“It’s okay, Ashley,” Jade says.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Of course I do. We both know how you feel about Dale. But there’s no reason why you can’t share a bottle of wine with another young man.”
“It doesn’t feel quite right.”
“Would you be interested in Brendan if not for Dale?”
“Well…yeah. I think. I mean, he’s handsome and funny. And he runs a bar, which means he knows a few things about wine, so we have that in common. But…”
She laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Again, you remind me of myself all those years ago.”
“It’s like only Dale exists to me,” I say. “It doesn’t make any sense. Brendan is clearly a great guy, and any other time I’d be flattered by his attention.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, Ashley, I know exactly what you mean.”
Lorenzo’s is an adorable little Italian place. We walk in, and I’m suddenly transported to 1950s Little Italy in New York. Or at least what I assume 1950s Little Italy would be. Dean Martin croons through the sound system, and the tables are covered with red-checkered cloth.
Our server brings a carafe of Chianti and a loaf of crisp Italian white bread.
“This is lovely,” Jade says.
“I agree. I feel like we’ve traveled back in time.”
“Lisa Lorenzo is a second-generation Italian American. Her parents moved to Snow Creek when she was in high school. I believe she graduated with Donny.” Jade wrinkles her forehead. “No, she was a few years younger. She graduated with Henry. With so many offspring, it’s hard to keep them all straight sometimes.”
“Everyone knows everyone around here,” I say. “A far cry from LA.”
“Yes, but you get used to it, and once you do, you’ll never want to live anywhere else.”
“Snow Creek does have its charm.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t give you the tour I promised. We ended up having that drink, and then you and Brendan hit it off.”
I look down at the piece of bread I’m swirling in olive oil.
“Ashley,” Jade says after a few minutes of me swirling and being mesmerized by the darkness of the balsamic vinegar making images in the light-green olive oil.
I look up. “Hmm?”
“It’s okay that you hit it off with Brendan.”
“I know.” I force out a chuckle. “It’s so strange…”
“What?”
“You’re Dale’s mom. And here I am talking about seeing someone else, when you and I both know…”
“I love my son,” she says. “More than you’ll ever know, at least until you have children of your own. But…he gets in his own way sometimes.”
“Meaning?”
She swallows the bite of bread she was chewing and then sighs. “Dale has never been able to open up. Especially not to me.”
I nod. “I’m sorry you’re not as close as you’d like to be.”
“Don’t get me wrong. He and I have a wonderful relationship. But he has a few walls built up, and I fear no one will ever be able to knock them down.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” I say.
“Oh, it’s not. When I say he gets in his own way, I mean a lot of things, but mostly I think he gets in his own way of being happy.”
“Do you think he could be happy with me?”
“How could he not? You’re smart and lovely, and you have so much in common. If he’d just let himself feel something.”
“You don’t think he feels?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not explaining this very well. He loves us all. Especially his father and sisters. Yes, he feels for all of us and would do anything for us. For any of his cousins as well. He’s a good man.”
“I know that.”
“But he’s built a wall around himself. It’s been there since he came to us, and it seems to grow taller with each passing year. Sometimes I want to bulldoze it down and yell at him to just unmask his feelings. But it won’t do any good. Men like Dale need to come to the realization on their own.”
“Men like Dale?”
She nods. “He’s a lot like his father, as I’ve told you before. He can’t be pushed, Ashley. And believe me, I know how it feels to want to push.”
“I haven’t pushed him.”
I don’t feel my words are untrue. Maybe I’ve pushed him a little, but mostly I’ve just conversed with him, maybe played devil’s advocate a bit. And I haven’t discouraged his physical attentions. Should I have? It’s not really in my nature. I like sex. A lot. I don’t apologize for that.
None of this is suitable conversation to have with his mother, though.
“I’m not saying you have.”
“I know it was a mistake to go into his house that day Penny ran off. If he’d been home, I’m not sure what I would have said or done.”
