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“Okay.” He shut his mouth and said no more.
“You know, I can teach you how to be single. I’m good at being alone.” I hopped down off the counter. “Actually, I wonder if that’s what the divorce was about. You eventually needing time on your own to grow or whatever.”
“Wouldn’t we have just separated for a while if that was the case?”
“Who knows?” I shrugged. “Coupledom is complicated. Trying to keep something together long-term. Finding that balance between two people. Not making the mistake of conforming to meet someone else’s expectations. No matter how much you like them. It’s why my dating history is kind of spotty.”
His forehead furrowed. “You shouldn’t have to change for anyone, Susie. That’s not what it’s about. I mean, there’s compromising, but...not twisting yourself into a pretzel to make someone else happy.”
“But I’m the odd girl, Lars. The mouthy one. Not the one they take home to meet Mother.”
“Then fuck them. And not in the good way.”
The smile spread slowly but surely across my face. “Thank you for saying that.”
He just grunted.
“You know, I’ve never had someone run across town in the middle of the night just to have a fight with me before.”
“Wasn’t much of a fight.”
“Guess it was more about us sorting out our difficulties. Again.”
“I better go.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Tell me we’re fine.”
“We’re fine,” I said, following him to the door. “Quick question. Do you talk about this sort of stuff with anyone else?”
“No.” He turned away. “Think it’s safe to say I talk more with you than I do anyone else. Maybe that’s why this is so important to me. You and me being friends, I mean.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe that’s how we wound up married in a parallel universe. We talked ourselves into it, somehow.”
“We’re saying it happened in a parallel universe now?”
“Sure. One where you didn’t so much mind me mentioning my underwear or showing some side boob. It’s as good an explanation as any.”
“TV and ice cream tomorrow night?”
“Sounds good.”
Nine
Lars appeared on the front porch Thursday evening with a relaxed smile on his face and a pint of ice cream in his hand. He’d gotten it from Molly Moon’s—a solid choice. I hoped it was their honey and cornbread.
His smile, however, didn’t last long. First the cat raced out from underneath the dining table and climbed the man as if he was her last hope of refuge. Which he kind of was. I ran after her while Cleo stared in horrified wonder and Austin muttered obscenities. As photo shoots went, this one was a disaster.
Lars cradled the feline against his chest and said, “What the hell, Susie?”
“You.” I pointed a finger at the beast. “I am extremely disappointed in your life choices.”
The cat sank her claws into Lars’s tee trying to hang on even tighter. Lars winced in pain. “I repeat, what the hell?”
“She peed all over Austin’s guitar and its case.”
“Damn.”
“I know,” I cried. “It’s a 1960 Martin worth a fucking fortune. We were taking promo shots for him and this one decided to piddle where she most definitely should not.”
The cat stretched up to rub her head against Lars’s chin. She had the audacity to purr.
I again pointed a finger in her direction. “If you think I’m going to continue to buy you the expensive organic kibble after this you have another thing coming, missy.”
“I think we’ve got all of the shots we need,” said Cleo, packing away her camera and flash.
Meanwhile, Austin had fallen silent and sat staring at his beloved instrument in stunned silence. In his hand he held a now cat-pee-stained T-shirt. Guess it’d been the first thing he thought of to clean up the mess. The man had a lot of tattoos, including a tree on his back. Very cool.
“What a mess.” I pulled my phone out of my back jeans pocket and started googling. “Okay. They say vinegar and baking soda. Let me just...oh, no. Peroxide is apparently better. Not quite sure what we do about the guitar case, though.”
“Are you sure about peroxide?” Austin asked, worried. “Maybe that will just make it worse.”
“I’m sure,” I said, still reading. “This says it won’t harm the wood or the finish.”
“It’s soaked through a crack and a couple of nicks in the varnish.”
“I’ll put the cat outside for now,” said Lars.
“That might be best,” Cleo answered.
I found the necessary items in the kitchen along with some paper towel and kneeled before the Martin. It was a beautiful old acoustic guitar.
“I’m so sorry, Austin.”
He nodded glumly.
I wiped away the remaining urine with an old towel. Then I covered the area with a clean cloth soaked in peroxide and pressed down gently. “We’re supposed to let it sit for a while.”
“Hey, Lars,” Austin said, greeting him with a tilt of his chin.
