Not Quite Perfect
Page 32
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There was a pause on the line. “I suppose that’s true.”
“But it’s not because of the church. Please know that holds no weight in my feelings.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Mary Frances always cut the bull.
“All right. Perhaps a little.” Mary didn’t want to vocalize her concerns about Mary Frances having sex. Just thinking about it had Mary squeezing her eyes closed. “But only because I knew you for so many years as someone that didn’t date.”
“Coffee and pie is hardly dating.”
“Pie could be the night before, and coffee could be the morning after.”
“Mary Colette Kildare!”
Oh, the middle name came out.
“Sorry.”
“I should think so.”
Because Mary was who Mary was, she added. “But it could be.”
“It isn’t!” There was laughter in Mary Frances’s voice.
This was going to take some time to get used to.
“Tell me about Dakota’s son.”
They spent the next ten minutes talking about Leo . . . about Dakota’s “trip down the stairs” and Mary’s plumbing problems. When she hung up she realized she hadn’t mentioned Glen. She knew immediately why. Mary Frances’s excitement about her own personal life didn’t need any interference from hers.
Chapter Twelve
Ever since Mary’s bikini picture, Glen could think of nothing else. In fact, he saved the picture and referred back to it several times a day.
And it was only Thursday.
He had every intention of flying out Friday after work but knew he wouldn’t pick her up until the time he’d told her.
“You’re flying back to LA?” Jason asked while they had their weekly lunch meeting.
Glen ate three french fries at a time. “I’m taking Mary out.”
“The blonde.”
“Is there another Mary?”
“What is up with my brothers and blondes?” Jason teased.
Glen simply shoved more fries in his mouth and grinned.
“She doesn’t seem like your type,” Jason said.
“Oh?” And what did Jason think was his type?
“You know. Too reserved. I thought you liked ’em a little more . . . I don’t know . . .”
Glen removed his phone from his pocket and pulled up the bikini image of Mary and turned his phone around.
“Oh, wow.”
When Jason grabbed his wrist to get a closer look, Glen pulled it back, suddenly feeling like showing his brother the picture had been the wrong thing to do.
Since when did he hold a moral code for that?
“That was Mary?”
“Yeah, forget I showed you that.”
“Let me see that again.”
“No.” He put his phone away.
“Whoa . . . okay. Sorry. That didn’t look like the Mary I know.”
Glen shook off his unease. “She’s the same Mary . . . just more playful than you’d think.”
“Clearly.”
Glen glared.
“Sorry.”
“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be back Sunday.”
“Whatever works, bro. Tell me how the broker scrub meeting worked out.”
Glen was happy to change the subject.
Mary stared over the counter, her mind completely lost in all things dating. Not her dating, but Sister Mary . . . she really needed to stop thinking of her as a nun. As soon as Mary had hung up the phone, questions started popping up in her head like mini balloons about the heads of cartoon characters. Have they kissed? Has Mary Frances ever kissed a man . . . as in before she became a nun? Did she ever have desires when she was a nun? Maybe Mary didn’t want to know the answer to that one. But still . . . just because someone is married doesn’t make them dead. The whole idea of her pseudomom sitting across from a guy eating pie and giggling produced equal parts ewh and aah.
Mary picked at her sandwich without tasting it.
“I was wondering if I’d see you in here again.”
Mary blinked out of her distraction and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, hi.” Darn, what is his name again? “Kent, right?”
He gave her a full-watt smile. “You remembered.”
“Of course. How is the new job?”
“Bumpy, but it’s good. Lots of personalities at a law office.”
“I bet.” She’d had clients who were lawyers before, they were a very literal fact-driven group overall. Emotions weren’t an option, so cracking through them, in Mary’s experience, wasn’t easy.
“Are you going to eat that, or do I need to get you a bigger box?” Carla asked.
“A bigger box, I think.”
“So, Mary . . .”
Kent was still standing behind her stool at the counter. The spaces on both sides of her were taken, not giving him room to sit.
Carla picked up Mary’s plate and slid the sandwich inside the Styrofoam box.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go out this weekend.”
She saw the question coming from a mile away. “Uhm, the thing is . . . I have plans.”
A strangled smile stuck to his face. “Maybe another time then.”
What did she want to say to that? She didn’t have a boyfriend, not technically, she wasn’t married. Kent was an attractive man. A nice man. “Maybe,” she found herself saying. To avoid more conversation, she dropped the necessary money on the counter and released her seat to the next hungry customer.
“But it’s not because of the church. Please know that holds no weight in my feelings.”
“Oh, c’mon.” Mary Frances always cut the bull.
“All right. Perhaps a little.” Mary didn’t want to vocalize her concerns about Mary Frances having sex. Just thinking about it had Mary squeezing her eyes closed. “But only because I knew you for so many years as someone that didn’t date.”
“Coffee and pie is hardly dating.”
“Pie could be the night before, and coffee could be the morning after.”
“Mary Colette Kildare!”
Oh, the middle name came out.
“Sorry.”
“I should think so.”
Because Mary was who Mary was, she added. “But it could be.”
“It isn’t!” There was laughter in Mary Frances’s voice.
This was going to take some time to get used to.
“Tell me about Dakota’s son.”
They spent the next ten minutes talking about Leo . . . about Dakota’s “trip down the stairs” and Mary’s plumbing problems. When she hung up she realized she hadn’t mentioned Glen. She knew immediately why. Mary Frances’s excitement about her own personal life didn’t need any interference from hers.
Chapter Twelve
Ever since Mary’s bikini picture, Glen could think of nothing else. In fact, he saved the picture and referred back to it several times a day.
And it was only Thursday.
He had every intention of flying out Friday after work but knew he wouldn’t pick her up until the time he’d told her.
“You’re flying back to LA?” Jason asked while they had their weekly lunch meeting.
Glen ate three french fries at a time. “I’m taking Mary out.”
“The blonde.”
“Is there another Mary?”
“What is up with my brothers and blondes?” Jason teased.
Glen simply shoved more fries in his mouth and grinned.
“She doesn’t seem like your type,” Jason said.
“Oh?” And what did Jason think was his type?
“You know. Too reserved. I thought you liked ’em a little more . . . I don’t know . . .”
Glen removed his phone from his pocket and pulled up the bikini image of Mary and turned his phone around.
“Oh, wow.”
When Jason grabbed his wrist to get a closer look, Glen pulled it back, suddenly feeling like showing his brother the picture had been the wrong thing to do.
Since when did he hold a moral code for that?
“That was Mary?”
“Yeah, forget I showed you that.”
“Let me see that again.”
“No.” He put his phone away.
“Whoa . . . okay. Sorry. That didn’t look like the Mary I know.”
Glen shook off his unease. “She’s the same Mary . . . just more playful than you’d think.”
“Clearly.”
Glen glared.
“Sorry.”
“Anyway,” he said, changing the subject. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll be back Sunday.”
“Whatever works, bro. Tell me how the broker scrub meeting worked out.”
Glen was happy to change the subject.
Mary stared over the counter, her mind completely lost in all things dating. Not her dating, but Sister Mary . . . she really needed to stop thinking of her as a nun. As soon as Mary had hung up the phone, questions started popping up in her head like mini balloons about the heads of cartoon characters. Have they kissed? Has Mary Frances ever kissed a man . . . as in before she became a nun? Did she ever have desires when she was a nun? Maybe Mary didn’t want to know the answer to that one. But still . . . just because someone is married doesn’t make them dead. The whole idea of her pseudomom sitting across from a guy eating pie and giggling produced equal parts ewh and aah.
Mary picked at her sandwich without tasting it.
“I was wondering if I’d see you in here again.”
Mary blinked out of her distraction and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, hi.” Darn, what is his name again? “Kent, right?”
He gave her a full-watt smile. “You remembered.”
“Of course. How is the new job?”
“Bumpy, but it’s good. Lots of personalities at a law office.”
“I bet.” She’d had clients who were lawyers before, they were a very literal fact-driven group overall. Emotions weren’t an option, so cracking through them, in Mary’s experience, wasn’t easy.
“Are you going to eat that, or do I need to get you a bigger box?” Carla asked.
“A bigger box, I think.”
“So, Mary . . .”
Kent was still standing behind her stool at the counter. The spaces on both sides of her were taken, not giving him room to sit.
Carla picked up Mary’s plate and slid the sandwich inside the Styrofoam box.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go out this weekend.”
She saw the question coming from a mile away. “Uhm, the thing is . . . I have plans.”
A strangled smile stuck to his face. “Maybe another time then.”
What did she want to say to that? She didn’t have a boyfriend, not technically, she wasn’t married. Kent was an attractive man. A nice man. “Maybe,” she found herself saying. To avoid more conversation, she dropped the necessary money on the counter and released her seat to the next hungry customer.
