Romance By the Book by Sarah Ready

Jessie

“Tell us about Gavin,”says Gladiola. Senior computer class is over, and the three ladies—Mr. Frank went home to watch a sport fishing competition—are helping me with my plan for tonight.

“I don’t want hear about Gavin. I want to hear about William,” says Petunia. “Hotdog! Those stony, buttoned-up businessman type are freaks in the bedroom.”

“Petunia! Her soul mate is Gavin. The brother,” Gladiola snaps.

Petunia and Gladiola are sisters, seventy-eight and seventy-seven years old. They live with their ninety-six-year-old mother, Iris. Petunia and Gladiola were both widowed in the last five years.

“Well, is Gavin just like his brother? Because, woo dee, the amount of repressed sexual energy buttoned up under that business suit is off the charts. The sex appeal was rolling off him. I bet that William is the type that needs it at least twice a day. Minimum.” Petunia fans herself.

“That’s vulgar,” says Gladiola.

“Please, don’t tell me your suit-wearing, stiff-lipped Rodney didn’t come home revved up after a day in court, ready to pound the gavel.”

For a second Gladiola smiles, then her eyes cloud over, and her hands shake as she pulls a tissue from her sleeve. She rolls it into a ball and stares at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Gladiola.” Petunia reaches toward her sister. Gladiola waves her away.

“Tell us about Gavin,” says Wanda. She lives at Water’s Edge Retirement Center and brought Miss Erma with her last class. She takes off her horn-rimmed glasses and wipes them on her bright polyester flower print blouse. Wanda is a peacemaker, it probably comes from having four daughters and eleven grandchildren. One of her granddaughters is Juliet—the owner of the wine bar.

I look at Gladiola and make sure she’s okay. She puts the tissue back in her sleeve and smiles at me.

“Well…” I dig the toe of my high heel into the short-pile moss-green-colored carpet. I sigh. What can I tell them about Gavin to help them understand why he’s right for me?

“Is he also a tiger in a suit, waiting to rip off his buttons and eat you?”

“Umm…” I feel my cheeks flush red. I think of Will and the way he sometimes watches me.

“Not at all. They’re complete opposites.”

“Hmm. Sad,” says Petunia.

“Stop that. William isn’t her soul mate, Gavin is. Stop making trouble,” scolds Gladiola.

Petunia sticks her tongue out at her sister.

“Lord help me,” says Gladiola.

“Go on, dear,” Wanda says.

“Well…” I drag my toe over the carpet. “Gavin is always smiling and laughing. He makes people comfortable, even those who are usually shy in public. He can make any situation fun. His smile—”

I think about the years I counted every single smile he ever gave where I could see him. Seven smiles when he was twelve. Twenty smiles at age thirteen. Eighteen smiles when he was fourteen. And zero smiles when he was fifteen. That was the year his mom died, although I didn’t know until after he left Romeo.

“His smile makes me smile.” I look up from the carpet at their expressions.

“That’s wonderful, dear. What’s he like when you talk?” Wanda gives me an encouraging nod.

My neck prickles. I can count the number of times we’ve spoken on one hand. I know how ridiculous it seems to have wanted him for so long without ever really speaking to him. But…

“Well, we haven’t talked much.” I press my hand my stomach. “But…the day my mom died…”

“I remember,” Wanda says.

Gladiola nods. “We were there. You ran off. Your father was desperately worried.”

I look up in surprise. I never knew he even realized I was gone. “I ran home. When I got there, Will was there, he shoved me into a mud puddle.”

Gladiola lets out an angry humph. I lift a shoulder. I don’t know why Will does what he does. Not when he was eight, not now.

“Gavin found me in the puddle. We climbed a tree together, and he told me since both our moms had left, we could be friends. I was crying so he gave me his handkerchief.”

“Oooh, dashing,” Petunia says.

“What kind of eight-year-old carries a hanky?” Gladiola asks.

“Shh,” Wanda says.

I go on. “I gave him a flower and we sat together. And suddenly the worst day of my life…there was a light in all that dark. And all the years after, when it got dark again, I only had to think of that time or take out that handkerchief, and I knew that everything would be okay. Even if it didn’t feel like it at that moment.”

He was my beacon in the darkness.

“Ahh. A childhood marriage promise. I love it,” Petunia says.

I roll my eyes and smile at her.

Gladiola’s forehead is furrowed. “You haven’t spoken since you were eight?”

“Not really. I sort of idolized him from afar.” I flush and realize how idiotic that sounds. “Stupid.”

Wanda shakes her head. “Not at all. You had a fantasy. Why risk disappointment from the real thing?”

Was that what I had done? Not approached Gavin because I didn’t want to break the image I had of him?

“But now Erma said he’s Jessie’s soul mate, so he’ll be better than she imagined,” Petunia says. “You can throw out your perfect fantasy and discover the real man. Trust me, real men are more interesting and more fun than perfect fantasies.”

Wanda nods. “That’s a fact.”

“Enough talk. Let’s get down to business,” Gladiola says.

She pulls an old brown leather suitcase out from under the computer table. Petunia rubs her hands together in excitement.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask.

Gladiola yanks the suitcase’s zipper open and pulls out a hand-beaded black dress with a V-neck that looks like it’ll go down to my belly button. I swallow so loudly I think everyone can hear my gulp.

“Like you said, makeovers are the bread-and-butter of romance.” Gladiola pulls out a pair of five-inch gold high heels. She’s not done. Out comes a lacy garter belt, silk stockings, a strapless push-up bra, and…

No way.

“I’ve changed my mind. The real lesson in romcoms is that it’s what’s on the inside that counts. You know, I’m beautiful on the inside, and I love myself…no waxing, hair straightening, glasses replaced with contacts, or sex kitten outfit necessary.” Not that I have curly hair or wear glasses, but still. “Since Gavin is my soul mate, he’ll love me for who I am, not what I look like.”

Petunia lets out a cackle, and I realize I’ve let loose three evil fairy godmothers. When I asked them to help with my date tonight, I didn’t think they’d go this far. I like my classy 1950s career woman outfits.

“Here’s some wisdom from someone who was married for fifty-two years,” Petunia says.

“Oookay.” I don’t know if I’m ready for this.

“Men are visual creatures. Give your man a small teaser trailer of the upcoming blockbuster. Let him obsess over the trailer, imagine the blockbuster. You aren’t giving him the main event, you’re giving a teaser.”

“I don’t know, Petunia.” I hold up the dress. “This looks like the entire show.”

She shushes me. “I wore that dress to the opera in 1960 and got a marriage proposal that night.”

“The advertising executive? You didn’t marry him!” Gladiola says.

“All the same,” Petunia says. “You’ll be just like Cleopatra in this dress. Irresistible.”

I grimace. “Please don’t say that. Cleopatra married her brother. Then when he died, she married her other brother, then she ‘cheated’ on her brother with Caesar, most likely killed her brother, then hooked up with Mark Antony and then offed herself. She’s not a good example.” I look at the dress and its shimmery beads. “I’m not wearing this.”

“But Cleopatra ruled the world,” Petunia says.

“Uh huh.”

But I give in. They can do my hair and makeup and pick out my outfit. Gladiola owned a salon, and Petunia owned a boutique. Even at nearly eighty years old they know style. And since I only have a few more days left with Gavin before he leaves Romeo and possibly gets married, I need to make an impression.

I frown. I hear Will’s voice. “He’s getting married. Leave him alone. I won’t let you ruin his chance at happiness.”

Am I ruining his chance at happiness? Gavin picked his fiancée. He didn’t pick me. Fate did, I think. But he didn’t. Is free will, the choice of who you’ll marry, necessary for happiness? Would he rather his choice of a partner, even if she isn’t his soul mate, over me? Because he chose her. An arrow of guilt lodges in my chest. I sit still as Gladiola curls my hair into a French twist.

“What makes a happy marriage?” I ask.

Gladiola tugs on my hair and my eyes water.

Petunia hums as she brushes blush onto my cheeks. “Sex. A wise woman doesn’t let more than a few days pass without sex.”

Gladiola scowls at her sister.

“Fine. I’ll be serious.” She picks up the mascara and I can tell she’s about to impart fifty years’ worth of wisdom.

“Tell your man you love him, that you’re proud of him and grateful for all he does. Support him, treat him with love and he’ll do the same for you. Tell him what you want and need—be specific—don’t make him guess. Men aren’t good at guessing.”

“That’s a fact,” Wanda says.

Petunia pulls out a tube of lipstick and continues.

“Be loyal to him, give him understanding and love. Be the kind of partner to him that you want him to be to you.” She pauses and looks at the other women. “It goes by fast. There’ll be hard times, fights, illness, lost jobs, lost houses, deaths. Such hard times. But beautiful times too. Ask yourself, not, do I want to spend my life with this man when things are great, but, is this the man I want to be with when everything is going to hell and we’re both falling apart? When love is a memory, and the sex is nonexistent, because that will happen, for a spell—”

“That’s a fact,” Wanda deadpans, and they all laugh.

Then Petunia continues. “When love is a memory, will you remember that family and loyalty and support and kindness and compassion and friendship are something you hold dear? Can you sit together, stay, hold hands through hell and let the love blossom again? Because that will happen too. Ebbs and flows. Remember, if you don’t value yourself, and know who and what you love and stand for, then you’ll fall for anything and lose everything. Think about it. Love isn’t only about the good times and happy feelings. It’s about the hard, dull, day-to-day times too. It’s fifty years of good mornings, not just one night of candlelight.”

I let Petunia’s words sink in. Fifty years is a long time and it won’t all be filled with candlelight and flowers and first kisses. That’s fine. It’s not what I’ve dreamed of. What I fantasize about is waking up and the space in bed next to me is warm, not cold. Or being at the grocery store and picking out a box of cereal that I know my husband likes. Or coming home after a long day and instead of hearing only silence, hearing him in the kitchen or watching TV, and knowing that I’m not alone. Knowing someone out there cares…about me…and I care about them.

Petunia pats my shoulder and steps back from me. “You’re ready.”

Wanda holds up a hand mirror. “What do you think?”

My eyelashes look longer, my lips fuller, my hair is shiny and sleek. The smoky eyeshadow makes me look mysterious and womanly.

“I don’t recognize myself.”

“You look like your mother,” Wanda says.

My heart thuds and I give her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I never told you, I’m sorry we didn’t see how much her death affected your father. We didn’t see how bad it was until you were grown. We’re very sorry,” Wanda says.

“We all are,” Petunia says.

I nod and squeeze Wanda’s hand. “It’s okay.”

My dad died three years ago, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have. Because it was as if he’d been gone years before.

“Well, it’s time we’re off. Enough chitchat. We have to set up the rain shower,” Gladiola says.

“Nine o’clock sharp outside the bakery?” asks Petunia.

“That’s right. We’ll be there,” I say.

The ladies are helping me with an impromptu shower for a movie-worthy kiss in the rain. I wonder if William will try to stop it. I smile at the thought. I bet he’s suspicious about this evening. I’ll never admit it to Will, but I tricked Gavin into meeting me. I claimed I wanted to interview him about his travels for the next library newsletter. When I mentioned dinner at Tybalt’s, he happily agreed—apparently spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread is his favorite meal.

I let out a deep sigh. “I’m ready.”

Tonight, Gavin and I will have dinner, he’ll finally see me as his one true love, and we’ll have a romantic kiss in the rain.

It will be perfect.