And the aforementioned speaker dock.
And the night before, I’d given myself a luxurious pedicure, unearthing my foot tub out of its box to do it.
My five-session pass for the Pilates center was purchased.
My first session was under my belt.
I was making fabulous-smelling, and I hoped would be fabulous-tasting, beef Stroganoff.
And I was thinking of getting a cat (or two) for company.
Yes, I was all in.
New life.
New me.
New beginning.
All to write a new future.
Out of the rut.
And on to something good.
(I hoped.)
“I don’t know what to say,” Dottie said in my ear.
“Nothing to say anymore.” I dropped my voice and kept stirring my sauce. “You’ve said it all, babe. I just never listened. Or if I did, it just didn’t sink in. It’s sunk in.”
“It’s seeing Logan,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
I did not lie about that, just my answer encompassed a whole truth she didn’t know.
Her voice was stronger when she said, “Then it’s good that happened. It didn’t seem good at the time but every woman has her limits. Every woman finds her time. You seeing him, hearing him, knowing he moved on, has kids, is doing okay, that was it for you. So that’s good.”
She was right. That part was good.
For Logan.
But I didn’t care or, more aptly, was determined to move toward not caring.
However, that thought was a good one to have.
I’d think of him that way, rather than the total asshole he’d been.
I’d think of him doing okay. Enjoying his kids. Being with his brothers.
And I’d find my things to enjoy.
Like beef Stroganoff.
“You’re right, Dottie,” I replied. “Now, I gotta add the mushrooms and steak to the sauce before it gets too thick.”
“You’re cooking?” She sounded shocked.
“New leaf, haven’t you heard?” I teased. “I mean, I did just mention it two seconds ago.”
“Kiss my butt,” she retorted, as she’d done since I was six and she was eight.
“Show it, I’ll kiss it,” I replied, as I’d done since she was eight and I was six.
“Whatever. If that stuff you’re making is good, then you’re making it for Alan, the kids, and me.”
“You’re on.”
“Awesome. Later, Mill.”
“Later, Dot. Love you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
She rang off.
I set my phone aside and picked up the platter with the seared beef and sautéed mushrooms.
I added it to the sauce.
I stirred.
I tipped it over the drained noodles and ate it with a delicious glass of red wine poured into one of my fabulous red wineglasses that I hadn’t pulled out in probably three years.
And it was divine.
* * *
“Holy crap, this is Dynasty except British with a better wardrobe and set in the early 1900s,” I whispered to the TV.
My kitchen was clean. My candles still burning. Only one lamp was lit, along with my gas fireplace, giving the room a warm, cozy glow.
And I was sitting, curled up on my couch, wineglass in hand, into my third episode of Downton Abbey.
Violet was a stitch.
And I was so organizing a party where people had to wear clothes from the early 1900s.
The costumes were amazing!
Violet had just drolly let out another humdinger and I was giggling at it when my doorbell rang.
I turned and looked over my shoulder toward the hall that led to the rest of my house, including my foyer.
It was late but I was not surprised my bell had sounded.
This happened. It happened when Dottie got fed up with Alan thinking that being a stay-at-home mom was a cushy job so he could come home, watch TV, scratch his crotch, and leave her on duty. She’d teach him by coming to my place, bitching, leaving him home on duty with the kids.
He’d learn.
Then he’d forget.
As was, according to Dottie, her lot since he was a man. They forgot stuff like that.
Repeatedly.
It also could be Justine, who worked but only part-time and her partner, Veronica, had a higher paying, higher stress, full-time job and Veronica felt the same way about Justine taking care of their son.
Thus she also had that lesson to teach, did it on occasion, Veronica learned and Veronica had a vagina but apparently she also had a short memory because she often forgot too.
Further, it could be Kellie, who did not have a partner (at the moment). However, she did have a life motto to have a good time all the time and even after all these years of shutting myself away, she never gave up. If she got a wild hair to try to drag me in to her good time, she swung around my place in an effort to do just that.
Or it could be Claire, my assistant, who was a serial dater and seemed surprised when the men in her life found out about the other men in her life and didn’t like it and then dumped her and broke her heart (ish). Claire also had a short memory since this happened frequently and she hadn’t learned to come clean early that none of her relationships were exclusive.
As I set my wine aside and got up, I was guessing Kellie or Claire. It was way too late for it to be Dottie or Justine. My niece and nephew were nine and four. Justine and Veronica’s little boy was eight months.
With the kids down, they’d totally be in bed by now doing one thing or the other.
I moved to the foyer, walked down it, and stared at my door, which was mostly a window covered in a beautiful sheer gathered at the top and bottom.
But I did this with my heart beginning to pump faster.