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“You verbalized what most guys only have the guts to think. I like that,” I smiled, “a lot.”

He gave me a grin that literally melted me. It was strange. Two people with a fairly large age gap and vastly different lifestyles had met, and within seconds had connected on a sexual level. In my forty-two years of life, this was a first for me. Preston and I had skipped the courtesy period. We’d omitted any polite exchanges and gone right to what was real, what was the truth. It wasn’t complicated and it wasn’t sugar coated. We were attracted to each other and we were honest about it. And it seemed right.

“So, do you want to get together sometime?”

“I think so.”

Preston then proceeded to do something unbelievable. He leaned over and kissed me, and I don’t mean he gave me a light peck. The kiss was intense, and done with determination and purpose. My lips hadn’t touched a guy’s lips in over a year, but I can say with certainty, that wasn’t the reason Preston’s kiss was so remarkably extraordinary. There was a kind of passion in it that I was pretty sure I’d never experienced. And kissing him back came so natural it was frightening. I now understood the meaning of infatuation. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe infatuation was too mild of a word.

“What’s going on in here?” I then heard John say with a nervous chuckle.

I quickly stood up and said, “Nothing,” while Preston cleared his throat.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt, but Isabelle really wants her drink.”

“Sure,” I said. Then I quickly poured a glass of water and dashed out the door, leaving the two guys standing in the kitchen. To say I was completely horrified is putting it mildly. My friend’s husband had just walked in on me and his work buddy on our knees, sucking face, while my young, innocent child sat outside, fifteen feet away. What could Preston possibly say to his boss about that? I had no clue, but what I did know, was that it was time for us to pack up and head home.

I was barely able to look anyone in the eye when saying good-bye. To Preston, I managed, “Nice meeting you,” a polite smile on my face, the thrill still bottled up inside me.

“You too,” he said with a grin.

I turned away and we headed for the car.

“Thanks for the salsa!” Stacy shouted, “It was delicious!”

“Anytime!” I responded, “Thanks again for having us over!” I wanted to thank Preston, as well. I wanted to let him know how much I appreciated the life-altering kiss he planted on me. I wanted to tell him that I would undoubtedly never forget what had happened to me on my friend’s kitchen floor, how a splendid, almost magical kiss had taken me to a place I’d never imagined I’d go.

Lying in bed that night, I tossed and turned for awhile, unable to think about anything else but Preston Christiansen, the Christian. He wanted to see me naked. Would it happen? I asked myself. I wasn’t sure, but the thought of it was making me dizzy.

.

Chapter 4

T
hanks to one of my best friends, Xanax, I was in the deepest sleep I’d been in for weeks. I was dreaming, and in a tranquil, almost zombie-like state of mind. Unfortunately, my dear mother would put an abrupt end to the peaceful slumber at around midnight.

With its loud ring, the phone that sat on the nightstand next to my bed and inches from my head woke me abruptly. After my brain registered what was happening, I instantly surmised that someone I knew was dead. I figured that if a person was calling me in the middle of the night, death had to be the only explanation.

“Hello,” I managed, my heart pounding and my voice a quivering whisper.

“Emma? Is that you?” said my mom so loudly, I jumped.

“Who else would answer my phone, Mom?” I asked.

“Did you hear?” were her next words.

“No. Who died?”

“No one, thank God.”

“Oh, well that’s good.”

“I just got off the phone with Laura,” my mother said, “I guess you haven’t heard.”

“What?”

“Alan’s leaving her.”

“What?!”

“For some aerobics whore.”

“Helene!” I heard my dad say. I assumed he was right next to her.

“Helene!”

“What? She is. She’s a whore.”

Just then, I heard call waiting. “Mom, hold on. This must be Laura calling me.” I clicked over. “Hello?”

All I heard was sobbing. My sister couldn’t even speak. She just cried. After about two and a half seconds I said, “Laura, it’s going to be okay. Don’t worry. I promise.”

More weeping and blubbering.

“Seriously, you’re going to be fine. I swear.” I remembered my mother on the other line. “Hold on. Let me hang up with Mom.” I clicked back over. “Mom, this is Laura. Let me go talk to her.”

“I’m coming over to your house,” said my mother, “Tell Laura I’ll pick her up on my way.”

“What? You’re coming over? Now?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Tell your sister I’ll be at her house in ten.” I could hear my dad objecting in the background. “Shhh! I’m going,” she said to him. “Emma, we’ll see you soon.” Then she hung up.

I clicked back to my sister, who I knew was still on the line because I could still hear the crying. “Laura, listen. Mom’s picking you up in ten minutes and bringing you here.”

“Okay.”

The fact that she was able to utter the word okay made me feel a lot better.

I stumbled out of bed, now regretting the Xanax. I checked on Izzie and then made my way downstairs and into the kitchen. The obvious choice of food for anyone who was hungry was staring me in the face when I opened the refrigerator. The question was, which salsa was more appropriate for Laura’s time of need? Would she feel comforted by Hot Banana Salsa? Or would Tomato Celery salsa be more soothing?

I took out both containers, along with some celery and a jug of orange juice. Just as I headed to the pantry for some tortilla chips, I got a text. I figured it was Laura telling me they were on their way.

It was from a number I didn’t recognize and it read, “Can’t stop thinking about the kitchen floor.” I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. There was only one person who could possibly be the sender of this text: the gorgeous creature who made my heart stop with his huge biceps, his dark, seductive eyes, and his bold innuendo.

I started to laugh. Standing in my kitchen in the middle of the night, I felt so happy and so giddy that I wanted to dance and sing and do cartwheels around the house. I felt a little bit guilty for feeling so great. After all, my sister was probably in such pain, and this was most likely the low point in her life. How could I be so elated at a time like this? Simple. This wasn’t about Laura. This was about me, and the fact that a guy named Preston Christiansen, just like Prince Charming, had kissed my lips and had woken me from a deep, deep sleep.

I decided I had to hide my euphoria right now and get into supportive sister mode. I knew Laura would be thrilled for me, but this wasn’t the time to start sharing the beginning of my new love life. So, I decided I’d hide it from her. Just for tonight.

I cut up some celery, and then I began putting everything on the kitchen table. After reading the text from Preston about eight more times, I sat down and texted back. “The kitchen floor was really nice.”

Then I waited. I waited for Mom and Laura, and I waited for another text. I dipped a chip into the Hot Banana Salsa and ate it. It tasted sweet and hot and surprising, just like Preston.

Just then, another text. “When can we get together?” it read. Before I could respond he texted again. “How about dinner Friday night?”

“How old are you?” I texted.

“Does it matter?” Preston texted.

“Yes.”

“35.”

Just then, I heard a light knock at the back door that led into the kitchen. My heart was pounding furiously and I was energized beyond belief, with a warm and happy feeling all through my skin. A thirty-five year old, whose looks were right up there with those of a movie star, and whose demeanor made me shiver with delight had just asked me, forty-two year old Emma Bloom, single mother with major baggage, out for dinner. I was immensely flattered and I suddenly felt like a major cougar. And I was beyond happy about it!

But for now, I had to act sad, somber, and concerned. Not that I would be acting. I really felt all those things for Laura. But Preston was making me crazy! It was frightening to think about someone in a sexual way after everything that had happened to me, but it was unbelievably alluring, too.

I opened the door, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. “Hi,” I said with a sad smile, hugging my mom and then Laura.

My sister hugged me back tighter than I can ever remember, and we stood there and embraced for a long time. My mother sat at the table for a moment. Then she stood up and I’m pretty sure she was watching the grip Laura had on me, because at that moment she blurted out, “We may need some wine.”

Laura and I turned to her, both of us with looks of surprise on our faces. No one in my family has ever been a big drinker, so for my mother to feel like we needed alcohol right now was a big indication of how serious she thought Laura’s situation was, and how little of a clue she had as to how to handle it.

“What?” my mom said defensively, as she perceived our looks of shock to be judgmental.

“Nothing, Mom,” said Laura, “I think you’re right.”

I went over to my wine rack and pulled out a bottle of Pinot Noir. “So tell me everything,” I said to Laura as I got the wine glasses out of the cabinet.

My mother answered for her. “Alan has been sleeping with that slut for over a year and he says he’s in love with her,” she said as she dipped a chip into the banana salsa, “He said he’s probably going to marry her!” She ate the chip and then said, “This has a very weird taste, but it’s good.”

Laura couldn’t help but giggle.

“Try it,” said Mom.

“Marry her?” I said, while uncorking the wine, “There’s no way.”

Laura nodded, “That’s what he said.” Then she put a chip and salsa in her mouth and exclaimed, “This is great!”

“Back up,” I said, “Tell me the whole story.”

My sister took the wine glass I handed her and began, “Alan came home a couple hours ago and told me we needed to talk…”

I sat there sipping my wine and listening to Laura tell the story of the official end of her twenty year marriage. All I could think was, ‘How could this have happened to my kind, gentle sister? It was so undeserving. Where was the justice? On the other hand, after seeing my soon-to-be ex asshole brother-in-law getting down and dirty with his new girlfriend, who I’d be willing to bet was only in the relationship for the cash, a big part of me realized he was most likely doing Laura an enormous favor in the long run. Still, I found myself furious, the picture of his disgusting, big white butt still fresh in my mind. Would that image remain etched in my brain forever? If so, I decided I’d definitely be throwing up a lot in the future.

“He actually told me he’s been looking at engagement rings!” exclaimed Laura, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I never liked him,” said our mother.

“Mom!” said Laura and I in unison.

“What? I didn’t. But I kept it to myself all these years.”

Right then, I got a text. Everyone heard it because my phone was still sitting on the kitchen table.

“Who’s texting you right now?” asked Laura.

“I don’t know,” I lied. I was trying to stay calm, but my insides were bursting with excitement.

“Well, look and see,” said my sister.

“No, it’s okay.”

Laura gasped. “You’re hiding something! Is it from a guy?”

“No,” I lied.

“Yes!” Laura exclaimed, “It is! Come on, tell me!”

Our mom sat there eating salsa, half amused and half confused.

I smiled and looked at the text. “I’m waiting,” it read, “Friday night?” I let out a laugh.

“Well?” asked Laura.

Taking a deep breath I said, “I met someone.”

Both women were now wide-eyed, and as excited as Isabelle gets in the
American Girl
Store.

“Is he Jewish?” was instinctively my mother’s first question.

“Mom, is that important at this point?” Laura asked.

I put my hands over my face, too embarrassed, almost too ashamed to go on, as if my family members could read my dirty mind and see how much I was considering the possibility of being the next suburban Cougar on the loose.

“Just tell us,” said my mom.

“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” said Laura, “I’m thrilled by this. It’s wonderful.”

I looked up at them and blurted out, “He’s tall, and dark, and gorgeous, and…” I took a deep breath in an attempt to get up the courage to finish, “and thirty-five.”

Laura let out a scream of excitement.

“One more thing,” I said.

“What?” asked my sister.

I looked right at my mother, who had just put a chip with salsa in her mouth, and declared, “His name is Preston. Preston Christiansen.”

My mom almost choked on her food and Laura burst out laughing. So, I did too. After a moment, my mother cracked a smile and began to accept reality, which was that her daughter wasn’t looking for a nice Jewish boy as a second husband. In fact, her daughter wasn’t looking for a second husband period. The last thing I wanted or needed was a serious relationship, so wasn’t Preston the perfect guy for me at this stage in the game? That was the thought that caused me to pick up my phone and text him back.