Table for Seven (19 page)

“You missed one,” Coop said. He had appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, still stark naked, his blond hair rumpled.

“What?” Audrey asked defensively.

“A button,” Coop said.

Audrey looked down. He was right, the front of her blouse was askew, none of the buttons in their proper buttonholes. Coop stepped toward her.

“What are you doing?” Audrey asked, alarmed. Somehow, being this close to him while she was dressed and he was naked seemed even more intimate than sleeping together had.

“Helping,” Coop said calmly. He unbuttoned her blouse, and then buttoned it up properly. “There.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Audrey said.

“Happy to oblige,” Coop said. He peered down at her. “Are you okay? You seem a little stressed out.”

“I’m fine. I just hate being late,” Audrey said.

“Why don’t you call work and let them know you’re on your way,” Coop suggested.

“No, that’s okay. Could you take me back to my car?”

“Sure. Where did I put my keys?” Coop asked, looking around, his hands on his hips.

“They might be in your pants pocket. Which you might also want to consider putting on before we leave,” Audrey suggested.

“Oh, right,” Coop said, looking down with surprise, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

They were both quiet on the drive back to the restaurant. When the silence became too awkward to bear, Audrey cleared her throat and said, “It’s warm out today.” And then immediately wanted to slap herself on the forehead. The weather? Could she bring up anything more inane?

“Would you like me to turn the air conditioner on?” Coop asked courteously.

“No, thank you,” Audrey said, just as politely.

We have officially turned into Chip ’n’ Dale
, she thought.

After what seemed like an agonizingly long trip—Audrey was fairly sure they hit every red light between Coop’s condo and the Salty Dog—Coop pulled up next to Audrey’s car.

“Thanks,” Audrey said. She busied herself collecting her bag, getting out her keys, putting on her sunglasses.

“Anytime,” Coop said, his voice edged with irony.

Audrey turned to look at him. “I meant for dropping me off,” she said.

“Oh, right. Me, too.” Coop smiled. “What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?” Audrey blinked. She was no longer the least bit drunk, but her brain felt like machinery that had been rusted through, the wheels and cogs frozen in place.

“Yes. The meal that comes at the end of the day. After lunch, but before bedtime.”

“Thanks, I know what dinner is.”

“I wasn’t sure. You seemed confused. What do you think? We can go out, or I can cook. Get some practice for when it’s my turn to host the dinner party club,” Coop said.

Audrey knew what she thought: It was a truly terrible idea. Right now, all she wanted to do was to get away from Coop, from the sheer physical presence of him, and retreat
to somewhere cool and quiet until her head started working properly again.

“No. I don’t think so,” she said, so intent on fleeing that she was more abrupt than she meant to be. She risked a quick look at Coop and saw the hurt clouding his eyes. “Look, it’s just … I meant what I said earlier. This is a bad idea. I don’t think we’re well suited.”

“I thought we were suited just fine,” Coop said, his eyebrows arching.

Audrey felt her cheeks grow hot. “I think we should just be friends,” she said, knowing that this was the oldest, lamest line in the history of old, lame lines. And tacky, too, considering they’d just slept together.

Coop nodded coolly, his face like stone. “Right. Friends. I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yes. At the next dinner party club,” Audrey said. She climbed out of his truck and escaped before she could do any further damage.

“WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” RORY asked. She hopped up on one of the tall stools by the kitchen counter to watch Fran chop a pile of cilantro.

“Fish tacos,” Fran said.

Rory made a face. “Gross.”

“I thought you liked fish tacos.”

“No, Iris is the one who likes them. Or she used to. She’s a vegetarian now,” Rory said.

Fran’s knife stilled and she looked at her younger daughter. “Since when is Iris a vegetarian?”

“I don’t know.” Rory shrugged, unconcerned. “A few weeks.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Fran asked.

Another shrug. “You didn’t notice she hasn’t been eating meat?”

“I thought she was just being difficult to be difficult. I didn’t realize it was a lifestyle choice,” Fran said. She sighed. Now, on top of everything else Iris-related she had to worry about, she also had to make sure her older daughter didn’t become anemic. “Don’t some vegetarians eat fish?”

“Don’t ask me,” Rory said cheerfully. “Can I have a hot dog for dinner?”

“Sure,” Fran said distractedly. “We’re grilling the fish anyway, so throwing a hot dog on the grill will be easy enough. Coop will be here any minute.”

“Coop’s coming over? Awesome,” Rory said.

Will wandered in. He was dressed in his oldest, most stained shorts and a T-shirt that read never forget under a picture of a dinosaur.

Fran looked him over critically. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Will looked down at himself in surprise. “Yes. Why?”

“Because we’re having company,” Fran said.

“Isn’t it just Coop?” Will asked. “Since when did he count as company?”

“Yeah, Mom, why are you so dressed up?” Rory asked.

“I’m not dressed up. This is just really comfortable,” Fran said defensively.

Fran thought, not for the first time, that it must be easier to have sons than daughters. Boys were so much less critical, especially when it came to their mothers. And she wasn’t about to admit to either her husband or daughter that she’d bought the blue knit maxi dress that very day.

The doorbell rang.

“There’s Coop now,” Fran said. She felt a nervous flutter and smoothed her dress down.

“I’ll let him in,” Rory said, scampering out of the kitchen. A moment later, Fran heard the front door opening and Rory’s enthusiastic greeting.

“Coop’s here,” Rory announced, bouncing back into the room. Coop trailed in after her.

“I come bearing fish,” Coop said, holding up a cooler. “Caught fresh this morning.”

“Excellent,” Will said, taking the cooler from him.

“He gets the fish, you get the wine,” Coop said, handing Fran a bottle of Chardonnay and kissing her on the cheek.

“You didn’t have to bring wine, too,” Fran protested. “You brought the fish.”

“But you’re cooking it for me. That’s a trade I’ll always be happy to make,” Coop countered.

“Can I get you a beer?” Will asked.

Will and Coop both had beer, while Fran opted for a glass of Coop’s Chardonnay, which was crisp and buttery. Fran put out blue tortilla chips and a bowl of guacamole she’d made earlier.

“What have you been up to, Coop?” Fran asked, as she wrapped corn tortillas in foil.

“The usual,” Coop said. “I’ve been out on the boat a lot.”

“Can I come fishing with you again?” Rory asked.

“Anytime,” Coop said, smiling at her.

“I hope we see a shark again,” Rory enthused.

“Again?” Fran asked, turning to her younger daughter.

Coop made a throat-slashing gesture at her.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” Rory said sheepishly.

Fran looked at Coop, eyebrows raised. “Shark?” she said.

“Just a very small one. It was sniffing around the boat, hoping to snag a snapper off my line,” Coop said.

“Why do I suddenly have a vision of Jaws leaping out of the water and snatching Rory off your boat?” Fran asked.

“Come on, honey, that practically never happens,” Will said.

“And the shark would be much more likely to eat me. I’m sweeter than Rory,” Coop teased. Rory punched him playfully in the arm. “Ow! Yikes, how does such a little girl pack such a punch? Did you take up boxing?”

Rory held up her fists, rolling them like a boxer. Coop held up his hands and laughed.

“I’m officially scared,” he said.

Iris wandered into the kitchen. Her long dark hair was ironed stick straight, and her eyes were ringed with heavy black eyeliner. Her jeans were so tight, Fran wondered how she could walk in them. Or breathe for that matter.

“Hey, Coop. I didn’t know you were here,” Iris said.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Coop said, grinning at her. “Are you still hard at work breaking the hearts of all the boys at your school?”

“You know it,” Iris said, smirking.

“That’s my girl. Just like I taught you,” Coop said, holding up a hand for Iris to slap.

“Iris, where did you get those jeans?” Fran asked. “I haven’t seen them before.”

“Duh.” Iris rolled her eyes. “Where do you think? The
mall
.”

“Iris,” Will said sharply.

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t
duh
your mother,” he said.

“That sounds like the title of a rap song,” Coop said. He crossed his arms over his chest, striking a rapper’s pose, and began to sing: “Don’t duh your
mother
, if you want me to be your
brother
.”

Everyone laughed, except for Iris, who put her hands over her ears.

“Mom, make him stop,” Iris begged.

“I have no control over him,” Fran said.

Will got in on the action, providing a background rhythm for Coop’s rap. “Pah pah
pah
pah pah
pah
pah
pah
.”

“So listen to me,
guv’nor
, don’t be rude to your
mother
,” Coop rapped on.

“Guv’nor?” Fran repeated. “You don’t hear many
guv’nors
in modern rap. In fact, you don’t hear many
guv’nors
outside of
Mary Poppins
.”

Coop paused, mid-rap. “What else rhymes with
mother
?”

“Judger?”
Rory suggested.

Coop tried it out. “Don’t duh your
mother
, or else I’m going to be a
judger
.”

“I don’t think you should give up your day gig,” Will said.

“Absolutely not,” Iris said, giggling.

Fran looked around at her family. Happiness fizzed up around them, their faces bright, laughter filling the room. When was the last time she’d heard Iris giggle? It had been so long, she couldn’t even remember. It was Coop, Fran realized. His just being there made them all light up.

“No hot date tonight, buddy?” Will said, slapping Coop on the shoulder.

“No, not tonight,” Coop said.

“Let me get you another beer,” Fran said. She took one
out of the fridge, and then closed the door with her hip. She handed Coop the bottle. “Have you been seeing anyone lately?”

“Not really,” Coop said.

Good
, she thought, although she smiled sympathetically.

“I did take your friend out once, but it was pretty much a disaster,” Coop continued.

Fran could feel the smile freezing on her face.

“My friend?” she repeated.

“Yeah, your friend. Audrey,” Coop said.

“You and Audrey went out? On a date?” Fran asked.

She swallowed back the urge to pump Coop for details. When had he and Audrey been out? Where had they gone? Why hadn’t Audrey mentioned it to her? And, most important, what had happened between them?

“It didn’t go well,” Coop said.

“Why didn’t you like Audrey?” Rory asked.

“I did like her. I mean, I do like her. She’s just not so crazy about me,” Coop said. He grinned at Rory. “Shocking, right? I mean, who wouldn’t love me?”

“Did you rap for her?” Iris asked. “That might explain it.”

Coop laughed.

“Coop, come out to the garage. You have to see Iggy,” Rory said, tugging at Coop’s arm.

“Who’s Iggy?”

“The battle bot Dad and I are building,” Rory said. Coop allowed himself to be led off, followed by Will and even Iris. Fran was left alone in the kitchen, still trying to process this bombshell.

Coop and Audrey had gone out together. On a date.

Obviously, it hadn’t been a success. Coop had made that
clear enough. Maybe there wasn’t any chemistry between them, Fran thought hopefully.

But if that was it
, Fran thought,
why didn’t Audrey mention anything about it to me?

THE NEXT MORNING, WILL wheeled his lawn mower over to Leland’s yard. He’d mowed three passes before Leland came out onto his front porch, walking slowly, and waved him down. Will turned the mower off.

“What in tarnation are you doing?” Leland asked.

“You sound like Yosemite Sam from
Looney Tunes
. Are you going to call me a
wascally wabbit
next?” Will asked.

“I don’t want you mowing my lawn,” Leland said.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t ring your doorbell and ask permission before I started,” Will said.

“Just because I’m old, doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass,” Leland said. “I have a cane, you know. And I’m not afraid to use it.”

“I had nothing better to do than wander the neighborhood with my trusty mower, looking for lawns that need mowing,” Will said.

“Fran put you up to this, didn’t she?” Leland said.

“She might have mentioned something about it,” Will said.

Leland sighed. He looked older, Will thought. And he was using his cane more than he had in the past.

“I know the lawn is getting to be too much for me,” Leland admitted, which in itself was shocking. Leland had always taken great pride in his yard, and that he did all the work on his own. “But there’s no need for you to do it. I’ll hire a lawn service.”

“No way,” Will said. “They’ll bring those heavy mowers in here, chop up your grass, and before you know it, you’ll have bald patches all over the place.”

“So? That way the lawn will match my head,” Leland said.

“If I don’t mow your lawn, Fran will kill me. Do you really want that on your conscience? Me dead. Fran in jail. Our children orphans.”

Leland looked truly distressed. Will sympathized. The limitations imposed by aging must be hellish. One door after another closing on you, all the while knowing that you’ll never be able to open it again.