“It’s okay. I guess he and I had grown apart more than I realized. When I found out he’d been cheating on me, I realized there was no saving the marriage.”
“He cheated on you?” I know it happens all the time, but it’s hard to imagine someone cheating on Lorraine. I wish her loser ex was here right now, because punching him would feel so good.
She nods and busies herself putting a slice of cheese onto a wheat cracker.
“You didn’t deserve that.” And even though I haven’t known her for long, I know that much is true.
She glances up at me, and she looks surprised by my expression, which has likely turned hard. There’s no excuse for some asshole treating her with such a lack of respect, and it pisses me off.
“Things happen,” she says lightly, as if it’s of no significance, though I know he hurt her badly. She hands me the cracker she was preparing. “That’s enough about that. Thanks for bringing the snacks. This is perfect.”
I follow her lead and drop the subject. I don’t want my anger about her ex to stir up any bad memories, and I’m not going to dwell on the topic when she wants to change the subject. She turns the conversation to landscape design, and while we eat, we talk about plants and design in general, and her yard specifically, and the goals she has for it.
At one point, when I’m explaining my ideas, I find a stick nearby and sketch some things in the sand next to our blanket.
“You’re so talented,” she says, looking at what I drew. When I frown skeptically, she says, “I know it’s just a rough drawing on sand, but I can see your creativity. You have a unique way of looking at things, and I love your ideas for my yard.”
“Thanks.” Since Leo is often the spokesperson for our work, I don’t always hear comments about the designs, and it feels good.
“How did you get into that kind of work?” she asks.
“I grew up gardening with my mom. I think she was shocked when I started asking if we could grow certain plants. I’ve always liked any kind of art and design, too. I still keep sketchbooks handy.”
“I can’t draw a straight line.”
“Everyone has creativity inside them. It’s just a matter of bringing it out,” I say.
“Hmm, I guess I’ve never nurtured that side of myself.”
“It’s a nice way to relax. Making art can be meditative.”
After a couple of quiet minutes spent eating and drinking, Lorraine says, “What about your dancing job? It seems so different from design. Do you like it?”
“Surprisingly, I do. It has its creative side, too, though it took me a while to find it. And I wasn’t good at the moves at all in the beginning, but I think I’ve improved.”
“Your moves are very, very good,” she says, and the impressed tone in her voice makes me laugh even while it swells my chest with pride.
“You’re so easy to talk to,” I tell her as I offer her the last of the cheese, which she refuses with a wave of her hand.
“So are you. Your brother made me laugh a lot, but being with you feels peaceful.”
“Is that a polite way of saying I’m boring?” I ask with a grin.
“No, not at all,” she rushes to say. “I just feel at ease with you, and calm. It’s a nice feeling.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”
She shifts on the blanket to help me pack up what’s left of our meal. “Are you and Leo competitive with each other?”
It’s an interesting question, and not something I’d thought about, at least not for several years. “Not anymore, I wouldn’t say we are. We used to be, but that was when we were playing sports at school, running track and stuff like that.”
It’s subtle, but she shrinks back at the mention of school, and I wonder if it’s because of our age difference. School was a long time ago, though.
“That’s good,” she says.
“Now that we work together, our relationship is the best it’s been. We’re close.”
“That’s good. My sister and I are really close, too. Oh, you probably know her. Brittany, she works at the club?”
“Brittany’s your sister?”
She nods. “I can’t believe I forgot to mention that before.”
“You and she seem so different,” I tell her.
“So do you and Leo.”
“I guess you’re right.” I honestly don’t feel competitive with my brother, but I am curious about how his evening with Lorraine went. I heard the basic outline of it from him, but I wonder how it was from her point of view. It’s not something I plan to ask about, though; that’s their business.
As I put away the remains of our picnic, I spot the bottle of sunscreen at the edge of the blanket. “Want more sunscreen on?” I ask her. “The water probably washed it away.”