The next thing I know, we’re at the garden center, coffees in hand, and Darian is helping me down from the truck. Troy leads the way around the place, showing me his ideas for new trees and bushes, and encouraging me to choose what I like.
Going over a patch of gravel, Troy takes my arm to keep me steady, and it’s at this unfortunate moment that a familiar face appears on the path in front of us.
“Lorraine?”
It’s Nick’s mother, my ex-mother-in-law, and she’s frowning at me with an expression she’d usually reserve for spoiled milk.
I used to call her Mom, but she’s Mrs. Martin to me again, so that’s how I greet her.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her emphasis on the doing, though I know her question is more about who I’m here with. Troy still has hold of my arm, but I straighten it, hoping he’ll drop it, and he does.
“Just picking out some plants. These are my new landscapers.” I gesture to the men and she gives them a short nod, taking in an eyeful before finally returning to me.
“Oh, well. Nice to see you, Lorraine. Take care.”
I stay frozen as she passes, and when she’s out of earshot, Darian is at my side, concerned. “Who was that?”
“Oh, sorry. I should have introduced you. That was my former mother-in-law.”
He nods. “You don’t get along?”
“Apparently not anymore. We used to be close, but she hasn’t been in touch since my separation.”
His eyes are sympathetic, and he rubs my shoulder in a soothing way. Mothers-in-law have a bad reputation, but I’d always liked mine, and I thought she liked me. I thought our relationship might have continued outside of my marriage to her son, but I guess I was wrong about that.
“You forgot to tell her that I’m also your pizza delivery man,” Leo says, and even though he’s joking, it makes me wonder if it was insensitive to introduce the men as my landscapers. They’re definitely my friends, too, but putting a label on our unusual relationship is complicated. The word relationship is complicated in itself, and I feel that twinge again as I find myself wishing this was actually some sort of romantic relationship, though I know I don’t really want that.
The nearness of these men makes my head go funny, I swear to god.
We don’t buy any plants, despite seeing some nice ones. Troy tells me that now that he knows what I want, he’ll shop around at a couple of other places and find the best deals. We spent quite a while at the garden center, and when we get back in the truck, me between the twins again, Leo asks if I have time to go to lunch with them.
I want to say no, but I can’t think of any good reason to object, other than the fact that being around them has me lusting after them and wanting things that make no sense. Briefly, I consider suggesting that we somehow extend the fantasy arrangement, but I remind myself that would be a bad idea.
If being with them for three nights — it’s hard to believe it was only three nights, when it felt like so much more — amplified my loneliness, imagine how much worse I’d feel after more time with them. If I decide I want the long-term company of a man again, I need to find an appropriate partner. Carrying on an affair with four young male strippers is no path forward for a divorced woman in her mid-thirties.
We’ve had our fun, but all good things must come to an end.
During our lunch at the Seafood Shack, I find out the men have different ideas.
“So what’s it going to be for fantasy number four?” Leo asks, casually waving a french fry in the air before popping it in his mouth.
I’m still chewing, and after I swallow, I take a long sip of my iced tea before answering. “I’ve had dates with all four of you. I thought that would be it.”
“Maybe you’ve been crunching numbers too hard at work,” he says, “because you lost count. You’ve only had three fantasies, and you were promised four.
“You’ve got one more coming,” Dante says, looking at me like he wants to be directly involved in the fourth fantasy.
“Surely, you have more ideas,” Leo says.
I look down at my basket of fried seafood, wondering if I have the nerve to say what I’m thinking. I’ve gotten to know these men a lot better, and I’m comfortable with them, but what I have actually been fantasizing about this week is new, and it’s a big step beyond what’s gone on so far.
But since this will be the final fantasy, I can’t single one of them out, not even Leo.
“I do have one more idea,” I say, glad that we’re at the restaurant early and there’s no one else sitting around us.