His voice deep and GQ-sexy, he says, “If you had a problem with some dumb boy, I’m sure it was his problem, not yours. I think what you need is a real man, who can handle the truth.”
“Are you that man, Drew?” I hear the words I just said, and it strikes me as funny. Man, Drew. “Wait, that sounds like a new nickname. Man-Drew. Mandrew.”
“Are you hitting on me?” He bats his dark, GQ-thick eyelashes. “Tell me something, Meenie. Do you troll these self-help groups looking for guys with low self-esteem to add to your list of conquests?”
I give him an equally flirty eyelash flutter. “You got me. Guilty as charged.”
“Actually, Mandrew is our couple name. Meenie and Andrew. Mandrew. I work around a lot of women’s magazines, so I know about celebrity couple names.”
My eyelashes keep going. “Awesome. Let’s get married.”
He goes along with the joke. “How about next Tuesday? The group meets every Tuesday, right? You’ll have to make those cake things again. Sounds like they’re a hit.”
He’s right. It’s just the two of us sitting in the now-empty circle. Everyone else is at the snacks, hoovering down the tea cakes.
Even Feather is back in the room, though I didn’t hear her slip in. She’s loading a paper plate with sliced fruit and tea cakes. It’s not even nine o’clock, and tonight’s meeting has gone completely off the rails.
“Is it usually like this?” Drew asks.
“No, I don’t know what this is.” I give him a serious look. “But it’s all your fault, that’s for sure.”
“What were you going to tell everyone, right before I barged in with my giant balls and ruined everything?”
I draw a blank. A total blank. My mind is a sheaf of white paper, fresh from the stationery store.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly.
“You probably wanted to relive some painful experience. Something someone said or did, that sticks in your head. It’s locked into your experience. It defines you, this traumatic event. And now you blame every messed up thing in your life on that one event.”
I study his eyes, trying to figure out if he’s joking, or talking about himself. “Something like that.”
“People always want a reason. If a plane crashes in the ocean, they want to know why. They need to find out what bolt was loose, because if there was no bolt loose, that means the universe is nothing but chaos. If there’s no loose bolt or terrorist plot, then nothing means anything. There’s no story or narrative to bad things that happen. Things just happen. Everything decays.” He looks away from me, like he’s annoyed by me, or this group, or by all of humanity. “Only when we embrace our frailty are we free to...” He trails off, staring over at the group chatting by the food. His nostrils flare as he inhales. “Those cakes smell good.”
“You were saying? About frailty?”
He gets up and smooths down his impeccable suit. He straightens his orange tie, which no longer looks ridiculous to me because I’ve gotten used to it. I stare at the tie, my brain sputtering like a car with manual transmission, shifting gears at the hands of a student driver.
If the orange tie isn’t ridiculous now, was it ever? Is reality shifting right now? Am I in the Matrix?
“Let them eat cake,” Drew says matter-of-factly, like he’s answering the questions in my head. “Let us all eat cake.”
Then he walks away, leaving me alone with the echoes of his words. Nothing means anything. Things just happen. I’m falling down a philosophical rabbit hole, where there’s nothing but tiny tea cakes and mysterious vials that say Drink Me, I Promise I’m not Poison.
Well, hell.
I thought I liked Drew for a few minutes there, but deep, sensitive guys are always so dark and brooding, plus they put me in a weird head space.
I think I liked Drew better when I thought he was a seductive sex addict. At least those guys are fun.
I reach under my chair once more for my purse. It’s still not there, but five chairs over. Muttering under my breath, I crouch-walk forward and retrieve my purse.
Feather calls out, “Meenie, you’re not leaving, are you?”
I stand up straight, my purse on my shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“Come here,” she says, nodding with her head for me to join her and Drew, off to the side of the group.
I swallow hard and walk toward them. A guilty shame washes over me. I know this feeling well. This is me, being sent to the principal’s office for teasing boys and making them cry. I only took down the bullies who deserved it, but the principal never saw it that way. A bully who bullies other bullies is like a serial killer who… oh, never mind. Dexter wasn’t on the air yet, so I couldn’t have known about that comparison as a kid. But in my heart, I thought I was doing good.
“Sorry I ruined the group dynamic,” I say to Feather.
Her blue eyes widen with surprise. “On the contrary. I think we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, but I need to talk to you both about something delicate.”
Delicate?
I glance down at her stomach.
“Oh, no,” I gasp. “Feather are you okay? Is there someone we should call?”
She gives me a quick head shake. “It’s about you and Drew.”
“We’re called Mandrew,” he says. “That’s our couple name.”
Feather gives him a long look, then turns to me. “Drew has several layers, and he uses humor to disarm people and deflect attention from himself. I think you two can help each other a lot, but… here’s the delicate part. You can either date, or be in the same group. Not both. The others might enjoy the show you put on, but eventually they’ll stop coming. So, what’s it going to be? Dating, or group?”
I look up into Drew’s glinting brown eyes.
“Let’s answer on the count of three,” Drew says. “One. Two…”
My body says dating, but my mouth says, “Group.”
He says, “Dating.”
I shake my head. “I meant dating.”
“Actually, I meant to say group,” he says. “But then I thought about how it would affect your low self esteem, so I said dating at the last minute, but I didn’t mean it.”
“Fine,” I say coldly. “I wouldn’t date you anyway, because you’re not my type.”
“Come on. I’m everyone’s type.” He turns to Feather. “Right?”