“That’s an interesting idea.” She sets out the sign-in book and begins circling the chairs, adjusting each one with precision.
I take a seat in the circle and wait for her to answer my question. Feather likes to take her time and think before she responds. Her answers are always worth the wait. I look down at her sparkling engagement ring and wedding band. Feather’s definitely the marrying kind, so I don’t know if she can even relate to me on a personal level, but maybe she’s had other clients like me.
“Would you prefer that I call you Megan?” she asks.
“I think it might be too late. Everyone knows me as Meenie, and I’d have to constantly correct everyone, and that’s not very nice, so there goes that whole idea. Forget I asked. Never mind.”
She purses her lips and gives me an amused smile. “It’s always interesting how people answer their own questions.”
“Do you think I’m mean because of my name?”
“I don’t think you’re mean.” She takes a seat in her usual spot, with her back to the door, and crosses her legs. She quickly adjusts the loose-fitting sweater that falls down over the waist of her long skirt. It’s a tiny gesture, but gives away everything.
“Holy shit, you’re pregnant, Feather.”
Her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder at the door to make sure we’re alone.
Turning back to me, she’s beaming. “Shh. It’s not official. Please don’t mention this, because my first pregnancy years ago ended in miscarriage. This one’s going well so far, but… you know.”
I pat my own stomach and nod. “I don’t know about babies, but I do own a baby maker, so I’m qualified to pretend I know. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the others.”
She re-adjusts her sweater, so her bump isn’t visible. “You’re good at noticing things in other people. I hope you’ll share something tonight about yourself, if you’re ready.”
“You know I don’t have major problems, though. I’m not a mess like some of the others.”
She gives me another amused smile. “Of course not. I remember. You came here that first night because you thought it was a Weight Watchers group.”
I nod solemnly. “And I thought it was a good one, because there were so many skinny people in the group.”
“At what point did you realize it wasn’t Weight Watchers?”
My cheeks get hot. “Halfway through the second meeting.”
Feather laughs. “But you kept coming.”
I shrug. “I lost five pounds, so it worked.”
The door creaks, and the rest of the members start filing in. People sign their names in Feather’s book, so she can keep the billing straight. She charges a small fee per drop-in, just to cover her time.
I keep watching the door for Drew. I hope he shows up tonight, even though I also hope he doesn’t. I’m so mixed up, feeling two opposite things at once.
Abbie sits beside me. “That’s certainly an interesting T-shirt. You’ve got a lot of guts, Meenie.”
I look down at my I ♥ BJ shirt. “It’s for Beijing. I love Beijing.”
“Have you been to China?”
“No.”
She pats my leg. “I know what a BJ is, dear. There may be snow on the mountain, but there’s fire below.”
“You wild thing, Abbie.”
“I wonder if that young man will come back tonight.”
“Who?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Don’t worry, dear. He’s all yours. I won’t fight you for him.”
“Oh, that guy. You can have him. I don’t like good-looking, well-dressed, sensitive guys.”
“Sure, you don’t,” she says knowingly.
Chapter 7
We start on time for a change, at eight o’clock, and get right down to business. Abbie tells us about the crazy things her sister did this week, and we all offer our support.
I’m up next, and just as I take a breath to start, the door creaks open. Drew steps in, an apologetic grin on his face. Feather gestures to an empty chair, and thirteen sets of eyes watch as Drew unbuttons his suit jacket and takes a seat.
I’m speechless. He’s so confident. He looks like a famous actor or model sitting down to do an interview on a talk show. He’s way too good looking to be in group therapy. He should be paying for one-on-one. It’s not fair to the rest of us. How are we suppose to focus on our problems when we’re busy drooling over Drew’s square, lickable chin. Or staring at those dazzling brown eyes.
Oh, it just keep getting better. The hem of his suit pants have ridden up enough to reveal his socks, and even his socks are HOTTT with three t’s. They’re argyle—those interlocking diamond shapes that have a sexy-older-man quality to them.
Feather clears her throat. “Welcome, Drew. I’m sure you’ll be on time next week, now that you know where the room is. I guess we’ll just keep going. Meenie was about to share something with the group.”
I tear my eyes away from Drew and look at the floor. The floor is gray carpet tiles. Not sexy. My eyes flick back up to Drew. He’s much nicer to look at.
“Meenie?” Feather snaps her fingers, and a few of the others laugh.
“Oh, balls.” I cover my face with my hand and slump down in my chair. “Somebody else go. I can’t go. Not if he’s here.”
There’s the collective sound of everyone gasping in breath. My tone was accusing and rude.
I peer through my fingers at Drew. “No offense.”
He points to his chest, confused. “Me? Hey, everyone, I’m really sorry I got here late. But if you want me to go, I’ll go.”
Carla, sitting across from me, says, “Young man, you’re bothering Meenie.” I look up in surprise. Carla doesn’t usually say much at all. She’s really worked up, though, saying, “I saw you putting your dirty eyes all over our Meenie last week. This isn’t a group for sex addiction, you know.”
I start laughing. I’m so overwhelmed with emotion, I think I might even start crying. “He didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell Carla and the others. The group is quietly listening, so I continue, “Drew did come over and talk to me last week, but he didn’t put his ‘dirty eyes all over’ me. I’m fine, honestly.”
“I’m not a sex addict,” he says, his voice considerably louder and more forceful than necessary.