One True Theory of Love by Laura Fitzgerald Read Free Book Online Page B

maybe holding a sprig of daisies. He’d admire the passion with which she taught. She fantasized, too, of Ahmed passing by the pool while she was there with her Loop Group friends, perhaps visiting a friend of his own. Their boisterousness would catch his attention. He’d see Meg midlaugh, her head thrown back, pure living-in-the-moment emanating from her being. And he’d think, I want that. I want her.
    And then he’d come to her.
    It was the pursuit Meg fantasized about—only the pursuit. Him wanting her and finding her worthy.
    But in reality, Ahmed had no idea where she lived and no idea where she taught. The only link that could possibly bring them together was the coffee shop. Frequently throughout the week, Meg wondered whether she should go to LuLu’s the following Saturday.
    Ultimately, she decided not to. Daydreaming about him was enough. In her fantasies, she could keep him perfect in a way the real world would never allow.
     
     
     
    Henry’s soccer practice was the only black mark against the week. At his first practice, he’d thrown an embarrassing temper tantrum at Bradley, a boy who continually blocked the ball with his hands. Henry had spent most of practice on the sidelines, not an auspicious start to the season.
    So this week, Meg made brownies to take as a snack, sort of as an apology and sort of to earn them a do-over. When they arrived, Henry took off at a sprint, dropped the juice boxes near the parents, and ran to join the other kids, who were climbing the fence behind the baseball diamond. Meg’s heart lightened when she saw that the kids didn’t seem to be holding a grudge.
    “Afternoon, everyone!” Meg called to the parents, who were almost uniformly seeking refuge in a strip of shade generated by the lone palm tree near the practice field. “Hot enough for ya?”
    Anytime the temperature was over ninety-five degrees, as it was that day, that was what people said. Hot enough for ya? It was the standard Tucson greeting.
    “It’s ridiculous,” said one mom. She was a stressed-out yoga-mom type, seated on the ground with her legs in a strange contortion. Her eyes remained focused on the text message she was punching out with her thumbs.
    “I left my purse in the car today for ten minutes and my lipstick melted,” said another. “It was my new Clinique, too!”
    “I hate when that happens,” said the only dad there. Everyone laughed—dads were always popular among the moms—and Meg was hopeful she’d been forgiven for Henry’s outburst the previous week.
    “Is Coach Debbie not coming today?” she said. “Should we maybe run a few drills with the kids?”
    “She’s just late,” said the yoga mom. “She’s always late. Drops her kids off late to school every day.”
    “She’ll be here. She’s got four kids, you know.” This from the team parent. Meg couldn’t recall the woman’s name but knew the type: on a power trip, with a fake smile. Wound up. Maybe she needed a chocolate fix. Meg gave her a big smile and extended the prettily arranged tray. “Would you like a brownie?”
    “We don’t do brownies on this team,” the woman said. “Did you not read the e-mail?”
    What was this chick’s name? Cindy? Connie? Something with a C. Whoever she was, she was rude, and uncalled-for rudeness was Meg’s ultimate pet peeve.
    “I’m sorry,” she said in a tone that perhaps indicated otherwise. “I didn’t catch your name.”
    “It’s Catherine,” the woman said.
    “Well, Catherine, I suppose I did miss the e-mail. Was it the same one that contained the snack sign-up sheet? Because I haven’t seen that, either.”
    “I think it was very nice of you to bring something,” said a mom.
    “Thank you,” Meg said to her new ally. “Would you like a brownie?”
    “No, thank you.” The woman smiled apologetically. “I’m sort of macrobiotic in my eating.” She gave Catherine a pointed look. “Where is the snack sheet? I like to plan for these