The Rules of Love & Grammar by Mary Simses Read Free Book Online Page B

little.
    “The party is coming along fine,” Mom says. “We’re up to ninety-five people.” She reaches for the dish of chutney. “But I’m guessing we’ll end up with over a hundred.” Her face brightens. “Oh, and I heard from Roberta Carson today. They won’t be able to come, but she told me Julie’s getting married. Little Julie. Do you believe it?” She spoons more curry onto her plate.
    Julie Carson, getting married? I used to babysit Julie, before the Carsons moved to Milwaukee or Minneapolis or some other place that starts with an M. “No, I don’t believe it. I remember her as a scruffy tomboy.”
    “I do, too,” Mom says with a laugh. “But time marches on. And you’ll be next, honey.” She looks at me with the tiniest bit of pity, and then she adds, “I never really thought Scott was a good match for you.”
    “I’m beginning to feel as though nobody did except me.”
    “He just seemed so…” She glances at me as if I’m supposed to supply the word.
    “Self-absorbed?” Dad says as he swirls the wine in his glass.
    “Afraid so,” Mom says. “Sweetie, I can’t believe you don’t have a line of eligible men at your door.” She reaches out and pats my hand. “You’re so smart and so pretty. In a city of eight million—”
    “Mom.” I pull back my hand. If I hear about the eight million people one more time, I’m going to throw myself off the roof. “It’s hard to meet nice guys, even in Manhattan. In fact, it’s probably harder there than most places.”
    “Maybe it’s something you’re doing that you don’t even realize,” she says. “Like…I don’t know, giving off negative signals.”
    “Why would I be giving off negative signals?” I look at my father for some help, but he just shrugs, as though this isn’t his territory. “You make it sound as though I’m wearing a red circle on my back with a diagonal line over the figure of a man.”
    “I’m just saying you might not know it, honey. Otherwise, I can’t understand why nothing has worked out for you. After all, you have had some nice boyfriends.”
    “I’ve had losers.”
    “No, you haven’t.”
    “Yes, I have.”
    “What about that fellow you were seeing before Scott? I think he was in banking. David somebody-or-other. With the two first names.”
    “David Martin? The guy with the old, green MG?”
    “Yes. He had that cute little sports car.”
    “Mom, David Martin was a total cad, and that cute little sports car broke down more often than it ran.”
    “Oh, MGs are notorious for that,” Dad chimes in, as if he could possibly be an expert on anything mechanical.
    “On our third date,” I say, “we stopped at a light around Eighty-Sixth and Second, and the car conked out. Just wouldn’t go. David told me to get out and push while he jump-started it. So I did. Crazy, I know. Why couldn’t he have done the pushing? He knew I could drive a stick. Then, a couple of weeks later, it happened again, and we had a repeat performance. When it happened the third time and he suggested I get out and push, I got out and left. That was it for David.”
    Mom’s shoulders slump. “I didn’t know about any of that.”
    “I try to spare you the harrowing details.”
    She sighs, and I push around my food while my other ex-boyfriends march through my mind in a little parade. Bill Stoddard, who was far more interested in my father than in me, and Ted Ecklund, who had to plan his whole schedule around when the football games were on TV, and Gordon Hackley, who wanted to open a chain of restaurants for dogs and was trying to get on Shark Tank the last time I saw him.
    “Look, if Julie Carson can land a husband, you certainly can,” Mom says. “Roberta emailed me her picture. She still looks like a tomboy, if you ask me.”
    I really don’t want to hear anything more about Julie Carson. I grab a roll from the basket. “I found the coolers you were looking for.”
    “The coolers?” she says. “Oh, right.