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He looked serious. “No, I have a knack for finding women who don’t want them. I know you said you have a daughter. Do you have any other kids?”

“Nope, just the one, although sometimes it feels like ten.”

“How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“A teenage girl … that must be a lot.”

“Yeah, the hormones running through my house are out of control. My daughter has this boyfriend and … Sorry, you don’t need to hear this.”

“No, I’m interested.”

“It’s not a big deal. Are you originally from Connecticut?” I asked, changing the subject.

“New York. I moved here to go to Wesleyan and ended up staying. My parents liked it better than the city, so they followed me out here, but it’s only my mom now. My dad passed away a while ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. My mom has been living alone for a long time, but now she has diabetes and can sometimes get dizzy. She’s even fallen at times, which makes me nervous,” he said.

“My mom is fine, but my dad has Parkinson’s. I’ve decided I’m not going to get old because it sucks,” I said. As we finished our juice, it dawned on me that in the last thirty minutes, I’d told him I was afraid of a workout machine, I had crazy hormones in my house, and my dad had health issues. What was next, that my C-section scar depressed me?

I thought it was best if I left before I divulged any other things about my life to this man I barely knew. “Thanks for the juice, but I have to get going. I have a lot to do today,” I said. My afternoon schedule consisted of trying to free the spoon that was wedged in the garbage disposal.

“Are you one of those women who does it all?” he asked.

“Yep, I’m Wonder Woman.”

“And I’m Wonder Man. Is there a Wonder Man?” he asked.

“Nope. Only women are wonder … ful.” He started laughing hard, not one of those fake polite laughs, but a genuine laugh that came from your belly and exploded out of your mouth. Jim hadn’t laughed at my bad jokes lately, maybe because I wasn’t making any. He had fallen in love with a young, playful, accomplished woman, and now he was left with this older, tired, boring one.

“Have a good day,” Michael said and bowed again like he had when we first met. So dorky, yet so cute. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to talk to this guy. Lately it wasn’t this easy to talk to Jim. I wanted to stay and talk to Michael for hours, but instead I turned and scurried into the locker room. I pushed the door open and almost ran into … Ellen.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” I asked.

“I had a conference call from home this morning, so I don’t have to be in until two.”

“Well, see you later.” I walked quickly past her and went to my locker. She followed me and stood there while I fumbled with it, unable to get the key in the lock. She took the key from my hand and opened it.

“Someone’s having a day,” she said mockingly.

“I have to get out of here now so I don’t run into him in the parking lot when he leaves.” I was rambling.

“Who leaves?” She waited for me to get my stuff, then steered me to a bench in front of the lockers. She sat down next to me. Part of me was thrilled that I had run into her, because I was bursting to share my conversation with Michael. This was exactly the thing you wanted to share with your best friend. But before I could say anything, we were surrounded by five well-padded naked women chatting aboutThe Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.They were trying to get to their lockers, but Ellen was so focused on what I was going to say that she didn’t seem to notice the abundance of exposed backsides in our faces. I, however, did notice and moved to another bench, with Ellen following me.

“A few weeks ago, I kind of met this cute guy here, and today he bought me juice,” I exclaimed.

“Sounds like a date.” She playfully seized on my discomfort.

“It was not a date.”

I started to stand up, and Ellen pulled me back down. “I’m kidding. So, you’ve been talking to some guy that bought you juice. It’s not like you had sex with him.” After a beat, she added, “Did you have sex with him?”

“I’m glad I’m amusing you.” I rifled in my purse for my keys. “I haven’t had a conversation with a cute guy that wasn’t my husband in years, and I really liked it. Is that wrong?”

“Yes, it’s wrong. It’s wrong that you haven’t talked to a cute guy in that long. Flirting’s fun. You should be doing it all the time,” she said as if I was a four-year-old who had to be assured that it was okay to take an extra cookie from the cookie jar. “Everyone flirts. When you’re married, what else do you have to look forward to?” she said, smirking at me.