Page 34

THIRTY-TWO

nineteen years before the funeral

“I met this really hot guy,” Lizzie said.

We were having lunch at the White Dog Café on Sansom Street in the heart of the University of Pennsylvania campus. High school was long behind us. I was in my final year at Penn Law, and Lizzie was in her second year at Penn Medical.

“He asked me out,” she said.

A lot of guys asked Lizzie out. She was tall and slender with the body of a ballerina, the winsome face of an Irish farm girl, and the wicked sense of humor of a leprechaun.

“Did you tell him you prefer girls?” I said.

“Mags, he’s a fourth-year med student. I was trying to impress him, so I broke the news in Latin. Ergo sum lesbian .”

I laughed.

“He wants to meet you,” she said.

“Me? How does he even know who I am?”

“As soon as I turned him down, he said, ‘Are there any more at home like you—only straighter?’ I showed him your picture. He’s interested.”

“I’m not. The subject is closed.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You have a few relationships go south, and?—”

“Not a few. Six since I showed up here in Philadelphia seven years ago,” I said. “Six is not a few.”

“So now what? Are you going to give up men and come over to the dark side?”

“No. I’m going to give up looking for love in all the wrong places, lock myself up in the law library, and study my ass off till I pass the bar. A law degree will take care of me in my old age, which is more than I can say about any of the men I’ve picked.”

“Bingo,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “You just defined the problem. Did you hear what you said? ‘ The men I’ve picked .’”

I gave her a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you’re not bad at relationships, Maggie. Maybe you just suck at picking the right guy.”

“And so I should let my gay sister who—correct me if I’m wrong—never dated a man in her life—pick Mr. Right for me.”

“Trust me,” Lizzie said. “This guy’s worth it. And he’s not just Mister Right. Next year this time he’ll be Doctor Right.”

“Not interested.”

“I’m telling you: Alex is drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Then I’m sure Alex won’t have any trouble finding a date.”

“That’s the problem. He attracts them in droves. But you know the type of women who come on strong to guys like Alex. Spoiled, privileged, shallow debutantes who didn’t go to college to pursue a career or achieve financial independence. They’re trolling for a husband, and a handsome med student with a great future ahead of him will make Daddy and Mommy very happy.”

“Sounds like Alex has bared his soul to you.”

“We went out for drinks last week. We talked. I like him a lot.”

“I hope you two will be very happy together,” I said.

“Would you at least check out what he looks like?”

“Fine,” I said, pointing at her flip phone. “Show me his damn picture.”

“I’ll do better than that,” she said, looking over my shoulder and waving her hand. I thought she was signaling for our waiter. But she wasn’t.

A man stepped up to our table. He was, I thought at first glance, genetically blessed by the gods. Haunting blue eyes, a granite jaw, a confident smile that showed perfect white teeth, broad shoulders, strong masculine hands—I was still taking inventory when he spoke.

“Hi, I’m Alex Dunn,” he said, his voice warm and captivating. “You, of course, are Maggie.”

I nodded, unable to take my eyes off him.

“And from the look on your face,” he said, “I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking.”

He couldn’t possibly know what I was thinking. I barely knew. But the dampness between my legs was a clue. I wanted to tear his clothes off and jump his bones. I’d never been so gobsmacked by the physical presence of another human being in my life.

“And what am I thinking?” I asked as casually as I could.

“You’re incredibly uncomfortable, and you’d probably like to throttle the hell out of your sister.”

I looked at Lizzie. She knew what I was thinking. I definitely wasn’t going to throttle her. I was going to award her the game ball, name our firstborn daughter after her, and apologize for ever doubting her.

“My work here is done,” she said, standing up and flashing me a victory smile. “You guys are on your own.”

Mission accomplished, she picked up her bag and left the restaurant.

Alex didn’t move. He was still standing tableside. I looked up. About six feet two. Thick chestnut-brown hair. Soft, upturned lips.

“She talks about you a lot,” he said. “Showed me your picture. But she didn’t say you’d be here. She sandbagged me.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said. “She said you asked her out.”

He laughed. “ Asked her out ? Not exactly. I’m just getting over a relationship. Third one in three years. I started to wonder what I’m doing wrong, and I thought it might help if I had a woman’s point of view, so I had drinks with Lizzie. I picked her because she’s gay. She’s safe.”

“She’s a meddler,” I said. “People like us are never safe around meddlers.”

“Apparently. Do you mind if I sit down?”

I scanned the restaurant. At least half a dozen college girls were staring at Alex over their sandwiches, their Diet Cokes, and their coffee cups. Did I mind if he sat down? If I did, I bet he wouldn’t have made it out the door before one or more of them pounced.

“Have a seat,” I said, crossing the words “lock myself up in the law library” off my mental things-to-do list.

He sat, and I could almost feel the other women whose eyes were glued to the tableau let out a collective lucky bitch .

I looked at my watch. 12:47 p.m. on a Friday afternoon—the start of my first date with Alex Dunn. It didn’t end until 7:15 a.m. Monday morning.