Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“I’m glad you like them because they’re for you.” Her eyes sparkle as I present her with the modest bunch.
“For me?” she repeats with genuine pleasure as she brings them to her nose and inhales. “Oh, how lovely! I don’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers. Thank you, Mimi, love.”
“None of your harem buy you flowers?” I press my hand to my chest with mock affront before sliding off my jacket and draping it over the wooden chair back. “Sounds like you didn’t train them right.”
“My date tonight would probably just pilfer a bunch from the local cemetery.”
“He sounds like a charmer,” I say as I pull out the chair.
“He really isn’t.” She gives a little laugh. “I picked him up during my bad-boy phase.”
At seventy-nine, Aunt Doreen, who isn’t really my aunt, lives life at full tilt. From mornings spent volunteering at the local food bank and soup kitchen, to coffee dates with her friends, onto a diary that’s just bursting with actual dates.
“So Wednesday night is Alan?” I hazard.
“No, love. Alan is Thursday.” She turns and opens a cabinet door before banging it shut again. “Wednesday is my reformed bad-boy Frank. Well, boy might be stretching it, but he is younger than me.”
“You cougar!”
“He keeps me on my toes,” she trills.
“Does that mean he tries to get fresh with you?”
“One can only hope, dear. One can only hope!”
Aunt Doreen has a different man every night of the week (except Sunday night when she puts her feet up) because, in her own words, she’s “grabbing what’s left of life by the short and curlies.” Which I think means she’s grabbing life by the balls. She’s certainly ballsy and doesn’t give a “flying fig” for what anyone thinks. Personally, I think she’s got the right idea. I also think my family might not have been so calm about me staying here if they knew what kind of crazy she is.
We might not be related but she’s my kind of woman, and I’ve decided I’m taking a page out of her book. Not that I intend to date a different man every night. I might have considered it prior to what I’ve come to refer to in my head as “the interview.” But now I’m only interested in Whit.
“Frank is a good little mover,” Aunt Doreen says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “And tonight is salsa night.” She does a little shimmy that belies a recent hip replacement. “I’ll be as stiff as a board tomorrow. If I’m lucky, Frank will reach that point a little sooner, eh?” Turning her head over her shoulder, she sends me a bawdy wink.
“What time were you thinking?”
“Of coming back for a nightcap? Oh, I shouldn’t think I’ll be home before eleven 0’clock tonight.”
I make a mental note to be in bed and fast asleep way before then as, from under the sink, she pulls out a vase much too big for this modest bunch. She begins to fill it with water from the faucet. “These are beautiful. You really shouldn’t have.”
“They’re just a little thing to say thanks for putting up with me.”
“None of your nonsense,” she scoffs. “You’re not a bother. You brighten the place up.”
I eye the orange-painted walls, pink fridge, electric kettle and toaster. Who knew my energy was so… vivid. “How long has Frank been part of your rotation?”
Aunt Doreen pauses, a yellow tulip in hand. “Maybe two months?”
“A new boy.” Pressing my elbow to the table, I brace my chin on my palm. “Did you meet him at your salsa class?”
“No. At the little supermarket on the corner. My friend Betty was popping ’round for lunch, and I needed salad stuff. Would you believe he accosted me in the veg aisle? I was holding a cucumber, and he said, ‘ah, a lonely lady’s favorite companion.’”
I almost choke on my tongue. “And you let him take you out after that introduction?”
“At first, I thought about hitting him with it. Only, I hadn’t paid, and it seemed a bit unfair. After all, Ravi, the owner, didn’t deserve a bruised cucumber. And I’m not sure his wife would’ve liked it.”
Cue choke number two. “Aunt Doreen!”
“What? It’s true. I would’ve kicked Frank in the wotsits if I was a few years younger, only this new hip gives me some jip when I lift my leg too high. Anyway, I gave him the once-over and decided he wasn’t bad looking. He still has most of his own hair and not many men do at that age. Anyway, there he was, standing in the veg aisle, like the cock of the walk, a box of teabags under his arm when I realized he’d come out in his house slippers. So I said to him, ‘nice slippers,’ you know, all unimpressed, thinking I’d take the wind out of his sails. But do you know what the cheeky devil said? ‘How would you like to find them under your bed in the morning?’”