Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,7
harder for the gawkers to gawk. You couldn’t subtly stare at someone when you had to twist halfway round to see them. She met every guarded look and side-eye with a wide, toothy smile and raised eyebrows. She decided giving them a double thumbs-up would be overkill.
After a while, the stranger stopped talking and Danielle’s mother talked. Then Xenia, who liked the “out of death comes my boyfriend who is also a distant cousin so it’s not all bad” theory and expounded on it for five minutes.
And then it was over. Ava tried (and failed) not to leap to her feet and bolt for the foyer. She’d have to do some glad-handing, perhaps accept a few more awkward hugs, maybe extra banter with the grumpy patriarch, and then she’d be free. Then it was back to the Hyatt to pay eighteen bucks to watch a Fast and Furious movie and suck down at least two room service sundaes.
“We couldn’t believe it when we saw you come in.” This from Dennis and Danielle’s mother, Mrs. Monahan, a bird-like woman whose hands were so small they were like flesh-colored bundles of twigs. “After all this time.”
“Yes, I flew with Dennis here.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re a flight attendant.”
“Pilot.”
“Oh, a copilot? Already?”
“Pilot pilot. Yeah.”
“And how are your folks?”
“Dead.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Ma, did you forget how bad Ava is at small talk?” This from Dennis, who had come up behind her. To Ava: “Seriously, you are the worst. I’m sorry about your mom and dad, though. You got my card?”
Ava nodded. Car accident on the way to her college graduation. Toyota Camry vs. snow plow = send flowers. They’d outlived Danielle by two years almost to the day. Her folks had been only children, and children of only children. Ava was an only child; the Capp family had always been small. It was part of the reason she’d been drawn to the Monahans; there were, at rough count, a zillion of them. Which made the memorial’s turnout (only about a dozen people) puzzling.
Well. Ten years. The best and worst thing about life is that it goes on. Any number of Monahans have been born since Danielle died. She might as well be a page in a history book to them. “Here’s a chapter on women getting the vote in 1920. And here’s a picture of your long-dead cousin. These will seem equally ancient to you.”
“I’m surprised there aren’t more people here.”
“That’s why we’re doing it all over again tomorrow,” Mrs. Monahan replied. “The family’s scattered. This way, more of us can say our goodbyes.”
If they haven’t managed to say goodbye in ten years, why do you think a memorial marathon would help? Ava realized she’d been looking at this all wrong. It could have been worse. She could have had to go both nights.
“Terrible business,” Mrs. Monahan was saying, small hands fluttering like she didn’t know where to put them. “All of it. And then you went away.”
Flew away. Immediately. At the speed of sound, never to return except for the occasional layover and/or memorial service. And to stock up on moisturizer.
Dennis gently caught and held his mother’s hands; she looked distinctly relieved. She was a smaller, shrunken, older version of her children, the trademark dark Monahan hair streaked with gray. “Ava, what are you doing after?”
“After? You mean right now?”
“Cripes, you’re the worst. Stop being so literal. Listen, Xenia’s already left to get Grandpa settled at the hotel, and my ma’s gotta get back, too, but I was hoping you and I could grab a drink or something.”
“Oh.” Wait, without Xenia? And why was her heart suddenly pounding harder? “You—really?”
That glorious, idiotic giggle. “Yeah, really. Don’t look so shocked. C’mon, I haven’t seen you in years. I’d love to catch up with you. Xenia won’t mind.”
“Xenia doesn’t mind a lot of things.” This muttered by Dennis’s mother, because, like many natives to this land, she was an Olympic-level passive aggressor. “But she’s such a lovely girl.”
Well, who knew? Perhaps this was meant to be (a phrase she loathed until this moment). Perhaps she and Dennis would rekindle something. Out of mourning comes love. Out of death comes life. Out of Xenia comes Ava.
Wait, that’s not right …
(Perhaps this was her very own romance novel.)
“Sure I will,” she said. “I mean, I’m free. That sounds—that’ll be great. Really great. Fine. I meant fine. It’ll be great to catch