17 year old Callie is at her lowest point. Alone and depressed most of the summer, she feels fat and ugly-and school starts Monday. Her mother Michelle is about to have a baby, and won't tell anyone who the father is. The reality TV show that Michel...
At the gym Michelle ran into fireman Boomer, who delivered the baby, and he asked her out to brunch.
Michelle sipped her virgin mimosa. Boomer Sr. sat across from her, wearing a bright white shirt on the sunny patio. It was the first time she had seen him not in some kind of fireman uniform. She had forgotten her sunglasses, and the morning heat and glare made her squint.
The tables on the restaurant patio stood close together, and at every table, the brunchers were brunching furiously, enjoying themselves, their money, their place in the world. Michelle felt completely uncomfortable, her eyes squeezed almost shut against the glare of the sun, smile plastered on like Pla-Doh, clothes all wrong. She'd had new clothes once,before the divorce. She remembered them fondly.
The sun, moving to its zenith, inched the shadow of a nearby umbrella closer and closer. That would at least help shade her eyes. She leaned a little toward Boomer Sr. "When you said breakfast I assumed you meant Coco's or something. Not the freakin' Biltmore."
At the table next to them, the one with the umbrella, a man and a woman both glanced at her. They had two cute towheaded children at the table. Had Michelle burned the tots' ears with freakin?
"Ever been here?" He smiled. Michelangelo could have carved Boomer's jaw and neck. Hershey's could have painted his deep brown, patient eyes. If he noticed she was fat, dumpy, and badly dressed, he sure did a good job of hiding it.
"Ummm, no."
"How come your lawyer didn't bring you?"
"Please. I'm trying to eat." She grimaced. This Boomer had a way of cutting to the heart of things. Very unlike her lawyer-husband of yore.
Boomer laughed. Three or four silver hairs sparkled like stars in his bristly black goatee.
"This is nice," she said. "I wasn't expecting it." The shade of the umbrella finally reached her face, allowing Michelle to relax a little, and to appreciate where she was. Beyond the crowded patio lay satiny lawns and granite paths. Birds jibbered in manicured trees, and a light wash of clouds dappled the pale blue sky. On the table, strawberry crepes soaked in melting whipped cream, near the fluffy spinach frittata. She wasn't actually eating a lot of it, but that was hardly the point. "So nice."
He leaned toward her. "I guess there's a lot of pressure on you to lose weight, because of the show. Anyway, it's working, whatever you're doing. You look very good. Very... healthy."
"Actually..." Michelle stopped herself. She had been about to say, Actually, I haven't lost that much weight. What an idiot! Take the damn compliment! "Actually, the diet and exercise are great. The rest of it—pfffft! Let's just say I could live without it."
"If you feel guilty about eating, we can walk around the place a little, after." Gentle humor, so genuine, and easy-going. When she refused the champagne drink, which was free, he had done the same and not made a single thing of it.
"I guess if I feel guilty, it's about something else." Would a guy this nice ever believe what she had done?
He picked up a piece of perfectly toasted toast. "You said you were only still with Edoo... erd for the show?"
"Yeah, for the show." The question of the baby's fatherhood and conception hung in the air like the fragrance of the smoked salmon and pork cutlets. Which would be more likely to scare him off, telling the lie, or telling the truth? She could at least be honest about Edouard. That was easy. "We're over with, in personal terms. So being together on the show is almost like acting. But I'm no actress. I don't know how it's going to work out."
"It's got to be crazy."
Michelle took a bite of the frittata, which actually melted in her mouth. "Yeah, it's crazy. You fall into a role, or they push you into one. I'm not sure which. Edoo's a nice guy, and all. We work together well, but that's as far as it can go."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He leaned toward her and murmured in his cool baritone. "And then you have a... right in the middle of it."
"Yeah." Very soon, she would have to decide whether, how, and how much to explain her situation to him. Was it at all possible that he would understand? "There's something I want to tell you about that."
He smiled. "You don't have to tell me anything."
This man was too good! "Maybe later."
"Right." Boomer touched the back of her hand with a finger. "Anyway, it's good to see you."
"Yes, good to see me right side up." The joke came out of her mouth so fast, and it was so inappropriate for the setting, that it stunned Michelle. A tiny whoop burst out of her like a hysterical exclamation point. She glanced at the woman from the next table, who was definitely blushing. "Sorry," Michelle said to the woman, who did not look at her. "It's not what it..." To Boomer she whispered. "I'm really not like this." She giggled. An unexplained giddiness had taken her over like an allergy attack. "You know what I mean."
He smiled, clearly unconcerned about anyone around them.
Looking for a topic, Michelle said, "So your wife was also a firefighter?"
"Yeah. Like on that TV show."
"Which one?"
His eyes crinkled merrily. "You know, with the fireman and the firewoman who fall in love but it never works out."
"Oh. That one." Michelle laughed, but she could feel reality creeping back up on her burst of joy.
"Divorced five years," he said. To him it was a cold fact, long dead.
She couldn't pretend she felt the same way about her failed marriage. "One year."
"How's it going?"
This conversation takes an embarassing turn in the next episode
