“Nope.” Neither of them had dated in two months. And Paris was emphatic that she didn't want to. The blind date Sydney had set up had been the icing on the cake. But she knew Meg would meet someone at some point, and she hoped she would. “I ran into a friend from Vassar the other day. I haven't seen her in a while. She's married and having a baby, which seems weird, but she also told me a sad story. I haven't seen her since we graduated, and her mother was very sick then. Apparently she died that July. She's been gone for two years, breast cancer, I think. I didn't want to ask.” Paris was trying to figure out where Meg was going with all this, she couldn't see what she could do to help. Or maybe the girl needed a motherly figure to talk to, especially now that she was pregnant. And if so, Paris was willing.
“How's she doing?” Paris sounded concerned.
“She seemed okay. She's a very strong girl. And she married a very nice guy. I had a crush on him myself.” She smiled at the memory, and then turned to her mother with serious eyes. “Anyway, she says her fa-ther's doing fine, but he's lonely. I just wondered if… well… actually, I met him a few times, and he's a really nice man. I think you'd like him, Mom.”
“Oh, for God's sake… Meg, don't start. I told you, I'm not going out anymore.” She sounded not only firm, but emphatic. Chandler Freeman and the sculptor from Santa Fe had been enough to last a lifetime, or at least several years. Paris was no longer interested in dating.
“Mom, that's silly. You're forty-seven years old. You can't just quit for the rest of your life, and give up. That's not right.”
“It's extremely right for me. I don't need a man in my life. And furthermore, I don't want one.” The truth was she did, on both counts, but it was just too damned hard to find one. And the only one she'd ever wanted was gone.
“What if you're passing up the opportunity of a lifetime? He's a banker, and an extremely decent person. He's not some kind of swinging singles wild man.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I've met him,” Meg insisted. “And he's even handsome.”
“I don't care. You haven't dated him. Men turn into sociopaths when they date.”
“No, they don't. Some are just weirder than others. Like Peace.” Paris grinned, and Meg laughed.
“Exactly. How do you know this man isn't Peace's father?”
“Trust me. He looks like Dad. Same type. Shirt, tie, pin-striped suit, good haircut, nice manners, polite, smart, and he's a good father. Everything you like.”
“I'm not doing this, Meg.”
“Yes, you are,” her daughter said with a wicked smile.
“No, I'm not.”
“The hell you aren't. I told her we'd have dinner with them tonight. She was coming home for the weekend too, to see her dad.”
“You
“You have to, or you'll make a liar out of me. This is how nice people meet. They get fixed up. This is what parents used to do, now kids do it, they introduce their divorced parents to new mates.” It sounded sensible to Meg.
“I don't intend to ‘mate’ with this man.” Paris was incensed, but Meg wouldn't budge an inch, and Paris didn't want to embarrass her, so under great protest, in the end, she agreed. “I should have my head examined,” she muttered as they drove downtown. They were having dinner at a steakhouse Meg's friend had suggested. His name was Jim Thompson, and apparently he liked steak. At least he wasn't a vegan. And Paris intended to make it the shortest evening possible. She had worn a grim black suit, her hair in a ponytail, and no makeup.
“Can't you at least try a little bit?” Meg had complained while she watched her dress. “You look like a funeral director, Mom.”
“Good. Then he won't want to see me again.”
“You're not helping things,” Meg chided her.
“I don't intend to.”
“This is how a lot of women meet their second husbands.”
“I don't want a second husband. I haven't gotten over my first one. And I am positively allergic to blind dates.”
“I know. I remember the last one. He must have been an exception.”
“No, he wasn't. Some of Bix's stories are worse,” she muttered darkly, and on the way downtown, Paris sank into a sullen silence.
