Love, Suburban Style by Wendy Markham

tells Sam. “I’m pretty sure I know which box the candles are in, but I have no idea where the flashlight is. And I know I don’t have lightbulbs.” She gestures helplessly at the useless antique fixture high overhead, with its three empty sockets.
    “So you don’t have light in any rooms? Or just this one?”
    “There’s a ceiling bulb in the bathroom upstairs that works, and there’s one in the front bedroom, too. Cosette and I will camp out in there tonight.” She delicately nibbles the crust end of her second slice to make it last, wondering if it would be piggish to go for a third.
    “What about your friend? Is he staying, too?”
    “Geoffrey? He doesn’t camp out—even indoors. He’s headed back to the city.”
    “Do you have bedding handy?”
    “Handy?” She eyes the towering stacks of brown cartons. “There are pillows and blankets in there somewhere, I think. I hope.”
    “You can—” Sam breaks off, hesitates. “You can spend the night on the pullout couch in our den, if you want to. Or—more privacy—I just remembered Katie’s at a sleepover. You can have the bunks in her room.”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” she protests, surprised by the cordial offer. “I wasn’t trying to get you to—”
    ”No, I know, but we’ve got plenty of room.”
    “How old are your kids?”
    “Katie is twelve, Ben is fifteen.”
    “My daughter’s fifteen, too.”
    “Really? That’s a coincidence. What is she into?”
    “Into?”
    “Hobbies, interests…”
    Hobbies. Hah. Meg tries to picture Cosette at a kiln, or learning to skate, or doing needlepoint…
    No go.
    “She hasn’t really had time for hobbies. Her school is very challenging.”
    And they don’t allow students to carry firearms; major bummer.
    “What about boys?” Sam asks good-naturedly, reaching for another slice. “That’s the usual hobby for girls her age, as far as I can tell.”
    “Oh, she likes boys.”
And men.
    “Does she date yet?”
    “She did, in the city. How about your son?”
    “He’s newly interested in the opposite sex, I think, but as far as I can tell, he hasn’t done anything about it yet. Want more pizza?”
    “Oh, no, thanks. I’m stuffed.”
    No you aren’t. Why did you say that?
    She still has a ravenous appetite.
    For pizza,
she thinks, watching him tilt his head back, holding his slice over his open mouth, nibbling a gooey string of cheese.
    More pizza isn’t all she’s craving, though.
    She watches Sam swipe a napkin across his luscious mouth.
    Then he comments, “So I guess Ben is literally about to meet the girl next door, then.”
    Realizing he’s probably picturing an America’s sweetheart type, as opposed to jaded Cosette, queen of the Goths, Meg hastily says, “Well, I don’t know if I’d put it that way, exactly. Cosette is a little…”
    Sam takes another bite of pizza and waits for her to go on.
    Meg shifts her gaze away from him and ponders her vocabulary for the right word to describe her daughter.
    Dark?
    Edgy?
    Moody?
    Sullen?
    All are accurate, but she isn’t eager to undercut Cosette’s reputation in the first hours of her new life. Anyway, things are going to be different here. More wholesome and down-to-earth.
    Cosette might very well transform herself into a bona fide Girl Next Door.
    Right, and Sam Rooney might tell me that he was lying earlier when he said he didn’t remember me; that he’s actually been pining away for me all these years, waiting for me to come back to him.
    Uh-huh. Sure.
    Meg watches Sam wipe his mouth again in that adorable way.
    Adorable, Meg?
    Yes, adorable, Meg.
    And familiar.
    It’s all coming back to her now. She used to watch him in the cafeteria…
    Among other places.
    And she can’t help but notice that Sam the Man shares certain qualities with Sam the Boy. He’s still got the easy grin, the laid-back demeanor, the casual way of sitting with his legs straight out in front of him, heels against the floor at the foot of the