Out to Lunch by Stacey Ballis

parenthetically. But it makes me laugh.
    “Exactly!”
    “But you did call Andrea.”
    “Yeah, but that was more because hearing that message on Aimee’s voice mail freaked me out, and the Brian thing seemed like a better excuse to ask her to come over than I accidentally called Aimee and she answered and I lost my shit.”
    “I see. But her thoughts about Brian didn’t reassure you.”
    “Not really. I mean, I keep thinking the whole thing over. I had a long night. It’s exhausting trying to stay upbeat when hanging out with Wayne. I had some drinks to numb it a little, and a good-looking guy kissed me. I’m single, and it had been a very long time since I had sex, and I went to bed with him. All of that was fine. It didn’t need to become a whole, you know,
thing
. I didn’t need him to become my boyfriend or something. And he probably just said it because he wanted me to feel okay about it, like a grown woman doesn’t get the whole one-night-stand thing.”
    “What about the possibility that he just likes you and is attracted to you and wants to spend time with you, get to know you.”
    That idea just floats in the room. Because not for one minute did it ever occur to me.
    The pause is not lost on Nancy. “Jenna, you’ve said that you find this man attractive. That you have always thought him smart and competent. That last night you found him to be charming and funny, and you enjoyed his company, especially since he shares your opinions of Wayne, which made him feel like an ally. And you enjoyed your intimate time with him. Why is that not someone you think might be worth dating? He didn’t propose marriage, he asked you to have dinner with him.”
    I have to think about this. “I haven’t dated anyone since Jack.”
    “Why do you suppose that is?”
    “Aimee was sick.”
    “Aimee was pretty good for almost a whole year, by your account, and over two years is a very long time.”
    “I just wasn’t up for it. The breakup with Jack was difficult. I wasn’t ready. My focus was elsewhere. Aimee was sick. I know that isn’t an excuse, but it is what it is. I’m in my forties, I don’t want kids, I have plenty of money . . .”
    “So for you, a man in your life needs to be about either fathering children or supporting you financially.” Again, a statement, not a question, and devoid of editorializing.
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    “What about love and support and companionship.”
    “I have . . .” Crap.
    “You had Aimee for that,” she finishes for me.
    “Guess I’m pretty fucked up, huh?” I laugh.
    “You’re human. And I think we are getting at some of the root of your grieving, the magnitude of your loss. You don’t have to go out with Brian if you don’t want to. But I want you to make that decision for yourself thoughtfully. Would it be so bad to just have dinner with him and see how you feel, about him, about you with him.”
    “Maybe not.” I do hate that she keeps making points about the “magnitude of my loss.” It feels a little judgey, like I should be in bed twenty hours a day staring at Aimee’s picture and wailing.
    “Oh come off it. No one thinks that. Besides, being strong for everyone is what you do. What you always did. You wouldn’t have the first clue how to fall apart.”
    Nancy breaks through Aimee’s lecture. “This seems like a good place to stop. I’ll see you next week.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    “Jenna, if you don’t like him or don’t think you could like him, there is no shame in a grown single woman getting her physical needs addressed and leaving it at that. Your friend Andrea is right on the money about that. But be sure that is all you wanted, all you needed, before you completely dismiss the idea out of hand.”
    “Okay. I will.”
    * * *
    I head home, determined to take Volnay for a long walk and to stop by the Library. But the long day, the lack of sleep, and the slight hangover interfere. I sit down on the couch for just a