Odds : A Love Story (9781101554357) by O'Nan Stewart

Author:O'Nan, Stewart [O’Nan, Stewart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101554357
Publisher: Penguin USA
Published: 2012-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

Odds of a 53‑year-old woman being a grandmother:

1 in 3

They had an expensive bottle of Cabernet with dinner, and Irish coffees with dessert, and were tipsy enough that they took a cab the few blocks back to the hotel rather than risk slipping and falling on the icy sidewalk. She had to concentrate to make sense; her eyes stung from the effort. Through her window she could see the stars spread across the sky like a connect-the-dots puzzle and wondered what secret message they were trying to send her. She was hot in her coat, and struggled to free her arms as if it were a straitjacket. With his help she finally succeeded, smacking him in the lip with her ring. She laughed, then apologized, laid a hand on his jaw and kissed him to make it all better, when suddenly they were there, under the portico, the white-gloved valet opening the door for her, helping her out, telling her to watch her step.

The escalator made her sway, and she took Art’s arm. It was bright inside, the lobby achime with the ringing of slot machines, and she was relieved when the elevator doors closed, shutting it out. She leaned against the back wall, felt the rushing uplift in her legs.

“Are you gonna make it?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she said, Emma’s favorite phrase, and pictured her alone in her cozy apartment in Boston, the quiet, solitary life Marion sometimes envied, except from her Facebook page she knew Mark was taking her out for dinner and dancing. That was better anyway, Marion thought. When she was single, she and her friends used to go clubbing every weekend, coming home at daybreak with a half dozen stamps on their hands. When was the last time she really let loose? She was tired of moping around the house, waiting for the next bad thing to happen. Maybe Art had the right idea—why pretend anymore? If they were going down, they might as well do it in style.

They barely had time to use the bathroom and change. As always, the mirror reminded her that she wasn’t young anymore. She hadn’t been to an actual rock concert in over a decade. Lacking anything sexier, she’d brought her best dinner party outfit, a slimming pair of black slacks and a flashy silver top, but after seeing Nancy Wilson she felt self-conscious and grandmotherly.

“I hate what I’m wearing,” she said, “but I don’t have anything else. Sorry, what you see is what you get.”

“You look fine.” All he’d changed was his shirt, from a white oxford to a cornflower blue. He could have been going to work.

“What a couple of old farts,” she said.

“I guarantee there will be people onstage older than us.”

“There’s something to look forward to. Kidding. Just kidding, just kidding, justkidding, justkidding.”

“Do I need to cut you off?”

“That’s the problem, I’m sobering up.”

“We can’t have that.” He moved to the living room and used the little key to open the minibar, stepped aside and presented its contents like Carol Merrill.

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