It’s written in the stars. It’s fate. It’s utter bullshit—but this whole idea of a soul mate has a hold on a whole slew of people (yes, even you—Darrell) and this little tale I’m about to tell is either going to make you . . . . .
C. Come to Jesus
D. Call your mother
E. All of the above
Natalie knows what she wants. This is clear from the bold way she dresses to her long, graying hair that’s almost to the tipping point of making her look wicked. She’s gorgeous when she opens her mouth to speak, but you may not notice her until you get a taste of that brain power.
You feel the presence of love in room when she speaks about her husband of twenty-eight years, Fredrick, “He’s still the smartest man I know.” He smiles and winks to no one in particular as he takes a sip of wine. He plays the compliment off so smoothly it’s either they planned it or he’s heard it so many times before that he knows the best way to play it off.
The rest of us in our small party are not nearly as in sync. I’m the single girl just shooting from the hip with no direction and way too many prospects. The other “couple” in our party is content with keeping everything NSA and (therefore) Nothing Specific Anyway. I cannot in good conscience say anything about my date (it’s the whole bullshit thing about if you’re not saying anything nice . . . .) And, we’re having a great time of it. . . . .