The Men I Didn't Marry Read Online Free PDF

thighs are a little generous. I start to run my hand over my hip. Wait a minute. Am I talking to who I think I’m talking to?
    “Excuse me, do I know you?” I ask sheepishly.
    “You told Tom Shepard you did,” he says in a booming baritone.
    Water is now dripping off my legs onto the antique Persian bedroom carpet. I start shivering uncontrollably, but maybe it’s not from the cold.
    “Eric?” I ask in a small voice.
    “It’s me. Hold on a sec,” he says.
    I hear muffled voices in the background and then Eric telling someone that he’s busy now and the call from the ambassador will just have to wait. Good. It’s been twenty years since I talked to him. I shouldn’t have to wait another minute.
    “So,” he says, coming back, “what’s been going on?”
    I’m not sure of our time frame here. Does he mean since I got out of Tom’s car or since the last time I saw him?
    “Tell me everything,” he urges.
    Let’s see, I definitely had some high points in my post-college life. I attended Columbia Law School, wrote three law journal articles, and argued a case before the Supreme Court. Okay, the State Supreme Court, but it was precedent-setting. I took Adam and Emily to Mommy and Me, Gymboree, soccer meets, and high school graduation—all within a week, it seemed. I learned how to bake banana bread. I finally read
Ulysses
. And I figured out which pipe to turn off when the washing machine overflows.
    So where to begin?
    “I have two wonderful kids,” I tell him. “I had a terrific marriage until the jerk walked out.” I take a deep breath. “And since Tom mentioned your name, I’ve spent the entire day thinking about you.”
    Oh no, did I really just say that? I didn’t mean to flirt. Apparently, I’ve been married so long that I’ve lost my six-second censor delay— where you actually stop to filter what you’re going to say before you blurt it out.
    Clearly, Eric doesn’t mind. “You’ve been thinking about me only today?” he asks suggestively.
    I find myself smiling. “You might have crossed my mind a few other times.”
    “That sounds more promising,” he says.
    “So what have you been doing?” I ask.
    “More interesting is what I’m doing next weekend,” he says, ignoring the question and getting to the point. “I’m coming to New York. I just bought a new pied-à-terre on the sixty-seventh floor of the Time Warner Center with two-hundred-eighty-degree views of the city.”
    “Too bad you couldn’t afford the three-hundred-sixty-degree view.” I laugh.
    There’s silence on the other end of the phone. Apparently I’ve hit a sore spot. “They were all taken,” he says tersely.
    “I’m sure it’s nice anyway,” I say appeasingly. “I know it’s the new number-one address in town.”
    “Why don’t you come see it,” Eric says. “I’ll give you the grand tour of my apartment, and then we could get a nice little dinner. There are two fabulous restaurants in the building. Per Se’s always good. Or Masa. Your choice.”
    Eric’s not exactly living above the dim sum take-out place. Per Se’s so exclusive that you need a copy of your financial statement just to get a reservation. As for Masa, two people can’t eat there for less than five hundred bucks. And it’s sushi. They don’t even cook the fish.
    “I’d love to. What time?” I ask, surprised to hear myself agreeing so readily. Clearly the filter’s still turned off and I’m going out with a man.
    “Around dinner. I’ll call you when I get in, and you can just come over.”
    “Great, you’ve got yourself a date. I mean an appointment,” I say, quickly amending my bold statement. Have we made a date? Probably not. Best guess is that Eric’s married and is just meeting an old friend for dinner.
    “Good,” Eric says.
    I play with my wet hair for a moment, twisting it around my finger.
    “Before we get together, you have to tell me at least something about your life,” I say. “Where do you live when