Too Good to Be True Read Free Page A

time since we broke up, and having a date would’ve definitely helped.
    Well. As much as I wished I could just stay home and read Gone With the Wind or watch a movie, I had to go. Besides, I’d been staying in a lot lately. My father, my gay best friend and my dog, though great company, probably shouldn’t be the only men in my life. And there was always the microscopic chance that I’d meet someone at this very wedding.
    “Maybe Eric will go,” Kiki said, hustling over to the window and yanking it open. “No one has to know he’s married.”
    “Kiki, no,” I protested.
    She didn’t listen. “Eric, Grace has to go to a wedding tonight, and her ex-fiancé is going to be there, and she doesn’t have a date. Can you go with her? Pretend to adore her and stuff?”
    “Thanks anyway, but, no,” I called, my face prickling with heat.
    “Your ex, huh?” Eric said, wiping a pane clear.
    “Yeah. May as well slit my wrists now.” I smiled to show I didn’t mean it.
    “You sure you can’t go with her?” Kiki asked.
    “My wife would probably have a problem with that,” Eric answered. “Sorry, Grace. Good luck.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “It sounds worse than it is.”
    “Isn’t she brave?” Kiki asked. Eric agreed that I was and moved on to the next window, Kiki nearly falling out the window to watch him leave. She hauled herself back in and sighed. “So you’re going stag,” she said in the same tone as a doctor might use when saying, I’m sorry, it’s terminal.
    “Well, I did try, Kiki,” I reminded her. “Johnny who delivers my pizza is dating Garlic-and-Anchovies, if you can believe it. Brandon at the nursing home said he’d hang himself before being a wedding date. And I just found out that the cute guy at the pharmacy is only seventeen years old, and though he said he’d be happy to go, Betty the pharmacist is his mom and mentioned something about the Mann Act and predators, so I’ll be going to the CVS in Farmington from now on.”
    “Oopsy,” Kiki said.
    “No big deal. I came up empty. So I’ll just go alone, be noble and brave, scan the room for legs to hump and leave with a waiter. If I’m lucky.” I grinned. Bravely.
    Kiki laughed. “Being single sucks,” she announced. “And God, being single at a wedding…” She shuddered.
    “Thanks for the pep talk,” I answered.

    F OUR HOURS LATER , I was in hell.
    The all too familiar and slightly nauseating combination of hope and despair churned in my stomach. Honestly, I thought I was doing pretty well these days. Yes, my fiancé had dumped me fifteen months ago, but I wasn’t lying on the floor in fetal position, sucking my thumb. I went to work and taught my classes…very well, in my opinion. I went out socially. Granted, most of my excursions were either dancing with senior citizens or reenacting Civil War battles, but I did get out. And, yes, I would (theoretically) love to find a man—sort of an Atticus-Finch-meets-Tim-Gunn-and-looks-like-George-Clooney type.
    So here I was at another wedding—the fourth family wedding since The Dumping, the fourth family wedding where I’d been dateless—gamely trying to radiate happiness so my relatives would stop pitying me and trying to fix me up with odd-looking distant cousins. At the same time, I was trying to perfect The Look—wry amusement, inner contentment and absolute comfort. Sort of a Hello! I am perfectly fine being single at yet another wedding and am not at all desperate for a man, but if you happen to be straight, under forty-five, attractive, financially secure and morally upright, come on down! Once I mastered The Look, I planned on splitting an atom, since they required just about the same level of skill.
    But who knew? Maybe today, my eyes would lock on someone, someone who was also single and hopeful without being pathetic—let’s say a pediatric surgeon, just for the sake of argument—and kablammy! We’d just know.
    Unfortunately, my hair was making me look, at