Monday, April Fools
I went to the bank and got the ball rolling on setting up a new mortgage. Factoring in the money JB stole from our 401K and the buyout money he lied about, hid, and spent, we agreed I’d get the house. When I got home from the bank, I laid in bed and binge watched Sons of Anarchy. I’d planned to write, do yoga, see my horse. But all I could do was lay like a lump and watch Sons of Anarchy until Tom came home from school and I had to cook dinner.
I pulled myself together (thank God I have Tom and need to do that) and we ate. I called Golf Guy, the pro who’d given me golf tips and offered to give me more instruction.
“Hi. This is Brenda, the yoga instructor/bad golfer from the driving range.”
“Oh, yeah, hi,” he said, his voice brightening.
“You offered to give me more golf tips and told me to call, so I’m calling.”
He asked if I had been practicing and I told him no.
“My son was on spring break last week,” I said. “He’s twelve and doesn’t like to golf, even though he’s pretty good at it.”
“I have a twelve-year-old, too,” Golf Guy said. “It’s not his passion, either. You never know. It could happen later.”
Golf Guy was flying with clients to Florida for a PGA tournament and was returning next Tuesday. He said he’d call me when he got back.
I called my mother and told her about Golf Guy.
“Be careful,” she said. “For all you know, he could be married.”
“No one could be warier than me right now.” A text popped up on my phone. “Wow. He just texted.”
“Hi Brenda. Good to hear from you. Can you give me your email? Thanks.”
“Be careful,” my mother said.