"Thanks again for the ride, Mr. Gleeson," Cleo said, buckling her seatbelt.
"If you call me Mr. Gleeson again, I'm throwing you out of the car. You're making me feel old. Just Mark."
"Sorry, Mark. Old habits die hard, I guess. You remember where I live?"
"Yep, it's right on my way home."
Mark started his truck and pulled out of the Goose's Nectar parking lot. It was the local watering hole for Mumford's Crossing, a tiny town in Vermont.
Cleo was home for the holidays. She'd driven herself to the bar and hung out with a few old friends from home for the evening, catching up on old times and reporting new life developments. Most of them were married—either with kids already, or kids on the way—and the drudgery of the conversation pushed Cleo towards a few extra gin and tonics. She was only a little tipsy, but a DUI was the last thing she needed. She was outside trying to call a cab when Mr. Gleeson—Mark!—offered her a ride home.
Mark Gleeson. Father to Jennifer Gleeson, one of Cleo's friends from high school. She and Jennifer had been pretty close, and they both lived in the same middle-of-nowhere farm area, which meant back before they had drivers licenses Cleo had spent a lot of time getting rides from Mr. Gleeson. So Cleo took him up on his offer. Why not? A cab would have been like thirty dollars. It was a forty-five minute drive.
"Still got the same truck, I see." Cleo ran a finger over a little burn-mark in the upholstery that she had actually created when she was fifteen years old and smoking her first cigarette.
"Yeah, Toyotas last forever."
Cleo looked over at Mark. He was hot—ruddy-brown hair and a messy beard. A long nose and bright blue eyes. She could see the muscles in his forearm as he moved the steering wheel back and forth. Mark was older than she was, but only by about twenty years—he'd had Jennifer when he was really young.
Only twenty years older, Jesus, Cleo thought. That's the gin talking.
"I don't even have a car anymore," Cleo said. "Sold the Subaru to make first month's rent in The City."
"Too bad, I liked that car. What neighborhood are you living in?"
"Astoria. Tons of Greek people and awesome thai food, I like it." She paused, looked out the window at a cow pasture all lit up by an almost-full moon. "Some people bitch about the commute into Manhattan but I don't mind. Used to long drives, I guess."
"Funny how that works, right? People adapt to their circumstances. City people bitch if something's more than twenty minutes away. Us country folk though," he dropped into a country drawl for effect, "we're built to travel."
"Exactly."
"So did you have a good night at the Goose?" Mark asked.
"Eh, it's fine. All my friends kinda raced towards the domestic life as quickly as possible. Most of them are married with kids already. Jesus I'm barely twenty-five! I don't see what the rush is."
"Domestic life's not for you?" he asked.
"Fuck no. Not yet. Even a steady boyfriend isn't for me right now."
"Does that mean you have, what, an unsteady boyfriend? What is that?"
I smiled and looked at him. "Somebody I sleep with so that I don't go insane."
"Sounds about right."
"What about you, how's the domestic life treating you?"
"Oh, Jennifer didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"Lisa and I got divorced about two years ago. She moved to California."
"Oh shit! I'm sorry, I didn't know. I mean Jen didn't tell me."
Jen had taken some crazy job at the US Embassy in Thailand and she'd slowly fallen out of touch with Cleo. It was ok—clinging to high school friendships always struck Cleo as a pathetic tendency.
"No, no, it's fine. It wasn't one of those Shakespearean tragedy divorces where everyone dies at the end."
"So what happened, then? If you don't me asking," Cleo added hastily.
"Honestly?"
"I mean, you can lie to me if you want. It's a personal question."
Mark smiled. "We told people that we grew apart, and her career took her out to California but I didn't want to leave the farm. But mostly, we both just wanted to fuck other people."
"Mr. Gleeson! I mean, Mark! Jesus!"
"What? That's the truth. We had Jennifer when we were both nineteen. Lisa's like the fourth person I'd slept with until the divorce. Jennifer was all grown up, college paid for. We both wanted to try out other romances and there wasn't anything stopping us. This is America, after all."
"Wow," Cleo whispered.
The conversion drifted to run-of-the-mill topics. Farm stuff. Politics. Work. After a while they both quieted down and Cleo let her gin-thoughts wander back to what Mark had said about his divorce.
"Wait, so you said you'd only slept with four people until the divorce...what's your number now?"
Mark laughed. "More than four."
"But less than...."
"Guess."
"Hm, less than ten."
He shook his head.
"Slut!" Cleo shouted, laughing. "Ok, less than twenty."
"Bingo."
"Well, I'm happy for you I guess. I'm mean if you're happy, it's a good thing."
"Yeah, I think so. I miss her sometimes but overall I think we're both better off."
They hit a straightaway and Mark stole a long glance at Cleo. She watched his eyes scan down her body—lingering on the tight-white t-shirt she was wearing and the skinny jeans.
"So what's your number?" he asked. "Or range rather."
"Of people I've fucked?"
"Yeah."
"Guess."
