Rexanne Becnel - Old Boyfriends

“No mention of a wife,” M.J. said to Cat, who was uncharacteristically silent. “He’s probably divorced.”

“So who isn’t?”

“We aren’t,” M.J. retorted for the both of us.

“Well, you should have been. A long time ago.”

Margaret tilted her head to frown at Cat. “You don’t like my dad, do you?”

Cat scrunched up her face. “Sorry, Margaret. When it comes to men I’m in a grouchy mood. But M.J.’s old boyfriend has potential. There was nothing about any wives or children, was there?”

M.J. smiled at a photograph of the coaching staff of the New Orleans Saints and pointed him out to us. Dark brown hair, light eyes and really broad shoulders. Oh, yes, he was quite a fine specimen of a man. “He hasn’t changed a bit,” she said.

“That’s not necessarily a good thing,” Cat said. “You want a grown-up, not a teenager. Or do you?”

“I just don’t want an old man,” M.J. replied. But she was smiling. Maybe Jeff Cole was exactly what she needed.

“So why did y’all break up?” Margaret asked.

“He got a football scholarship and went away to school while I…I became a professional beauty pageant competitor. We lost touch when I moved to California.”

“So this trip could actually fire up all the old feelings,” Margaret said.

“Did he ever hit you?” Cat asked M.J.

Margaret rolled her eyes, but I smiled. There was nothing subtle about our Cat.

“Of course not,” M.J. said. “Even Frank, awful as he turned out to be, he never hit me, either.”

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