A Girl Like You Page 19

  WTF??

  I didn’t text Jeremy again, which essentially meant I was the one ghosting him, which made me feel less let down. I gotta say I missed that magic tongue.

  Back to the vibrator wand it was.

  54

  In December, we put up a little Christmas tree in the window at work. I should say, I put up the tree, and the guys asked when I was bringing in holiday cookies. Me? Bake? I didn’t think so.

  I was working my way through an enormous stack of tax bills at the office when I heard the building’s front door slam. I glanced at Joe, who was texting, then looked up to see who it was.

  “Can I help—”

  It was Michael, smiling at me as he walked across the lobby. He was wearing a navy ski jacket, a striped scarf, and the aviator sunglasses he wore when we went out for falafel. It wasn’t even sunny outside.

  Jesus. Maddy had been right. Someone had walked right into my office, but instead of being someone wonderful, it was my worst nightmare. Then the front door banged again and a slim, young blonde woman came in, rubbing her bare hands together to warm them.

  “Mikey, it’s too cold to wait in the car,” she whined.

  “Sorry,” Michael asked, not even glancing her way. “How are ya, Jessie?”

  I blinked my eyes, hoping he would disappear. No luck.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Here to pay the taxman,” he said, taking his time pulling out his checkbook.

  The blonde went over to the radiator near Jerky’s chair and turned around to warm her ridiculously cute ass. The men’s jaws dropped in unison. Even Jerky was entranced.

  “All right, I’ll take your payment,” I said, looking squarely at his right shoulder.

  “Don’t spend it all in one place,” Michael said, ripping out his check with a flourish.

  “OK,” I said, wondering how he could think he was the first one to make that dumb joke.

  “So,” he said, leaning closer over the counter. “How are you, Jess?”

  “Good, fine,” I said, painfully aware that Joe had stopped texting and was watching me with interest.

  “You know what? I should apologize,” he said.

  “No need for that!” I said, wishing he would leave.

  “It’s just, you texted me a lot and I felt like it was getting too intense,” he whispered, making Joe swivel his chair closer. “I hadn’t been with someone who liked me as much as you did, at least, not until Lacey.” He gestured at the blonde with his thumb.

  “Good luck with that,” I said, rustling papers and trying to stay calm under Joe’s open stare.

  After an excruciatingly long pause, Michael finally turned away from the counter, holding out his hand to pull Lacey close to him.

  “See ya,” he said over his shoulder before letting the door slam behind him on his way out.

  I burned with fury. Liked him as much as I did? I was checking out the waiter at the Greek restaurant! I was back on Fish that night.

  But he was right, I realized with a sinking heart. I had texted him and asked to see him a lot. I had pictured us having dinner in a nice restaurant, holding hands in a movie theater, even introducing him to Maddy and Ian. I had, for that short amount of time we dated, pictured him as my boyfriend, even when I wasn’t sure that was what I really wanted, or what we had the potential to be. And it had been way too early. I’d learned a lot since I’d known Michael about rushing things and getting carried away.

  I hadn’t genuinely wanted Michael, but I wanted what he represented. I liked the idea of Michael more than I liked him in real life.

  “Soooo,” said Wes, who had of course woken up in time to watch the entire exchange. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t seem like nothing,” Joe snorted.

  “That’s Michael Warner—a real pothead, that one,” Wes said, pulling a baloney sub out of his lunch bag. “Know him?”

  “Not at all,” I said, straightening my shoulders and reaching for another stack of bills to reconcile.

  I was remarkably unfazed.

  Paulie got up and went to the window to watch Michael and Lacey hurry to their car across the street, then turned quickly, startling his friends.

  “Look sharp, gents, we’re about to get a visitor,” Paulie said. “And for god’s sake, someone wake up Wes.”

  They whistled to Beef Jerky, who was near the window drooling over pigeons on the rooftops nearby. As if he knew what was coming, Jerky dashed under the table and didn’t come out.

  Joe took his feet off his desk and grabbed some loose papers, squinting down at them as if he were actually working.

  The change in the men was remarkable. I barely recognized them.

  The front door opened and in came Linda, the friendly trustee who’d interviewed me with Joe. She was wearing a red coat with a furry white hood.

  “Well, hi everyone.”

  The men at the table who were hunched together, all studying the same newspaper, looked up as if they hadn’t panicked when they saw her approaching the building.

  Joe scrambled to his feet.

  “Linda! Nice surprise. Is it cold enough for you out there?”

  “It’s freezing—the wind goes right through me!”

  “That wind chill’s what gets ya,” Sal said, clearly unable to stop himself from joining in any conversation whether he was included or not. “Heard we’re in for a deep freeze end of the week. Only getting worse.”

  “Ouch,” Sal said, rubbing his shin where Paulie had clearly kicked him to shut up.

  “Actually, I came to see Jessica,” Linda said, leaning on the counter. Her lipstick was just a little too coral for the red coat, but otherwise she was the best-dressed person ever to come into the office. “How’re things going?”

  “Ah, good, great,” I said, watching Joe continue to look busy when I knew he was just leafing through a pile of invoices he would be putting on my desk the minute Linda left.

  “Everyone helping you out?” Linda looked around the room and nodded to the trio at the table. It was an acknowledgment without actually saying a word. They continued their close scrutiny of the same page of the newspaper.

  “So, everything’s copacetic?”

  “Yes. Everything’s fine, thanks.”

  “All righty, well let me know if there’s anything at all you need,” Linda said, turning around. “You know, you really should turn the heat up in here. I don’t know how you can work without gloves on.”

  I didn’t offer up the fact that a warm office made Wes sleepier, so the men kept it chilly. I’d started wearing wool turtlenecks, and when the men made their daily donut run, I turned the thermostat up.

  “Come anytime!” I called out to her before the heavy door shut.

  “OK, men, at ease,” Paulie said.

  Jerky came out from under the table and bounded back to his chair by the window.

  “Whew, that was a close one,” Wes said, yawning.

  “Prosthetic, is that what she said?” Sal asked. “Like someone’s fake leg?”

  “No, copacetic,” Paulie said thoughtfully. “I think it might be French.”

  “I think it means the room is clean,” Wes offered.

  “No, no, it means it’s crowded in here,” Joe said. “Hope she isn’t gonna tell you guys to stop hanging around here again.”

  Again? Had the Three Stooges been asked to leave? And what about the dog?

  I thought about telling them copacetic meant everything was fine, but didn’t want to make them feel bad. Their definitions of the word were much more fun.

  55

  It was my nine-month anniversary of joining the Y, and things were getting moderately better. I still hadn’t even approached the scale, but my endurance was definitely up. I could carry a huge laundry basket upstairs without losing my breath. I’d graduated from old sweats and Ian’s marathon T-shirt to spandex leggings from Amazon and a hip-length Tencel top that wicked away moisture, which wa
s good because after twenty minutes on the treadmill, I was a sweaty mess. I started rowing for fifteen minutes after the treadmill. The rhythm relaxed me and I got lulled into the zone.

  Some days I closed my eyes and thought about going on vacation to a pet-friendly beachside resort, maybe with the kids or Eddie and Donny, maybe by myself. I’d earned a week’s vaca-time at the office.

  One day I was blissing out and heard someone say my name. I opened my eyes and rubbed the sweat out of them. It was Twin T-shirt Man, Brant.

  “Hey, Jessica, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, refusing to slow my pace this time.

  “How’re you doing? You look good.”

  Brant looked even better.

  “Oh, thanks.” I chugged on, wondering if he would notice my wicking shirt was not doing its job.

  “How’ve you been?” he asked, leaning his arm casually on the hand rail of my treadmill.

  “Good. You?”

  “Really good,” he said, the smile lines around his eyes crinkling.

  “How’re those fig trees?”

  Brant laughed and I realized I’d revealed how many times I replayed our first meeting in my head, trying to figure out when it crashed and burned.

  “They’re coming along nicely. I’ll bring some for you to try sometime.”

  Huh. It had been three months since I last saw him at the gym. Unless he was planning on carrying figs in his gym bag for weeks, it was unlikely I would ever have any. I looked up at the TV screen, where Cathy was grating fresh fruit for lemon bars.

  “I’ll let you go,” Brant said. “Listen, we could go for that coffee if you still want to.”

  It was my turn to hesitate, surprising both of us.

  “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but I’m really busy these days,” I said at last. “You know, crowded social calendar, no free time.” Leave it to me to overexplain.

  Brant paused, looking momentarily confused. “Well, then, I guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Good luck with the figs!” I called after him in a voice so loud I swore it echoed. He waved his hand without turning back around. I picked up my pace, deciding I was going for my personal best, or at least a heart rate stronger than a desert animal’s.

  Had I made the right choice by turning him down? I had made the decision without over-analyzing, and that made it certain it was the right move.

  56

  MetroMan looked promising when I came across his profile after the holidays. His pics showed him wearing a dark suit in front of a Lamborghini, making a toast with a glass of champagne.

  Classy, I thought.

  Plus, he replied within a few hours after my boring message: “Hey, I like your car…a bit nicer than my Honda SUV. What are you toasting?”

  “Wrapped up a huge deal in Manhattan,” Metro, real name Richard, messaged back. He owned his realty company.

  “That’s great. What property did you sell?”

  “Uptown condo. Half a mil.”

  Half a million? What was his commission? 15%? I had no idea.

  We agreed to meet at Hamlet’s Study in Ashton, a new place known for trendy custom cocktails. I wore black dress pants, the wedge heels, and a red-and-black blouse with buttons down the back. Richard was already at the bar, wearing a navy pinstriped suit different from the one in his photos, and a thin paisley tie with a monogrammed clip.

  “Hi, Richard.” I held out my hand. “I’m Jessica.”

  He took my hand and held it up to his mouth, brushing it with a kiss.

  “Well, OK there, thank you.” I slid into the silver filigree bar chair that couldn’t even be called a bar stool because it was so fancy.

  “What would you like?” he asked.

  There was a four-page menu just for cocktails. I scanned it quickly, looking for something that wouldn’t knock me off my feet after the first sip.

  “Vesper Martini, please,” Richard told the bartender. “Grey Goose, hold the lemon twist.”

  “A Tom Collins?” I said, defaulting to a drink whose name I could remember. “And no lemon, please.”

  Actually I liked fruit in my drinks, but didn’t want to look childish. Maybe holding the lemon was trendy. Richard looked pointedly at my unpainted nails. His own were glossy and better manicured than mine had ever been in my entire life.

  “Do you get down to the city often? Which clubs do you like?”

  “My daughter and I have a tradition of going to see the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Show with the Rockettes,” I said. “We like Carnegie Deli; their Reubens are out of this world.”

  “Ah,” Richard said.

  We sipped our drinks in silence.

  “You have really nice skin,” I blurted out.

  It was true. His skin was perfect, his pores practically invisible.

  “Clinique for Men,” he said nodding, agreeing with me about his complexion. “SPF 30 all year around, charcoal purifying mask weekly, and a monthly facial, of course.”

  Of course.

  “So,” I began. “Have you met a lot of women on Fish?”

  Richard frowned. “I find most of them to be unsophisticated. I’m thinking of dating older women because they may have more class.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, making a run for the ladies’ room.

  “It’s going terribly,” I texted Maddy. “He’s a snob and I look like a country bumpkin.”

  “Then run,” she texted back. “Ian did it, and you can too!”

  “I can’t run. He’s sitting right by the door.”

  “Is there a back exit?”

  “Yeah, probably with an alarm that would go off if I tried to get out.”

  “Well, just end it gracefully.”

  Richard was texting when I got back to the bar. He took his time finishing his message before looking up at me.

  “I have to go now,” I stammered. “My dog puked.”

  “All right.” Richard was clearly not disappointed. “I’ll get the tab—you go on ahead.”

  “Good luck in your search.”

  “Same to you,” he said, frowning again. “Toodles.”

  And with that, I ran.

  57

  Ian came downstairs wearing a button-down oxford shirt, one step up from his usual T-shirt with a band and its tour schedule on it.

  “What’s with the fancy shirt?”

  “Got a date,” Ian said, smoothing the front of the shirt over his chest. “How do I look?”

  “Amazing.”

  “Thanks.” He smiled, and I still recognized the fourth-grader who came home with first prize in a spelling bee. He was still an exceptional speller, come to think of it.

  “So where are you going?”

  “To a play at the Westin Theater.”

  “Really?” I was mildly surprised and wished I’d had a date to see a live performance. That was a classy idea; if I ever found someone with class, I’d keep that in mind.

  “Met on Tinder?”

  “Actually, she’s from my bio class at school. We were lab partners.”

  “Wow—she’s smart and has good taste?”

  “Why do you say that?” Ian grinned.

  “Because she’s going out with you.”

  It was quiet in the house after Ian left. Pen-Pen was dozing in her doggy bed that looked like a little blue couch. I made myself French toast and scrambled eggs for dinner and thought about calling Eddie and Donny to come over to play cards. Maybe a drinking game, since it was Friday night.

  I walked around picking up Penny’s dog toys: the cow that mooed and always surprised her, the lone red sock, a rubber duck, a hippo wearing earmuffs. Then I went into my room and foraged around in the closet for an Amazon box that held a photo album from my wedding to Adam. The box was lightly coated with dust, and inside, the edges of the album were starting to fray.

  When Maddy was eight or nine, she and I used to look through the album and plan her future wedding. There was always a fancy church with pink roses in every aisle,
a gown with a train so long it had to be carried by her maid of honor, and a blond man in a white tux waiting for her at the altar. I was always surprised by this, because Adam had dark hair, but Madd was adamant about the light-colored hair.

  “I want babies that look like Ian when he was born,” she finally told me, something so heartwarming I never forgot it.

  If Adam and I had stayed married, we’d have been together twenty-eight years. For a long time, my wedding day was my happy place. Later, it would be beach vacations with the kids, a song Maddy made up to soothe baby Ian when he was fussy, the time Ian caught a sunfish and cried because it had to go back into the lake because he wanted to keep it as a pet, the white patent-leather Mary Janes I always got Madison for Easter, putting out cookies for Santa, watching the kids play soccer under a sun so hot I was worried about heat stroke. It was baby teeth under pillows, the math homework I always left to Adam to help with, and all those popsicles and playgrounds and pirouettes in Madison’s ballet class, which she took only because she wanted to wear the pink tutu.

  Did Adam have his own collection of memories? Not for the first time, it hurt to know there wasn’t any other person I could reminisce with about the kids’ births, when Adam ate three packets of Saltine crackers during my long labor with Maddy because he didn’t want to leave my side and go to the cafeteria, how he’d snuck me ice chips when the nurses said no liquids, when Ian eased into the world with a smile on his face, the flowers that arrived from my sister in a blue vase shaped like baby booties.

  Where had they gone, those years when I was so busy, I hadn’t realized they were the best of times? I once thought I would give anything now to go back to those days and have the kids, my best friends, by my side.

  But I believed what Eddie had said that night while we were junk-picking, that we would all be together in the next life to do it over again. And I realized I wouldn’t take back my married days to Adam or Bryan. The years had been good ones, most of the time, but I was a different version of myself now. Still loving, hopefully funny, but strong in a way I hadn’t been before. Maybe there wasn’t a missing piece. Maybe I’d been whole and complete all along. OK, that might be overdoing it, but still. I had changed.