All of Me

by Emily Duvall

  She picks up her wine glass and clinks it to mine. “Cheers to that.”

  My heart squeezes. The memory of Darcy disappears like a magic act. The thoughts blink like a glitch in my mind and leave. I see the glimmer of the life Sara wants in her eyes. Wedding dress shopping. Engagement parties. Picking out wine glasses for our registry. I see the unspoken future, and I have no intention of picking out towels or paint samples. She’s looking at me like she’s mentally redecorating my house and sipping wine with me and toasting to our no-child lifestyle. She wants to move to New York together. She’s feeling out domestic matters. I know with every breath that we’ve peaked. We have nowhere to go from here. About walking down the aisle and spending forever with someone, I am not completely closed-off to the idea. The thing that makes my blood run cold is that I don’t want that with her.

  “Oh, hang on. I see Shandra Collins,” Sara announces happily. “I need to say hi.”

  “So go,” I say distractedly.

  “Shandra!” Sara waves and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

  I pay for our drinks while she’s busy. The band breaks out a slower tune and a saxophone. Jazz isn’t an era of music I’m familiar with or have any interest learning about.

  My gaze travels over the people filling in the space in front of the makeshift stage and the nagging feeling that I’m missing something in my life overcomes me. Again. Like someone put a pair of panties on me this morning instead of boxer briefs. I can’t seem to defend myself against this feeling. I should call the night a dud and cut my losses. Soon as Sara gets back, I’ll walk her to her car. I’m suddenly eager to get home and sleep off this funk I can’t shake.

  That’s when I see her. Standing within walking distance. She’s in front of a jewelry shop and pausing in front of the display window. It’s Maren. My gaze cuts to her body and I look at the rest of her lovely curves without shame. For a breathless second, I think of taking her hips in my hands. Clench my fingers around her there. Feel the weight of her head rest on my chest as my hands slide up and down her legs.

  I glance at Sara, at her face downturned to her friend and their rapid-fire conversation. I could sit here and stay away, but I want a better look at Maren. Putting aside our first interaction, there is something about her. My gut twists at the notion that there was anything other than exasperation and simply the actions of a man taken off guard. I want to prove to myself that I was right at first impressions. That Maren is simply Maren. My running partner.

  I get up and leave Sara and her friend to solve the problem of the minute. I am with Sara, but what I need is a friend. I’m not saying Maren is the friend I’ve always dreamed of, but it is better than stewing over the promotion and what could have been.

  “Maren,” I say, coming up behind her, feeling a gravitational pull towards her, and checking out her reflection in the window.

  She twists her body around effortlessly and meets my gaze. A lot goes on in her eyes. Warmth, emotion, a hint of complexity. “Caleb Allan,” she says, bending her lips in a frown.

  “You should stop following me,” I tease, touching her arm.

  “I’m not. You’re the one who found me.”

  “I’ve been spending my whole day figuring out how to find you.” My breath holds in anticipation of a witty comeback. There’s nothing except her expressionless face. I want her to ask me a question. Keep the conversation going. Give me a reason to stay.

  How long have you been here?

  Do you like jazz?

  Are you with anyone?

  Ask me anything. Anything.

  Wait.

  Why do I care?

  “Why would you look for me?” she says, finally asking.

  I laugh with ease. “I need to ask for a jogging rematch.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “I don’t jog this late.” Maren refocuses her attention on the necklaces displayed in the window.

  “Yeah, sure. I know.” I scratch my jaw.

  “Charlotte is supposed to be here, helping.”

  “Who is Charlotte and what is she helping you with?”

  “I’m buying Libby a going-away present and Charlotte’s my officemate.” Maren flicks her wrist and checks the time on her hulking plastic watch. The timepiece is too big for her wrist. “She’s twenty-one minutes late.”

  “I’m here.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “You want me to go in with you?”

  Her lips twist. “Why would you come with me? Her gaze travels to my neck. “You couldn’t help me. You don’t wear necklaces and boys—”

  “I’m a man,” I defend my kind. “And I happen to have great taste in picking out jewelry.”

  She graces me with a wry smile and I can see she’s not convinced. “You do? How?”

  “My sister, Elise, taught me about jewelry selection. She’s picky about that sort of thing. And I’ve bought several pieces for past girlfriends.” Don’t mind if do, patting myself on the back for those efforts.

  “I think you’ve given yourself enough credit.”

  I laugh. “It’s been a few years since I’ve bought jewelry for a woman. Back then, I was young and dumb, but that was a long time ago. I should have saved my money.”

  “And your heart.” She points to my chest.

  Another chuckle leaves my mouth. “I don’t think I would have listened to you if we’d been friends.”

  Her smile slips back to a frown. “We wouldn’t have been friends.”

  “Why not? What makes you so sure? You judging a book by its cover?”

  “Yes. How else would I buy a book? And time travel isn’t possible, so there’s no way we would have known each other.”

  The beer must be hitting me more on my empty stomach, I’m laughing on the inside at the seriousness with which she speaks. I get the feeling she’s about to tell me why we wouldn’t have been friends. “Do you want my help Maren Cole? Yes or no.”

  “Yes, if you can stop being weird.”

  I hide my grin and grab the door handle. “After you.”

  The store is quiet and the woman behind the desk is busy hovering over her phone. The place is full of racks of bracelets and necklaces displayed by color. The metals are grouped together in one section, and the color pieces are displayed in another.

  Maren takes her time looking through the pieces. Just when I think she’s forgotten I’m next to her, she looks at me with renewed clarity. “We both have sisters.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Is Elise nice?”

  My sister is one of the most selfless people in the world. I feel a stab of guilt for putting off her phone calls. She’s been leaving messages and texts, knowing what the upcoming days mean to me. “Yes, she is.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Indianapolis.”

  “Do you get to see her?”

  “Not as much as I should. She has four boys all under the age of ten, which makes her life a straight-up shot of chaos.” Maren’s gaze holds mine. There aren’t shadows in those gorgeous green orbs like the ones I see in the mirror. I want to stay in this half-crazed second for another heartbeat. This look between us is different than how she’s looked at me before. My blood runs hot. I see her the way a man knows he doesn’t want to be anywhere but standing in front of this woman. I want to feel this same spark every time her gaze collides with mine. My mouth moves to tell her as much—to compliment her or make excuses for how I have been with her on the few occasions we have been together.

  She speaks first, blocking my observation. “Indiana is further away from New York. Do you have a good relationship with Elise?”

  “We do. We’re important to one another, even if we don’t see each other every day.” And even if I avoid my family and my nephews. Darcy was right in the middle of their ages and I can’t stomach the thought of visiting. It’s always better if Elise comes to me, without the boys.

  “Do you think it’s possible for me and Libby to be close if she’s not in the same city?”

&nb
sp; “People can live on the same street and never see each other. Distance won’t make you and Libby any less close. The times you do see her will mean much more.”

  “Guess I hadn’t thought of the move that way.”

  “Are you stressed out about her leaving?” I ask, giving her my full attention.

  “I am,” she admits without dancing around the issue or dragging out her feelings or over-explaining. “Is it possible for me to want her to stay and to go?”

  “Very possible,” I say with more heart than intended.

  Her attention reverts to the rows of necklaces hanging from the wall. “How do I know which one is right for Libby?”

  “What does she like?”

  “Work, wine, shopping, me. She also likes Garrett Pane.”

  I crack a laugh. “Garrett is quieter than snow and wouldn’t know Libby was in to him if she sat naked on his desk. I didn’t realize he was her type.”

  Her face relaxes. “I am sure he would notice if she was naked. You would notice if I was naked in this store.”

  A flash of heat rips through me. My gut tightens. Not from anxiety, but because I am enjoying myself immensely. “Absolutely,” I answer, unable to hold back my grin.

  “Really? Me?”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “Yes.”

  A bit of pink crops up her cheeks. Maren reaches a necklace that’s all wrong for Libby. The one she picks off the rack is a miniature purse studded in rhinestones. The piece isn’t ugly, but the design has a faux quality, a cheap look to the color. “What about this one?”

  “No, sorry, not quite right for the occasion. Come with me.” Maren grabs my hand. I freeze. I look down at our hands. “What are you doing?”

  “I—I, don’t know. I just thought, you said, come with me…”

  She ignores my protesting glare and laces her fingers through mine. My fingers curl away from hers and she fights back subtly, holding firm. I wouldn’t be more surprised if I woke up with three balls. Sara and I don’t hold hands. “Be careful,” I whisper with a sharp intake more to myself than Maren.

  I take the lead and go with this development. Either she doesn’t know she shouldn’t grab my hand, or she doesn’t care, and just by looking at her, I have no idea which one is true. What I do know is that her skin is soft against mine and the way she curls them to mine add a complex layer to this interaction. Warmth and light burn slow and steady from the inside out. Wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  I expect her to drop my hand once we reach the display. She doesn’t do that either. She holds my fingers, thumbing them against mine without batting an eye. Without looking at me for confirmation or expectation, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Each stroke of her finger is soft, yet purposeful. Heat shoots off in my gut. I must have had too much to drink because I’m not thinking about running from this store. I am not running away from her.

  I am officially losing it.

  Refocus, damnit. I clear my throat. “Does Libby prefer silver or gold?”

  “She wears more silver than gold.”

  “We’ll go with that.” I raise our entangled hands and point to the antique rack in front of us. “Jewelry is all about the occasion. The necklace you selected was more fun and casual. This is a big moment in Libby’s life. You need to pick something that honors that step.”

  She shakes her pretty face. “I could never quantify that.”

  “You have to try.”

  I give her a minute to go through a couple of the racks. She lets go of my hand and all those worries I had about why she was holding my hand in the first place disappear. A lock of hair falls in her face and bounces, and I resist the urge to tuck the rebellious strand behind her ear. Her fingers were soft and the gentle rise of color in her cheek promises the same.

  “An infinity symbol,” she says, taking the necklace off the rack. The chain is thin and simple. “The numbers go on forever.”

  I’m irritable at the knowledge that our time in this store will end soon. “That is the consensus.”

  “Numbers are the one thing in this world that never end.” She traces her fingers lovingly over the charm. “What do you think?”

  “What do you think, Maren? The choice is all yours.”

  “I think she’ll love this.”

  I’m not sure if she’s saying this because of the concept of infinity or she’s thinking of Libby’s reaction. I can’t stay much longer. In the time Sara has been gone, I’ve managed to hold hands with a woman I swore I’d stay away from. I have never cheated in a relationship and yet I let Maren take my hand. I let her, and, even though I’m going to end things with Sara, she doesn’t deserve to be with someone who is thinking about someone else. It’s time for me to go. “Then you’ve made your choice. Sorry, Maren, I have to leave. Sara’s probably looking for me.”

  She does the Maren shrug. “Okay. Go.”

  I leave her to pay for the necklace and make my way outside. The second I open the door Sara catches my eye. There’s a wounded quality to her gaze until she takes in the jewelry store. Her smile doubles. “I was wondering where you went.”

  Maren emerges from the store and Sara takes in the sight of her too. The flirty disposition disappears, replaced by an eyeful of questions.

  “I thought you left.” Sara takes my hand like she owns me and squeezes. “I texted and called. What’s going on? You’ve been in there?”

  “I ran into Maren,” I offer no other explanation. No details that I know she’s dying to hear.

  “Oh. I see.” She nods at Maren. “Hey.”

  Maren shows no emotion. Like a placid body of water that’s monotone gray and clear. “I remember you,” she says like she doesn’t care either way.

  A self-conscious laugh flutters from Sara’s lips, pink as a ballet slipper. The bag Maren’s holding catches her interest. “And…you’re shopping? What a coincidence. I wasn’t expecting this.”

  Unfazed by Sara’s snobby tone, Maren holds up the bag, rubbing the spontaneous shopping event in her face. “Caleb helped me pick out a necklace. Did you know he used to pick out jewelry for his girlfriends?”

  Sara folds her arms over her chest. She pouts. “Of course, I knew that. I know everything about him.” Her accusatory gaze meets mine.

  Ah…I keep my mouth shut.

  Sara pulls at my hand like a child. “Well, how nice. Sorry we can’t chat. Caleb and I are leaving.”

  “Do you want us to wait until your friend arrives?” I ask Maren.

  “We need to go,” Sara insists.

  I turn to her. “Go without me then.”

  “No,” she backtracks. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Maren angles her face up to mine. The sunlight makes her eyes clear. No, she’s different. She’s looking at me. Connecting. Seeing me. A jolt of protectiveness stabs me with the same force as Maren grabbing my hand. “Do you want us to stay and wait?” I say.

  “Maren!”

  We all turn to see the young woman walking fast through the crowd. “Sorry I’m late,” she announces, taking the rubber band off her wrist and piling her hair into a messy bun. “They had track work on the Red Line and I couldn’t get cell service.”

  “They’re always doing track work,” Maren offers an explanation, and she probably does know the schedule.

  I wait for Maren to introduce us. Still waiting…I take the lead. “I’m Caleb. This is Sara.”

  “Charlotte.”

  “How do you know each other?” I ask, interested to hear how these two are friends. For one, Charlotte is bigger, not fatter, but larger in personality and smile. She wears jewelry on her ears, around her neck and wrists, and a belt cinches her waist. Right away she gives off a friendly, I’m-easy-to-get-along-with demeanor, which seems solar systems away from Maren’s subtly pale skin, gorgeous eyes, and closed-off countenance that is like a neon sign flashing the words, I have no interest in what you are about to say, but not in a bitchy way. But not shy either. Maren is
completely fine with who she is.

  And I’m intrigued by all of it. By all of her.

  “Maren and I share an office.” She takes in the sight of me and a smile works up her threadlike lips. “You’re Libby’s friend.”

  “Coworker,” I clarify.

  “Are we all hanging out?”

  “No,” Sara says impatiently. “We’re leaving.”

  “Seems like I missed out.” Charlotte scoots closer to Maren. “Did you eat? I hope not, because I’m starving like a racehorse.”

  “I’m as fast as one,” Maren says.

  I let out an awkward cough. I know what’s coming next and I haven’t told Sara about the jog.

  Charlotte’s face wrinkles. Her voice is discerning. “Why would you say that?”

  “Caleb told me when we were running.”

  Sara goes rigid and even though I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

  “We’ve already had dinner.” Sara tugs at my hand. “Caleb? Are you staying or going?”

  Charlotte bats her eyes and grins. “We’ll let you get going.”

  “Wait.” Maren touches my elbow. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  Sara’s snarky smile doubles. “We don’t want to—no offense. Your evening is beginning. Ours is ending. Caleb and I are going back to his place.”

  Maren ignores Sara. “Do you want to go? There’s music. You like music. It’s not grunge.”

  “Not tonight.” I’m too worried about Sara’s wrath to enjoy the feeling of satisfaction that she remembered. “Another time. Have fun. Charlotte, nice to meet you.”

  “And you too.” She slinks her arm through Maren’s. “Let’s go.”

  Sara and I walk in strained silence for three blocks before she cracks. The music and loud laughter and voices from the crowd have faded. The smells of fresh baked bread and pizza are replaced by asphalt and littered trash in the gutters.