by E. J. Noyes
“No no, of course not. Not at all. I guess I’d just already had you in my head as the living-in-a-condo-in-the-city type. Not the cozy-family-home-with-two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog-and-a-station-wagon type.”
Brooke snorted. “Well neither of those are really me, but the second one probably fits better than the high-end city apartment. Not quite there with kids and a dog or a station wagon at the moment but someday, sure, I’d love those things. For now, all I have is an ex and a mortgage.” Her smile was wry.
“You’ve never considered making it a career? The art thing, not the two-point-five kids and an ex and a mortgage.”
She grinned, then seemed to catch herself and the amusement faltered until her smile seemed fixed in place rather than genuine. “Not really.” She pointed a forefinger skyward. “My career is upstairs. With my father.” And there was that expression again, one I recognized well, having seen it countless times on the faces of clients. Unhappy, trying to hide it, and thinking the current situation was immovable.
The server chose that moment to appear with our coffees, set mine down, and with a megawatt smile slid Brooke’s order in front of her. “Didn’t come to see me this morning, Brooke. Shame,” she said teasingly.
Brooke pulled her coffee closer. “Thanks, Renee. Tomorrow, I promise.”
“You’d better. I need to tell you about last night.” Renee spared me a smile, then with a wink for Brooke, walked away.
I pulled the top from my cup to let my coffee cool. “I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever been served coffee here. It’s obviously your influence. Tell me your secret.”
Her cheeks pinked ever so slightly. “Ah, it’s nothing. Renee just likes to talk and we’ve been having chat sessions for…” Brooke’s eyebrows came together. “Shit, almost three years now. It’s just a little meaningless banter to start the day.”
“You know I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before and I get coffee here every morning when I come into the office. Plus with both of us moving around the building and stuff, it’s weird we haven’t, uh, bumped into each other before we, you know, bumped into each other.”
Brooke laughed. “True. I’m usually here at six forty-five, up in my office by seven-fifteen. I come down during the day whenever the urge for caffeine overwhelms me or I need a break from my desk. I guess we’ve just been missing each other or doing the ignoring-a-stranger thing.”
“You’re probably right. And that explains it. I don’t mind getting up early for the gym or whatever, but I loathe coming in before eight. But I’m usually here until seven or so at night, or working at home so I guess on balance it shouldn’t matter when I get in.”
Brooke laughed. “I’m the opposite. I like to get started early, then I can wrap up early and go home to do the things I actually want to.”
“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from getting to work so you can bail early.”
“You’re not keeping me from anything, Jana. I wanted to have coffee with you this morning.”
“Well, okay then.” Suddenly and inexplicably shy, and unsure what to say next, I leaned over and pushed the bag with her heels in it across the floor. “Before I forget, here’s your shoes. Thanks again for the loan, I was half-tempted to keep them.”
Brooke hooked a foot around the bag and dragged it under the table. “You’re welcome and like I said before, you can borrow them any time.” There was an amused glint in her eyes. “Look, again I’m really sorry about charging into you like that. Honestly, I don’t make a habit of walking into people.”
“Totally get it, saying goodbye to boyfriends can be tricky.” I sipped my coffee, noting right away that it tasted better than any I’d bought from the café previously. Clearly Brooke held some sort of sway with the employees, and I needed to have morning coffee with her more often.
Brooke’s eyebrows shot up and she laughed shortly. “Boyfriend? Oh no, that’s my little brother.”
“Ah well, saying goodbye to siblings is just as hard. Actually, I think even more so.”
She smiled fondly. “Yeah, I didn’t see much of him while he was a teenager and now we’re kind of making up for all that time. Just some weird family stuff that’s totally not appropriate for me to talk about to someone I hardly know. I’m not sure why I even brought it up. Sorry.” She waved to dismiss the subject. “How about you? Siblings?”
“Just one, an older sister. Sabine’s a surgeon, a major in the Army.” Contrary to Brooke skirting around family dynamics, I had no qualms telling anyone about Sabine, or what she did, because not only did I love my sister fiercely but I was intensely proud of her. And not just because of what she did, but because of who she was.
“A surgeon and an attorney in the family. Impressive.” Brooke whistled through her teeth. “A pair of high achievers.”
I fiddled with my coffee cup. “Yeah, you could say that. My father is first-generation American and he’s always been driven to prove himself. Our parents were never pushy, but I think we both unconsciously got the whole do your very best thing from him. Though definitely Sabine more than me.”
“First generation?” A tiny crease appeared between her brows. “Fleischer, that’s…”
“German.”
“Ah, of course.” Brooke leaned back in the chair. “So, this doing your very best, did you always want to be a lawyer?”
“Mhmm.” I couldn’t help grinning. “My family would say it’s because I love to argue, which I absolutely do, but it’s really because I like helping people.”
Brooke laughed. “Oh yes, I caught a little of the arguing vibe the other morning.” Before I could come up with another response to try to dim some of my less attractive qualities, she asked, “So what sort of law do you all practice up there on the top floor?” She reached for her coffee, took a sip and ran her tongue along her upper lip to wipe away a trace of latte foam.
“Family law. Like I said, I like helping people and family is really important to me.” Almost unconsciously my voice lowered, softened. “I want to help people with theirs as much as I can, even if it’s falling apart.”
Her gaze was steady, focused, and for a moment I felt as though she could see all my deep dark secrets. “You know, I think I see it. Hardass when you need to be, but really you’re soft and squishy like a marshmallow inside.” She flushed, and almost immediately mumbled, “Sorry.”
“What for?”
“That was rude of me.” Her cheeks reddened further and Brooke touched her fingertips to both cheeks. “And now I’m seriously embarrassed.”
“Don’t be, it’s totally fine.” And also totally true.
But her blush didn’t fade. She sipped her coffee, set it down and turned it around and around, all without saying a word.
I leaned closer, my elbows on the table. “Did you know when you blush, the lining of your stomach does too? Well, I’m not sure if it’s blushing because it’s embarrassed or whatever because I’m sure stomachs don’t get embarrassed, but it turns red.”
Brooke looked up, surprise and what I hoped was amusement turning her expression from almost reserved to open. “Well that’s random. And also a little gross.” The pink of her cheeks began to fade, but she still looked a little like a kid who’d just been scolded.
Laughing, I admitted, “It is gross, now that I think about it. Just something my sister once told me. So, how about you, Second Donnelly?” I turned sideways in the chair and crossed my legs. “How did you go from artist to developer?”
“Actually, I’m an architect. I suppose you could say I’m following in my father’s footsteps. Or following his expectations would be more accurate.” That undercurrent of dissatisfaction was still there, a thread I wanted to pick at and unravel. But this woman was practically a stranger and it wasn’t my place to ask her to clarify or for me to even comment. Thankfully Brooke saved me from scrambling for something to break the tension. “I should probably get going. One of my team is out sick this week, and I need to delegate some work.” Her regret was c
lear, and I empathized because I’d much rather hang out in a café and talk than deal with the inevitable shitstorm that awaited me upstairs.
I glanced at my watch. Almost eight forty. “Me too. The office has only been open for ten minutes and I’m sure I have eleventy billion phone-call notes awaiting me already.”
Brooke snorted out a laugh, and in a swift motion gathered the paper, her coffee, and her bag of shoes before I could even stand. Smooth. Together we made our way toward the elevators, and though we were of similar height I had to stretch my legs to keep up. We stepped into an elevator car together, the only occupants, and pushed the buttons for our respective floors. Brooke fished in the pocket of her pants and passed me a card. “Here. If you ever need a pair of shoes, I’m your gal. Or…call me if you want to get together some time.”
Holding the card up between two fingers I sketched a salute. “Will do. Thank you.”
The elevator chimed its arrival on the third floor, and she turned and began to back out. “Hope you have a nice day, Jana. Try not to bust too many balls.”
I mock-sighed. “You’re asking a lot. And you too, make some great architect stuff until it’s time to pretend you’re Jennifer Beals welding in Flashdance.”
The doors closed on her grin.
Chapter Four
Friday night, I stood naked in my walk-in closet trying to pick out a second date outfit. I needed something that said “I’m enjoying getting to know you but I’m still not sure this is going to work and you have this date, and this date only, to change my mind.” First step, underwear. He wouldn’t be seeing it tonight so I went with my favorite push-up bra, and panties that were less sexy and more my diet to gym ratio has been a little skewed this week and I need some assistance with my body image.
Humming The Beatles’ “We Can Work it Out” I pawed through dresses. Too boring, too suggestive for a second date, too cold, too hot, makes me look washed out—note to self, get rid of that one. Eventually I settled on a sleeveless royal-blue sheath from a small boutique in Georgetown. The dress hugged my body comfortably, fell just below my knees and showed enough cleavage to remind me that such cleavage was obtained with a little extra help.
As I drove to the restaurant I reviewed some of the things I’d learned about my date, Simon—an ex-college football hero turned software designer—on our last date which was a three hour-long drinks and tapas session. The conversation had been easy, and we’d shared enough mutual interests in movies, television, and music to make the date pleasant, though not one I’d put on my list of most memorable evenings ever. My gut told me this one would bring more of the same and likely nothing more, including a third date, because frankly I didn’t have time to waste on things or people that weren’t going to fulfill me physically or emotionally.
Maybe a little harsh, but it’d worked for me for the past too many years to consider. My work life kept me busy enough, as did spending enough time with family and my few friends to keep me from feeling like a hermit. Going on eight dates and dithering over a guy when, if I’d been honest with myself in the beginning I would have known he was a dead end, was taking up time that I could be using to find someone who wasn’t a dead end. Because surely there was someone out there who was a one-way, one-hundred-mile-an-hour, never-ending highway made just for me?
Simon was waiting in front of the restaurant when I arrived a very respectable almost-ten-minutes late. He bent to give my cheek a brief, barely there kiss. “Jana, you look lovely. It’s great to see you again.”
“You too.” I raised my head to study his right eye which sported a purplish bruise spreading to the top of his cheekbone. “Yikes, did you get into a fight?”
Gingerly, he touched his fingertips to the skin just below his eye. “Not quite. Just caught an elbow to the face.”
“Basketball last night?” He’d mentioned that he played every Thursday night after work with some college friends.
“That’s it.” Laughing, he added, “And I’m told it was totally accidental.” Simon pulled the door open and with his hand lightly on my back, we went inside. The gentleman act continued as he pulled my seat out for me, waited until I was settled then sat opposite. Though I’d probably never confess it to anyone, I liked it when people did that for me. I was all for independence and feminism or whatever, but I liked feeling taken care of and appreciated and worthy of someone’s best manners.
We made second-date small talk, still sending out feelers for likes and dislikes, and discovering personalities. Simon was sweet, funny, and self-deprecatingly charming. He was also attentive and kind, and appreciative without seeming like a creep. But there was absolutely no spark.
Once we’d both ordered, he pushed his water glass aside, dragged his beer closer and said, “Tell me more about your family. Last week you said you have a sister?”
“Yes, I do. Older than me by three years.”
“What’s it like?” He pointed to his chest. “Only child.”
“It’s great. We’re very close.”
“Is she back in, um…Utah?”
“Ohio,” I corrected. “And no, she’s based here in D.C.”
“Oh, of course, that’s right. And what’s she do again? A dentist wasn’t it?”
“She’s a surgeon, in the Army.” Though it was only our second date, I was still mildly annoyed that he couldn’t remember basic details about my family—something I was quite clear about being important to me—especially when I always went to great lengths to recall personal details shared by my dates.
“Wow. Your parents raised a surgeon and an attorney. High achievers.” Despite how amicable he’d seemed until now, the way he said this felt almost accusatory, like it was wrong to want the best for your kids, or for me and my sister to have aimed high and worked hard for and at our careers.
I also thought it odd that this was the second time in as many days that someone had said pretty much the same thing. The difference was when Brooke said it, she seemed impressed rather than critical. I knew which reaction I preferred. Simon’s almost disparaging dismissal of my, and my sister’s chosen professions turned mild annoyance to actual annoyance. I swept my hair back over my shoulder as he fixed me with a half smile, apparently wondering what my expression meant. Thankfully our starters arrived.
The rest of the evening was pleasant enough. But pleasant enough didn’t give me insomnia, or make me think about a person constantly, or have me waking up in a sweaty throbbing mess after a very very nice dream. Pleasant was nice, and nice was not what I was looking for. It wasn’t even nine p.m. when Simon settled the bill and escorted me outside and toward my car.
We walked. We talked. Simon held my car door while I leaned in to place my handbag on the passenger seat. I straightened, half-expecting him to have closed the gap between us for a goodnight kiss as we’d ended our first date. That kiss had also been nice, short, and completely unremarkable. The fact he hadn’t moved and was still standing in the same place, holding the edge of my car door, strengthened my suspicion that either we were on the same wavelength, or my brief bout of annoyance had scared him off. Either way, whatever.
I rested my hand on top of his, gently squeezed his warm fingers, and smiled. “Thanks for dinner, I had a nice night.”
“You too. Yes, it was nice.” He cleared his throat. “So, uh…”
I jumped in where he’d dropped off, seeing no point in beating around the bush when I knew my stance and also how it seemed he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about a potential us. “I’ll be honest with you, Simon, and it’s going to sound like a total line. I really like you, but I’m not sure there’s anything beyond that.”
His shoulders dropped at the instant his mouth lifted into a smile. “Oh, Jana, thank goodness. Me too, I feel exactly the same. God, you’re hot and funny and great to talk to but I’m sorry—there’s no tingle of excitement that I usually get when there’s going to be something more.”
“Right? Exactly!” The relief was instantaneou
s. Oh, thank you thank you for men who could not only take honesty, but were honest in return.
Simon grinned. “Awesome. Thanks for being up front, and like I said it’s been nice spending time with you. So uh, good luck I guess? And take care.”
“You too.” I stretched up to kiss him, but this time it was nothing more than a soft brush of lips against his smooth cheek. “Watch out for accidental elbows.”
He laughed. “I will.” He closed my car door, waited until I’d given him a quick wave and then he turned and strode away.
I blew out a relieved breath. Another one struck off the list. Who’s next?
* * *
When I arrived at Sabine and Bec’s for Saturday brunch, Sabs was at the kitchen counter slicing vegetables, a carton of eggs and assorted breakfasting miscellanea neatly structured around her.
“Where’s Bec?”
“Still sleeping. Rough couple of days at work.”
“Ah.” I unloaded my contribution—champagne and orange juice for mimosas, and fresh croissants. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. Just tired.”
When I got close, she leaned toward me and I wrapped my arm around her waist as she carefully sliced mushrooms. Resting my head on her shoulder, I asked, “You making frittata?” My sister was a fabulous cook, but had a limited repertoire, as though she didn’t want to dilute her skills by spreading them across a wide range of dishes.
“You know it.” Sabs indicated the fridge with a tilt of her chin. “Can you put together a fruit salad please?”
I stowed my cold things, removed other cold things and set to work as ordered. Uh, requested. After pouring coffee, of course. We worked in silence for about twenty seconds before the inevitable conversation started up with its usual flurry. Sabs used the knife to push her pile of mushroom into a bowl. “Did you sort out that work shit with Weisman?”
“Not yet, he’s ignoring my calls. Actually, no. According to his secretary—he’s been sick with the flu. I think he’s sick with the little tidbit I dropped about my sister being a lesbian, because I learned he’s not only an arrogant asshole, he’s a homophobic asshole. This week’s been utterly fucking insane. Oh! And did I tell you about my shoes?”
