We Were Once

by Scott, S. L.

  The smile almost all but disappears. “I’m sorry.” There’s that apology again, souring my mood. “I can’t do this with you, Josh.”

  “You can call me Joshua.”

  “No, I can’t,” she says the words strangling on the tip of her tongue. Sliding out of the booth, she picks up the bag and returns it to the employee behind the register. “Thank you.” Pulling her credit card out, she adds, “Please let me pay for it.”

  Although they seem to be insisting no again, she eventually wears them down and pays. They both return to the booth. The woman leaning over, studies my face as if it’s been infected and needs to be amputated. Eyeing me cautiously, she says, “I don’t have insurance. You’re lucky you know a doctor.”

  “I am lucky to know her,” I reply, moving to get up. My brain swims when I stand too quick, and Chloe’s quick to grab me and prop me up against her. I could really use this to my advantage, but I don’t. And it’s not just for her benefit; it’s for mine.

  It’s been . . . I’m not sure if the right word is fun, but that’s all that comes to mind, to see her again. Irreparable damage has been done, though, and at the hands of her father. It’s probably in my best interest if we don’t make this a habit.

  She asks, “Are you okay? We can go to the ER and run tests—”

  Pushing off the back of the booth, I slow my steps as I move toward the door. “No. I need to get to work.”

  “You might have a—”

  “No,” I snap, refusing to let her look down on me. I turn back to catch whatever candle she was burning in her irises snuffed out. “Thanks for the help, Dr. Fox, but I’ll be fine.”

  Stepping back outside, I find the street noise a welcome retreat to the silence between Chloe and me in the store. But my feet don’t seem to want to move. Walk, fucker.

  I stand there long enough for the door to open behind me and for me to feel her presence at my backside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice is so damn soft, lyrical in the notes.

  Why can’t I just leave? Just leave her in the past.

  A hand with the lightest touch comes to rest on my shoulder. I feel her, her soul dipping into mine, wreaking havoc on my heart, but this time, I know how it ends.

  I shrug out from her hand and step onto the busy sidewalk, getting lost in the crowds and not looking back. She’s right. We can’t do this. We can’t re-do us. I was wrong to pursue her today, to want her close to me for one more moment. It’s history and will never be repeated.

  The restaurant’s not far enough to recover from the encounter with her. Fuck the swelling around my eye. My heart has been battered by the mere presence of her in my vicinity. Don’t even get me started on how I can still feel the heat rolling off her when we were pressed together.

  Fucking single. That was like waving a checkered flag. Julie knew what she was doing.

  Swinging open the kitchen door to Salvation, I spy my longtime friend, my ally, my co-worker, through thick and thin, and push Todd in the back when I pass behind him. “Showing up early, huh? Trying to impress the boss?”

  He chuckles. “I haven’t impressed you in twenty years. Not sure I can at this point.”

  “Sure, you can,” I say, washing my hands. “Get the orders right and don’t fuck with me. Easy.”

  “Says the chef. Anyway, I’m a pro at messing with you—Oh, shit!” Guess he’s pulled his eyes off that grill long enough to get a good look at me. “What happened?”

  Chloe Fox happened.

  I don’t say it, but it would be the truth. It’s not worth the fuckery I’d have to put up with though, so I go with what works best for the time being. “Some asshole decked me out of nowhere.” See? That’s the truth. No lies told today.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me in New York.” He flips two chicken breasts and then asks, “But out of nowhere?”

  My story isn’t sticky enough for him with the lack of details. He knows me too well. “Come on,” I say, slipping on my chef’s coat. “You know me. He was fucking with me and decided to introduce me to his fist.”

  I scan the kitchen, ready to have the crew prep the stations for the dinner rush. Clapping my hands, I ask, “What are we waiting on? When we’re slammed? Get busy, people.” After getting the crew going, I move to the cooking stations to start the specials for the night. Todd eyes me long enough for me to know he’s on to me. He says, “I do know you. This is the old Josh, not the new. What really happened?”

  Concern from my friends is the same as disappointing them, and I don’t like either. Todd took a leap of faith and came to New York City with me to go to culinary school. Cooking wasn’t his dream, but it’s been a steady gig for him. What he lacks in skills, he makes up for in style and commitment. That made it easy to get him hired at Salvation, especially since it’s my restaurant. I took my inheritance and sunk it in my dream.

  Todd’s the only one who works here that knows I own it. Lola was hired and built the front of the restaurant team, none the wiser. With a degree in hospitality and training under some of the most revered restauranteurs in the city, she brought what I lacked. We stick to our fortes, but our paths cross at every turn.

  “You’re going to scare the customers, Josh,” she says, her tone light as she pushes through the door. Her black dress is skintight, short, and the heels give off a maneater vibe. She can back it. She’s not shy, but a bull in a china shop when she’s passionate about something.

  Chopping asparagus, I reply, “That’s why I plan to stay back here.”

  She comes around, her long black hair swinging to the side as she leans against the metal cabinet next to me. Plucking a piece from the board, she plops it in her mouth, and asks, “What happened?”

  “A fist ran into my face.”

  Running her fingertips over the small bandage, her expression is critical. “Did you do this?”

  I duck out of her reach, not wanting to replace the earlier touch that cared for me, and tack on a gentle but firm response, “No.” I have no desire to share more about the situation, steering as clear as I can from Chloe. That would be like feeding red meat to a tiger. I’m not in the mood to go through the details of my life that don’t concern the restaurant, or her. I almost made that mistake once. I won’t put myself in that situation again. “I heard the house is packed.”

  “We are.”

  “Good.” I go to the walk-in to pull out the ingredients for the special. The freezing air feels good against my bruising skin. When I return, she’s vacated the kitchen.

  Todd plates two dishes, and then asks, “Why aren’t you fucking her again?” The other guys start chuckling, except for Karen, but she never laughs about anything. “She’s all over you, and damn, she’s hot.”

  I’ll be an asshole to get the attention off me. It’s a skill I honed in jail. “Because she’s already all over me. Imagine how’d she be if I gave her the goods.” I fall short of grabbing my dick. I don’t because I’m not fifteen, but really, it’s because I like Lola. Who says men and women can’t be friends? I don’t view her as more than that, which is why nothing ever happened between us.

  “It’s not an image I want in my head, but a solid point.”

  Using a butcher knife, I slam it down. Sure, it’s for show, but it’s a great tool to use to lay down the law as well. “Less talking and more cooking.”

  Todd laughs. “You used to be fun.” He’s not wrong. But for two years and seven months, I had to be angry. Sullen. Intense. Aggressive. It was the only way to survive behind bars.

  I used to be a nicer guy too, but with all the shit I’ve been through, I lost that side of myself.

  38

  Chloe

  I’ve spent the past month taking breaks at the coffee shop down the street too often, eyeing the ice cream parlor like I might catch him still in there, and nervously expecting to see him behind every curtain in the ER.

  I thought healing from the accident was hard but surviving Joshua Evans has been a whole other level of
recovery. Trying to salvage my heart, I’m moving on the best I can.

  Just as I settle on Ruby’s couch with a glass of wine, there’s a knock on the door. “Are we expecting company?” I call over the back of the sofa. She has a doorman, so surprise visits aren’t really a thing in this building. When she doesn’t return, I get up. “Do you want me to answer it?”

  “Yes,” Ruby shouts from the bedroom. She has to shout. Her apartment is the size of four of mine. A lot has changed in Ruby’s world. She may come from family money, but she makes her own these days. Her college years were colorful and designed in whimsy. She took a year off to pursue photography and became a sensation in the fashion world. She’s talented with models, but I still prefer her landscapes. She still manages to fit shoots in during her travels.

  She makes money by the bucketloads, but I love that she stays true to who she is. Over the past few years, her taste has turned to cleaner palettes, but the starkness of this apartment has me missing the girl who used to drape scarves over lamps. I ask, “What are you doing anyway?”

  “Getting dressed.” She looked fine in the sweats and tank top she was wearing, so I don’t get why she’s changing clothes.

  Swinging the door open, I see the familiar face of my mother. Huh? I guess I stare too long because she enters the apartment. “Guess I’ll invite myself in.” She kisses my cheek before she passes. “Hello, by the way.” She’s developed a nice portfolio of sarcasm over the years. It’s usually appreciated, but I’m still confused about why she’s here.

  “Hi, Mom.” I snap out of the shock of seeing her at my best friend’s apartment. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  Setting down her purse, she replies, “Ruby invited me over. We were chatting about a girls’ night—”

  “What? When?” I’m still standing at the door like an idiot, my mind boggled while my mom makes herself at home. Pushing the door closed, I say, “I seem to be missing something.”

  With a grand entrance, Ruby comes from the bedroom in a deep red-colored duster unbuttoned to reveal a skintight, black leather bodysuit underneath. I do a double take. With her hair bordering on the deepest of black these days, she’s quite the bombshell. “Wow!”

  She spins for us, arms out, full smile, and confidence built into her small frame. The heels allow for some of the height she’s missing when standing barefoot next to me. “You like? I got it in Dubai. It cost me a full paycheck, but I’m not regretting the purchase.”

  I say, “I’d pay more to look half as good.”

  My mom peers on like a proud parent. “You look fabulous.”

  They embrace, and Ruby replies, “It’s so good to see you again, Cat.”

  Skeptical, I ask, “What is going on?”

  Scooping up the wine from the dining table, Ruby moves into the kitchen, the deep plum liquid sloshing up the sides and then falling. “We ran into each other last week at Zabar’s.”

  They laugh like they’re old friends, tag-teaming the story. “She tried to steal the last chocolate Babka.”

  “You’re a terrible tease, Cat.” Returning her eyes to me, Ruby says, “I gave her the Babka. Anywho, we got to talking about you—”

  “Me?” My interest is piqued even more. Oh, great. Nothing brings two people together like the desire to coordinate the dating life of a third. I’m the third.

  “Yes, I thought it would be fun to have Cat surprise you and join us.”

  “Do you not want me here?” I swear to God my mom’s bottom lip pops out just a little when she asks that.

  While Ruby fills another glass with red wine, I sigh, tilting my head and inwardly rolling my eyes. “Of course, I want you here. I’m glad you came.” I hug her, resting my head on her shoulder briefly, finding comfort in the embrace.

  When we part, I notice their outfits are very similar, which has me wondering . . . “Why are you both dressed up?” I glance down at my baggy jeans and floral sweatshirt, tugging at the hem like I can hide my lack of fashion. There’s no point, though. They know I never have time to shop. I’m lucky my socks don’t have holes while they look like they’re ready for a night on the town. “Wait a minute. Oh, no. Nope. Not going to happen. This was supposed to be a night in, watching a movie and ordering food delivery.”

  Ruby sits at the other end of the sofa from the spot I reclaim, curling my legs under me in defense. Watching my mom sit on the edge of the leather chair while Ruby crosses her legs with sky-high heels on, I know they are absolutely up to no good.

  I finish my wine, hoping it saves me from the nightmare I see coming. My mom says, “We really did run into each other at Zabar’s, but we also thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

  “Surprise!” Ruby adds with flair and a roll of her wrist. “More wine?”

  Seeing my mom gulp hers down, I hold up my glass, thinking these two schemed way before now. “Seems I’ll need it, considering how the fish next to me is downing hers.” The glass is swiped from my hand as Ruby cuts between me and my mom to refill it. “And don’t be skimpy.”

  She laughs. My mom, not so much. Nope, she’s focused on flattening a wrinkle in her shirt that had the nerve to embed itself. “Mom?”

  “Hm?” Her eyes are still cast down.

  I press her, “What is this about?” Ruby returns with a glass so full the wine runs over the side when it’s handed to me. At least it’s white wine and won’t stain. Not that I’m that concerned about my jeans. I have other worries, like the story they’re trying to hide. “I’m glad Zabar’s didn’t turn into Babka-gate, but it feels like there’s more to this story. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  Ruby sits back down, too glamorous for the situation. With her arm draped along the back of the sofa, she says, “We’re worried about your sex life.”

  “What? No.” I push up, ready to leave in a great wave of my arms in annoyance. “You do not get to lure me here with expensive wine and Mexican food, then start in on me like Julie does at work. Do I never get a break from everyone’s concern for my vagina?”

  My mom chokes on her wine. Under our attention, she clears her throat, and says, “That’s not how this was supposed to go. We’re concerned about your social life.” Glancing at Ruby, she adds, “Not your sex life.”

  “I’m socializing right now with the two of you.” At the receiving end of a pointed look, I hold up my finger while I gulp more wine. Clearly, my commentary isn’t going to end this. “Okay,” I say, lowering my hand. “You may continue.”

  Wasting no time, she digs in. “You don’t date—”

  “I’m twenty-seven, Mom, not ninety. I have time to find a partner. Anyway, Frankie and Dway—Hemsworth keep me plenty busy. You wanted me to nurture the plant, and I have been. I take care of two. They’re very needy trees.”

  Ruby, highly amused, adds her two cents from two cushions away. “First of all, Frankie and Hemsworth are plants, not people. We let you carry on about them like they’re actual humans, but, Chlo, they’re not.”

  My mom says, “I gave you Frankie to help you find balance with your studies. Now you’re using those poor plants as excuses not to have a life outside the hospital. If it’s not one extreme it’s another.”

  Her words open an old wound. Not about the plants, but about a part of me that I thought I’d left behind. “One extreme or another,” I repeat quietly to myself. My chest aches under the realization. “I’ve become Dad.”

  Not missing a beat, Ruby adds, “You stole my second point.”

  “Have I become Dad?” I ask, staring at my mom whose gaze extends out the window.

  “I would never wish that life on you for all the money in the world.” When her attention returns to me, she says, “I don’t hate your father for the choices I made. I hate that he gave you no choices at all. What good is all this money if you’re not happy?”

  I argue out of spite, “I don’t need a man to complete me.”

  My mom exhales heavily. “You’re right. You are amazing, have
an incredible career, and . . .” A little smile appears. “Have plants that rely on you. When you’re home, do you get lonely? I do. I miss having a friend who shares my daily life, someone I can confide in, a lover, someone to spend time with when my daughter is busy at work.”

  Honestly, yes. Am I comfortable admitting that? No. Staring at the stark white piece of art hanging in front of me, I say, “The work I do fulfills me.”

  She adds, “When it comes to a career, there’s nothing more I’d wish for.”

  “But when it comes to the other half of my life . . . I understand what you’re saying. My trees can’t replace relationships with other humans.”

  My mom sips her wine, and says, “It doesn’t have to be a romantic relationship, but one that offers you support beyond us, Frankie, and Hemsworth—friend or otherwise.”

  “I have Julie—”

  “I love Julie. She has a killer sense of humor, but I have to side with your mom. It’s about companionship. And now let’s loop back.” Ruby asks, “What about your sex life?”

  “Geez, give a girl some warning. The machinery works just fine. Can we move along?” But then it happens. Without my permission, an image of Joshua sneaks in. Training my eyes on anything to replace how he looked at me that day in the ice cream shop, like there is still a possibility for us, a future, still in love, so in love . . . I give in. “Fine. Say what’s on your mind.”

  My mom taps my knee, bringing me back to her. “We thought it would be fun to go out and explore a new restaurant. We’re done with this conversation. We don’t have to talk about men at all. Are you up for some fun?”

  “Not dressed like this, I’m not.”

  Ruby hastily stands. “Don’t worry. I got you.” She rushes to her bedroom and then returns with a garment bag. “I brought you a gift from Dubai.”

  * * *

  I’m not exactly tugging at the pants that are glued to my hips or arguing about the low-cut top with the chiffon sleeves that tighten around my wrists, but it’s been a hot minute since I’ve worn heels this high . . . or heels at all. It’s a big jump from sneakers to four-inch stilettos. “Are you sure?”