by Vi Keeland
“He ain’t clueless. He knows. But for one reason or another, he isn’t letting you know he knows.”
It was pretty amazing that Drew had zeroed in on something I’d suspected for a long time. I’d always felt like Baldwin knew about my feelings for him, even though I’d never voiced them. And part of me believed Baldwin returned some of those feelings, even though he’d never acted on them. Which is why I’d decided to make the first move—literally—and I moved to New York. Somehow I’d gotten it into my head that since he was single now, the time was right. But all I’d succeeded in doing was torturing myself, as he brought different dates home a few nights a week.
“I thought if I moved to New York, maybe it would be our time.”
“He’s single now?”
“He’s not dating anyone seriously, no. Although it seems like he’s been through half of the women in New York over the last few months. He comes home with a different woman almost every week. The newest one is Rachel.” I rolled my eyes.
“You live with this guy?”
“No. I sublet the apartment next door to him while his neighbor is teaching in Africa for a year.”
“Let me get this straight. He walks women by the apartment you live in and has never acknowledged that he knows how you feel about him.”
“It’s my fault. I’ve still never told him how I feel.”
“It’s not your fault. The guy’s an asshole.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Open your eyes, Emerie.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I hope you’re right. But I’d put money on not being wrong.”
I could feel the anger rising in my throat and considered storming back to my office and not helping unpack the rest of his boxes, but I was getting Park Avenue space for free. So instead, I kept quiet and finished what we’d started—until I unwrapped the last item.
It was a small picture frame covered in bubble wrap. Drew had left the office to take some boxes out to the garbage compactor in the building’s maintenance room. He’d just returned when I unraveled the last layer of tape. The photo was of a beautiful little boy dressed in a hockey uniform. He was probably six or seven years old, and a golden retriever licked his face as he laughed.
Smiling, I turned to face Drew. “He’s adorable. Is this your little boy?”
He took the photo from my hand. His answer was curt. “No.”
When our eyes met, I was about to ask another question when he cut me off. “Thanks for helping me unpack. I have to get ready for an appointment.”
Drew, New Year’s Eve, Seven years ago
I stood in the little room at the back of the church, staring outside. It was pouring, and the sky was a deep shade of somber grey. Fitting. It was how I felt.
Somber.
Which was probably not the most encouraging sign that I was making the right choice.
Roman opened the door. “There you are. How many people did your father invite? There have to be four hundred people filling the place. They started ushering them up to the balcony already.”
“I have no idea. I didn’t ask.” The truth was, there was very little I’d asked about regarding the wedding. I’d chalked my lack of interest up to being busy studying in law school, but lately I’d realized it was more than that. I wasn’t excited to be getting married.
Roman stood next to me and joined my staring out the window. He reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out a flask, offering it to me first. I took it because I needed it.
“Car is in the back if you want to bail,” he said.
I sidelong glanced at him as I sucked a double shot of whiskey out of the flask. “I couldn’t do that to her. She’s having my baby, man.”
“She’s gonna be having your baby whether she likes it or not in two months.”
“I know. But it’s the right thing to do.”
“Fuck the right thing.”
I handed the flask back to my best man with a smirk. “You know you’re in a church.”
He drank from the flask. “I’m going to hell already. What’s the difference?”
I laughed. At twenty-four, my best friend had already been politely asked to leave the NYPD. Asked was a polite way to say quit or we fire you. He wasn’t exactly an angel.
“I care about Alexa. We’ll make it work.”
“I haven’t heard the word love yet. Would you be marrying her if you hadn’t knocked her up like an idiot after only a few months of hooking up?”
I didn’t respond.
“That’s what I thought. People can have a kid and not be married. It’s not 1960 anymore, Mr. Cleaver.”
“We’ll make it work.”
Roman slapped me on the back. “Your life. But keys are in my pocket if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, man.”
Emerie
“Just because you’re physically thousands of miles away doesn’t mean your hearts are. You should each take time to let the other know you’re thinking of them. Let me ask you, Jeff, you mentioned that you thought of Kami today when you went for a run because you passed a lingerie store named Kami-souls. Had you mentioned that to Kami before our therapy session today? Perhaps when she brought up she feels as if you don’t give her any thought?”
The screen on my forty-two-inch monitor was split—a video feed of Jeff Scott on the left and a video feed of Kami Scott on the right. The two had been married less than a year when Jeff was transferred to the west coast. Considering he was their only income, with Kami in her second year of a dental residency, it left him little choice but to relocate until he was able to find a new job closer to their home in Connecticut.
“No. I hadn’t mentioned it to her before today,” Jeff said. “I’m busy. She knows I think about her.” His face froze on my screen for a few seconds, even though his voice kept going. He was mid speaking, and the stilled video had caught him in an odd frame. One eye was fully closed, and I could only see white on the other half-closed eye. His mouth was open, and his tongue looked stained with coffee. I needed to find better video software for my counseling sessions. God knows what I looked like on their screens at the moment.
Our forty-five-minute couples therapy session was almost up. “This week I’d like to do an exercise. At least once a day, when something reminds you of each other, let the other person know at that moment. If you’re out for a jog and see something, maybe snap a picture and text it. Kami, if a patient comes in with a cold and sneezes a lot, reminding you of Jeff’s propensity to sneeze six to eight times in a row, let him know. These little things can go a long way in reminding each other that your heart is never far, even if there are miles between you. Distance is only a test to see how far love travels.”
I heard what sounded like a snicker outside my partially closed door. So after my session ended, I was curious and went to find Drew. He stood in the copy room, which was next to the office I was using, making photocopies.
“Did you just say something to me?” I asked, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
“Nope. My father always taught me that if I had nothing nice to say to a woman, I should keep it to myself.”
I hadn’t been imagining it. “You were eavesdropping on my counseling session. You laughed at the advice I gave my clients, didn’t you?”
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. You had your door open, and you’re loud on the phone. You do know you don’t need to yell for the person on the other end of a video conference to hear you, right?”
“I wasn’t yelling.”
Drew finished making his copies, slipping a pile of papers from the feeder. “Whatever, but you might want to shut your door if you don’t want me overhearing your bad advice.”
My eyes grew to saucers. “Bad advice? What are you talking about? I’m a licensed psychologist who did her dissertation on overcoming barriers in relationships by opening the lines of communication in couples therapy.”
He had no clue what he was talking about. My advice was solid, based on years of studying couples who wanted to work things out. I couldn’t help myself. I followed him, standing at his doorway.
“And what advice would you give a couple forced to endure a long-distance relationship?”
“I’d give them more realistic advice than ‘Distance is only a test to see how far love travels.’ That’s a load of shit. Where’d you read that one? A Hallmark card?”
My eyes bulged. “And what is your idea of realistic advice?”
“Simple. Hire a good divorce attorney. Long-distance relationships Do. Not. Work.”
“I take it you had one and it burned you, so you assume everyone else is going to be burned?”
“Not at all. I’ve never had a long-distance relationship. You know why? They don’t work. And I know this from experience. What experience do you have in long-distance relationships?”
“I’ve studied couples for years. I think I have more experience than you do on the subject. ”
“Is that so?” Drew went to his file cabinet and pulled out a large, rubber-banded expandable file. He slammed it down on his desk. “Morrison. Happily married fourteen years. Divorced two years ago. Three years before the divorce, Dan Morrison took a job as a regional traveling salesman. More money—his wife wouldn’t have to work anymore. Four nights a week on the road, yet Dan never missed date night with his wife on Fridays or driving forty miles on Sundays, his day off, to give his elderly father-in-law a bath. But you know what he missed? Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday when Mrs. Morrison was fucking her tennis instructor, Laire.”
When I continued to glare at him, he opened another drawer and took out a second file, slapping it down on top of the Morrison file. “Loring. Happily married six years when his office relocated from New York to New Jersey. Eighty miles. Not too far. But Al Loring worked sixteen hours a day a few days a week. His bitch of a wife, Mitsy, was a light sleeper, so he would spend the nights he worked too late on the couch at his office, not wanting to wake his princess bride. Came home one night that he was supposed to crash at the office because he missed Mitsy. Found his wife on all fours in their bed with his neighbor balls deep inside of her. Neighbor has his dog and his wife now, and Al turned into an alcoholic and lost his job in New Jersey.”
He reached into the same drawer and took out yet another file. “McDune. Married six years. Erin went to live in Dublin temporarily to take care of her mother who became depressed after the death of her father. Divorced Liam for a guy who looks like a leprechaun because she found her soul mate back in the motherland. So much for long distance to nurse your mother’s soul.”
Drew reached down to the bottom cabinet and opened it. This time, I stopped him. “Should you even be telling me any of this? Ever hear of attorney-client privilege?”
“I changed the names to protect the not-so-fucking-innocent. Believe it or not, unlike my clients’ spouses, I have some ethics.” He pointed to the cabinet. “Want to hear more? I think you’ll really like Lieutenant O’Connor’s story. It’s a real tearjerker. Wife was screwing his brother while he was off in Iraq and she—”
I cut him off again. “I get your point. But what you’re missing is that maybe these divorces wouldn’t have happened if the couples had sought counseling. You see people when they’re at their worst—people who gave up instead of fighting for their marriage.”
Drew stared at me. “You really believe all marriages can be saved?”
I thought about the question for a minute before answering. “Not all. But I think most can be saved, yes. Opening the lines of communication can fix a lot of things.”
Drew shook his head. “That’s naïve. I also have some real estate on Park Avenue you can rent for two grand a month.”
“Screw you,” I hissed and stormed back to my office.
I kept my office door shut the rest of the afternoon. A knock that came at almost seven p.m. startled me as I worked on transcribing my chicken-scratch notes from today’s counseling sessions. I kept an e-case file for each patient.
“Come in.”
The door opened, but only slightly, just enough to fit an arm through. Which is exactly what appeared. Drew’s arm, waving something white around.
What is he waving? Are those…underwear?
I’d been carrying around a full load of angry all afternoon after our heated argument, and it was starting to weigh me down. His gesture brought some much-needed levity.
“Come in,” I said again.
He pushed the door open a few more inches. This time his head joined his white-flag-waving arm. “You’re not still pissed and planning to use your mad Krav Maga skills on me, are you?”
I laughed. “I should. You deserve a good ass-whipping. But I’ll hold back.”
Drew smiled and opened the door the rest of the way, staying in the doorway. “I guess I owe you an apology for some things I said today?”
I sat back in my chair. “You do.”
He hung his head. The action reminded me of a little boy who’d given his dog a bath—in red paint. It was cute. He was cute. But I was going to make him grovel anyway. His head was still slightly bowed as he looked up at me from beneath his dark lashes. “I’m sorry for today.”
“What exactly are you sorry for?”
He dropped his head back down. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Fine. I’m sorry for calling you naïve.”
“Anything else?”
I watched his face as the wheels spun in his head. “For listening to your conversation with your client.”
“Is that it?”
“Is there supposed to be more?” He looked a little nervous for a second.
“There’s more.”
After thirty more seconds of thought, he snapped his fingers as if he was proud of himself. “I’m sorry for looking at your ass.”
My brows drew down. “When did you look at my ass?”
He shrugged. “Every chance I get?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Apology accepted.”
His shoulders dropped a bit and he looked relieved. The man had a tough exterior. But sometimes the ones who’d had it rough wore the thickest armor.
“How about I buy you a burger at Joey’s for dinner to make it up to you?” He winked. “I’ll buy the biggest one they have so you can get real full and take your skirt off for me again.”
Emerie
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“No.” Drew’s response was quick.
“No?” I crinkled up my face, confused. “You know, usually when two people are sitting around talking and eating, and one of them asks the other if they can ask something personal, the other generally says yes. It’s polite.”
“I have a rule. Whenever someone asks if they can ask something, I say no.”
“Why?”
“Because if you have to ask if you can ask, it’s probably something I don’t want to answer anyway.”
“But how do you know if you don’t even hear the question?”
Drew sat back in his chair. “What’s your question, Emerie?”
“Well, now I feel like I shouldn’t ask it.”
He shrugged and finished off the last of his beer. “Okay. So don’t.”
“Did something happen to you that made you bitter about relationships?”
“Thought you didn’t feel like you should ask?”
“I changed my mind.”
“You’re kind of a pain in the ass. You know that, right?”
“And you’re kind of a bitter jerk, so I’m curious what made you that way.”
Drew tried to hide it, but I saw the corner of his lip twitch toward a smile. “I’ll tell you why I’m a bitter jerk, if you tell me why you’re a pain in the ass.”
�
��But I don’t think I’m a pain in the ass.”
“Maybe you should see a therapist, help you figure that shit out.”
I crumpled up my napkin and threw it at his face. It hit him square in the nose.
“Very mature,” he said.
“I don’t think I’m a pain in the ass in general. I think you just bring out the ass in me.”
He smirked. “It’s a nice ass to bring out. Speaking of which, if you’re full, I could help you unzip to get comfortable.”
Jesus, he really was a smartass. “I’m never going to live down the night we met, am I?”
“Not a chance.”
I sipped my merlot, not wanting to waste it, but I was so full from the humongous burger Drew had ordered me. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to get home and unzip my skirt, although I wasn’t about to admit that to Drew.
“So, back to my original question. Why are you so bitter about relationships?”
“I deal with divorces all day long. It’s a little hard to have a positive outlook when all you see is cheating, lying, stealing, and people who started out in love getting off on hurting each other.”
“So it’s because of your line of work. You didn’t have a bad relationship that soured you?”
Drew stared at me for a while. His thumb went to rub at the center of his bottom full bottom lip as he deliberated over his answer, and my eyes followed. Damn, he has great lips. I bet they would devour my mouth.
Luckily, the waitress came and interrupted my ogling.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
Drew looked to me. “Some dessert or anything?”
“I’m too full.”
He answered the waitress. “Just the check. Thank you.”
She took our plates, and when she left, there was a minute of awkward silence. He still hadn’t answered my question, and I thought maybe he was going to try to change the subject again. I was surprised when he answered.
“I’m divorced. Marriage lasted five years.”
“Wow. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
