The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  I hold the front door open for her, and I don’t think she even realizes that she’s coming with me yet, even once we’re on the sidewalk.

  “What do you like to call it?”

  “My Will-Do list.”

  I give her a look and shake my head.

  “None of your business,” she says.

  “What?”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s none of your business.”

  Oh Bernie, you have no idea what I’m thinking.

  “And that’s not why I am the way I am.”

  “Nuts?”

  It’s cute, how defensive she is all of a sudden. As she walks along beside me, I can’t help picturing how easy it would be to pick her up. She’s taller than average, but she looks…amenable. She likes to keep up with me. I like the back-and-forth. I didn’t at first, but it gets me high now.

  “I’m not that nuts.”

  “No. But you’re not not nuts.”

  “Everyone in New York is a little bit nuts.”

  “Can’t disagree with you there.”

  “But you’d like to.”

  “I get no pleasure from it, if that’s what you think.” Lie. That’s a lie. I get more pleasure from this than I do from most things lately.

  She laughs. She has been so focused on bantering with me that she hasn’t even noticed we’ve stopped walking and are now standing in line. “And what exactly do you get pleasure from, Esquire?”

  “Kind of a personal question, don’t you think?”

  “You’re the one who wants to know if I’m getting laid or not.”

  Okay, so she did know what I was thinking. “And did you hear me ask the question? You did not.”

  “But you’re dying to know.”

  “I’m definitely not dying to know.” I look down at her and smirk. “How do you like it?”

  She blushes and pushes her hair behind one of her ears. “Excuse me?”

  “What do you want on yours?”

  She looks so confused right now, I almost feel sorry for her, but I also sort of want to hold her and kiss her.

  “What do I want on my what?”

  “Your hot dog.”

  She finally realizes that we’re standing in front of a hot dog cart.

  “Oh. Sauerkraut and mustard.”

  “Interesting. Two sauerkraut and mustard.”

  “So this is breakfast?” She reaches into her back pocket. “Oh shit, I don’t have my wallet.”

  “I got this.”

  “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I ate a hot dog.”

  “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

  “I’m the kind of vegetarian who occasionally eats meat when she feels like it and briefly feels guilty while doing it.”

  “So you will do things if you feel like it.”

  “Why, Mr. McGovern, that is a rather personal question.”

  “It wasn’t a question.”

  “Yes, it was. You’re wondering if I’m lame and uptight because I haven’t gotten laid in ages. But I’m lame and uptight even when I am getting laid regularly, and besides, it hasn’t been that long. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  I can tell by the way her lips tighten as soon as she stops talking that she regrets blurting out what she just said.

  “Isn’t it interesting how you answer questions that have never been asked?”

  “Is that a real question?”

  “When I have a real question for you, Bernie, you’ll know it.”

  “Don’t call me Bernie.”

  “Okay… So you’re seeing someone?”

  “No.”

  “But you were? Recently?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Is that a real answer?”

  “When I have a real answer for you, Esquire, you’ll know it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “If you must know, I had a…buddy. But he moved to Miami.”

  Very interesting. “A will-do buddy?”

  “A friend with benefits. He did do quite nicely, actually. As did the buddies who came before him, but something always ends it.”

  “Yeah. Something always ends everything.”

  “Yeah, but you know. At least when you have an arrangement like that, the endings aren’t messy.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t messy for them?”

  She shrugs and takes a big bite of her hot dog as we step back from the vendor and lean against the side of a building. Gotta like a girl who likes to eat. The only time I ever saw Vanessa really enjoy consuming anything other than grilled salmon salads or smoothies was when she would inhale a red velvet cupcake once a month.

  Bernadette’s free hand sweeps the length of her torso. “I’m sure it’s difficult to believe that any guy could have sex with this and not fall crazy in love, but you’d be surprised what a few well-defined parameters can do for two people who don’t want to get involved with each other in a serious way.”

  Intriguing. Intriguing that she feels this way, and intriguing that she’s sharing this information with me. I want to read into it, but I’m too busy staring at her mouth as she chows down on that sausage.

  “So, you don’t let things get messy, is what you’re saying?”

  She makes some kind of noise as she takes another big bite of hot dog. Once she has lowered the thing from her face, I slowly reach my hand up. She stops chewing, holds still but keeps her eyes on me as I barely lean in and wipe the huge gob of mustard from the corner of her mouth with my thumb and then hold it up for her to see. Her whole body relaxes when she realizes that’s all I was doing, and she resumes smiling and chewing. When I suck the mustard off my thumb, I hear her gulp so loudly it’s comical.

  Her eyelids flutter. She has a very confused expression on her face. It’s kind of sweet. And now it’s gone. She clears her throat.

  “Should we head back?”

  “Sure.”

  We polish off our breakfast as we stroll. I take the waste from her and toss it in a bin when we pass by one. It’s a beautiful spring day, and it’s the first time I’ve gone for a stroll around here without Daisy, and even then I’m usually looking at my phone. I’m actually starting to like it up here. I’d like to suggest we head over to Central Park, but my strolling companion seems hesitant now.

  “Don’t you have someone more interesting to hang out with today? I seem to recall Dolly saying you were always out and about.”

  “All my interesting friends live downtown, and they refuse to come up here unless it’s for an event of some kind.”

  She gasps. “Are you telling me that hanging out with you doesn’t qualify as an event of some kind?”

  “Not for my guy friends.”

  “Ooohhh. Enticing.”

  “Don’t get too excited.”

  “Oh, but I am! I’m so excited to be walking up Broadway with you! Those downtown people don’t know what they’re missing! I mean, we just ate a hot dog for breakfast—we are crushing it!”

  She holds up her hand for me to high-five her. I oblige, but the sarcasm isn’t lost on me. Her earlier revelation isn’t lost on me either. I am about to bring it up again when I notice a striking woman who’s staring at me as we cross the street. It takes me a second to recognize her, which is weird. That stunning face that I saw every day for years, in every possible hairstyle, every possible expression. Vanessa is standing on the sidewalk outside of Zabar’s, holding a big Zabar’s bag, watching Bernadette and me as we unwittingly walk toward her. And she’s holding hands with some douchebag in a suit.

  “Hello, Matthew,” she says. Her tone accuses me of following her here, once again. “Small world.”

  “Vanessa. What are you doing up here?”

  “We’re going to meet Todd’s parents for brunch at their place. We were just picking up a few things for them first. Oh—this is Todd. I don’t think you’ve met. This is Matthew and…”

  She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Bernadette, who is
wiping her lips, making sure there’s no residual mustard.

  “Bernadette. She lives next door to me. She lives next door to my aunt. We’re staying at my aunt’s apartment until I find a place.”

  “Hey. I’m Vanessa,” Vanessa says, looking at Bernadette as though she should know exactly who Vanessa is.

  Bernadette waves at both her and the douchebag. He makes a big show of the fact that he can’t shake our hands because both of his are busy holding on to Vanessa and a Zabar’s bag.

  “Hi there.”

  Douchebag smiles and nods and gives Bernadette the once-over.

  “So you live around here, then? How is Daisy doing?”

  That’s when Bernadette puts her arm around my waist and rests her head against my bicep. “Daisy’s amazing. We’re all one happy little family here on the Upper West Side. We should probably get back to her, huh, babe?”

  I’m so numb that it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s doing the pretend-girlfriend thing. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I do appreciate what she’s doing. I finally put my arm around Bernadette’s shoulder, but I can’t look Vanessa in the eye.

  “Yeah, we should get back. Nice to, uh… Have a good brunch.”

  “Bye, Matthew.”

  “Nice meeting you,” says the douchebag in a suit.

  Bernadette is pulling me away. It’s not that I don’t want to get away from them. I just seem to have forgotten how to walk for a second. That whole encounter lasted less than two minutes, but I suddenly feel like I’ve had the shit kicked out of me every day for years. How do you go from living with someone and saying “I love you” to running into them on a street corner with someone else and talking like we’re strangers?

  “Are you okay?” Without the sassy tone in her voice, I barely recognize it.

  “Huh?”

  My arm is still around her shoulder, but Bernadette has let go of me now that we’ve turned onto a side street.

  “Are you okay? You seem…”

  “No, yeah.”

  “So that was…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Was that your ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She uhh… I like her bangs. She has good hair. She seems nice? She’s ridiculously gorgeous. That Todd guy looks like a total douchebag though…”

  I have nothing to say to that, although I certainly appreciate her assessment. I realize I should probably remove my arm from her shoulder finally. She clears her throat.

  After half a block, she finally says, “Sooo, did you know she was with someone else, or…”

  I shake my head. At least I think I do. I do not want to talk about this.

  “I’m sorry, Matt. That really sucks.”

  I clear my throat. “I’m not that surprised.”

  “Oh good, well… How long were you guys together?”

  I glance down at her.

  She blinks when she sees the look on my face. “Right. Not important. We don’t have to talk about it. You just go ahead and process your feelings in your own quiet, masculine way.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She really does let me stay quiet and masculine, all the way back to our building. I appreciate that a lot. It used to drive Vanessa crazy when I wouldn’t talk to her about my feelings. Like feelings are such a fascinating thing to talk about.

  When we get to our floor, Bernadette says softly, “Matt, if you want someone to talk to…I’ll be here all day. I have a thing tonight, but…”

  I nod and say, “Thanks for having breakfast with me,” and then go inside to snuggle with Daisy in the bedroom and wonder what kind of “thing” Bernadette has tonight and who she’s having a “thing” with.

  8

  Bernadette

  That. Poor. Guy.

  That poor, poor guy.

  I can’t stop thinking about how sad and confused and vulnerable he looked as soon as he saw his ex-girlfriend with another man. Those sad eyes. All that time, I’d been thinking he was a dick, but he was just protecting his heart because he’s sad. I can’t stop thinking about those sad, sad eyes.

  I also can’t stop thinking about how insanely beautiful that Vanessa was. I mean, what’s the story there? They must have just stared at themselves in the mirror all the time and congratulated themselves on how gorgeous they were. A couple of years ago, I briefly dated a guy who was into football, and I went to a Super Bowl party with him. I am quite certain that Vanessa was in a Super Bowl commercial eating a burger in a bikini on the beach. I swore off burgers and bikinis then and there.

  I just wish I hadn’t seen Matt looking so sad. It’s no fun hating him when I know that he has actual human feelings. I don’t want to pester him with questions and push him to share his feelings with me. I just want to make him feel better. I want to put my arms around him and sing him Adele songs and bake him brownies. Well, I want to order brownies to be delivered to him. I could actually feel my own heart breaking when I looked at his face. It was not a good feeling. It was terrible.

  I touch the side of my mouth, where his thumb pressed against me for one second and it felt like his whole body was touching my whole body, and gosh darnit that was the best damn hot dog I’ve ever had.

  I need to stay away from him.

  Or…

  Or!

  Or maybe we can be friends.

  I can do that.

  “You can do what?”

  Tommy’s voice startles me out of my interior monologue.

  “Huh?”

  “You just said ‘I can do that.’”

  “I did? I said that out loud?”

  “Girl—I sent you to the bar to get us a bottle ten minutes ago, and I find you here polishing off a glass of wine and talking to yourself. You need to get out more.”

  I am out. I am out on a Saturday night. I came out to see my best friend in an Off-Broadway play, and now we’re celebrating with drinks at the bar in the Public Theater, and I’m sitting here thinking about my neighbor. I was thinking about him so much all afternoon, I didn’t even get around to doing laundry because I wanted to be home in case he felt like talking. Apparently, he did not feel like talking, but he did feel like blaring Led Zeppelin while doing Lord knows what (but probably push-ups and crunches), and then he calmly played some pretty guitar songs for his dog.

  So now my apartment is really clean, my delicate unmentionables are hand-washed, but I don’t have my usual going-out outfits to wear. This is why I am currently wearing a ridiculously tight cardigan over a camisole and the skinny jeans that I usually only wear to fancy parties because they cost over two hundred dollars. And I’m still thinking about my neighbor, instead of my wonderful best friend, whose talent I am here to celebrate.

  That is why I need to stay away from Matt McGovern, Esq.

  “Yes,” I say to Tommy. “Thank you for getting me out. Did I mention how brilliant you were and how handsome you are and how proud of you I am?”

  “Yes. Did I mention we’re all waiting for that bottle of wine?”

  “I ordered it and paid for it. Someone’s supposed to bring it out.”

  “So why aren’t you back at the table with us? If you’re sitting here thinking about Sebastian Smith, I swear to God—”

  “I’m not! Shhh! Don’t say his name so loud! I’m not thinking about him. If you must know, I was thinking about my neighbor.”

  He screws up his face. “The sexed-up retired lady?”

  “No. Her nephew. He’s been staying there for the past month. She’s in Europe. He’s only there until he finds a new place for him and his dog, and I love his dog, but he’s a total asshole lawyer who sometimes turns out to be kind of nice…”

  “Oh my God. What’s his name?”

  “Matt McGovern.”

  Tommy sucks in his breath. “You like him. I can tell by the way you said his name.”

  “What? No.” What is it with these guys who think they can tell how I feel about someone by the way I say their name? “I mea
n, I don’t not like him.”

  “On Opposite Day.”

  “What? Don’t confuse me.” I cover my face. “Why is it so hot in here? I’m confused.”

  “Yeah you are! You are one hot, confused, enamored little girl who wants to bang her neighbor!”

  “I do not.”

  “Yoooouuuu like him!” Tommy is more excited right now than he was when he told me he got the part in this play. Bless his heart. Too bad he’s so mistaken.

  “I like his dog. I care about his well-being insofar as it affects the well-being of his dog… Don’t look at me.” I polish off what was left of my wine. “Stop it. Let’s talk about you.”

  “Yeah! Let’s talk about how happy I am to see you liking someone other than your boss!”

  “I don’t like him. I just seem to have a weird physical reaction to his handsomeness.”

  “Okay, now I must demand visual proof of this alleged lawyerly handsomeness.”

  I whip out my phone and open up my photo app. “There,” I say, holding my phone up in front of his face. “Isn’t she perfect?”

  “That’s a dog. You’re showing me a picture of a dog.”

  “That’s Daisy! His dog. She’s a Boston Terrier. Look, that’s Matt’s lower pant leg in the corner there. He’s holding the leash. He has…big feet. And nice shoes.”

  Tommy glances up at me, not even wasting his considerable performer energy on raising an eyebrow or rolling his eyes.

  “What? Why would I take a picture of him? He already thought I was crazy for taking a picture of his dog.”

  “Okay, well, she’s a beautiful canine, and that’s a totally humpable lower pant leg. Congratulations. Enjoy.”

  Tommy’s friends call out to us from the table when the waitress delivers the bottle of Malbec to them. Tommy jumps up and waves to them. “Let’s go sit down.”

  I give him a look, silently apologizing and pleading with him.

  “You want to go home, don’t you?”

  “Am I a terrible friend? And before you answer that—consider the fact that I have already paid for everything that’s been ordered at the table.”

  He pulls me in for a hug. “I love you. Thanks for coming to the show.”

  “I love you, I loved the show, and I really loved seeing you in it.”