Just Three Words

by Melissa Brayden

  Hunter smiled and sat back against the couch. “Correction. I like to keep it interesting. It’s just how I am.”

  Brooklyn blew out a breath. “I’ll call Jess and get it set up. Sounds like we have some work to do. But later, okay? Pass me the hot fudge. The chocolate and I need to have a fancy love affair.”

  *

  By the next day at work, Hunter still wasn’t sure why she’d done it.

  It’d been an impulsive move, offering to share the loft with Samantha. But there was something about the timing of it all that made it seem somehow meant to be. The logic was simple. Samantha was one of her favorite people on the planet. She needed a roommate. Hunter needed somewhere to live. Surely there was something to that. Why shouldn’t they live together?

  Maybe because she hadn’t lived with another human since college and was about as independent as they came? But she could learn to cohabitate like a mature individual. And shouldn’t that be the short-term goal? Aspiring to new heights of maturity? Adult behavior firmly in practice? Well, within reason anyway.

  She was proud of herself for snatching up the opportunity, actually. This could turn out to be a really good thing. When she thought about it, Sam was the most organized person she knew. Maybe some of that order and structure would rub off on her.

  “Hunter, do you have the color layout for the Foster account?” Mallory said, pulling her from her contemplation.

  She blinked up at Mallory, replaying the question over again. “Um…yeah. I emailed it to you maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Perfect. I’ll take a look.” But Mallory wasn’t done. She perched on the edge of Hunter’s desk and lingered a moment. “So we’re gonna be actual neighbors, you and me. I have to say I’m surprised. This is kind of a big deal. You infiltrating Soho full-time.”

  “Seems that way. Tell me, do fifteenth-floor dwellers hang out with eleventh-floor dwellers? Are there gangs? Secret handshakes? I feel like I have a lot to learn about the higher levels. My experience level stops at the sixth floor, and I want to be prepared.”

  Mallory grinned and snagged a paper clip to unfold. “Oh, there’s a lot to learn. And I can’t promise the hazing won’t be intense. Elevator bunny ears, cryptic notes slipped under your door, window washers with a penchant for flashing. Gear up, Hunter Blair, it’s on.”

  Hunter shrugged dryly. “Sounds like another one of my Thursdays.”

  Mallory threw a glance over her shoulder toward Samantha’s desk. As Sam had yet to return from lunch, she pressed on. “So are you going to do okay with a roommate? I mean, Samantha’s the ultimate sweetheart, but you’ve lived on your own for years. And she does like things a certain way. Order and structure and all that. A little like me. Not at all like you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Hunter said. “Plus, Sam is in Libby-la-la land lately. I mean, have you seen her? She stares at nothing and smiles. Draws hearts on her Post-Its. It’s textbook and a little sickening. The way I figure it, she probably won’t even be around that much.”

  “You actually have a point there. Plus, you guys have always gotten along great. Maybe no wild parties for the first month, though? She may not recover.”

  Hunter leaned back in her chair and grinned. “No promises.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that. Shall we reconvene for any necessary tweaking of the Foster layout after lunch?”

  “I’ll see if I can pencil you in.”

  Mallory backed away, palms up. “That’s all I’m askin’.”

  Hunter turned back to the multitude of lines and shapes on her laptop and lost herself in the drag-and-drop action of Photoshop, a program she’d mastered five times over. Images and their arrangements, their composition, had always intrigued her. The way a slight shift in color was capable of inspiring a whole new emotion in the person taking it in.

  Hunter could stare at a painting for hours and still continue to see it in new ways. Dissect the shadow. Examine the contrast. Decipher the meaning behind the curvature of a line. She had no formal artistic training other than her graphic design degree, but the visual arts always intrigued her in a way nothing else did. Her job at Savvy was the perfect outlet for that. As an advertising agency, they worked with a variety of clients and products, and that allowed for a diversity of artistic approaches, styles, and design conglomerations. She loved her job, and she loved that it challenged her in new ways every day.

  She flipped open her MacBook Pro just as her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She smiled at the photo of her mother indicating the incoming call. She clicked over. “Hi, Mama. This is a nice surprise. Did you get bored with your other two children?”

  Her mother chuckled. “Hi, my baby girl. How’s your Friday?”

  “Peachy. Two more hours of work and then there’s a movie festival that my friends want to go to in the park. The Way We Were, I think. One of those old ones you would love. I plan to tolerate it.”

  “Robert Redford. Barbra Streisand. It’s fantastic. Give it a chance.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “No, you don’t. But speaking of always, I haven’t heard from you in over a week, nani kaikamahine.” Hunter smiled at the term of endearment meaning “beautiful daughter.” Her mother was born and raised on Oahu, Hawaii, and met her father when he was stationed at Hickam Air Force base nearby. Though her parents now resided in Dayton, Ohio, the islands were never far from her mother’s mind. Growing up, they’d visited Oahu once every other year or so, but it was hard on her mom, being so far away from the rest of her family.

  “It’s been a busy week, Mama. I’ve been meaning to call.”

  “Mean harder next time. We miss you.”

  “You do?”

  “We were just talking about how long it’s been since we’ve had a Hunter Jane sighting.”

  Even though her parents were still married, Hunter knew the term “we” was limited to her mother, her older sister, Claire, and her younger brother, Kevin. Her father…yeah, not so much. The guy wasn’t overly warm to any of his children, but he had a special kind of aversion to Hunter. And it was fine with her. She wasn’t his biggest fan either. Mutual apathy at its finest. While he had never been the kind of dad who attended her soccer games or took her trick-or-treating, when she’d come out at sixteen, it had been the last straw. The slim thread that existed between them was severed. Her sexuality must have made him wildly uncomfortable, and he pretty much quit engaging with her altogether. It was a big deal if the two of them said hello when in the same room. So her father was an aloof asshole. It was a part of life. She certainly didn’t lose sleep over it. It wasn’t like she was the first one in history with that problem.

  “Maybe I can make it home for July Fourth. Claire will probably plan something for everyone not even remotely related to the holiday, and I can’t miss that.” Her sister had a habit of missing the point a lot.

  “She’s already talking about a sixties-themed BBQ party.”

  “Of course she is.”

  “It would make me very happy to see you on the Fourth, but I was actually hoping for sooner than that. How about your father’s birthday?”

  Hunter took a breath and tried to figure out how best to navigate this one. Her mother was always in perpetual “heal the family” mode. She couldn’t fault her for trying, but if there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that she and her father were never going to be okay. And her presence on his birthday was a really bad idea. “I don’t think I can make it. That’s in just a few weeks.”

  “You can make it if you really wanted to. For me, Hunter. I don’t ask a lot.”

  It was true. But this was too big a request for her to wrap her mind around. “Mama, please don’t. It’s best just to leave well enough alone. Trust me, it will be a better party for him if I’m not there.”

  “Will you think about it?” The hope in her mother’s voice tugged at her.

  “I already did.”

  “Okay.” She sounded so defeated, and Hunter couldn�
�t help but hate herself a little bit for it.

  “I’ll see what I can do about July Fourth, though.”

  “See that you do. I’ll talk to you soon. Make sure you’re eating. Read a good book. And find someone to fall in love with.”

  Hunter smiled in recognition of the advice. The same three sentences her mother always left her with. One and two were easy enough. But three was a little lofty. She smiled internally at the pun. Love was overrated. She watched how it controlled people, dulled them in a way she wasn’t at all keen on. But for her mother’s benefit, she swallowed the opinion. “On it. As always. I’ll call soon, Mama. I promise. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Hunter.”

  They ended the call and Hunter snagged a Twizzler from her desk drawer, checking number one off her mother’s list.

  *

  Friday night at a club in Chelsea, and Sam felt a little underdressed. When Libby had informed her of their destination that night, she’d honestly been a little tentative. Outside of Showplace, the nightspot she and her own friends frequented, she didn’t get out to many clubs. Loud music and wild dancing wasn’t really her scene. She’d always been more of a coffee and quiet conversation kind of girl.

  But she was excited for tonight, as it was a celebratory occasion for her very deserving girlfriend, whom she was beyond proud of. So she could suck up the intimidation. Cut loose a little if that was the kind of evening Libby had in mind. She’d even brought her daisies and presented them to her when she’d arrived at Libby’s apartment earlier in the evening.

  Upon seeing them, Libby’s eyes had widened and she’d covered her mouth. “Samantha Ennis, you’re the sweetest, most thoughtful girlfriend ever. This makes me feel so special.” Libby’s blue eyes sparkled and Sam’s knees went all soft and weak. The reward had been a kiss that had made the purchase all the more worth it. Moments later, Libby’s best friend, Tanya, had arrived with an entourage made up of both men and women, most of whom Sam only knew peripherally. Beautiful and sophisticated, these people.

  “Samantha, you’re here!” Smooches.

  “Is this the Samantha? Libby’s mentioned you several times.” Smooches.

  “Look at you. You’re just what Libby described. Adorable.” Smooches.

  “That’s a darling dress on you.” Smooches.

  Sam grinned and laughed and smooched more than she’d ever smooched. Turned out she was a world-class smoocher. But in shocking news, she kinda liked it, the attention from these people who looked like they’d leapt off the pages of a trendy magazine. So for the next hour, she small-talked and laughed and sipped the Pinot Grigio that seemed to flow faster by the minute.

  “You having a good time?” Libby asked her as the group poured onto the street. Sam estimated that they would need roughly four cabs to get to Splash, the club Tanya had selected for their outing. Always calculating, it seemed.

  She turned to Libby. “I am. I haven’t spent a lot of time with your friends. It’s like this window into your world.”

  “And what do you think so far?”

  She stared up at Libby, her heart squeezing that it mattered. “I think they seem about as awesome as you are. I like your world. It’s fancy.”

  “Now I have to kiss you.”

  Sam glanced skyward. “My life is so hard.”

  After a little on-the-curb lip action, Samantha glanced over her shoulder to see that no one was actually taking the necessary steps to hail the cabs they needed. She was going to have to take matters into her own hands and organize this thing. Beautiful or not, these people needed someone like her if they had any hope of getting anywhere.

  An hour later, and Sam looked on as throngs of twenty-to thirty-somethings jumped around the crowded dance floor at Splash. From the DJ stand on an elevated stage, a woman with green hair and giant headphones held court, blasting the place with a hypnotic beat that never seemed to end. Bangle bracelets, bare shoulders, and midriffs abounded. In contrast, her outfit was now noticeably bland. She’d worn a simple, sleeveless peach cocktail dress with what she now realized had a boring neckline. At home, she’d thought she looked pretty, somewhat chic. Here, her look could best be described as “on the steps of the convent.” Mental note: she would need to invest in some edgier clothes. Maybe Hunter could help.

  “You gonna dance?” Tanya shouted in her ear. They’d spent a handful of evenings with Tanya and she seemed fun enough. She was some sort of massage therapist, from what Sam understood. She also had killer moves, and they were right there on display as she spoke to Sam, sashaying easily to the music. Sam had no idea how to make her hips work that way.

  “I think I’ll work up to it,” she told Tanya. A lie. She wasn’t going to work up to anything. How was Sam going to explain that she was the world’s worst dancer? It was one thing to dance with her closest friends at Showplace, where she could make fun of herself and cut loose and have a goofy time doing it. It was quite another to advertise her lack of any coordination in front of People’s 50 Most Beautiful People. “I’m probably going to kick back for a while. Hang out by the bar. You guys go ahead,” she said to Tanya and Libby.

  “But I want to dance with you tonight,” Libby purred in her ear. Okay, that was hard to resist, especially when her stomach went all flip-floppy like that, but Samantha reminded herself of the facts. They’d been a full-fledged couple for only two and a half months now, and that could be completely undone if Libby saw her dance. It was that tragic a display.

  “I’ll dance with you,” Tanya said to Libby.

  Bless that girl. Bless her. “Perfect. You two dance. I’ll order us more drinks,” Sam said.

  Libby seemed to warm to the idea, if her cozy proximity was any indication. “You sure you don’t mind? I don’t want to leave you by yourself. How about I stay with you?”

  “Pshhh. Of course not. Join your friends. I’ll be over here. You know, holding up the bar.” Samantha made a ridiculous bar-holding gesture that she quickly regretted. From her facial expression, Libby seemed to think it was cute, so there was that.

  An hour and a half later, bar holding had lost its appeal. While Sam looked on, Libby and her friends danced, laughed, danced some more, and once in a while returned to Sam’s neck of the woods for a quick drink before tearing up the dance floor once again. These people could seriously party.

  But the smile she kept on her face out of peripheral enjoyment was fading. By standing on the sidelines, she was missing out on the fun. Once again, she was on the outside looking in. Story of her adolescence.

  Time for Plan B. She decided to pep talk herself. What would Suze Orman say? She would tell her to get her ass on the dance floor and live a little, that’s what. And maybe take out an IRA.

  “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she shouted to the bartender, pointing at the frat guy next to her downing a shot of purplish liquid. Purple meant grape, right? She loved grape. She tossed the drink back and oh my God, it burned like crazypants on its way down. Not grape. Not grape. Not grape. How did people do this? Good God. Didn’t matter. She’d done it.

  Relying on her newfound liquid courage, Samantha headed onto the dance floor and joined the group.

  “Sam’s here,” one of the guys yelled, prompting the whole group to loudly cheer as they bumped and grinded and worked the dance floor like it was their job. The song was fast paced and loud, but Sam didn’t care. She joined in, tossing her hands in the air and moving her hips subtly. Then Libby’s hands were on her, and they were dancing together under the colorful strobe lights. And what could be better? The more she danced, the more her inhibitions floated away on the wings of a nice purple drink sent from the magical land of Deceptively Fruity Alcohol. She might or might not have been on beat, but the subtlety fell from her movements and she danced for all she was worth. She stepped on a toe here or there, but no one seemed to care. They were all out there together having the best time. They sang to the music at the top of their lungs and let the pulsing bass wash over
them completely. All that mattered was the here and now.

  And she was part of it.

  She was present.

  The night had just turned fun.

  As the group cheered her on, she moved from person to person, dancing, laughing, and feeling like she owned the night. After what seemed like forever, she danced her way back to Libby, taking her hand and pulling her into the corner.

  “I love that you’re having a good time,” Libby said in her ear above the pulse of the music.

  The word love, while not the operative word in the sentence, snagged Sam’s attention. Because she was falling in love with this woman and all that she brought to Sam’s life. She wasn’t ready to say it to Libby yet. There’d be time soon enough. Maybe over a quiet dinner next week. Some romantic lighting. Champagne. And the three words. I love you. Perfection.

  “I am having a good time,” she told Libby. “The best, actually. This was a good idea.”

  Libby kissed her then and she sank into it. “And you’re not still upset about the film festival?”

  At the mention, her spirits dipped, but only a tad, as she thought about Brooklyn, Hunter, and Mallory watching one of her favorite flicks without her just across town. “I wish we could have done both, but you make sacrifices when you’re in a relationship.”

  Libby looked thoughtful, distant even. “You do, don’t you?”

  “Enough with the philosophical talk. Let’s dance like crazy people.”

  Libby laughed. “Party-time Samantha is cute. I hope I get to see more of her. Let’s get back to it.”

  And they did. They danced well into the morning hours, inhibitions thrown to the wind. It was a rarity for Sam. And you know what? It was one of the best nights she could remember having. She’d let go and it had paid off. Plus, she had Libby by her side. What more could a girl ask for?

  *

  Please no hangover, were the first words that drifted into the forefront of Samantha’s mind when her eyes fluttered open on Saturday morning. She took stock. No pounding headache, her stomach felt okay, and whoa, even sitting up was a total success. The eight glasses of water she’d consumed before bed had clearly done the trick. She owed Google a thank-you note and a fruit basket.