Just Three Words

by Melissa Brayden

  “Doesn’t mean some other poor sap isn’t pining away for you right this very minute. Or won’t be before the day is out.”

  “Huh.” Sam picked up her attaché. “If nothing else, it’s nice to imagine.” Her eyes softened and her voice took on sincerity. “Thanks, by the way. You didn’t have to say all of that. But just…thanks.” Hunter nodded. “Will I see you down at Savvy soon?”

  “Right behind you, after I organize a bit. I have to get used to this thirty-second commute.”

  Sam quirked her head. “And I have to get used to a roommate who organizes. Mind-blowing concept.” And then she was gone.

  Hunter headed to her bedroom with Elvis right behind her. Her goal was to at least start the process of putting her room together. But as she laid the contents of the first box across the dresser Brooklyn had left her, the recent conversation clung to her. It had her in a new headspace entirely. She hadn’t thought about those old feelings in such a long time, and doing so now took her back there, in a sense. It was a point in her history when she was excited for the next day, for what life had to offer, for a variety of reasons. It was nice feeling that way about someone, even if it had been temporary. Full-on crushes like that one just didn’t happen to her anymore.

  She’d grown up. And that was a good thing.

  *

  There’s a dog staring at me.

  While Sam should have been nerding out and tearing through this month’s edition of Money Magazine, that was all she seemed able to concentrate on: the dog sitting on the floor next to the couch. Staring at her.

  As she was lying on her stomach, the way she always did when she read, Elvis was at her eye line, innocently looking on. Blinking periodically. Probably wondering what she was up to and why she wasn’t staring back. Or more importantly, why she was home alone on a Saturday night reading a magazine. “Because I’m just that sought after,” she said knowingly to Elvis.

  It had been two weeks since Hunter moved in, and so far, so good. Well, mostly. If you didn’t count the fact that the mail was never where it was supposed to be on the counter, or that she put the big knives in the regular silverware drawer, or that she came in at all hours and shut the door loudly. Hunter also had her own schedule, or maybe a better way to describe it was a lack of one. It had been difficult for Samantha, who thrived on routine and predictability, to figure out when Hunter might want to shower, which seemed to happen at all sorts of random times of day, or what nights she’d likely be home versus going out. Okay, so not that big a deal in the scheme of things, except the randomness of it all drove her a little over-the-top-crazy-frustrated. Hunter hadn’t killed a small child or anything, but everyone had limits.

  And she never in a million years would have imagined it, but Sam missed the stuff, Brooklyn’s stuff, that she was used to scooping up and tossing in her room: the clothes that lived in a pile on the floor just beyond Brooklyn’s door, the towel she would often pick up from the countertop in the bathroom because Brooklyn wasn’t so great at remembering to do so herself. There were also no half-empty glasses of water on the end table for Samantha to carry to the sink. It was irritating. Where were the water glasses? With Hunter, who the hell knew what to expect?

  Plus, Hunter was a lot more streamlined. The bedroom barely resembled Brooklyn’s chaos personified. A couple of well-placed pieces of art—one of them metal interestingly enough—and her guitar in the corner. The floor was clear of debris, the surfaces devoid of any clutter. And all of the furniture was visible. Visible!

  Not to mention, Hunter wasn’t there a whole lot—pretty much the perfect roommate except that she wasn’t. Samantha couldn’t even tell someone how many days it had been since she’d watched an episode of Lucy. She stared at the dark television screen and shook her head in remorse.

  Sam tried her magazine again, going at it with fresh eyes.

  No go. Why?

  There’s a dog staring at me.

  She sighed. Samantha wasn’t averse to dogs. In fact, she thought they were adorable, though she’d never really spent time with one on such a consistent basis. She’d always liked Elvis, though, and did what she could to help out with him. But this particular dog, it turned out, stared a lot. At first, she thought there might be a reason. She’d taken him out, checked his food and water bowls, but all was well. Maybe this was just what he did.

  It was disarming.

  Not sure what else to do, she met Elvis’s big brown eyes and smiled. “Hey there, buddy. El. Do people call you El? I might.” He cocked his head in question. She pressed on. “I’m sure Hunter will be back later. No worries. It’s dark out, which means she’s on a date. Do you know what a hot girl is? She’s probably with one right now.” Elvis whined softly at the attention she offered him and his little tail beat back and forth like a windshield wiper of joy. Sam smiled. She had to admit, the blue bandana Hunter tied around his neck made him a dapper little guy. His coat was mostly white with accents of brown and black here and there. While he clearly had some terrier in him, he resembled a corgi more with his stocky body and short little legs. Hunter had already added a photo of Elvis wearing sunglasses to the refrigerator door.

  Okay, you can do this. She gave her head a little shake and attempted to refocus on the article about the best apps for taming your bills. She loved taming bills. And apps. A perfect combo.

  But five minutes later, when she’d read the first paragraph eighteen times without retaining what she’d read, she flipped the magazine closed. “You win,” she told Elvis as she sat up. His response was to leap onto the couch next to her, tail thwacking away. “Better view?” she asked him.

  She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and checked the clock. It was a quarter to eleven. Libby would probably be out on the town. Or, you know, maybe she was at home. Thoughts of Libby were pretty rampant still. Totally normal, she told herself. It would get easier, except it hadn’t yet. She stood and paced the length of the loft. Elvis followed the action like a tennis match.

  “A text can’t hurt, right?” Elvis only stared back at her, but his answer was clear. Of course it was all right, was what he was surely saying. Impulsively, she typed two words. Hey, you. But that was stupid, so she erased them. Maybe this was better: I thought I’d give this friends thing a try. How’s life? Beyond pathetic. She decided to go with a basic Happy Saturday and see what it got her. Before she could hit Send, the loft door slid open and her roommate sauntered in, fresh from a real Saturday night.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Sam answered back.

  Hunter paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Wide-eyed and guilt-ridden. Like you just ate the last chocolate chip cookie.”

  Samantha shrugged. “I didn’t eat any cookies.”

  Hunter strolled farther into the room, investigator mode in full effect, and gestured to the phone in Sam’s hand. “Who are you texting?”

  “No one.” Sam decided to lose the evidence. She set the phone gingerly on the arm of the couch and stepped away from it, but she already felt it: the shame. Oh, the shame.

  “No one?” In a lightning-quick move, Hunter lunged for the phone, causing Samantha to lunge, too, but damn it all, Hunter was taller and had longer arms. She snatched the phone easily and strode to the kitchen, holding it in the air and studying the screen.

  Sam blew out a breath, her hands on her hips. “It was a moment of weakness.”

  “Clearly.” Hunter turned back to her. “Good thing I came home, saved you from yourself.”

  “I guess. Yeah.”

  Hunter shrugged out of her dark red suede jacket that only she could pull off. “You would have regretted that text tomorrow, Sam. Never make any relationship-oriented decisions after nine p.m. That’s just basic.”

  “Basic, huh? What happens after nine?”

  “Everyone gets super dramatic and sex fuels everything.”

  Sam thought this over as her life’s history c
ame into sharp focus. “You know, you might be onto something there.”

  “Trust me. I know stuff. Especially about sex.” Hunter sank into the sofa and gestured to the phone with her head. “And I’m holding on to this for a little while longer. I refuse to let you text that woman. Let her ride off into the sunset with Tasha.”

  “Tanya.”

  “Tanya. Whatever. I don’t care what her name is. And those two can talk about shoes all day and bore each other, rather than us. See how that works out?”

  “I’d rather not talk about shoes. I guess that’s a silver lining.”

  “Of course it is. Bam.”

  Samantha laughed and sat on the arm of the sofa. “Why are you home so early, anyway? The night is still young.” Hunter was not exactly the come-home-early type. Whenever the girls went out together, Hunter outlasted them all.

  She shrugged, nonchalant. “No idea. I was bored. Wondered what was going on here.”

  “You were bored?!”

  She blew out a breath. “Yeah. I don’t know. No worries, just an off night. I’ll be in full fun mode tomorrow.” She released the hair that she had pinned back on one side, and it cascaded down her left shoulder.

  Sam took in the visual. “This is kind of a momentous occasion. You home early. I’d take your photo, but you stole my phone.”

  “It is kind of odd, isn’t it?” Hunter had a faraway look in her eye that moved Samantha out of the teasing zone and into be-a-friend territory.

  “It’s okay. We all have off nights. Wanna watch Lucy?” Sam offered. It was the best she had.

  Hunter hesitated. “I’m not really into Lucy. That’s bad, right? I lose roommate points.”

  “It’s a little criminal. How about I turn it on and you can watch or not?”

  “I can agree to this.”

  Samantha popped in a DVD and Hunter kicked off her shoes, tucking her feet beneath her. Two weeks in the loft, and it was really starting to feel like it was home, like it was her place. Given, the roommate thing was still a bit dicey. Samantha seemed to want everything done a certain way, her way. And Hunter couldn’t help it—she wanted to play with that a little, test her boundaries. She didn’t thrive on structure, or shower schedules, for that matter, so she’d taken to jumping in there whenever she felt like it. Sam would live.

  “So, who is her friend?” she finally asked, out of I Love Lucy confusion.

  Samantha gaped at her like Elvis did when he realized the ball was still in her hand. She pointed to the screen in slow mystification. “That’s Ethel, her best friend in life. She’s married to Fred.”

  Hunter nodded and they watched a bit more. “Ethel’s an enabler,” she told Sam finally.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Lucy gets these harebrained ideas, and instead of telling her what a crazy person she’s being, Ethel just does the ridiculous stuff along with her. And I think this Ethel person knows better. Thereby she’s what you would call an enabler.”

  Samantha’s mouth fell open and Hunter watched her attempt to recover. “They’re friends.”

  “They should just tell that Ricky guy what happened, though he’s kind of an ass, admittedly. And why can’t she be in that damn show anyway?” Why she was getting worked up over I Love Lucy? She had no idea. But there was something oddly domestic about the whole experience: sitting on a couch, in her apartment, watching a TV show with her roommate, who just also happened to be one of her best friends. It was…kinda fun. Even the debate part.

  Samantha had on her patience-face when she turned to her, the one she reserved for the elderly she volunteered with once a week. “Because if they told Ricky, there wouldn’t be anything left to the plot. If she was allowed to be in the show all the time, she would have no goal to work toward.”

  “But she’s not that great a singer. Maybe she should work toward something else.”

  That did it. Patience-face was gone and replaced with outright exasperation. “No more Lucy for you! Executive decision.” With one flick of the remote, Sam turned the television off, bringing them to silence. Samantha was cute when she was angry. People didn’t generally like to be told they were cute in moments like these, so she kept that tidbit to herself, but it was there, the cuteness.

  “Seems a little extreme,” Hunter said.

  “I’m not sure you’re ready for Lucy.”

  Hunter tried desperately to hold back the smile tugging at her lips because it was clear Samantha was taking this very seriously. “I’ll take your word for it. I’ll try harder next time.” But she was laughing now, because she couldn’t help it.

  Sam threw a pillow at her. “Look at you. No, you won’t.”

  “Probably not. No.”

  Sam sighed. “You are more than a little frustrating. Has anyone ever told you that? And I’ve had enough of your antics for tonight. I’m going to bed. Can I have my phone?”

  “If you promise to be a strong person and not text the shoe girl.”

  “I promise. Just a momentary lapse in judgment.” A pause. “Thanks for being there.”

  Hunter handed Samantha the phone. “Happy to help. Night, Sam.”

  “Night.”

  “Maybe tomorrow we could go grape stomping,” she called after her.

  Sam didn’t turn around, but Hunter faintly heard the words “shut up” just before the door closed, which made her smile.

  Living here was fun.

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday brought with it Savvy’s weekly staff meeting, a time set aside for the group to gather around the office’s kitchen table and, over a working lunch, discuss where they were on various projects.

  Sam loved staff meeting Tuesdays. It was her chance to get a bird’s-eye view of where Savvy needed her most and always sent her back to her desk with a new burst of motivation. Plus, today they’d brought in sandwiches from Bo Peep’s a block down. She’d lay her life on the line for their turkey bacon guacamole.

  Mallory waited until everyone had settled into lunch a bit before taking out the official agenda. Mallory was famous for her agendas, and Sam had no complaint. The agenda kept them on track, and she bowed down to it.

  “Okay, let’s go ahead and get started,” Mallory said, bringing Brooklyn and Hunter’s argument about who made the best pickle in Manhattan to a brief hiatus. “Last week was a little crazy with the time we lost on apartment musical chairs, but we’re rebounding really well, which is great. I’ve been meeting with Serenity regarding their various spa locations. They seem eager to work with us, but I think I need to meet with them one more time to go over final details and get an official agreement in place, really understand what they need from us. They could definitely use a stronger online presence, and that’s where you come in,” she said, gesturing to Hunter.

  “I checked out their website. Not a lot there. I already have ideas, just waiting for the word ‘go’ before I start anything too time consuming. We have the second round of the Foster print ads approaching deadline, and I didn’t want to lose momentum.”

  “No, I think that’s the right call. As for Serenity, they’re not nationwide but they have some pretty popular locations in New York. They’re worth our time. Sam, how’s the budget for them coming?”

  Samantha flipped through her notes. “I’ve worked up some sample possibilities, but I gotta be honest, what they’re asking for and what they are willing to spend seem to be two different realities.”

  “Maybe you should take the meeting with me,” Mallory said.

  “Fun times,” Brooklyn mused.

  Mallory swiveled to Brooklyn. “Whatcha got for me, Brooks? What can I take them?”

  Brooklyn sighed. It was her job to construct an idea they could pitch, and though Sam knew she was struggling with Serenity, she also knew she rarely came up short. “The problem is, there aren’t a million directions you can go with this one. They’re interested in a straightforward commercial spot, as humor and a serenity spa don’t really jibe. So, I’m thinking more a day
in the life of a New York businesswoman. She’s pounding the pavement to work in sneakers, but we see her slip into serious heels as she arrives at the office. A series of quick shots follow and show our girl being slammed with calls, appointments, and a barrage of people who need things. But at the end of it all, we crossfade to her at Serenity. Gentle hands descend and slowly massage away the day’s tension as a flute of champagne is placed at her side—a complete contrast to where she’s been. It’s as if she’s entered a whole separate world. We watch a slow smile take shape on her face. She’s at peace. Total serenity.”

  Sam blew out a breath. “I need a massage.”

  “I’d like to head there now,” Hunter deadpanned.

  Mallory lifted her head from the notes she’d taken and smiled. “Sounds like it worked on these guys.” She rubbed the back of her own neck. “And me, too, now that you mention it. Write it up. I’ll take it to Serenity later this week and maybe make an appointment while I’m there.”

  Brooklyn fell dramatically back in her chair. “You like it? For real?”

  Hunter snagged a salt and vinegar chip from Samantha’s plate. “No. We hate it and just like to screw with you.”

  Samantha elbowed Hunter and stole one of her jalapeño chips in retaliation before refocusing on Brooklyn. “We love it.”

  Brooklyn beamed. “I’d like to thank Jesus and Red Bull.”

  Sam raised her Diet Coke in solidarity. “They both give you wings.”

  “I like what you did there, Sammie,” Brooklyn said, tapping the Styrofoam cups together.

  “Thanks. I’m the funny one in the apartment now, so I gotta step up my game.”

  Hunter glared. “Excuse me. I’m funny.”

  Brooklyn put her thumb and forefinger very close together in response. Hunter stared back at her, looking like an adorably confused puppy.

  “You win stylish, though,” Brooklyn assured her.

  “You do,” Mallory said all businesslike, without looking up from her notebook.

  “I can be stylish and funny,” Hunter mumbled into her Dr Pepper.