Missed Connections Box Set

by Jeffe Kennedy

  2. Taste. Most people don’t realize how much taste depends on smell. I had a friend in high school who was, for all intents and purposes, anosmic. Most likely it was because he had terrible allergies as a kid, with consequent sinus issues, and he functionally killed his cilia. Congenital anosmia is terribly rare, because scent is our oldest sense. It goes all the way back to single cells and detection of chemicals outside the cellular wall. Amoebae have chemo-detection, but no sight or sound. Our olfactory receptors go straight to the brain, not with extended relays like sight and sound have. That’s part of why memory is deeply connected to scent, because they’re both in the same core part of the brain. So it’s really hard to be high functioning and be truly anosmic, like someone might be blind or deaf—there would be too much associated brain damage. My friend, though, he was functionally anosmic, so his taste was all wacky. Like coffee and chocolate just tasted full-out bitter to him, with no nuance. Julie, my housemate who’s a chef, can talk a lot about the role of scent in food. Anyway, taste is all about scent for me. I figure if he smells good, he tastes good. That gave Gabriel a score of 2.0 already, which is enough to advance to round two, according to the Rules. If I was going to go out on a date with a strange guy, which I wasn’t. Not that he’d ask.

  3. Rhythm. I really don’t care if the guy can dance, because I can’t dance. So I use this one for personality, which the other gals tend to gloss over. But things like humor, honesty, and integrity are important. To me that’s a kind of rhythm. Zero points because I didn’t know this guy from Adam.

  4. Touch. Really nice touch. His hand holding mine… I couldn’t think. For the first time I understood Charley’s issues with math because I’d lost the count.

  5. Looks. Normally how handsome a guy is doesn’t matter that much to me. After all, it’s not like I’m any great beauty. And I don’t care if he’s a little pudgy or out of shape. Again, I’m not going to throw stones in that department. My future didn’t look too promising in the looks direction, either, judging by my genetic forecast. Even if my mom wanted to date again, she’d have to probably shape up some. Not that she was obese, but we definitely tend to pear-shape—wide hips, heavy thighs, disappearing waist line. I’m not like Amy, who runs every morning and is in killer shape, and God knows I’m nothing like Charley with her amazing body. But, as she’s always saying, looking great is her job, so she works at it. I work out (sometimes) and watch what I eat (mostly), but let’s just say I’m no size six. I don’t expect anyone else to be either, but this guy—definitely a full point for looks.

  So that had him at 3 or 4 points, right there. He could have been a model, he was so beautiful. Or a movie star—

  The realization hit me hard, and I yanked my hand out of his. His expression went quizzical and he looked at his fingers. “Is there something on my hand?” He flicked his fingers, bemused, grinning again. “It’s cold out, but I’ve been on the train since Evanston and—”

  “You’re an actor,” I said, no doubt in my mind. Oh, I had his number.

  “How did you know?” His delighted smile immediately dimmed. “I’m guessing this is not a good thing in your book.”

  “Charley put you up to this.” My heart, which had been tripping along so happily, thudded to a dreary ache. Full of dirty slush like the stuff splattered on the windows.

  “Who’s Charlie?”

  “Oh, just stop.” The train shuddered to a halt, and I realized I’d somehow missed my station anyway. Head in the clouds, Marcia. Always dreaming.

  I pushed past Gabriel, who scrambled to stand, but I couldn’t go anywhere as the doors hadn’t opened yet. All those already grumpy people pushed and muttered, several asking what the deal was. Of course the train had chosen this moment to bork up.

  Gabriel put a hand on my arm, then yanked it back and spread his fingers in a dramatic gesture of surrender when I glared at him. Just like Charley would. I should have smelled theater on him the minute I spotted him.

  “Don’t run off,” he said. “I’ll move seats.”

  “It’s my stop,” I snapped back. “And you can drop the charade. I know Charley sent you.”

  He assumed an expression—likely well-practiced—of innocent bewilderment and slowly shook his head. “I have zero idea who this Charlie guy is, but if he’s bothering you, you should say so. You know, get someone to walk you from your L stop.”

  “Let me guess. You’re volunteering.” The train lurched a few feet and halted again, throwing everyone against each other—including me into Gabriel. He caught and steadied me, which only made me angry. “Get your hands off me!”

  He let go, but the renewed press of the crowd had us so mushed together that it made no difference. Someone shouted about what the hell was going on and the L operator came on with some loudspeaker-distorted explanation no one could understand.

  “Maybe you should sit again,” Gabriel said, over all the people asking each other what the driver had said.

  “No, thank you,” I said frostily. Finally, finally, the doors wrenched open, people shoving to get out. I turned back to Gabriel, ready to give my parting shot now that I could escape. “I’ll tell Charley that it totally worked and you suckered me in and stomped on my heart, okay? That way you can get whatever she bribed you with and this stupid revenge can be done.”

  I plunged out the doors, my grand exit spoiled when my high-heeled boot skidded in the slush that was turning back into ice. Not a great day to wear them, but I have a weakness for boots and these were new. Electric blue pleather and higher heels than I was used to. Amy had talked me into buying them, overriding my usual good sense. Fortunately I regained my balance, keeping my head high and my dignity intact.

  I even managed not to look back at the train until it lurched into motion again, shuddering with a great screech to match that little kid’s. Then I couldn’t resist. And there was Gabriel—if that was even his name, because it was a little too on the nose—watching me. He pushed off his hoodie and pretended to sweep an invisible cap off his head, bowing gallantly.

  Oh brother. Charley really had to step up her game if she wanted to sucker me in. I gave him the finger, and stalked away.

  Round goes to pudgy, virginal Marcia.

  ~ 2 ~

  Only Amy was at home when I got to the house. Julie would be at work at the restaurant, and Ice had evening lab practicals this semester. Ice—short for Anaisa—is in her second year of medical school. Charley…who could keep track of her? She could be at rehearsal, performance, audition—or out with wonderful Daniel. She spent more nights at his place than in her own room these days. I didn’t blame her, what with his amazing condo.

  Well, and amazing him.

  She flat refused to move any of her stuff there, though, and stubbornly insisted on continuing to do her assigned chores and paying her share of the rent at our house. That part I so didn’t understand. Daniel almost certainly wanted her to move in. I bet he’d give her a great big diamond ring, too. It was the culmination of the dream, wasn’t it? Whenever I saw him at work, I wanted to ask about it, but I wasn’t supposed to stick my nose in anymore.

  It nearly killed me, biting my tongue so hard, but I really was trying to learn from past mistakes.

  “Heya,” Amy called out, not looking up from her project. She’d put in the extra leaves on the old dining-room table Julie had found at some estate sale, and had it covered with paper patterns and sketches. She’d move a pattern piece, mutter at it, then add something to her drawing. Her hair was still up in an elegant French twist from her work day, but she’d changed out of whatever stylish outfit she’d had on and into yoga pants, big fluffy socks, and a baggy sweatshirt. It had a hole in one worn shoulder, which made me think of Gabriel with a pang.

  If nothing else, Charley had sure pinpointed my weaknesses in grooming Gabriel for me. I supposed actresses got good at getting insight into people’s character. Without those holes in his jeans—real ones from wear, not artfully distressed—he’d have been to
o perfectly polished. Like that little chip in his tooth somehow made the prospect of kissing him, of touching my tongue to that slight, ragged edge, all that much more enticing. Gah. I was not going to think about it anymore.

  “Is that for fun or work?” I asked, distracting myself by peering at Amy’s drawing of some glam gown, careful not to touch anything.

  “Mmph,” she grunted, then took the mechanical pencil out of her mouth and tucked it behind her ear. “Work. Work work work. Why do we do it, Marcia? Why?”

  “Umm…” Amy was usually the perky one. All those exercise endorphins. “Well, food and shelter are nice.”

  “Right?” She scowled at a paper piece, snatched up a pair of scissors—not the uber-sharp, super fancy shears for fabric that she treated like a Harry Potter magic wand, kept in a special box with a note that anyone who touched them would suffer a dire fate—and snipped off a corner. It made no discernible difference to me, but she nodded in satisfaction and straightened, leaning her hip against the table. “How was your day, dear?”

  “Fine.” I set down my shoulder bag, and shrugged out of my coat. “Nothing unusual.”

  “They have the Christmas decorations up on the Loop—did you see?”

  “Yes, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.” I hung up my coat on the old-fashioned rack. Another of Julie’s finds. We were lucky to have the tiny bedroom closets in the narrow craftsman house. A front closet wasn’t something people thought about back then.

  “Next week, though.”

  “Already?” My mom had been surprisingly quiet about it then. Usually by now she’d be bugging me about getting there on Tuesday, so we’d have time to cook on Wednesday. She couldn’t make more than frozen waffles for dinner when I was a kid, but now she had to make the full-out spread, for two people. She missed me, though, so I tried to make up for that.

  My mom had kind of expected I’d move back home after college—just the two of us girls!—and had been disappointed when I’d decided to move in with Charley and Ice and the other gals.

  It had been a huge decision for me, even though the choice itself was easy. Move in with the cool girls, be one of the Fabulous Five and live in the big city, or go back home to Spring Creek, live with my mother, and work at the grocery store or something. Not like there were jobs for a chemist there.

  Still, I’d agonized about letting my mom down. Then I’d gotten the position in the perfume division at Holt Industries and that had sealed the deal. Though entry level, the job should be the ladder to my dream of being a “nose,” and developing perfumes of my own. The most romantic job ever. My perfumes would make people fall in love, and remember their loves.

  The least I could do was go spend a few extra days with my mom. I’d have to see about getting Wednesday off work. Everyone got Thursday and Friday, but I’d have to use a personal leave day for Wednesday, which I’d much rather use at Christmas.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed Julie’s strategy pile for our orphan Thanksgiving dinner,” Amy was saying. “I’ve been getting notifications from her Pinterest page about every thirty seconds. Haven’t you?”

  “I turned off the notifications for exactly that reason.”

  “Well, she’s all psyched because Daniel says we can have the dinner at his place, which means she gets to use his fancy-dancy kitchen. She’s been chanting about dual ovens and something about a stovetop with six stations. She’s practically orgasmic about it.”

  “Daniel’s not an orphan. All his family is here.” I shouldn’t sound so resentful. Really, “orphan” was a misnomer, as none of us were. We all had family somewhere, just not in Chicago. In fact, of our household of five, I was the closest to being a real orphan. I once read that, technically, if either of your parents is dead, you’re considered an orphan. For all I knew, my father was dead. The thought made me inexplicably sad. You can’t mourn someone you never knew. Still, anytime they called it the “orphan dinner,” it annoyed me.

  “Yeah, I guess his family traditionally goes to the Grand Caymans for the holiday. But Charley has the show, so he’s staying in town with her.” Amy waggled her eyebrows. “Very romantic.”

  It was romantic. Daniel was an amazing guy. Perfect, really. And Charley couldn’t even be bothered to thank me for hooking her up with him. No, all she could think about was her petty revenge. And it wasn’t fair to mess with a person’s heart that way. If only Gabriel had been the real thing…

  Then he wouldn’t have hit on you in the first place, Marcia. Jesus, think!

  Amy gave me funny look. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I snapped it out, sounding so grumpy that it made me an immediate liar. But I wasn’t going to tell her about Gabriel.

  “Anyway, because it’s at Daniel’s instead of here, we’ll have that great big dining table of his—I’m making a runner and napkins for it, maybe those cute little individual vases at each place-setting—so we’re all bringing dates. Julie’s going to ask that guy from the restaurant and I’ll bring Brad, of course.”

  Of course, since Amy had been dating Brad for a couple of months. I wasn’t going to comment. Holding my tongue, not sticking my nose in. “Who’s Ice bringing?”

  Amy snorted. “Who knows? Yesterday she listed about five different potentials. She still scores way too generously.”

  “You were all talking about this yesterday?”

  “Yeah. I was just home from work, Ice and Julie were grabbing snacks before heading out and Charley breezed in with the news. You weren’t back yet. And something is wrong.”

  “Just, nobody told me about the dinner at Daniel’s.” Or the chummy conversation I’d missed out on. First my mom hadn’t said anything about Thanksgiving, then my friends hadn’t. Maybe no one wanted me around.

  Amy frowned and went to put the tea kettle on. “It’s not like we were leaving you out. Charley only just agreed to Daniel’s plan yesterday—she was being her typically stubborn self about it, apparently—and, besides, you always go to your mom’s for the holiday. Aren’t you going this year? Cuz if you aren’t, of course you’re with us! It’s not like Daniel doesn’t have tons of room.”

  “I’m going to my mom’s.” Amy had a perfect point and I was being stupidly insecure. I wouldn’t have a date to bring anyway. “At least, I think so. She hasn’t said.”

  The door slammed open with a blast of cold air and a swirl of snowflakes. Charley burst in with all the radiant energy of a summer day.

  Even in her enormous puffy parka, no makeup, her shining red hair ruthlessly slicked back into a top knot and wearing furry ear muffs, Charley was gorgeous. A real piece of work, my mom had said of her the first time they met when Mom came to pick me up at the end of freshman year. She hadn’t liked Charley much. Well, she didn’t like any of them, but she really didn’t like Charley. That girl screams slut. Actresses, she’d added, rolling her eyes. You should make friends with a nicer class of girl. Isn’t there a Newman Center at Northwestern?

  There had been, but I didn’t go there much. My mom didn’t understand how lucky I was to fall in with this group of friends. First I’d gotten Julie as my roommate in the lottery, and we’d become besties almost immediately. A relief to me as I’d been worried I wouldn’t make any friends in college.

  Then Julie met Amy in freshman comp, and Ice and I were in general chemistry lab together. Charley was Ice’s roommate, so pretty soon we were all hanging out together, either in Ice and Charley’s room or mine and Julie’s. Amy had pulled one of the drama-lama roomies, so she crashed with us a lot. And there I was, having somehow snuck in under the radar, hanging with the cool girls.

  The last two years of school we shared an apartment off campus. When Amy’s aunt, who was some sort of real-estate mogul, offered to rent us this house while Amy got established in fashion design and Ice went to med school at U of Chicago—well, it all fell into place. Julie took culinary arts classes and worked at several restaurants, first waiting tables, then as a sous-chef. Though
she called herself “sous-sous-sous.”

  And Charley decided not to go to New York or L.A., but to build her chops in Chicago live theater. Really she just wanted to be a superstar, but there’s not a clear career ladder for that. She has this idea that if she does stage long enough, she’ll be discovered and, I don’t know, suddenly become Taylor Swift. Charley is not a logical person.

  “Hi, hi, hi!” she called out. “It is fucking freezing out there. I should have taken Daniel up on that trip to the Caribbean. What was I thinking?” She pulled off the ear muffs and coat, tossing both on the couch. Underneath she wore leggings and a cropped t-shirt over a sports bra. A little jewel winked in her belly button, calling attention to her flat stomach.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What were you thinking?”

  “About my intense dedication to my career, apparently.” She rolled her gorgeous eyes, her natural flair and charisma making the expression charming where on my mom it just made her look tired and mean. “And what bug crawled up your butt?”

  “Bad day at work,” Amy called from the kitchen. “She’s been cranky since she walked in ten minutes ago.”

  “Oh, I have not.” I dug my tablet out of my bag and swiped it on, for something to do. Bad idea as that same Missed Connections ad popped up, reminding me immediately of Gabriel. The guy who said his name was Gabriel. “But, since you ask.” I squared off to Charley, confronting her. Better to have this done with. “I met Gabriel on the train home from work.”

  “Who?” She was unwinding the yards-long muffler from her neck. I wanted to point out that if she wore more clothes, she’d both be warmer and wouldn’t have to wear so much outer gear. Amy came in from the kitchen and handed me a mug of one of her special tea blends, this one full of soothing cinnamon, clove, and pepper notes.