by Dina Silver
I turn and whisper to him, “You should’ve answered your phone yesterday when I needed you.”
“Touché,” he whispers back.
Then Adam lifts his drink to shield his mouth with it. “If it’s any consolation, Dave thinks your feelings may be reciprocated, which you should have realized when Ryan asked you out. You’re welcome,” he says smugly.
After the chaos of the previous twenty minutes, I notice that Ryan has taken the open seat next to me, while Julie is seated across the table from him. The more Julie drinks, the more of her body she lays on the table trying to get closer to him. After about forty minutes of this, she is almost entirely horizontal and I simply can’t take it anymore. I’m struggling to remain calm, and not overly theatrical, but I feel like the whole evening is spiraling downward. At least for me anyway. Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves quite nicely, Adam in particular.
About one hour after Ryan’s arrival, I start to feel a little nauseous, albeit, nothing to do with the alcohol. I’m watching Julie flirt with him and a cold sweat comes over me as I sense I am losing control of something, or doing something I shouldn’t be doing. I keep shifting my posture in my seat and staring at the ballgame, which I couldn’t care less about, as I grow more self-conscious and uncomfortable - although no one is even looking at me. Why have I put myself in this situation? Why have I let myself get involved with someone Julie is clearly interested in? The fact that she and Ryan are still communicating enough that she’d invite him here tonight means that I should back off. Thank God he was out of the office all day today. What if I had declared myself to him this morning as planned, only to end up where we are now? I need to escape this place, but since I’ve come with Adam it won’t be that easy. Especially because nothing pleases him more than impending drama.
At this point, the ladies room seems to be my best refuge, so I excuse myself to the crowd of zero people chatting with me and make my way through a skinny corridor and across a damp, beer scented rubber floor mat. I’m not quite drunk enough to insist on leaving, or quite sober enough, either. I’m exactly where I should be - two margaritas down, high hopes shattered, and now staring at a mirror fashioned out of bulletproof foil. Not pretty. The mirror or me. I squint really hard and double-check the funhouse image of myself one last time before heading back to the table. As my pity party hits full swing, so does the tequila, and I’m ready to face the music. I convince myself that sulking will only make things worse, and I really need to put my big girl panties on and get over this one-sided love affair before someone (i.e. me) gets hurt.
As I exit the bathroom, eyes glued to the sticky floor, I nearly bump into the next person in line. The hallway is extremely narrow and as I slowly look up to apologize, I realize it’s Ryan. He’s leaning against the grease-stained drywall, arms crossed, shirt perfectly untucked, and he’s not gesturing to get past me to use the toilet. Nor is he doing much of anything except smiling. Clearly this is not going to help the nausea.
“Hey Kat,” he breaks the silence.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I say with immediate regret.
As if it’s territorially possible, he inches closer to me before continuing. His arms remain crossed, all else remains perfect. “I know you were a little wary of the idea yesterday, but I’d really like to take you out sometime. Think you could reconsider?”
I freeze, all statuesque five-feet-two inches of me staring at his chest. “Yes,” I say.
“Yes, you’ll reconsider, or yes you’d like to go out sometime?”
I look up without lifting my chin, and simply roll my eyes to meet his. “Yes, I’d definitely like to go out sometime,” I say, desperate to thank him for a second chance.
“Look,” he says. “I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation with Julie, but I do want you to know that things are over between us. I’m not interested in her, and you’re the only reason I came by here tonight. She said she was meeting you and Adam. And that’s why I came. To see you.”
Again he’s left me speechless. Just ten seconds ago I convinced myself to move on. Abandon all thoughts of getting involved with him. Stick to hanging out with the gays, and maybe one day Marc will have a change of heart and grace me with his presence again.
“Okay, great,” he continues before I have a chance to speak. His smile widens, and his eyes narrow as he puts his index finger under my chin to lift the rest of my face to meet his. “I’ll find you at work tomorrow and we can pick a date.” He turns slightly to walk away, and I manage to grab his wrist. He turns back around and looks down at me.
“Ryan, I just want you to know that I’m really looking forward to it.”
He smiles again, and so do I.
We walk back to the table together and Julie jumps on him piggyback style. I start to wince as he tries to shake her off respectfully. His muscular build combined with his bashful nature makes almost anything he does acceptable. I sit back down and Adam gives me a curious look. Our synchronized absence did not get past him.
“Everything kosher back there?” he inquires.
“Crystal kosher clear,” I say.
“Mazel Tov,” Adam winks at me. “We’ll discuss this later,” he whispers, before announcing he’s going to look for the dance floor.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
Interested Parties
Almost immediately as I enter the office building, Adam appears next to me at the lobby elevators. “Good morning,” he greets me like a pushy salesperson. “I texted you no less than thirty times after I left. Don’t think I didn’t see him corner you in the loo last night,” Adam says as we board the elevator together.
I take a sip of my bottled water, causing Adam to cross his arms and pout. “Sorry, I turned my phone off as soon as I got home, but yes, he did corner me, and it was awesome,” I say. “He asked me out again, and this time I didn’t muck it up. He’s supposed to find me today and decide when we can get together.” We pause the conversation as the doors open on our floor, and then we head to my cubicle.
As I remove my coat, Adam gestures at my canary yellow blouse with a wave of his hand. “Well, you shouldn’t be too hard to find. A drunken pilot would be able to spot this get-up. I look forward to every detail over recess.” He then tosses a box of Altoids on my desk. “Don’t leave home without ‘em, beautiful.”
My phone rings as I’m about to sit down and I see that it’s my sister, Megan. She is three years older than me, married to a good man named Henry, and mother to my gloriously bald seven-month old nephew, Miles. She’s also my biggest ally, my only sibling, and the one person in my life who truly understands how much I suffered during my parents’ divorce. When my mother first told me of their separation, it went something like this:
“Where’s Dad been?” I asked after he hadn’t come home for two nights.
“He moved out,” she said and left the room.
I turned to Megan for support when I had nowhere else to go. We helped each other get through hard times because my mother forbade us from talking about the divorce with her. My father basically pretended like nothing had happened, besides the fact that he’d moved out, found himself a girlfriend with a four-year-old son, and only spoke to Megan and me if we called him.
Over the years, Megan has become notorious for giving me the best advice, so I’m looking forward to filling her in on all that’s happening with me. When it comes to my love life she usually has a clear read on things, and she was devastated when Marc and I broke up because she too assumed we were destined for marriage. She also knew how crushed I was. Sometimes she can be too judgmental and stubborn to a fault, but I’ve come to realize that she doesn’t just ‘like to be right.’ She truly believes that her ideas are in the best interest of everyone else, which is not always the case, but at least there are good intentions at the root. When my parents divorced, Megan got angry and I got sad. She’s very much a straight shooter and doesn’t mince words too often. She studied journalism in college, and worked as a news writer
for many years before taking time off recently to have Miles. Lately she’s been calling me at the office more then usual to see if I can meet her for lunch. I think she’s desperately bored at home, and has trouble relating to Elmo and Friends. Much like me, she always wanted to get married and start a family, but since realizing her goals, she’s had a hard time adjusting to the perils of being a stay-at-home mom. She and Henry met on assignment one day; he is a field producer at one of the local networks, and the rest is newsroom history. They’ve always had a great relationship, and I hardly ever see them argue, or even bicker. Henry is very low-key and very much a homebody. If he never had to leave his house he’d be perfectly happy. And if Megan would sit there with him and never leave either - he’d be even happier.
“This is Kat,” I answer the phone. Brooke insists I answer every call this way at work, even though we have caller ID on all the phones.
“It’s me, can you still do lunch today?” my sister asks.
“Yes, does twelve-thirty work for you?”
“Sure, how about Corner Bakery,” she suggests.
“Sounds great, I’m looking forward to it.”
If I hint that I have something to tell her, she will never let me get off the phone until I do, thus ruining my fun lunch conversation. I’m really excited to hear her perspective on the soap opera that has become my life, and I know she’ll be eager to advise.
Unlike me, Megan is always early, so it’s no surprise to see her seated and halfway though her salad when I arrive five minutes late.
“Hi, little man!” I run over to greet Miles. “He’s more gorgeous every time I see him,” I say to Megan. “And I’m sorry, but I hope he never grows any hair. I love the peach fuzz look.” I smile and give Megan a kiss on the head. “You look exhausted.”
“I have this guy to thank for that. He’s waking up at five-thirty a.m. these days, and secretly trying to destroy me,” she yawns.
“That sucks,” I say and then turn to Miles. “Why are you doing this to mommy? What’s up with that little man?” He freezes and stares at me, then he smiles at our one-sided conversation.
Megan rubs her temples. “Well, I hate to start venting before you’ve ordered your cheddar broccoli soup,” she says. “But, I’m just so annoyed with him lately. He’s like a different person sometimes and I’ve simply had it. I’m at my wits end.”
“Miles?”
“For God’s sake, Kat, not Miles…Henry.”
“Oh, sorry, you hadn’t…” I start to apologize but she interrupts me.
“He’s become totally useless, and it’s really making me nuts,” she says. “It’s like he’s paralyzed when it comes to helping me with the baby.”
“Well, aren’t most guys?” I ask, as I’m beginning to realize this lunch date isn’t going to be as ‘Kat-centric’ as I’d hoped.
“No, I mean, I don’t know? Listen to this, last night I asked Henry if he could watch Miles so I could run to the grocery, because it’s just easier going alone. And I got three frantic calls while I was there, with the baby screaming in the background, and Henry asking what he should do, all the while being short with me on the phone. I couldn’t have been gone twenty minutes! Needless to say, I dash out of the grocery store without half the things I needed, just to come home to the baby sleeping in his bouncer and Henry watching television.”
“What was wrong with the baby?” I ask.
“Nothing! That’s the point, nothing is ever wrong with the baby, it’s Henry. He literally cannot spend two minutes alone with Miles without it being some sort of event. And he never offers to either, it’s always me having to ask him.” She rolls her eyes.
“Well, I’d be more than happy to watch him for you.”
“It’s not that, Kat,” she continues. “Henry should be able to handle it. Two days last week I had a sitter come take care of Miles while Henry was home because it was just easier. It was like I knew I could go do what I had to do without worrying about anything.”
I adore Henry so it’s hard for me to talk badly about him, but it’s clear that’s what she wants. A quick salad with a side of mashed Henry. Worse, I have no way of making the conversation about me at this point.
“Don’t all your friends with kids have the same issues? I can’t imagine Henry is the only guy incapable of mastering child rearing his first time around.”
“He’s not, and you’re right, they’re all pathetic. There’s an epidemic out there,” she’s starting to get theatrical and I only have twenty-five minutes left. “Why should we, new moms, have to ask permission to do things for ourselves?” She looks at me like I may have an answer.
“Well, obviously things were going to change, and look what you got in return.” I grab Miles’ hand and he freezes and smiles at me again. I now hope he never gets teeth either.
She takes a deep breath. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m really exhausted I guess. I just keep wondering what I could have done differently last night - or in any situation to help him adjust.”
I shake my head, indicating I have no idea. Which she must realize.
She begins a sarcasm-laced rant, mocking herself. “Hey, Henry, I just need to run to the grocery for one minute. I promise to sprint down the aisles. Can you watch the baby? It’ll take me longer if I take him with. He’s fed, changed, engaged, tired, and should be asleep in under thirty seconds. All you have to do is stare at him and keep him away from teetering bookshelves. Does that sound doable?” she pauses for air.
“Well, how could he say no to that?” I laugh.
She continues, unfazed by people staring at her. “It’s like asking someone to care for your new puppy, ‘Hey, would you mind watching my dog for me? I know it’s a huge inconvenience, and you’re not great with dogs, and you may have to pick up his poop. But I really have something I need to do and I can’t bring the dog with me. It’d be a huge favor.’”
“You realize you’re clouding my sunny image of life as a future Stepford wife.”
“Sorry,” she says with another yawn.
I don’t have the heart to tell her about Ryan now. My approaching rendezvous with the office hottie is certain to send her into delayed post partum depression. Instead, I turn and grab one of Miles’ Cheerios and place it on the end of my tongue thinking he’ll freeze and smile again. He bursts into tears instead.
“Any word from Marc?” Megan asks with hope in her voice. Like me, she had been eagerly awaiting our engagement, and was equally disappointed when the opposite happened.
“No,” I say. I haven’t thought much about him in the past couple weeks, but hearing his name leaves a pit in my stomach.
“Have you reached out to him?”
I shake my head.
“Are you planning on it?” She continues her line of questioning, looking for any trace of a reconciliation, but I have vowed not to contact Marc, and not even her tired, judgmental expression is going to make me consider doing otherwise.
“I’m not planning on calling him if that’s what you’re asking. And no, he hasn’t made any attempt to contact me either.”
“I must say I’m shocked,” she says.
I reach for my Diet Coke, take a sip, and shrug my shoulders.
“Well, Rob and Emma’s wedding is next week, and I know I’ll see him there for sure. We can’t avoid each other forever.”
“That should be interesting,” she says and perks up a little. “I’m dying to know what happens.”
“You and me both.”
When I return to the office, Adam is waiting in my cubicle. He likes to hang out there when I’m not around so he can search old boyfriends on Facebook without Dave busting him.
“Where have you been?” he asks as he pecks away at my keyboard.
“Lunch with Megan,” I reply and throw my bag under the desk.
“Oooh, I’d love to hear her perspective on the Scarlet Letter you’ll be wearing.”
“So would I actually, but she was too wound up about her own iss
ues today,” I say.
“Bitch,” Adam says flatly.
I unwrap a stick of gum, chew it for a couple seconds, and then spit it out into the garbage can. “Her poor husband, he has no idea. If Henry so much as takes his shoes off the wrong way today he’s a goner.” I lean against my desktop, watching Adam scan through various posts.
“Well, Ryan’s been by here twice since you’ve been gone,” he informs me without looking away from the screen.
“No way!” I gasp.
“Way.”
“Did he leave a message?” I ask. “What did he want?”
“No idea.”
“Did he say I should call him or anything?” I slap Adam’s left shoulder.
“I don’t fucking know. He didn’t say anything to me. Just walked past here twice.”
“Dammit, I hope he comes by again,” I mumble angrily.
Adam moves on. “So, you know my birthday’s coming up, just wondering what your plans for my gift are?”
“Something spendy,” I tease.
“Excellent. And I think you should come out with me and the girls to celebrate. Dave has to be out of town and you promised to go clubbing with me this decade.”
“And by girls you mean?”
“John, Rick and Darryl.”
“I’d love to,” I say and check the time on my phone. “Now can I please have my desk back?”
Just then I notice Ryan and Dave exiting the conference room. I smack Adam’s shoulder again and he swiftly logs out of Facebook. Dave turns to head toward his office, and Ryan heads toward my cube.
“Get up!” I yell at Adam.
“All right, freak!”
I swivel around and greet Ryan just as he stops at my desk. “Hey, Ry,” I say.
“What’s up guys?” he asks us.
“Adam was just leaving,” I answer and gesture for Adam to exit the tiny square space that we’re all standing in.
“I actually wasn’t about to leave, but she clearly wants me to now that you’re here.” Adam taps the top of my head and walks away. I snicker to mask my humiliation.
