by Suzie Carr
Before I could take back what I had admitted, in an attempt to defend myself to her as a trustworthy person incapable of cheating, John the mailroom guy entered the room with his arms filled with boxes of stationary and envelopes that I had ordered for the fiche room.
“Good morning, Emma. Nice day to —” The boxes fell from his arms as if in slow motion, one tumbling down on top of the other. The boxes lost their tops and the papers and envelopes flew to the ground in one big heaping pile.
I jumped to my feet and ran to his aid. “Let me help you.”
As we gathered the fallen stationary, Sharon barged back in the room, snapping bubble gum. “Oh dear me. Can I help?”
I handed her a box and a pile of envelopes. “Here, can you put these back in their box?”
“Sure, honey.”
We continued to clean the mess until we placed every last piece back in the boxes. When I climbed to my feet, I saw Sharon planted in front of my computer, reading my email. “What are you doing?” I barked out to her.
She circled around to face me. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I went on the Internet to check my email, seeing as you left it open. It looks like you have a new message.”
“I better be going,” John said, raising an eyebrow. He turned and walked out the door.
“Why are you reading my email?”
“Look, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Even I’ve kissed a woman before.”
My blood boiled. “No. This is over. You are over.”
“Really, honey, wanting to kiss a woman is a beautiful thing.”
I headed to the door and opened it. “I’m not discussing this with you. You need to leave.”
“Leave? I don’t want to leave.”
I waved my arm out towards the door. “I’m not going to say it again. You need to leave.”
Panic etched on her pathetic face. “Please don’t have me fired. I need this job.”
“You should have thought about that before you snooped into reading my email.”
She bent down to her knees and pulled at my linen skirt. “Please. I need this job to pay my rent. I will do what it takes to keep it.”
I flicked her clawing hands away from me like an insect. “You have a hell of a nerve.”
“I’m not here to make an enemy. I’m just here to feed my little boy.”
I slammed the door, sealing us into the room. “Don’t you dare do that.”
She rose to her feet and wilted her pale eyes at me like an abandoned puppy dog at a shelter. “Do what, honey?”
“Make me feel guilty, when you were the one who screwed up.”
She stood with her shoulders hunched, looking pathetically remorseful. “Look, I’m sorry I read your email. I’m very nosy. I can’t help it. But, I’m not a bad person. I was just curious, is all, honey.”
“You overstepped a big boundary.” I stared her down. “No one can know about this.”
She stepped in closer to me. “I would never.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Because I’m desperate. I need this job and if I told anyone, I would be fired.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re damn right you’d be.”
Her eyes pleaded. “Please let me keep this job. There’s gotta be some sort of doohickey where you can put a password on your email if you’re worried. Do anything, but please don’t fire me.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
She pulled me into her arms. “Oh, honey, thank you. Thank you so much. You will not regret this. I promise. We will have fun in here together. And I promise, you being a lesbian is safe with me.”
I broke free. “I’m not a lesbian!”
“Honey, it’s no big deal.”
My body temperature rose again. “But, I’m not.”
She winked at me. “Okay. I’ll play along with you. You’re not. Now, let’s get to work. What do you say?”
I refused to defend my sexual preference to this clueless bimbo a second more. So, I led us into work mode. “Let’s start by going over the research bin requests first.”
“Oh, do you want to respond to your friend on the computer first? Don’t get mad, but I read ahead. And I think she wants to know if you want to talk about your being attracted to her and wanting to kiss her and the whole engagement thing.”
I don’t think I’d ever be able to comprehend her lack of social grace. She was quite a character. “You read everything, didn’t you?”
She shrugged her shoulders, looking guilty. “I did.”
At least she was honest. And understanding. “Let me just send her a quick email.”
“Take your time, honey.”
****
That night, I scrubbed my kitchen and bathroom floors by hand, polished my brass bed frame, and even realigned my can goods so that I could read their names at first glance.
When I finished cleaning and organizing, I poured a glass of merlot and sat in my oversized recliner. I had exactly an hour before Colin would arrive with Chinese take-out. I stared at my cell phone wondering if I should follow through with calling Haley. I had promised her in my rushed closing email that I’d phone her that night. As I pressed the numbers into the keypad though, I wondered how I’d cool what I started that day at work. I had taken it too far. I regretted letting my feelings free to her.
The delicate line between right and wrong challenged me in ways it never had before. If I crossed it, my entire future could be destroyed.
I was so damn curious. What would it be like to indulge? Would I ever be the same again? Would I ever be able to stomach sex with Colin again?
Maybe what I was feeling was just an innocent crush, a necessary diversion from all the wedding hoopla.
I hovered over the send button. Screw the line. I pressed it.
With each ring, my heart pounded harder. By the fourth one, she answered.
“Hey, stranger. I was hoping you were going to call.”
I melted into my chair at the sound of her voice.
“I was hoping you weren’t going to answer, but now that I hear your voice, I’m glad you did.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
I picked up the candle from my end table and inhaled the relaxing lavender scent. “I’m just nervous to talk to you.”
“Don’t be silly. Why would you be nervous to talk to me?”
I sat up straighter in the fluffy chair. “Because of everything I told you today.”
“I’m flattered that you’d be nervous, but really there’s no need to be. I’m glad you told me that stuff. But if you’re uncomfortable, then let’s just leave it out there and talk about something else for now.”
“I don’t want to be uncomfortable, but I am.”
“I know it’s confusing for you. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said.
“Let’s just talk about something else.”
“Okay. What are you doing right now?” she asked.
“I’m waiting for Colin to bring me dinner. And you?”
“I’m actually waiting for someone to bring me dinner, too.”
“It’s not that cute airport bartender is it?”
“Would that bother you if it was?”
My heart sank. I saw a pretty, long-haired blondie satiating Haley’s appetite with mouthfuls of scrumptious gourmet food, spoon-feeding her until their mouths met in a deep, erotic kiss. “No, of course not.”
“It wouldn’t?”
“Maybe a little. But, if seeing her makes you happy, then that’s what’s important.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you happy with Colin?”
I sipped the smooth, dry wine. “I can’t complain.”
“Well, you know what they say when you find that special someone who doesn’t make you complain? You better snatch him up before he gets away.”
Even though her comment pointed towards the truth, it irritated me that she would tease me about it.
“Come on now. That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair about it?”
“You’re making a joke out of my relationship with him.”
“I’m just trying to understand it, that’s all.”
“What do you want to know?” I asked.
“Are you in love with him?”
I drummed my fingers on the cream, cushy leather of my chair. Of course I loved him. He was my fiancé. He would be my husband, the father of our children, the son-in-law my dad hungered for to be part of his family. “Yes, I love him. He’s a remarkable person. He’s handsome, charismatic, just all-around great husband material.”
“Yes, but are you in love with him?”
I rested my neck against the arm of the chair, swinging my feet over the other arm. “I think so, yes.”
“You think so? Shouldn’t you know?”
“How does anyone define being in love with someone? I mean, I care about him. I want him to be happy and successful.”
“Does he make your heart skip? Do you ache when he’s gone for too long? Can you never imagine your life without him?”
“That’s a bit Hollywood, isn’t it?” I asked. “Does anyone feel like that?”
“It’s not Hollywood when you’re in love. At least that’s what I understand from others. I’ve personally never felt that deeply for another person. So I take it you don’t feel this for him?”
I swept a chunk of hair behind my ear. “We’ve been together for seven years. The magic fades over time. There’s no way that level of desire can maintain itself over the course of career decisions, marital planning, doctor appointments, fevers, tiffs, whatever else life throws in front of us.”
“So, you’ve felt this type of burning passion for him at one point, but it’s gone now?”
Never. My heart never skipped around him except when he took me on marathon training runs with him. When he worked out for hours at the gym, I relished in his absence, reading books, soaking in long hot tubs, watching sappy, girly movies. “Maybe not at that intensity.”
“But, you’re marrying him anyway?”
“He’s a great guy.”
“A great guy?”
I sat up in the chair again, taken aback by her sarcastic tone. “What are you getting at?”
“You’re getting married in a few months. Yet you’re hinting that you’re attracted to me. I was just curious about what’s going on inside.”
I circled the rim of my wine glass with my finger, comforted by the smooth repetitive motion. “There’s a lot going on inside right now.”
“Do you feel the chemistry between us, too?”
Tingles shot through me. “Do you?”
“I asked you first,” she said.
“I do,” I whispered.
“Me too.” Her low voice crawled out to me.
My heart inflated. “What do we do about this?”
“Have you ever felt this way about a woman before?”
I bit my lower lip considering my answer. “I’ve felt attracted to women in the past. But I’ve never felt this type of chemistry before.”
“How about with a man?”
“Never at this level,” I whispered.
“Are you concerned?”
“Deeply concerned.”
“Do you want me to stop emailing you?”
No amount of concern could ever make me want that to happen. “No.”
She sighed. “I’m glad you said that.”
I breathed in deep, matching her relief.
“What’s going on inside your mind right now?” she asked.
I frowned. “I’m thinking how much I don’t want Colin to walk through that door right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s going to be here any minute.”
“You go get ready for your date. We’ll chat more tomorrow.”
“Do you have a date?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I wrapped my arms around my folded legs, sinking into them like they would protect me from feeling the sting of the truth. “With the bartender?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want her to go out with the bartender. I didn’t want to picture her in an intimate setting with someone other than me. “Why does that make me jealous?”
“Because you’d rather it be you.”
“That boldness is going to get you in trouble one of these days.”
“It’s just a crush we’re experiencing,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay. I’d tell you to have a good night, but honestly, I don’t want you to,” I said.
“I don’t want you to either. Be good okay?”
“You too,” I said.
I hung up my phone. Instead of sipping the wine, I guzzled it.
Chapter 8
I had never mastered the use of chopsticks. Colin could meticulously guide the slivers of rice to his mouth in one strategic swoop. Me? Not so graceful. I practiced manipulating my fingers around the sticks, but to no avail, I’d always resigned to the plastic fork.
That night, as I sat beside Colin on the leather couch watching a Friends rerun, I once again tried my luck at the wooden sticks for no other reason than to concentrate on something other than Haley’s date with the cute bartender.
When I took my last bite of Chicken Chow Mein, I leaned back against the couch, placing my hands on my stuffed belly. “I can’t eat another bite.”
He handed me a fortune cookie. “You have to eat your fortune cookie.”
“I can’t, Colin. Seriously, I’ll blow up.”
He placed it in my hands. “Let’s at least read our fortunes.”
“Fine.” I broke the thin cookie shell and as it crumbled, a ring fell from it. “A ring?” I held it up between my thumb and pointer finger.
He leaned into me, resting his arm around the crook of my neck. “Do you like it?”
I placed it on my right ring finger and straightened my hand out. The stone sparkled in the dim light. The sapphire was cut in my favorite shape, pear. Two diamonds accentuated each side. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“I know you do. What girl doesn’t love her birthstone?”
I moved my hand from side to side to examine the cut in different shades of light. “What’s the occasion?”
He ran his hands through my curls. “I met Sharon. And I feel bad for you. She’s going to make life difficult for you in that fiche room and I just wanted you to know that I was on your side with this one.”
“You bought me a sapphire ring because of Sharon?”
“Well, I know how much you’ll miss your privacy. The fiche room was our spot to be alone together and steal mid-morning kisses.” He kissed me. “You deserved something special.”
He did everything so elaborately. When his mother’s gall bladder erupted, he sent her four dozen roses. When she asked why he didn’t show up to visit, he said flowers were even better—and she had an entire room filled with them to prove it.
He didn’t understand simplicity. “You’re spoiling me.”
“You had better get used to being spoiled. I don’t skimp.”
“I can see that. But, really, you didn’t have to. You know how many of our wedding guests could be fed with the money you used to buy this ring?”
He kissed my cheek, then slid his mouth down to my neck. “Yes, but I’m not trying to get action from our wedding guests.”
I giggled to disguise my unease, wrestling my way free of his nuzzling. “There’s always a motive.”
“Of course there is.” He moved in closer. “Now, just stop talking and kiss me, will you?”
As he kissed me, all I could picture was Haley making out with the cute bartender. The more intense he pressed his lips on mine, the more I wanted to gag. A moment later he carried me to my bedroom.
****
Haley certainly didn’t kiss and tell. For weeks, I tried to pry out of her whether she had a good time with bartender girl, and sh
e gracefully eluded each attempt. That led me to only one conclusion. She must have had a great time.
Thankfully, her next trip was soon arriving, and it would be my turn with her.
“If you get up and sing a song that night, then I will tell you everything you want to know,” she said.
“Be prepared to talk because I’m just as much of a ham as you are,” I said into the phone.
“I can’t wait to see this.”
****
For weeks leading up to that night, we had emailed daily and talked each night. Our conversations were silly and friendly, leaving me craving to talk to her more. We connected like two magnets.
Every morning, I’d race to work, eager to Instant Message with her all day. Now that Sharon worked in the room, too, I had even more down time. She had caught on quickly and eagerly accepted the workload as I piled it. Despite my initial reservation, Sharon wasn’t that bad after all. By her second week, I considered her almost normal. Almost because she still hummed songs, stretched her legs, and dove into strange callisthenic exercises from time to time. But for the most part, she kept to herself. My dad’s plan had backfired.
Of course, my getting along so well with her could’ve had a lot to do with the nature of researching in the fiche room. The fiche machine was located on the opposite side of the room, so when she volunteered to take on a laborious request, I obliged. Behind the enormous wall of file cabinets that separated the computers from the fiche machines, I was free to sketch and email. One day I had drawn Sharon on a stage with her mouth wide open in opera style. When I showed it to her, she grabbed it and hugged it to her heart. “Can I keep it, please?”
“Of course you can.”
She swept me up into one of her bear-hugs, choking the oxygen from my lungs as she squeezed. She was just an over-sized bundle of happiness, completely harmless, like a big, goofy, affectionate dog. She grew on me, treated me with respect and showered me with attention. She talked endlessly about her little boy and all the mischief he got himself into everyday. The stories took my mind off of the tempting thoughts sneaking up the back alleys of my mind.
