What I want is zero, but I appreciate his thoughtfulness so I smile and say, “Sounds like a plan. I’m not that hungry, really, but I’m sure I’ll find something. Shall we go check?”
We do, but as we approach the buffet I feel myself hanging back. I don’t want him looking over my shoulder and monitoring what I eat.
He steps in front of me as we reach the end of the line, then turns back and says, “How about I go first and let you know what looks especially good?”
I smile again, most of me liking his perception and his solicitousness and a little part of me wondering when he’ll give up on it and on me. He will eventually, of course; someone as smart and handsome and successful as Nico can do way better than my unemployed neurotic self.
Good as his word, he leads the way through the buffet, occasionally turning back to provide suggestions like, “If you like king crab legs, these look great,” and “This salad looks like it was picked just a few minutes ago.”
My stomach gives weak growls as I look at all the food, but my throat feels sick and closed-off and I can’t imagine shoving anything through it.
The woman behind me doesn’t seem to be having that problem. Her plate is so laden I don’t know how she can carry it in one hand, but a quick peek at her equally overburdened hips tells me she probably eats this much all the time. No control, I think, feeling proud of myself for my discipline.
Eventually Nico and I are back at our table, he with a full but not overstuffed plate and me with a tiny serving of no-dressing salad and even tinier servings of a few other things whose calorie count I thought I could accurately determine.
He glances at my plate, and I tense, but all he says is, “Let me know how those crackers are. They looked good but I’d already grabbed a bread roll and I didn’t need both.”
I nod, and sneak another quick glance at the crackers’ calorie information as I open their package. 100, as I thought. The salad will take me to 130 or so, I don’t know the calories in one crab leg but I can find out and it can’t be that high, and with the other vegetables I’ve got—
“Oh, good, you got a crab leg,” Nico says, completely wiping my mind of the math. “I mean, not good because you should have picked one up, just good because if you like them—”
“I do,” I say, promising myself I’ll figure out the calories later. I don’t want to overeat, but not eating at all doesn’t seem like a real option. It would be if I were at home alone, of course, but not here. Not with him.
“Me too,” he says, pointing at his plate where at least six legs rest on a bed of rice.
“Gotcha.”
“Yup.”
After an instant of awkward silence, our eyes meet and we both burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he says when we’ve calmed. “I just don’t know what to say. I don’t want to ignore the food elephant in the room but I don’t want to harp on it either. You know I’m a psychologist, and I think you also know I was worried about you Friday, but you’re not a patient and…” He shrugs.
“I get it,” I say. “And I don’t need therapy anyhow. I’m fine.”
I brace myself for him to argue, but he says easily, “I couldn’t treat you even if you wanted me to. I don’t treat family or friends or… other people I know.”
Did he almost call me a date? Or even a girlfriend? Surely not. “So can we just stipulate we’ve discussed it and move on?”
He smiles. “‘Stipulate.’ Spoken like a true business person.”
I tip my head to one side, not smiling back. “You know what I do?” He starts to speak but I jump in again with, “What I used to do, I mean.”
He nods. “Remy told me. He didn’t know you aren’t working any more, but I did because you told me.”
Surprised I’d told him I’d lost my job, I try to think back to Friday. Though today’s only Monday, the day we met is a weird fuzzy blur in my mind. Alarmed, I try to think back even more but the further back I go the less detailed my memories become. I don’t feel like my brain’s in gear, and I don’t know where the switch is to reactivate it.
“Oh,” I say because I can’t think of anything else.
“If you want to talk about your work, your former work, we can. Or mine, or about the tourists or the subway delays or all the construction.”
I have to smile. “All the usual New York topics.”
“Ya gotta problem wit dat?”
“No way.” I giggle at his stereotypical Mafia-like accent. “Fuhgetaboutit.”
“Nice. Very New York. So. Go!”
“That C train,” I say, rolling my eyes dramatically. “Honestly.”
He grins at me, and we’re off. We do talk about the usual topics, and then about what he’s read lately and the movies he’s seen and the concerts and plays he’s attended.
He doesn’t mean to monopolize the conversation, I know, but he has to because I’ve got nothing to contribute. He tries repeatedly to bring me in, to find something I’ve done, but he can’t. Not his fault. All I’ve done in the last few months is work and diet, and now all I do is diet. In contrast to his vibrant life, mine looks as dull as the finish on the rough-hewn wood floor.
As the meal goes on, though I’m enjoying his company and he looks like he’s somehow enjoying mine I know we won’t go out again. Why would he bother?
My crab leg is amazing, so when he offers to give me one of his I can’t bring myself to refuse even though not knowing how many calories are in them terrifies me. I do refuse his suggestion to dip the crab in his little dish of melted butter, though, despite how much I used to like it that way, because I do know how many calories butter has and there’s no way I’m letting it pass my lips.
When the bill comes, I insist on splitting it with him though he tries to pay, and when he backs down and lets me I feel a little burst of a sad sort of satisfaction. He seems like the kind of guy who’d have refused to let me pay if he had any interest in me, so I’m right. After this meal we’ll go our separate ways and I’ll be alone again.
On the sidewalk, I make myself smile brightly so he won’t know that bothers me. “Thanks for suggesting Brash, Nico. Great place.”
He smiles back. “It is. And thank you. I’ve always wanted to try their buffet but I never took the time before. Now I have, and I’m glad.” He glances at his watch. “But unfortunately I need to get to work. I’ve got patients right through to nine tonight.”
I nod. “Of course. Take care. Nice meeting you. And again, sorry about spilling coffee on you.”
He starts to nod, then stops and says, “That all sounded final.”
I swallow hard against my sick-feeling throat and shrug.
He lays his hand on my shoulder, ignoring the people moving past and around us. “I don’t want it to be. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow?”
I can’t tell him I’m not hungry two days in a row. He’d never believe it, and if he is trying to see whether I need the services of his therapist buddy telling him that would just convince him I do. I open my mouth to say I’m busy tomorrow, but what comes out is, “Why?”
His eyes go warm and soft and he moves closer and takes my other shoulder. “Because. Because I like you.”
He does? How can he? Again, all I can say is, “Why?”
He gives me that adorable half smile. “Because you ask so many questions.”
Startled, I laugh, and he grins. “Gotcha. But I do.” His hands tighten pleasantly on me. “You’re smart and funny and fun and pretty, and I enjoyed lunch a lot.” He sobers. “But if you don’t want to get together again, obviously that’s okay. Well, not okay, but you know what I—”
“Wednesday?”
He stops. “Are you saying you’ll have dinner with me Wednesday?”
Am I? Getting closer to him, letting myself like him, will just make it harder when he moves on. I’ve kept my boyfriends at arm’s length since dumping my first one right after Anthony died, but I sense Nico would be a lot harder to do that with.
But he is the only good thing in my life right now.
But he’ll leave. I know he will. Or, worse, he’ll try to get me into therapy, which I don’t need.
I look up at him, unsure, and he gives me a gentle smile then leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “Call me,” he says softly. “Or text or whatever. I want to see you again, and now you know that, so you let me know if you’re okay with it. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say, feeling my skin tingle where his lips touched me.
He smiles, kisses me in the same place again, then turns and walks away.
I watch him go, then a rush of horror at the thought of never seeing him again makes me shout, “Nico!”
He turns back.
“Wednesday. Yes,” I say, scared of how I’ll handle the food but knowing I want to go.
He grins. “Wonderful. Do you like sushi?”
I nod. I used to, anyhow. I gave it up early in my diet when I realized many of my favorites had three hundred or more calories a piece. I’ll have just one, or just sashimi to avoid all the rice calories.
“I know the perfect place. I’ll email you the address later. Seven o’clock?”
I nod again.
He winks, which makes me blush, then strides away toward the subway station.
I move to the curb, out of the way of the pedestrians on the sidewalk, and look up the calories for a king crab leg on my phone.
130! I stare at the screen, hardly able to believe it, then search several other sites. Most agree; one says only 82 calories but since it’s the outlier I assume the others are right.
And I had two, plus those crackers and the salad and the various raw vegetables…
Walking along the sidewalk in the same direction Nico went, I do the mental math. It takes me a while because I keep forgetting where I’m at, but eventually I have the total.
At least 400.
And it might actually be worse, depending on the exact weight of the salad and vegetables.
After days and days of next to nothing, I can’t believe I’ve eaten so much. All I have is my diet, and I’ve failed.
I have to fix this. I will cancel with Nico, by email so he won’t be able to convince me to change my mind, and I’ll get my control back.
I’ll start right now.
Instead of continuing to the subway station, I turn onto 5th Avenue and begin heading north. My shoes are definitely not made for walking and my feet start to hurt after only a few blocks, but I tell myself this is my punishment for overdoing it. That dessert incident with Remy proved that I can’t make myself throw up, so this will have to do. Walking all the way up to my apartment on 91st Street from down here on 14th will help make up for what I’ve done.
I get to my building in a bit over an hour, hating myself the whole way there, but that doesn’t seem like enough so I drag myself up the nine flights of stairs to my apartment and trade my sandals for running shoes then drag myself right back down though I long to collapse onto the couch. I probably don’t burn more than 100 calories an hour walking, so I can’t quit yet.
I don’t manage to stay out for the three more hours I should. Only two. I walk ceaselessly through Central Park, deliberately thinking of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, until my knees are shaking and I simply can’t go any further, then I drag myself home.
As I lie on the couch in my skirt and sweater and running shoes, too tired to do anything else, I realize through my fatigue and the misery of my aching body that I’m almost happy. I’ve done everything I can to get my balance back, and that makes me feel good. Proud. Safe.
I imagine telling Nico that, and know I never could. Not in a million years would he understand the comfort I get out of knowing I’m strong enough to keep myself in such perfect control.
I’ll have to cancel on him because I can’t do anything else. Keeping my life together is all I can handle right now.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Well, now that we’ve finished our third meal together,” Nico says, smiling at me, “I have a very important question for you.”
I smile back, wondering where I’d be right now if I’d cancelled as I’d planned to. I’d fallen asleep on my couch after my long walk the day of that first lunch with him, still in my clothes and running shoes, and when I woke up at three in the morning and didn’t have the energy to get off the couch I knew I needed to see him. I could eat with him. Only a bit, but I could. And I had to. I had to eat and I had to have something in my life besides avoiding calories.
When I woke up properly at nine I didn’t feel that way any more, since not eating was the only thing giving me security, but unfortunately my middle-of-the-night self had taken it on herself to reply to Nico’s restaurant-address email and say she was looking forward to dinner with him on Wednesday. Reading his pleased response made the idea of cancelling seem like too much drama, so I’d gone.
The sushi restaurant he picked had had the calorie counts for every food item listed in its menu, and with that information I’d managed to put together a meal that didn’t make me need to walk for hours afterward. I did walk, though, with Nico, through Central Park in a much more enjoyable way than I’d done on Monday. When we parted in front of my building, he’d stood in front of me with his hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m glad you agreed to see me,” and I’d said I was glad too and then we’d hugged and he’d left as I stood watching him go and wishing I felt able to call him back.
He had phoned me the next morning, and we’d agreed to have dinner on Friday, and now we have and I enjoyed every minute of it. Not eating does make me feel safe, but Nico’s starting to as well, and that terrifies me because I can’t guarantee he’ll stay with me. I can control what I do, but not what other people do, and I hate that.
“Valerie?”
I blink. “Sorry, I wandered off. What’s the question?”
“The very important question,” he reminds me.
“Right, that one,” I say, hoping he isn’t about to ask me if I mind being with a married guy.
Before he can speak, two men holding hands brush between us. I step back so they won’t step on me, and my heart skips a beat. Remy is gay. Is Nico too? Is the very important question whether I want to meet his boyfriend?
“Are you gay?” I say, determined to find out before I let myself fall for him even an inch more.
He blinks. “Pardon?”
I start to repeat myself, but he says, “No. Not at all. Do I seem gay to you?”
I look down the sidewalk at the men who’d gone by, one a tiny thing in tight jeans and a pale green dress shirt and the other with a build like a football player wearing baggy black jeans and a black t-shirt. “There’s no one way to be gay, you know,” I say. “I didn’t pick up on Remy, so why would I have on you?”
“Trust me, I’m not. One in the family is—”
I tip my head to one side, surprised at the pain in his tone.
He sighs. “Long story short, we come from a hugely religious family, and Remy being gay caused a ton of problems. He came out when he was nineteen, the day after he got his inheritance from my grandparents. I’ve accepted it, but my parents…” He shrugs. “They refuse to even acknowledge he’s their son any more.”
“You had a problem with it too?” I’ve never known someone my age to be openly homophobic.
He shrugs again. “It’s how I was raised. It…” He sighs. “Plus, Dad had a heart attack when Remy told him, so for a long time, a few years, I was angry with Remy. But then I finished high school and went off to university to spend my own inheritance and basically had my eyes opened to the world, and I know now it’s who he is and he couldn’t change it even if he wanted to. Besides, he’s my brother and I can’t imagine losing him over—” He grimaces. “Sorry. Wrong time to talk about losing siblings, I think.”
I shiver at the thought of how fractured Remy and Nico’s family must be. Kind of like mine. “It’s okay.” Not wanting to think about any of that for one mo
re second, I say, “So what’s your question?”
He gives me what looks like a forced smile. “My very important question?”
“Yeah, that one.”
He takes a deep breath, and looks more relaxed as he says, “I was wondering, Remy and I were wondering, whether you’d have coffee with us both tonight. Now.”
“You guys… talked about me?” I’m not sure I like that.
“Just in the ‘Valerie’s nice, isn’t she?’ ‘Yeah, for sure’ sense. And when I said I was seeing you tonight he asked if maybe he could join us for—”
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself.
He blinks. “Really?”
“I guess so,” I say, as confused as he is, but then I understand. It’s the painting. Remy’s the only one who knows about it, and I want to have him help me decide what to do with it.
“I’ll let him know,” Nico says, pulling out his phone. “We agreed on where to meet if you said yes.”
A flash of annoyance that they’d made plans for me, taken that control away, rips through me, but I try to set it aside. If anything I should be pleased that I’ll get to talk to Remy without the awkwardness of calling up a man I’ve run away from twice.
Once he’s finished texting Nico puts his phone away and we set off, but after a few steps he draws me into a doorway and says, “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” and eases me into a hug. “You got a problem with it?”
“Not at all. Fuhgetaboutit.”
He chuckles and tightens his arms around me, and I press my face to his chest, smelling his warm masculine scent mixed with a hint of fabric softener from his gray t-shirt, and shut my eyes, willing myself to enjoy the moment without worrying about when it’ll end.
The instant I think that, though, I start to worry about it. He’s sweet and funny, and not gay, but where will I be when he leaves me?
As I stress over how things will end, he holds me close. Then he leans back and touches my cheek and says softly, “Another thing I’ve been thinking about…” His eyes drop to my mouth, and he doesn’t finish the sentence but the heat in his gaze means he doesn’t have to.
Holding Out for a Zero Page 18
