Right, what are my feelings? I have no idea; all I know is that I’ve never felt this way and I’m not sure it’s positive, above all with someone as complicated as Jared. The point is that no matter how many times I repeat it to myself, my mind doesn’t want to accept the idea of letting this go. In a very peculiar way, I can’t deny I’m attracted to him.
“All I know is that sometimes I don’t know how to deal with him,” I finally confess.
“Oh, you’re not the only one, Gil. If only I knew how to deal with Zach,” she sighs, frustrated.
“You didn’t talk to him on Monday?”
“Oh, I talked to him alright.”
“So?”
“I told him an affair in the workplace wasn’t a great idea.”
“What? I thought you felt the opposite,” I’m flabbergasted. I had the impression Lillian was into Zach quite a bit.
“In fact. It was really stupid. It’s that when I saw him on Monday morning at work, always perfect, with that white coat on, I was struck by the most uncomfortable truth of my entire life,” she confesses as if she were deflating.
“What?”
“Come on, Gil, don’t be naïve. If after that kiss, which I must say was worthy of the Olympic podium, he was able to behave as if nothing had happened, it means that to him nothing did happen. There are two options: either he’s the kind of guy who’ll kiss any girl within arm’s reach, so one more or less didn’t make any difference to him, or he’s not interested in me. In either case, the situation can’t go on,” now I can tell she’s almost mad. Evidently it burns a lot, though she’ll never admit it.
“I’m sorry, Lillian.”
“Me too.”
“But I think you should clarify the situation,” I try to make her reason. I’ve never heard her more depressed.
“There isn’t much to clarify – I’m not running after a man who isn’t interested in me, that’s not who I am,” she complains as if she were a little girl.
“Sometimes you’re just too proud.”
“It’s not pride, it’s self-respect. There’s a difference,” she points out.
“If you say so,” I concede, more because I’m getting sleepy than because I’m actually convinced.
“I say so, and I stand by it. If he thinks I’m going to run after him, he’s very mistaken. If he really cares about me, he’ll have to prove it!” the conviction in her tone is increasing. My point is, how can she not tell she’s already desperately in love? Maybe I can’t expect too much lucidity out of her right now. Let’s hope she can patch things up with Zach, and in a hurry too!
“I’m sure he’s aware of it, but you should try not to be too…” I search for a better word than ‘hard-headed,’ I don’t think she’d like this definition. Too bad nothing comes to mind.
“Too?” she insists.
“I don’t know… unwavering? I mean, give him a chance, don’t scare him away, please!”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” she relents after a moment’s hesitation. “Sometimes I really can’t stand him!” As if anyone would believe that.
“Good night, big sister. Go to bed, tomorrow you have to get up early.”
“Don’t make me think of it,” she grunts. If I know my sister at least half as well as she knows me, this doesn’t end here… I just hope I’m not too close when the bomb goes off.
I end our conversation and am about to put the phone on the bedside table, but I simply can’t. I grab the piece of torn paper with Jared’s number and dial it.
“Hello?” it’s his voice, but he has a professional tone I’ve never heard him use.
“Hi,” I greet him without managing to conceal a smile.
“Hi,” he instantly relaxes.
“How’s your cold?”
“Better. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he chuckles.
“You always say you’re fine, but it’s not always true.”
“How observant of you,” he wheedles at me. I should have expected that.
“You know what the best cure for a cold is?”
“A generous helping of questions before going to bed?”
“No, antibodies.”
“Ah, that was my second choice.”
“And how do you develop antibodies?”
“Is this a science lesson?”
“Just answer me,” I try to remain serious, but to little avail.
“Let me guess,” he retorts thoughtfully. A moment later I hear a slurping sound followed by the noise of a spoon against a dish.
“You ate your soup!” I exclaim happily.
“You called in the cavalry,” he points out, but he doesn’t seem to be annoyed.
“I just asked Jane for a favor. Would you have eaten it otherwise?”
“Maybe not, but what’s the point of hypothesizing? What’s done is done.”
“I bet it was good, too.”
“You’re creating a monster,” he warns me, unbelieving. I knew Jane could make a soup even he couldn’t resist.
“I like monsters,” I let slip.
“I had no doubt,” he replies, and in his voice I perceive a note of tenderness that surprises me.
“Good night, Jared.”
“Good night, Gil,” he replies before hanging up.
10
I set my alarm, last night, but lately I’m discovering that I don’t need it any more. I can’t wait for it to ring to get up – my blankets weigh me down and the bed gets uncomfortable at four o’clock in the morning.
It’s six o’clock and I’ve already taken my shower, changed about a dozen outfits but none of them convinced me, and finally decided to wear a yellow shirtwaist dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a pleated skirt. Then I made breakfast; I even looked outside to make sure that after three days of terrible weather the sun is going to come out today, as promised by the weather forecast last night. The sky looks clear in the pale dawn light.
“Gil,” Grandma Natalie rubs her eyes when she joins me in the kitchen.
“Good morning, Grandma,” I greet her cheerfully.
“What are you doing up so early?”
“I’m making breakfast.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Sure I slept, from midnight ‘till four o’clock this morning.
“That’s no good, dear. You’re exhausting yourself lately.”
“Not at all, Grandma. I’m full of energy,” I reassure her, inviting her to take a seat with a nod. She studies me, looking for a sign of some kind, then she finally sits.
“At least on a Saturday you can rest a bit. Tomorrow your father is coming with the boards for the furniture, it’ll be tiring,” she insists as I serve her bacon and eggs and a cup of coffee.
“I’m not working today,” I reveal with a smile, and now she finally notices my dress.
“Where are you going?”
“To the park, I think, with Jared.”
“To the park?” she looks amazed.
“Yes.”
“With Jared?”
“Yes, Grandma. To the park. With Jared,” I repeat, filling my coffee cup.
“Isn’t Jared the boy who lives upstairs from your shop?”
“Yup, that’s the one,” I confirm.
“And you’ve got a date?”
“Not exactly. We’re just going out to enjoy some fresh air, that’s all,” I play it down.
“Do you like him?” she wants to know. Stubborn as usual.
“We’re friends,” I give the standard reply I’ve decided I’m going to give to anyone who asks this question from now on.
“Should I be worrying about you, too?”
“What does ‘about you too’ mean?”
“Lillian already has her troubles with the vet, and now you too!”
“I don’t have any trouble with the vet,” I calmly retort.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Missy. You know ex
actly what I mean,” she warns me with her finger pointed at me and the stern expression she uses only with Father when he irks her for some reason.
“I understand, Grandma, but you have nothing to worry about. Jared and I are just friends and today we’re going out to enjoy a bit of sun,” I repeat in the hope that this version of the facts will appease her. It might be because Grandma Natalie’s husband abandoned her when she was pregnant with my father, but she has developed a sort of sixth sense along with a not always justified apprehension that makes her exceedingly wary when it comes to this kind of thing. She always worries too much, and the fact that most of the time she’s right gives her extra impetus to continue. She looks me straight in the eye for a few moments longer, then caves.
“Ok, but be careful,” she warns, finally digging into her breakfast.
“I always am,” I reassure her.
When I reach 1577 Pleasant Street with the picnic basket hanging from my arm, the sun seems to be siding unconditionally with me. It looks like it’s going to be a splendid day, and the delicious scent of spring hangs in the air. I mount the stairs and determinedly ring the bell of Jared’s apartment. A moment later the door opens.
“Good morning,” he greets me, more handsome than ever, wearing a green V-necked sweater that sets off his eyes – as if they didn’t stand out enough on their own – and black pants. Of course he hasn’t shaved and his hair is tousled, but I’m beginning to think it’s intentional.
“Ready?”
“I was born ready,” he smiles, stepping out of the apartment, closing the door, and slipping the picnic basket off my arm. I’d say the day couldn’t begin any better.
We get to Interchange Park in about half an hour. We walk slowly, enjoying the sun and the stroll. Jared seems to be in an excellent mood, and even better rested than usual. The black circles under his eyes are nearly gone. Maybe that flu wasn’t all that bad for him… Or maybe it was the doing of Jane’s miraculous soup.
“I see you really have recovered.”
“Perfectly. You didn’t believe me?” he asks, stopping under one of the many trees in the park.
“I never know if you’re telling the truth or just what you think I want to hear to get rid of me,” I confess.
“What if I don’t want to get rid of you?” he answers a bit precipitously. I raise my gaze in amazement to find him looking at me as if he couldn’t help it.
“Stop kidding, I don’t like being made fun of,” I reproach him lightly. I may be naïve, but not to this extent.
“I’m not kidding. You’re insistent, nagging, even a health freak – but unexpectedly, I like spending time with you,” he confesses with an incredulous expression I can’t interpret.
“Does this surprise you?”
“Absolutely!” he laughs, amused.
“I’ve always said I was irresistible.” Why do I feel as if I were floating on a cloud?
Jared looks at me for a handful of seconds, making me feel as if the ground were disappearing from under my feet, then he pulls out the blanket from the picnic basket he is still clasping and lays it on the grass.
“You dragged me out here for the vitamin D, right?” he settles down, leaning his back against the rough bark and beckoning for me to sit next to him. I instantly obey and am enveloped by his scent. Ok, I need to stop this, we’re just friends, right?
“Since we’re exchanging confidences, what’s your last name?” I ask, after smoothing out my skirt on my legs.
“We’re already at that stage?”
“What stage? You know mine, but I don’t know yours. There’s no stage.”
He seems to ponder, but he finally gives in. “Dalloway,” he answers with difficulty. “And don’t you dare to make any snide remarks.”
“Like asking you if you live in Bond Street?” It was too tempting to avoid it.
“For example, yes.” He closes his eyes and relaxes, enjoying the heat of the sun on his skin. He’s even more handsome this way, and I didn’t think it was possible.
“You see? It wasn’t that difficult after all,” I tell him, leaning against the trunk next to him.
“What?”
“Enjoying a bit of sun,” I reply simply.
“Have I told you you’re also a prude?”
“No, you said I was a health freak,” I happily remind him.
“Sometimes I don’t choose my words well,” he finishes serenely.
This way most of the morning goes by, basking in the sun and chatting – or squabbling, depending on how you look at it – as if there were nothing better to do in the world. At lunch time the sky clouds over a little, but the temperature remains pleasant, so we decide to eat outdoors. I didn’t want to overdo it, so I kept to Grandma Natalie’s sandwich recipes. Relying on her culinary experience is never a mistake. Jared seems to appreciate the meal, though he takes the opportunity to say that my hands couldn’t have been the creators of such delicacies. Said by a guy who only eats take-away, I don’t think it’s very credible and he seems to yield to the evidence.
“Eating take-away isn’t that bad,” he attempts to make his case. Little does he know!
“And in what way is it good for you? Does it fortify the liver?” I tease him.
“It contributes to the support of the food economy,” he retorts determinedly.
“You could contribute by shopping.”
“You’re already doing that,” is his prompt reply. “I help other areas of the food industry.”
“Yes to fast food.”
“What do you have against fast food?” he is curious to know.
“Nothing if you only resort to it occasionally.” I can’t deny I get a craving for pizza or hot dogs every now and then, but every day… no.
“What’s the difference between buying a sandwich or making it yourself?”
“That in the second case you know what you’re putting in it.” Jared laughs just so he isn’t forced to admit I’m right, but it’s ok. A victory is always a victory.
I’m beginning to tidy up while he finishes chewing the last bite of his sandwich, when a big drop of water splashes my hand. I mechanically look up to the sky and find a mass of thick grey clouds muttering over my head. Where did they come from?
“Jared,” I catch his attention.
“Hmm.”
“I think we should hurry and find shelter.”
“Why?” Jared’s gaze follows mine, while other drops start spattering down. Ok, I suppose I shouldn’t have trusted the weather forecast. It rained almost all week and today I was hoping it would be clement. Jared and I stand at lightning speed and we hurriedly finish putting everything we can find in the picnic basket.
A flash crosses the sky and lights up the surroundings, immediately followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Jared picks the blanket up and holds it over our heads.
“Shucks! Luck isn’t on our side today,” I complain, already soaking wet despite all our efforts.
“I guess not, but I called her last night and she told me she terribly regrets having ignored us to date. Beginning tomorrow, things will be different,” he laughs, amused, as the water soaks into his sweater making it adhere to his perfect chest.
“You weren’t convincing enough. You should have bargained for today, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” he replies happily. “Ready to run?”
“What?”
Jared grabs the basket, stuffs the balled up drenched blanket into it, and slides it onto his arm. Then he takes my hand and begins running as fast as he can through the rain. I can distinctly feel the heat spreading from his hand to mine, all the way up my arm to my shoulder, and reaching my chest. I feel my heart beating frantically and I’m not sure it’s only from the run. It takes us ten minutes to cover the route it took us half an hour to walk this morning, and we find ourselves soaking wet in front of the door of 1577 Pleasant Street. Jared pulls the keys from his pocket and fumbles in search of the right one.
&nb
sp; “Get in, hurry,” he says holding open the door for me. I obey and he follows me in, but we both stop in the entrance hall, uncertain if we should go any further.
“What do you think? Will Jane be upset if she finds the stairs all wet?” I ask, looking at my poor hair dripping onto the floor.
“I think she’ll be more upset if she has to make soup for two tomorrow.” That’s true. I can’t afford to get sick now.
“So? What are we going to do?” in case he hadn’t noticed, I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me. Considering I didn’t even think to bring an umbrella, it’s unlikely it would have occurred to me to bring clothes.
“Let’s go up to my apartment and dry off,” he replies, as if it were the only obvious solution as he precedes me up the stairs.
Once we are inside his apartment, he disappears beyond the door to the sleeping area and returns holding a couple of towels. He hands me one while he dries his face with the other.
“Why don’t you go and take a shower? We’ll hang your dress up to dry,” he offers with a smile.
“What am I supposed to wear in the meantime?” I shoot him a dirty look. This game is amusing only to him. And there he is laughing.
“I’ll lend you something,” he finally replies.
“Maybe I should go upstairs and ask Margherita for a change of clothes,” I reflect, ignoring his gloating air.
“Weren’t you the one worrying about the wet stairs?” he teases me, increasingly amused.
“It’s not the stairs per se, I’m afraid someone will slip and get hurt,” I explain, crossing my arms over my chest as if I were a little girl. Sometimes he’s really annoying with all his observations. I think he takes me too literally.
“In any case, it seems to me the conclusion is the same,” he points out calmly, the teasing smile still on his face. “Come on, I’ll lend you a t-shirt, and you should hurry if you don’t want to get really sick,” he urges me.
“Ok, ok, I’m going. Give me a t-shirt and I’ll go.” I can do nothing but go along with his idea, but I do so only because I really can’t afford to get sick – I still have a bunch of work to do.
What a Girl Wants Page 13
