by Thea Dawson
There was a moment of silence. “O-o-o-kay. And how did that go?”
“Well, I’ve actually seen her a few times, now.”
Chip raised his eyebrows again, this time skeptically.
I quickly filled him in on what she’d been up to, and told him about our first meeting at the bar and our Sunday lunch. “And then I called her the next day, and her fiancé, Stephen, answered the phone and invited me to have dinner with them, so we all met at a restaurant last night.”
“And how did that go? Nice guy?”
I hesitated and took another sip of my beer. Now that I was about to say what I wanted to say, I knew it was going to sound crazy. “I think she’s making a big mistake. I don’t think he’s the right guy for her.”
Chip put his pint glass down heavily on the wooden table and sighed. “Well, you wouldn’t, would you? Jason—”
“No, listen,” I went on, anxious to explain. “He seems like a nice enough guy, but there’s something not right about their relationship. I don’t think she’s thought it all the way through. She’s basically changing her entire lifestyle for this guy, and I don’t think she’s really ready to settle down in one place. Traveling’s a part of her, and I think she’s going to be miserable when she can’t just hit the road any time she likes. And I don’t think he really appreciates what she’s giving up for him. He expects her to do all the cooking and stuff.” I was picking up steam. “And I think it’s a bit creepy that he answers her phone, even if they are engaged.
“Jason—”
And I swear, it’s like—okay, and she doesn’t have any of her stuff at their apartment. Nothing! I mean, she must have some clothes, but she was telling me about all these cool things she’s bought in different countries, and it’s all still at her parents’ house. And there are, like, no pictures of her anywhere. Just pictures of Stephen and some guy—” I stopped.
Not just some guy. Patrick.
Chip now wore a look of deep concern. “Jason, do you realize how crazy—”
“Oh, my God. The guy in the photos. I just remembered why he looked familiar.” The realization struck me. “I think he’s gay.”
“Okay, you’re not making any sense now.”
“No, seriously, I think Stephen, her fiancé, is gay.”
Chip put his beer down again and looked me in the eye. “Just because he’s marrying the girl you’re in love with, or think you’re in love with, doesn’t make him gay. In fact, it’s a good argument against him being gay.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know how it sounds, but that’s not it. I mean, I do really like her, but there’s something else going on here.”
“Why on earth would Monica be engaged to a gay guy?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t know he’s gay? Maybe he doesn’t even know? But she’s making a big mistake marrying him.”
“Do I even want to know who this Patrick is?”
“He’s this guy we ran into at the restaurant when we all went out to dinner, and everyone acted really weird when he showed up.”
Chip looked at me. “Oh, well, in that case, clearly everyone’s gay.” He shook his head slowly. “Jason, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it. You sound like a complete whack job. I know you still like her, she’s a great girl and I totally get it, but you have got to let this go. I do not believe he’s gay.”
I rubbed my face with my hands. “I know it sounds crazy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s not gay. But he’s not in love with her. And I don’t think she’s in love with him, either.”
Chip shook his head sadly. “This is jealousy speaking, Jason. And maybe other things.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, guilt?” He glanced significantly at me over his beer. “For what happened your sophomore year? You’re not being rational. You’re not the white knight in this scenario who’s going to rescue the princess. The princess doesn’t need rescuing.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand.”
He changed tactics. “Let’s play devil’s advocate. Maybe this fiancé of hers is gay or bi or something, I don’t know. Maybe this is all some crazy marriage of convenience. Maybe he needs a green card, maybe she needs health insurance, who knows? Who cares?” He leaned toward me. “Monica’s a big girl. She’s smart and she’s beautiful, she’s well educated and she has a job, so it’s not like she doesn’t have other options. If she wants to marry this guy—for whatever reason—your job is to stand back and wish her well. And if you can’t do that, then get yourself out of the picture completely before someone gets hurt.”
I looked down at my beer and took another long sip. I sounded crazy, even to myself, so I couldn’t blame him for thinking that I was still stuck on my first girlfriend.
Well, I was stuck on her.
But something else was going on. Both Monica and Stephen had tried to pass off Patrick as a casual acquaintance—though they couldn’t agree on what kind. But Stephen had a photo of himself with Patrick in his apartment, and none of Monica. Whatever their relationship was, it was more important for Stephen to have a photo of Patrick than the girl he was going to marry.
I sighed. “I realize none of this makes sense. But even if I were out of the picture, even if I weren’t still in love with her—” there, I’d said it “—there’s still something weird going on here.”
“Jason,” Chip shook his head, “you’ve been through a lot in the past year. New job, new city, breaking up with Meghan. And now you’re about to start all over again. You’re dealing with a lot of stuff. Maybe you’re not really in love with Monica. I mean, it’s been, what—nine years? Ten years?—since you tried to pull that stunt with Amber, and now you’ve seen her, what, three times in less than two weeks, and you think you know everything about her life.”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.
“Are you going to see her again?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wouldn’t see her, but there really wasn’t any reason that I should. “I think she might be going to that alumni social on Saturday.” I didn’t actually know any such thing, but it beat saying I was never going to see her again. “You going?”
He nodded. “I helped set it up. Chicago alumni association, remember?”
Now I did; Chip was president. “Well, I guess I have to go, too, then.” I grinned at him.
He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’d really like you to be there, and I’d like Monica to be there, but I don’t want either of you there if it means dragging this out.” He sighed. “The right girl is out there, Jason, and she’s not engaged to anyone else.”
I nodded. He meant well, and in his place, I would have said all the same things. But there was more going on here than met the eye, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it on Saturday.
Chapter 22
Monica
Late in the afternoon, I returned to Stephen’s apartment and, tired from walking and from waking up so early, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I got up, it was almost completely dark. I stretched and checked my phone for messages. There was a text from Jason, asking if I was going to some alumni event that weekend. Something about it rang a bell, then I remembered that my mother had mentioned it.
It would be a good excuse to see Jason again, but it wouldn’t be a good place for a serious conversation. But maybe I could go and hang out for a while, and then just ask him if we could go somewhere more private. Or should I tell him now that I wanted to talk to him privately? I needed Stephen for decisions like this.
Inspired by my fancy lunch, and by the fact that we had the right ingredients on hand, I decided to make a porcini risotto for dinner. I’d picked up a baguette at the corner grocery on my way home and decided to serve the risotto with that and a green salad.
Stephen was home shortly after six.
“I’m sorry about last night, darlin’,” he said before I’d even had a chance to say hello.
“I was a jerk. Patrick brings it out in me, but that’s not an excuse.”
“It’s fine. Thanks for paying for dinner.”
“Speaking of, smells delicious in here.”
“Porcini risotto,” I replied.
He sighed. “Two more weeks, then it’s back to take-out every night, I guess.”
I laughed. “You could always try cooking for yourself,” I suggested.
“Mmm … nah.” He shook his head.
“So what happened with Patrick?”
Stephen hesitated for moment. “He wants to get back together.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep. Said he made a big mistake and that he’s been trying to work up the nerve to say something.”
“O-o-okay. So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Think about it.” I raised my eyebrows skeptically. He threw his hands into the air. “I know, I know. We just … we had such great chemistry together, you know? It’s never been like that with anyone else.” He sighed. “But then again, he was sort of a dick. So I don’t know.”
“I get it, believe me,” I said.
“So what’s up with you and loverboy?”
“I need to fess up.”
He nodded. “Good call.”
I smiled. “I thought you were all in favor of devious practices?”
“I was, then last night reminded me how tired I am of games.” He went for the Macallan. “Vodka tonic?” he asked. I nodded. “So,” he continued, “what’re you going to tell Mr. Ménage a Trois?”
I grimaced, both at his nickname and at the thought of having to tell Jason I’d lied. “I’ll tell him …” I paused, cringing at the thought. This was going to be embarrassing. “I’ll tell him that I made the whole thing up. If he asks why—”
“Which he will,” interrupted Stephen.
“Then I’ll tell that I felt left jealous … no, left out … Oh, God, this is going to be humiliating.” I put my hands over my face.
“Tangled webs and all that?”
“I feel like a fly,” I mumbled.
“If you want, you could always tell him you walked in on your fiancé having sex with another man after all,” he offered. He took a swig of his whiskey. “If things end up going well with Patrick, you might not have to lie about it.”
I laughed, despite myself. “I really don’t want to walk in on you having sex. And I know I need to come completely clean. I just don’t think there’s a way to do it without letting him know how much I like him.”
He stared at me for a while.
“What?” I finally asked him.
“So you let him know you like him. He likes you, too, by the way. I could tell by the way he looked at you last night.”
Hope glowed in my chest, but I tried to keep things lighthearted. “Because a gay guy knows guys like a woman never will?”
“Exactly. Trust me, honey bunch, the guy’s smitten. That’s not your problem. The real question is: then what?”
“I confront him about Amber. And, depending on his answer, I tell him that I’ll be going to Bangkok for a couple of months, and then I’ll be back and would he be interested in seeing, you know, where things go.” My voice actually shook as I said the words. I wondered how much more nerve-wracking it would be to say all this to Jason.
“A couple of months? I thought you were going for six months, maybe longer.”
I paused. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Maybe it’s time I tried to settle down in one place for a while. Just see what that’s like.”
Stephen slid onto one of the barstools next to the counter and stared at me. “Oh-ho. This is big.”
I nodded.
“Really? You sure about this?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m not sure about anything. Well, I am sure that I like Jason a lot. And you never know until you try, right? I mean, I can’t travel my entire life.”
He shrugged. “Look, I’m a homebody. Your travel bug never made all that much sense to me to begin with. But it’s you. I mean, you turned down a cushy job working with me so you could go eat yak butter and get altitude sickness in the Himalayas. You’re either a masochist or you really, really like to travel.”
“I do really like it.” I sighed, thinking of the rush I got from being in a new place. “I wouldn’t have to give it up altogether, though. Just do less of it. Stick around here long enough to see if something develops with Jason. Or if not with Jason, then maybe with some other guy. I’m almost thirty, you know. I want kids and marriage, and all that jazz.”
He stared at me so long that I had to drop my gaze and pretend to be busy stirring the risotto.
“Well, one thing at a time, I guess,” he said. “Don’t go burning any bridges just yet, okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean don’t turn down any good freelance gigs or new clients or anything. I know you dig this guy, and I get it, I really do. But you do know it might not work out, right?” He placed a highball glass on the counter in front of me.
“You’re supposed to be building me up, not getting all practical on me,” I grumbled.
“Sorry, I’ll stop now.”
“Good. So I need your advice. There’s this alumni social at a bar downtown on Saturday. Jason texted me this afternoon to ask if I was going, so it’s a good excuse to get together. But do I ask him now if I could talk to him alone afterward, or do I ask him when I get to the bar?”
Stephen leaned back, swirling his tumbler of whiskey. “Hmm,” he said, stroking his chin and already looking less serious and more like the gossipmonger that he was, “if you ask him now, he’ll get all panicky and worried about what you want to talk to him about. You’ll hit all his commitment-issue buttons.”
“I thought we established that I was the one with commitment issues, not him.”
“Well, you are, but this is a reflex thing with guys. Alternatively, you ask him when you get to the bar and you run the risk that he’ll be distracted or drunk, or trying to network or something.”
I didn’t really imagine that Jason would get drunk, but he was a super friendly guy; I could see him spending the whole evening chatting with strangers if he didn’t know I needed to talk to him.
“I’ll text him after dinner.”
“Have another swig of your drink, and text him now while you’ve got some Dutch courage. No, no, let me.” He retrieved my phone from the coffee table and handed it to me. I stared at him.
“Have another sip. Okay, now,” he said, flapping his hand at me in a go ahead! gesture.
“Fine,” I mumbled. I hesitated for moment, then quickly wrote:
I’ll be there. Can we go somewhere afterward? I really need to talk to you. I hit send. Almost as soon as I’d put the phone down, it buzzed.
Everything okay?
I quickly typed back:
Fine. I just need to talk to you in private.
The reply came a moment later. So we’ll grab a drink and say hi, then go somewhere quiet. Sound good?
Sounds good! I responded and put the phone down, feeling almost sick to my stomach with nerves.
“Done?” asked Stephen.
I nodded. There was a pause, then I broke the silence. “I bought a pair of shoes today. I think you’ll approve.”
Chapter 23
Jason
The alarm went off at 5:30. I forced myself up and out of the house and went to the gym to work out for an hour. Chip had been right; my laziness was starting to show. From today, I was going to focus on improving myself in every way possible.
I got back to the apartment in time to bump into Kim as she was making coffee in the kitchen. I hadn’t seen much of either her or Matt since they’d gotten engaged. They kept to themselves, and I hadn’t even realized Kim had spent the night.
“Morning,” she said in her soft voice. “You want some coffee?”
“Thanks,” I said, helping myself to a cup. “Listen, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Matt y
et, but I wanted to let you guys know I’ll be out of here for sure by the end of February. Maybe even sooner. I just need to clear up a few things here, then I’m going back to New York.”
“Oh, that’s great! I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. I really hope we aren’t putting you out,” she said, her blue eyes lighting up.
I shook my head. “Nah. High time I got out of here anyway. Chicago hasn’t been all that great for me. Hey, let’s see that ring!”
She held her hand out shyly while I admired the ring. Compared to Monica’s, it was modest; a small, square-cut diamond in the center, with smaller diamonds inset into a thin, white gold band on either side, but it sparkled in the early morning sun, and her face lit up when she looked at it.
“It’s beautiful,” I told her. “You guys set a date yet?”
“Sometime in the summer, probably in Ann Arbor. That’s where my family is.”
“Excellent. That Matt’s a lucky guy.”
She smiled shyly. “Thanks. I know things didn’t work out so well with your engagement. I really appreciate you being so gracious and helpful with us.”
“Hey, no problem,” I said. “I’m glad Matt found the right girl. It’s good to see you guys so happy.”
“I’d better get going. I have a class soon,” she said, screwing a lid onto her portable coffee cup. “I bet you’ll meet the right girl really soon.”
I smiled and nodded as she waved goodbye.
I already have, I thought to myself.
At nine a.m., I walked into the Silver Basin Day Spa. I spent almost an hour with the owner, who showed me around the small but elegant space. “Our rent is going up in a couple of months. We need to bring in at least twenty percent more income if we want to stay here. We could raise prices, of course, but we’re on the high end as it is, and I’d rather bring in new customers. I’d love for us to get more online reviews on places like Yelp, but most of our customers are older, and they aren’t likely to write reviews online, even if the experience is really good,” she explained.
It was a great prospect: a beautiful atmosphere with a solid brand that needed some creative packaging ideas, a stronger web presence, and a broader customer base. I came up with some ideas off the top of my head in addition to the ones I’d mentioned in my initial email, and I knew I’d be able to suggest a lot more that could help. The owner walked me back to the lobby, where I shook hands with her after promising her a full proposal by the beginning of the following week.
