Waiting For Ethan

by Diane Barnes

  I tried to figure out what to say. Cooper, would you like to dance? Too formal. Will you dance with me? Desperate. Let’s dance!

  What I ended up saying was “Are you checking your work e-mail?” I was going for funny, a mock scolding. What came out was a mixture of disgusted and judgmental. His ears reddened and the dimples disappeared. I shook my head and hightailed it back to Luci.

  “What happened?” she asked. I sank into my chair. “You are just terrible with men.”

  I nodded. “Doesn’t matter. Ethan will be here soon. He has to be.”

  Luci lowered her glass to the table. “Who’s Ethan? You’ve been holding out on me. I knew it.”

  I picked up Luci’s glass and drained the remaining wine before telling her about Ajee and her predictions.

  When I was done speaking, Luci leaned back in her chair and studied me carefully. “You actually believed her? You believe in fortune-telling?”

  I rolled the empty wineglass between my hands. “I do. The one time I didn’t listen to her, I almost died.” I told Luci about getting caught in the rip current and almost drowning.

  She fidgeted in her chair as I told her. When I was done speaking, she was silent for a moment. “Well, I guess I can understand why you would believe her,” she said. “But it’s not even like guys our age have that name. Why didn’t she say Mike or Jim or Steve, for God’s sake, so that you’d have a fighting chance?”

  “Because my husband’s name is going to be Ethan, and I’m not your age. I’m younger.”

  Luci stood. “I need another drink.”

  While I wait for Luci to arrive, I check my e-mail. I have one message from Cooper Allen sent at 5:45 this morning, which is probably a late start for him.

  Maybe Cooper is writing to thank me for doing such a great job editing his rush job before the storm? I open the e-mail and see the message is actually to my manager, Jamie, and that I am CC’d on it. “Attached is a report on the worldwide smartphone market. I would like Gina to edit this and all my research going forward. ca.”

  Figures. It’s just more work. I open the attached file. Cooper has written ninety-six pages on cell phone sales. Kill me now. The words thank you appear nowhere in his message.

  In fairness, Cooper probably does believe he is rewarding me, because after all, who wouldn’t be honored to work so closely with TechVisions’ resident rock star? And I have to admit, in a twisted way, I am flattered. Cooper has high standards, and I apparently meet them—or at least my editing skills do.

  Luci stomps into the office fifteen minutes later. “Good morning,” I say as she hangs her coat on the back of the door.

  “It’s really not.” She doesn’t even look at me.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Now she turns to me. “It’s Monday, and we’re back here.” Usually Luci isn’t so cranky, so I think there’s more to her bad mood, but I also know not to push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, or she won’t. That’s Luci Chin. “I’m going to the café. Do you need anything?” She leaves before I answer.

  A few minutes later Jamie comes to our office to talk about Cooper’s message. We are finishing our conversation when Luci returns from the cafeteria. She is clearly annoyed that Cooper has hand-selected me as his editing guru. She slams her breakfast on her desk, sending a clump of scrambled eggs soaring into the air, and then yanks open her bottom desk drawer and grabs a bottle of hot sauce. With one aggressive motion, she twists off the cap and hoists the bottle in the air above her remaining eggs. “Like I haven’t done an exceptional job correcting his grammar and spelling errors the past fourteen years.” She punctuates each word with a violent shake of the bottle, so that by the time she’s done speaking, there’s more hot sauce than eggs on her plate. Jamie responds the way he always does. He turns his back and leaves. Luci shoves a forkful of the brown-yellow mush on her plate into her mouth, makes a face, and then flings the dish into the garbage.

  Now her fingers pound her keyboard as she composes an e-mail to Cooper. She should be celebrating the news that she has one less analyst to work with, but because it’s the first time at work that Luci’s been passed over for anything, she doesn’t view it as a positive thing. I have no idea what Luci is writing to Cooper, but I hope she’s being careful.

  Vice president of research on mobile devices, Cooper Allen is otherwise known as Mr. TechVisions. He used to use his middle initial, T, in his byline, but everyone joked that it stood for TechVisions instead of Thomas so he stopped using it. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the company’s logo has been branded on his backside.

  He is the company’s number-one revenue generator. The media loves Cooper almost as much as the board of directors does. He’s the go-to guy for quotes about cell phones and other handheld devices and the companies that make them. It’s not unusual to see him on the nightly news sitting in front of a desk, the TechVisions logo illuminated on a backdrop behind him, explaining in precise detail why the market is performing the way it is. I don’t understand the media’s fascination with him. I get impatient listening to him because he speaks so slowly, each word deliberately chosen.

  Anyway, Cooper has a lot of influence in the company. He’s not someone you want mad at you.

  “What are you writing to Cooper?” I ask.

  Luci looks over at me. “Just asking if he has a problem with my editing.”

  “Why didn’t you return my calls this weekend?” I ask. “I have news. Big news.”

  Luci finishes typing before looking up. “Guess who else called me this weekend?”

  I shrug.

  “Kip.” I’ll never understand how Luci is able to convey so much disdain with a three-letter name. “He got engaged and apparently couldn’t wait to tell me.” Her voice cracks.

  This is the most emotion Luci has shown about Kip since her divorce, and I’m not sure what to say. Sorry? No, that doesn’t sound like nearly enough. “I, Luci, I’m sorry.”

  She sniffs. “I knew it was going to happen eventually. I just didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

  I stand and take a step toward Luci’s desk, intending to hug her.

  She shoots me a look. “Sit down.”

  As I return to my seat, Cooper appears in our doorway. Luci and I stare without speaking as he enters our office and leans against the wall between our two desks. Cooper never visits. He sits on the fourth floor in the heart of Mahogany Row with all the other executives at TechVisions. His office is bigger than my apartment. The bathroom stall–sized office that Luci and I share is on the first floor, otherwise known as the basement, sandwiched between the loading dock and the mail room. That Cooper’s down here standing in our office is disorienting enough, but that he’s down here looking, well, almost handsome, is making me dizzy.

  “Did you get a haircut?” Luci asks.

  Clearly Cooper has not had a haircut in months. His dark hair, which is usually cut close to his head military recruit–style, is actually long enough so that it curls. I didn’t notice this on Thursday because he was wearing a ski hat.

  Cooper runs his hand over the top of his head. “No. Haven’t had time for a cut. Been traveling a lot.”

  “It looks good.” The words slip out before I have time to think about to whom I am saying them. Luci whirls around to face me and studies me silently with her head cocked.

  I glance at Cooper. He immediately looks away. Small red circles appear on his cheeks. I wish I came with a Rewind button or there was a way to edit words once they’d been spoken. Cooper clears his throat and turns his attention to Luci. “I received your e-mail. It appears as if I’ve unintentionally offended you.” He should come with a Fast-Forward button because he pauses after every word, like there’s a period there. “I apologize. I think both you and Gina do an admirable job editing my research. I just believe it would be more efficient if the same person always edited it so that you can build a subject-matter expertise on the market and reduce the number of questions you ask.” />
  Luci smiles at me. I know that smile; it makes me dread what her next words will be. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want Gina to edit your research?”

  Cooper shifts his weight from leg to leg. “Yes.”

  “There’s no other reason?” Luci continues.

  “What other reason would there be?” Cooper asks.

  “I don’t know.” Luci pauses to study her nails. “Maybe you want to work closely with Gina so that you can”—she looks up from her nails and smiles at Cooper. I think about crawling under my desk—“get to know her better.” She winks at Cooper.

  Cooper looks at me. I shrug, wishing I were invisible.

  He clears his throat. “Luci, if you would like to edit my research instead of Gina, that’s fine. The point is, I want the same person editing it.” He turns to leave but pauses in the doorway and looks back at us over his shoulder. He sniffs loudly. “Why does it smell like buffalo wings in here?”

  “I’m going to kill you,” I say after Cooper leaves. “That was so embarrassing.”

  Luci laughs. “I really do think he likes you, and you two would look great together.”

  “I met Ethan.”

  “That’s why you called me fourteen times this weekend?”

  I nod. “I got stuck in the snow on the way home Thursday, and he gave me a ride.”

  “So Cooper led you to Ethan.”

  I hadn’t thought of it like that, but in a way Luci’s right. I should be the one thanking Cooper. When I finish telling Luci the rest of the Ethan story, she closes her eyes. “I just can’t believe this is happening. You really met a man named Ethan.”

  I smile. “It’s really happening. I finally met him.”

  Luci stands. “Now that deserves a hug.”

  Chapter 9

  As I edit Cooper’s report on cell phones, my own sits quietly next to my keyboard. Every few minutes, I sneak a look to see if the red light that indicates I have a message is blinking. It never is. Waiting for Ethan to call is harder than it was waiting to meet him.

  Over the past few years, cell phones have transitioned to mini portable computers, and they’re being used to do much more than just make calls, Cooper writes in the report. They’re GPS units, game consoles, Internet connections, cameras, camcorders, televisions, and even movie screens.

  I stop reading and glance at mine again. You forgot torture device, I think. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, it’s there taunting me, a constant reminder that Ethan hasn’t called and Neesha hasn’t e-mailed.

  I look across my desk toward Luci’s. She’s the poster child for ergonomics over there. Her head’s positioned toward her computer, her spine is erect against the backrest, her shoulders relaxed and her hands perfectly aligned with her forearms as she types. “Do you think he’ll call?” I blurt out.

  Luci stops typing, glances at me, and then peers into the coffee mug on her desk. “Tea leaves say soon as put phone away, he call.” She laughs. “Patience, Gina. It’s only been a few days.”

  Five, to be exact. What is he waiting for? I always thought as soon as we met, we’d be inseparable. Sometimes, I imagined we’d get lost in conversation during our first day together, catching each other up on our lives. We’d be wrapped in a blanket in front of a roaring fire, and both of us would be surprised when a ray of sunshine streamed through a narrow opening in the curtains. Ethan would look at his watch. “Wow, it’s seven in the morning,” he’d say. “We’ve been talking all night.” He’d kiss me and then he’d whisper, “I’ve been waiting my entire life to meet someone like you.” And then, just like that, we’d be living together as man and wife.

  My computer buzzes, indicating I have an e-mail. I turn my attention away from the phone and back to work. The e-mail is from Cooper. “When can I expect my report????” I lift my hands off the keyboard toward my chest and clench them into tight fists. It’s not that Cooper can’t be bothered to type a greeting or sign his name on his e-mails that irritates me. It’s the extra question marks. I imagine they mean, Why don’t I have it yet? What’s taking you so damn long? What the heck do you do down there all day anyway?

  I take a deep breath and count to ten before responding, something I learned from my mother. “Hi, Cooper! I have other priorities and haven’t gotten very far with your report yet. I’ll send it to you by the end of the day tomorrow or early Friday. Hope you’re having a good day, Gina.”

  I can’t help myself; I bold Hi, Cooper and Hope you’re having a good day. I imagine Cooper noticing the difference in font. I should try to make my messages friendly like Gina’s, he’ll think. Yeah, right. More likely Cooper will be annoyed that I took time away from editing his report to type the unnecessary words.

  His reply comes a minute later. “Thanks for the quick response, Gina. I wish you were as speedy with my report. Best, Cooper.”

  His response causes me to laugh, and I happily go back to editing his report on mobile torture devices.

  A light snow is falling on my drive home. The weatherman on the radio insists it won’t accumulate, but when I get home the flakes are heavier and my driveway and walkway are coated with the white stuff. The motion lights do not snap on when I step out of my car, so I plod my way around to the back of the house and up the stairs in the dark. As I unlock the door, I hear ringing. I rip my hand off the key and on the pitch-black landing grope through my purse for my phone. My hand lands on it, and I wrench it out. I don’t recognize the number and I take a deep breath before answering. As I’m saying hello, the phone slips out of my gloved hand and bounces halfway down the staircase. “Yikes!” I race down the five steps to where the phone has landed, but by the time I pick it up, no one is on the other end. “Call back, call back,” I chant as I climb up the stairs again and enter my apartment.

  Five minutes later I am sitting on the couch with the phone in my hand. I feel it vibrate before it rings and answer immediately.

  “It’s Ethan, the guy who helped you out during the storm,” he announces, his voice softer and less steady than it was in person.

  “Right, the guy driving the red pickup truck who helped me out on the highway.”

  “No, I was driving a bl—You’re playing with me.”

  “Gotcha.”

  He laughs. “I was worried about you driving in the snow tonight.”

  Ethan was worried about me! “I’m an excellent driver.”

  My imitation of Dustin Hoffman must be pretty good because Ethan responds, “If you say so, Rain Man.”

  The line is silent for a moment. Then we both speak and stop speaking at the same time. “Go ahead,” I say.

  “I just wanted”—he clears his throat—“do you still want to get together?”

  “Absolutely!” I scream it so loudly that I expect my downstairs neighbor to bang on the ceiling.

  “How about Saturday night? We could go bowling and to dinner.”

  “Bowling?”

  “Ya, bowling. When’s the last time you went?”

  I have no idea, but I try to sound definitive. “My twelfth birthday party.”

  “My twelfth was monumental. First game of Spin the Bottle,” he pauses. “I made it to second base with Holly Pierce. I swear she was in a D cup before high school.”

  I imagine a young Ethan fumbling with the breasts of a voluptuous twelve-year-old, and I’m jealous. Ridiculous.

  In the background I hear a man’s voice calling Ethan’s name. “Got to run,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at six on Saturday.”

  At lunch on Thursday, Luci takes me to the mall to pick out an outfit for my date with Ethan. She drags me into a store where a beefy man dressed in black wearing an earpiece guards the door. Inside two perfectly groomed saleswomen wearing fitted jackets, short skirts, and long boots look me up and down and immediately turn their attention to Luci.

  “My friend has the most important date of her life Saturday,” Luci explains. “She needs a casual outfit that makes her irresistible.”


  The two women look at me again. They may as well be looking at roadkill the way their mouths contort and their eyebrows furrow. Wishing I could stare back defiantly, I hang my head. “Let’s go someplace else,” I whisper.

  “You get this, Marnie,” the taller of the two says. “I’ve got inventory out back.”

  “Where are you going on the date?” Marnie asks without looking at me.

  “Bowling,” I answer.

  “Excuse me?” Marnie says while the fleeing saleswoman cackles.

  “We want to try on jeans and figure-flattering sweaters,” Luci says.

  “What size is she?” Marnie asks.

  Luci folds her arms across her chest and glares at Marnie until she looks at me.

  “Ten,” I answer.

  Luci suddenly grabs my waistband and pulls it away from my hips. “Whatever size you think you are, you’re at least a size smaller. An entire other person can fit in here with you.”

  Great. Now Luci’s on their side.

  The saleswoman directs us to the fitting room while she collects outfits for me. Luci stretches out in a chair while we wait.

  A few minutes later the saleswoman enters the dressing room with two styles of jeans in sizes eight and ten and a pile of medium-sized and large sweaters. I close the door to my stall and try on the size ten jeans and large sweater. I check myself out in the mirror. Perfect, I think. One and done. We can get out of here.

  I open the door. Marnie frowns. Luci shakes her head. Next, I try on the same pants one size down. The jeans choke me around the waist. “Too small.”

  “Let’s see,” Luci demands.

  I step into the hallway, and Luci and Marnie exchange a look. Marnie moves her finger in a circular motion that I guess means turn around so I do. “Try on the other style in the smaller size,” Luci says to me. Looking at Marnie she adds, “We need a size six in those.”