I couldn’t stare any longer at the image on my computer screen—an imposing and pompous mock up of Napoleon’s traditional battle hat. I’d finally caught a break from mystery novel covers, and now I was charged with a period romance novel cover. But Napoleon’s hat was grating on my nerves, since the arching shape wouldn’t look right no matter how much I toyed with it; and I was hungry; and I wanted my owed lunch with Bobby already!
“Hey, how about we grab that lunch we were supposed to have, like, ages ago?” I stood at Bobby’s desk, my hands resting on my lower back. I was nervous and surprised I had the gall to approach him point-blank, but there I was, waiting and ready. “That is, if you’re not too embarrassed to eat with a pregnant girl who’ll order more than a salad, no dressing.” Humor never hurt a fraught situation.
He turned around in his swivel chair, tapping his pen on his chin.
“What do you say? Go to the little corner café over here?” I pointed in a vague direction to where I knew of a gourmet sandwich shop a short walking distance away from the office.
He didn’t say anything for a while, then a small smile played upon his lips. He took his wallet and keys out of a desk drawer and led the way, waiting and holding open the door for me. As I turned to follow him out the door, always having to catch up on other’s steps, I noticed that the photo of Bobby and his girlfriend in Trafalgar Square was missing from his desk.
That’s odd.
I didn’t think anything more of it as I made my way to the door, eager to enjoy a long overdue lunch with my office crush.
“Nice choice,” Bobby said, as I took a big bite of my sandwich.
“Some of the best gourmet sandwiches in town,” I said, continuing the small talk we had going on for the past ten minutes. We’d beaten the rush and were lucky to have found seats outside the quaint café on the corner of a peaceful, tree-lined street, where soccer moms were walking their pet poodles and coffeehouse purveyors were getting their afternoon fix in one of the many aromatic cafés that filled the area.
I sorely wanted to delve into deeper topics than the tastes of our sandwiches, or the beautiful sunshine, or how we thought the Sonics needed to return home from the middle of nowhere USA. I wanted to talk about why we’d let so much time pass before we finally had our lunch date. And why he never asked again. I wanted to tell him that I was having a little girl. And that I had no idea what to name her. I wanted to talk about…personal things. I didn’t want to talk about work, actually, even if that was the initial reason we made a “business lunch date.”
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long to talk about deeper (and far more fascinating) topics than profit margins and potential losses in the traditional publishing world. Bobby opened the floodgates when he said, “I’ve been meaning to apologize to you for not making another lunch date. That was really immature of me and I apologize.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.” I tried to play the part of the carefree co-worker, not the role of the woman who would say what she felt: Why didn’t you?
“It was rude, and I’m sorry. I’m glad we could finally do this.”
I nodded, happy to hear that he was sorry we’d let so much awkward time pass between the last lunch and this one.
“Things have been going rough for me, personally.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I haven’t exactly been myself lately—not at home, not at work.” He looked into my eyes, arousing butterflies (certainly not baby flutters) in my stomach. “Not myself with you. You see…I broke up with my girlfriend of five years a couple of weeks ago.”
I told him I was sorry and mindlessly put my hand on top of his.
“I don’t want to go all into it, bore you with pointless details. But it’s been rough.”
“Being dumped is never easy,” I said, wondering after the thought if my word choice was poor.
“I broke it off with her.”
I nodded slowly, then noticed my hand on top of his and removed it.
He shifted in his seat. “It was a long time coming. We wanted different things. I want a serious relationship…like forever kind of stuff.” I noticed an ever so slight blush to his cheeks. “And she’s not ready for anything too serious. She doesn’t want any kids, either. I do. And there just weren’t any sparks anymore. You know what I mean?” He leaned back in his chair. “Sparks. Passion. That real love. It wasn’t there.”
I’d like to say that I was right on board with what he was saying. That those sparks two people could have were amazing and definitely worth finding, and keeping when found. I’d never had those shared sparks, though, even with my longest lasting relationship; I never felt crazy, over-the-moon-for-you kind of sparks with Joseph. And he sure as hell didn’t have any with me. I wondered at that moment what it was like to experience earth-moving sparks for someone. With someone…
“We didn’t have the sparks anymore. I guess our relationship ran its course and that was that.” He paused. “Not that it makes it any easier.”
“Oh, of course not,” I agreed.
Breaking up, whether you’re the dumper or the dumpee, is never an easy thing. No matter how many or few sparks there are, or were, or never were.
“But you know…it’s not necessarily realistic to think you’d feel sparks for someone all the time,” I said.
Of that I was sure. Even in the cheesiest of chick flicks and romance novels, couples eventually come across some rough moments, or even spark-free times. Claire and Conner were a prime, real-life example. They loved each other, and they both knew they did, and there were plenty of sparks. But there were also plenty of times when Claire wanted Conner to spend the night on the sofa, and when Conner grew tired of Claire’s nagging.
“I know that,” Bobby said. “Sparks aren’t there all the time, that’s true. It’s that connection, though, that I’m talking about. That—that—passion. Where you know, even in the heat of an argument or when you’re bummed out and want to be left alone…you know that you still love that person so much. That you still want to spend the rest of your life with them and grow old together. That’s the passion, the sparks, that I’m talking about, Robin.”
His small speech gave me goose bumps. I wasn’t sure what to say after such dramatic and passionate words. All I could manage was, “I completely understand. That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”
It was all I wanted, that was for sure. I wanted sparks. I wanted passion. I wanted love. And I wanted everything that came with it: the hugs and the arguments, the laughter and tears and moments of passion, the kindness and compassion and support. I wanted it all. And I think I wanted it with Bobby.
“Anyway,” he said, sounding deflated. “I didn’t have that with Chrissy. Didn’t want to waste her time or mine so I called it off. The worst part was that she didn’t seem all that bothered.”
I considered asking him if he thought she was seeing someone else, however I didn’t want to impose.
“For all I know, she’s already got someone else. Been with him for a while. How should I know?” He then rested his hand on top of mine, and I softly gasped. I may have been thinking about sparks and passion with Bobby, but he couldn’t be coming on to me. No. Fantasies are one thing. Fantasies are my playing grounds. Reality was, well, supposed to be a strictly “all business” kind of thing here, wasn’t it?
I was worried about what Bobby would say next, but was a tiny bit relieved when he said, “Thanks for listening. It helps to have a friend to talk to.”
“A friend?” I uttered the word faster than I could think.
Is that truly what this is? Friendship?
I wasn’t sure if it was friendship or something else bordering…more.
“I’d like to think we’re friends,” he said. “I know I haven’t exactly been all chatty-chatty with you recently, like a friend would be.” He tried to catch my gaze; my eyes were transfixed on the floor. “I’d like to think we’re friends, though, Robin.”
I looked up at him and answered. �
�Yeah. Friends.”
“Good.” He smiled, removed his hand from mine, and continued with his meal. He apologized again for delaying our lunch for so long, and for spilling his thoughts on love, during what was supposed to be, and I quote, “a casual, fun break from work.”
“It’s fine,” I said sheepishly. “No problem.”
***
“I don’t get it!” I shouted, slamming the utensil drawer shut in the kitchen. Lara and I were emptying the dishwasher that evening. I was pleased, to say the least, that she was finally home before dinnertime, and before the sun was well past set. “‘Friends.’ ‘Date.’ What the hell does it all mean?”
“Stress levels,” Lara warned, drying off the bottoms of the mugs still wet with dishwasher water. “Not healthy for you or the baby.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’d like to know what the hell Bobby and I are. What the hell he thinks we are.”
“Apparently friends, Robin.” Her tone was so calm it angered me even more.
“Bull. He’s driving me crazy!”
Lara cracked a small smile, and I defensively asked her what she thought was so funny.
“You’re making this out to be a lot more than it should be. It’s an office romance…in your head. You’ve said it plenty of times before, Robin. You don’t know what to make out of his ‘flirting,’ and you’re fantasizing about things. Let it go, girl. Don’t invest too many of your emotions or too much of your time in this whole thing. And…keep riding it out.”
“Keep riding it out? You mean, see where it goes? If it even goes anywhere?”
“Exactly. Don’t get all strung out about it and overdramatize things. Just…ride it out. Let things be. And, when all is said and done, Bobby might only see you as a friend. Is that such a bad thing? He does want to be friends.”
“If I’m fantasizing about him in my shower, yeah, it’s kind of a problem when we’re trying to go over graphic art design concepts.”
Lara laughed. “Well try to put those fantasies away and just be friends. You never know. Things could develop from here. Lots of great relationships start out as friendships. Some of the best ones, in fact.”
I had read plenty of love stories in women’s magazines about best friends from grade school who were celebrating their thirtieth and fortieth wedding anniversaries. Hip-hip-hooray for them. What about me? All my grade school male friends picked their noses, gave my arms snakebites, and laughed at me when I wore what I assumed were fashionable Little Mermaid leggings. There was never going to be a budding romance there.
“Fine,” I conceded. “I’ll stop fretting over it and try to keep things professional. And I’ll ‘be friends’ with Bobby, whatever that means. Really, Lara, what does that mean?”
She put away the last of the dishes and turned out the kitchen lights, leaving me in the dark until I made my way into the living room with her.
“I think it could mean that you’re just that—friends. And that could be a really beautiful beginning to something special.”
“Special friends? As in friends with benefits?”
“Ha! Mind out of the gutter, Miss Cynical. No, I mean…you never know what could develop. Bobby reaches out to you with this whole dramatic story about losing a girlfriend of four, five, however many years…he obviously enjoys talking to you, and values your opinion. And trusts you with that information.”
“And?”
“Well,” she said in a playful tone, petting Beebee, who instantly jumped on her lap the moment her butt hit the sofa. “This could be the start of something special. Something that becomes more than friends. Not friends with benefits. But something serious. I don’t know. Something special. You’ll have to wait it out. Let the chips fall where they may kind of thing.”
She’d piqued my interest. Could Bobby Holman be laying the brickwork for a possible relationship with me? Could there be sparks in the works somewhere in the future?
“Until then, my suggestion, missy, is that you keep your focus on your work. Keep doing a great job on your cover art. And focus on your little girl. You’re going to have a baby!”
I rubbed at my stomach, which was about the size of a volleyball, but more oblong.
“I am going to have a baby. A baby girl! Oh, and you know what?” I said, plopping down in the recliner opposite Lara. “Bobby mentioned he wanted kids. His ex doesn’t. He does.” I twirled a lock of hair around my index finger.
“Mind out of the gutter, girlfriend!” She then turned on probably the only thing that could actually get my mind out of the gutter…and into a different one: Beverly Hills: 90210. “I can’t believe we’re still watching this,” Lara sighed. “We’ve seen the reruns like a hundred times.”
“And each time gets better,” I said as I turned up the volume, the theme music ringing its familiar tune.
Chapter Sixteen
As it turns out, Lara was right about keeping my cool and letting things ride out. Not having grandiose (or any) expectations about my relationship with Bobby made me feel relaxed and worry-free when I spent time with him, even when we simply crossed paths at the copier or in the break room. Bobby had made it clear that he viewed me as a friend; and I had gladly accepted his friendship. If something more blossomed from that, so be it. If not, then I suppose that’s the way of things. No point in trying to clutch at straws. It wasn’t like I didn’t have enough going on in life to keep me preoccupied.
Since the afternoon Bobby and I shared our second lunch, we’d gone out and grabbed a bite to eat, or taken a break at a neighboring coffee shop several times. Sometimes we’d have “just us moments” twice in one day. I really enjoyed his company, and as it appeared, he enjoyed mine. Being with Bobby felt so natural and relaxed. Granted, we’d been working together for a few years and weren’t complete strangers to begin with, but our new friendship evolved quickly, yet organically.
And when we spent time together at work, we weren’t only talking about preferred title fonts among sci-fi readers or the development of our current works-in-progress. We chatted about me having a little girl. About how I was getting to know my sister after all these years. About how nervous I was about my upcoming review at work. About Bobby’s long time zeal for his favorite writer, whom he called “Stephen the King.” Even about Bobby’s fear of squids and his ironic dream of someday scuba diving. And we discussed Bobby’s plans to advance as much as he could at Forster & Banks, because he liked the firm and preferred working with a smaller-sized company as opposed to the large publishing houses he’d familiarized himself with back in New York, before he made his way out to Seattle. We talked about all sorts of things—personal and work-related. The whole “letting the chips fall where they may” that Lara referenced the other night was giving way to a newly born and rewarding friendship.
“See, I told you,” Lara said, as we cooked dinner together one night. “Be patient. Don’t blow things out of proportion, and see where it goes.”
“Yeah,” I said. “This friendship we’re forming is really cool. Bobby’s a nice guy. A really great guy.”
“So…when do I get to meet him?”
I let out one loud, exaggerated laugh. “Slow down a minute. Who’s been the one telling me to take it slow? Now you want to meet him? It’s not like we’re serious about each other or something. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend and I need to show him off to all the girls. Get the approval or something.”
“You know what I mean. As a friend. That’s not strange. Maybe you can invite him to Sophie’s housewarming party this weekend. Or is that too forward?”
“That’s too forward for me and too much to impose upon Sophie. Besides, only the girls are coming and one new guy in the group would be way awkward.”
“I thought the boys were coming?”
“Evidently Chad and Conner already had tickets for some monster truck something or other. Anyway, that means no Bobby. At all.”
“Well, at some point I’d like to meet this charming friend of yours.”
> I started to set the table, shooing Beebee off Lara’s chair. “Maybe. No promises. If the right situation presents itself…maybe.” I turned the topic of conversation to something I’d been meaning to comment on earlier. “So it’s nice to have you home at a decent hour again. Work’s been pretty brutal lately, huh?”
Lara let out a heavy sigh. “You have no idea, girl. Up to my eyeballs in work. This Tacoma case is really getting me.”
“I thought it was Spokane?”
“Oh, yeah. I meant Spokane. See? Perfect example. I’m so swamped I don’t know who’s who and what’s what anymore. You want to pour your own sauce?” She held up the saucepan over the stove and I told her to go ahead with it.
“Well, I’m just glad you’re not coming home at God-awful hours of the night anymore. They work you to the bone over there.”
“Like I said, cushy life…got to work for it.”
I told her I could relate. While my workload wasn’t nearly as stressful or heavy as hers, I was still busting tail and only barely meeting deadlines and personal project goals. My boss and I figured we’d push my maternity leave up a few days, seeing how the Thanksgiving holiday fell so closely before the third of December, when I planned my leave. And I might as well get as much of my work turned in as I could before Thanksgiving, then call it a time-out and go into full-on baby mode.
All of the prep to make that transition smoother beforehand meant there was a lot of work to be done. And with Bobby still hot on my mind, despite my convincing myself to keep things on a purely platonic level, keeping my focus on “all-things-business” when at the office was proving to be very difficult. See, as much as I enjoyed my growing friendship with Bobby, and as often as I told myself that I needed to focus on the friendship aspect of our relationship and not try to distort anything that would meet my fantasies, I couldn’t help myself. I think I was falling in love with Bobby. How much longer could I hide that fact? I couldn’t hide my baby bump longer than a couple of weeks. Could I keep burying my feelings for Bobby?
When Girlfriends Step Up Page 18
