Is she flirting with me? That sounded flirty. What if that’s her natural demeanor and I’m mistaking it for flirting? Is it warm in here? “Why?” I have no idea why I ask her this, but I really want the answer.
“Why what?” Abby questions.
“Of all the women at Juice last night, why did you pick me?”
“Easy. You were fairest of them all.”
My cheeks burn from blushing. “No, but really.”
“Really, Parker. I thought you were the prettiest.”
“You think I’m pretty?” I ask. No one has ever used that adjective to describe me. Ever. I am not sure if I heard her correctly.
“Are you fishing for compliments or…” Abby’s voice trails off.
“People don’t call me ‘pretty’,” I explain.
“Huh. What do they you call you then?”
I have a chance to be witty. I take it. “Parker.”
Abby chuckles and I smile, pleased to be the person who made her happy.
“Clever,” Abby says. “Well, if it balances things out, I’m not the girl who gives her number to complete strangers.”
“But because I’m so pretty, you made an exception?”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Well, if it balances things out, I think you’re pretty, too.” Whoa. Where did that come from?
“Okay. I’d consider us even then.”
“Coolness.” How is it that words from decades ago tend to resurface into my vocabulary at precisely the moments I don’t want them to?
“Yes. One hundred percent coolness.”
She speaks my language. This girl totally gets me.
“So, I think you’re pretty and you think I’m pretty. You know what this means, right?” Abby asks.
“No.” I do know, however, that it most likely means something spectacular, and something to fear.
“We should go out on a date.”
Yes. I am absolutely afraid. I am also exhilarated. If I go along with this, it will change everything. But if I don’t go along with this, I might regret it. Thoughts of her will haunt me. I close my eyes tightly, realizing that either way, everything has already changed. Maybe that is why I respond the way I do. “That seems reasonable to me.”
I feel something for this girl, and I can’t evade it. I’m not sure I want to.
It is undeniable. I have a crush.
Chapter Seven
I am in bed when I hear Reese open and close the door to our apartment. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to me. It is 12:21 a.m. I shut my eyes and feign being asleep. I listen as she puts her keys down, moves about the kitchen, switches the hallway light off that I had left on for her, and then I hear the faucet in the bathroom running. A few minutes later, I feel her presence in the bedroom. I hear the rustling of clothes as she changes into her pajamas. When she lifts the covers to get into the bed, it creates a draft that chills my skin.
“Parker?” Reese whispers, her face somewhat floating over mine. I debate with myself whether or not I should respond and she speaks again. “Parker, are you awake?”
Yes, I am and while you were out, I made a date with some girl I met at a bar because I’m embracing our newfound open relationship. I bet you didn’t foresee that, did you?
I continue to fake being asleep. Eventually, Reese moves away from me and settles into the bed. When Reese repositions herself to get comfortable, I catch the mildest scent of something foreign. A perfume. It’s not mine and it’s not Reese’s. The smell coming from Reese belongs to that of another woman. I feel queasy. The Chinese food and ice cream threaten to resurface. I place my hand on my stomach, a plea for it to hold onto everything I ate earlier. I breathe in through my mouth to avoid the uninvited odor. I conjure up a mental picture of Abby smiling at me at Juice. It isn’t that difficult since she’s basically all that I’ve been thinking about since that night. The upset in my body starts to dissipate. Does this make me any different from Reese? I begin to drift into sleep before I can answer my own question.
The next day is just like any other day in the sense that I am up before Reese, I eat my breakfast, make my coffee, and leave the apartment with enough time to compete with the rest of the morning commuters. Today is also unlike any other day because I have a date tonight with a woman who is not my girlfriend. I lose my breath at the very thought of it. When Abby and I made plans for this evening, I was tipsy and in a partial food coma. I was nervous and excited, but I wasn’t really expecting to feel remorseful because the fact is, I am in an open relationship and I’m not breaking any of the rules that Reese and I decided on. Besides, Reese hardly waited a full twenty-four hours before taking advantage of the new terms and conditions of our relationship so in fact, I’m just following my girlfriend’s lead. I nod to myself, somewhat comforted by my logic. Still, I have to tell Reese and I don’t know what the best way is to do this.
I spent ten minutes before leaving for work, staring at Reese while she slept, wondering if I should wake her up to talk to her in person. Then I quickly remembered how grumpy she gets when she is woken up. Then I wrote her a note explaining why I would be home later than usual tonight. I read it to myself, tore it in half and made sure to throw it away in the dumpster outside rather than in the trash barrel in our home.
Now I’m sitting in my office desk, my eyes go between the blank screen on my cell phone to the blank screen on my computer. I could text Reese or email her. I could write something brief about having plans after work. That might suffice.
I toss my head back. “Aargh!”
I pick up my phone and begin typing.
Hey. How’s your day going? I just wanted you to know I made plans for tonight so I’ll be home late. There’s leftover Chinese food in the fridge. I love you.
I contemplate my message and wonder if we are supposed to explicitly state if plans are simply plans or if they are dates. Would Reese have told me that she was going on a date yesterday if I hadn’t asked? I’ll see if she asks. I hit “send”.
My phone goes off in my hand before I have the chance to put it down. I look to see who’s calling. It’s Reese. Wonderful.
“Hi,” I answer. “What’s up? You never call me during the day.”
“Yeah. Hi. Well, you never have plans after work.”
I gape at her accusatory tone. “That is false. I sometimes go out with Elle.” I feel the need to say more. “Do I not?” There.
Reese hesitates on her end of the line. “You’re right, you do. I’m sorry. I thought maybe you had a date and weren’t telling me.”
Fuck my life. I place my left elbow on my desk and press my forehead against my palm. Okay, proceed with caution. “I do have a date.” I hear my girlfriend gasp into the receiver.
“You do?” Reese huffs.
“Yes.”
“Are you serious?” Reese asks.
“Yes.” Jesus. Is that so hard to believe?
“Parks, what the hell? Were you just going to leave that detail out?”
“I hadn’t decided yet,” I say. “If I hadn’t asked you last night if you were going on a date, would you have told me?”
“I…I don’t know. I think so.”
“Fine. Should we implement another rule?” I ask. “That we have to say when it’s a date?”
Reese exhales. “Alright.”
“Alright.” I hesitate. “Reese?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you seem shocked that I had a date?”
Reese snorts. “Why? Why?! Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you were so opposed to an open relationship and now you have a date!”
“Hey! This was your idea, not mine. I’ve just opted to participate.”
“Okay. Okay. Fair enough.”
“So, I’ll see you…when I get home,” I say.
“Sure. Bye.” Reese hangs up.
I shake my head and squint to check the time on the desktop of my computer. My lunch break is over. Robotically, I
put my phone in my pants pocket, trying to understand what it is that I have done wrong.
“Dude, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Elle’s voice booms with authority through the speaker on my phone, which is attached to a clip on my car’s rearview mirror so that I can converse with her as I drive.
I sigh. “But she made me feel like I did.”
“Yeah, I know. I heard you the first twenty times you said it. Listen, buddy, she asked you to partake in this whole open relationship thingy and now you’re doing it so really, she can fuck off.”
“Elle. Don’t be mean. She’s still my partner.” I defend Reese…again.
“Parker, why do you keep defending her? She might be your partner in theory but she doesn’t act like your partner. Your relationship with her has never had equity. She always has the upper hand. That’s not right. She’s an ass.”
“Okay, I know you’re not the president of her fan club or anything, but can you stop with the name calling? Please.”
“Ugh. Alright but ONLY because you said ‘please’.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, tell me about this date. I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Elle says. “It’s so not you.”
“It isn’t, is it? Is that a bad thing?” I ask, a little self-conscious now.
“No! It’s freaking amazing!” Elle squeals. “I had a feeling you were going to call her. Oh, man. What made you do it?”
“Um…too much wine?”
“Wrong answer. You’ve never been drunk in your life. Your idea of ‘too much wine’ is two glasses. You’re a total amateur in the drinking department. “
“I was drinking from the bottle, though. I for sure could have exceeded my personal limit,” I say.
“Did you finish the bottle?”
“No.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. So let me ask again and this time, you tell me the truth. What made you call her?” Elle asks.
I really do not want to tell Elle that I called Abby because I have a major crush on her and that every five seconds, I’m imagining Abby: her warm smile, her full lips, and those eyes…
Elle’s voice breaks my thoughts. “You’re digging on her, aren’t you?”
Play dumb. “I’m sorry. What?”
Elle laughs. “Come on, Parker. Dish.”
“Fine. I might have a crush on her.”
“Might?”
“Elle, is it even possible to have a crush on her? Be real with me. I saw her in person for like a minute and we talked on the phone for about a half an hour.”
“You have a crush on Scarlett Jonas and you’ve never met her and you probably never will,” Elle says.
“Famous people don’t count. I’m talking about reality.”
“Famous or not, the answer is yes. You can have a crush on Abby. Besides, she’s cute and she had the guts to hit on you. She’s absolutely crush-worthy.”
I smile, but it quickly turns into a frown. “I think she’s way younger than us, though.”
“Well, she’s at least twenty-one or security wouldn’t have let her into Juice.”
Now I’m straight up grimacing. I was twenty-one ten years ago. That’s a whole decade of an age difference! “That was not helpful.”
“Ah. Relax, dude. Ten years is nothing,” Elle tells me. “Remember when I was twenty-six and I dated that guy who was fifty-three? That’s a way bigger age gap.”
“Still not helpful.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “And you only dated him for a week.”
“Eight days if you’re going to get all particular about it.”
“Uh huh. Refresh my memory. Why did you end things with him?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Elle stalls. “Er. Because we had conflicting political beliefs?”
I have to chuckle at her atrocious attempt at lying. “You told me it was because of the disparity in your ages.”
“Did I?”
“You did.”
“That might have been a factor, but whatever,” Elle says. “Anyways, it’s only a number. Young at heart. Old souls. See? Just a number. Anyways, are you picking her up or meeting her somewhere?”
“We’re meeting.”
“My god, Parker! Withhold much? Where are you meeting? What are you doing? What’s the plan?”
“We’re meeting at Steep…to talk,” I offer.
“That hipster tea place?”
“It’s not hipster,” I argue. “It has a chill atmosphere is all. Also, they serve coffee too.”
“Oh, well. Pardon me.”
“You’re pardoned,” I say.
“So, you’re going to do the whole getting-to-know-you type thing?”
“Yup.”
“What are you wearing?” Elle asks.
“What? Why?”
“You’re about to walk into a date, Parker. Please tell me you at least changed out of your khakis.”
I glance down at my khakis. “Psht. Of course I did.”
“Phew, okay. What do you have on for a top?”
“Hang on. What’s wrong with my khakis?” I ask.
“Why? Are they on you?”
“I just want to know.”
Elle groans. “You’re wearing them.” This is not a question.
“I didn’t think to bring a change of clothes. I’m new at this. Do they look bad on me?”
“No. They’re just so…workish. You want your outfit to say, ‘hello, I’m on a date’ and not ‘hello, I’m here to interview you.’ You know what I’m saying?” Elle asks.
“Sorta.”
“Alright. What shirt are you wearing?”
“A button down,” I say, growing increasingly paranoid about my appearance.
“Color?”
“Um. It’s lavender. I guess.” It looks lavender to me.
“Good.”
“Why? What’s your beef with my other shirts?” I inquire.
“Nothing, but lavender will bring out the speckles of green in your hazel eyes. You have nice eyes.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure. Do you have on makeup?” Elle asks.
“No, I don’t have on makeup. Do you even know me?”
“Right. Absurd question,” Elle says. “So, you’re rocking the clear lip gloss look, yes?”
“Yes.” I put my blinker on and slowly start to ease my car to the right so that I can park alongside the curb. Once I’m at a complete stop, I cut the engine and take off my seatbelt. “I’m here.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. I gotta go.” I reach for my phone.
“Parker, did you tell her?”
“What?”
“Did you tell Abby?” Elle presses. “That you’re in an open relationship?”
“No, but I was going to.” I am telling the truth. I know I have to tell Abby about Reese.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“I know.”
Chapter Eight
I walk inside Steep and casually scope out the café in search of Abby. I am hoping that the pounding of my panicked heart does not betray my outward guise. I smooth my hands over my olive green, cotton canvas jacket to wipe away the perspiration. Then I hold onto the strap of my matching shoulder bag.
“Excuse me,” an older gentleman says to me, pointing behind me at the door I’m blocking.
I step to my left. “Oh. Sorry.”
The man nods and exits the tearoom.
“Looking for something?” A feminine, yet low-pitched voice asks me.
A thrill rushes through me. I’ve heard that voice before. It plays on repeat in my head. I turn to face Abby, who’s standing on my right. My breath gets trapped in my chest. I take her in.
Abby is slightly shorter than my five foot, six-inch stature. She’s wearing skinny jeans that have a rip on the left knee. I can see an iota of her skin. I bet it’s smooth. Her legs are long; her thighs appear to be muscular beneath the denim. I try to keep my thoughts clean. Her arms are proportionate to
her lower limbs. She has on a navy blue, long sleeved peasant top, which coordinates with her retro sneakers. Her bust is definitely bigger than my a-cups, but that’s all I can tell because I will myself to avert my gaze from her breasts. Her longish hair is curlier than it was the other night, looking almost wet from a touch of product, but the color is the same. It’s a shade of brown that’s not too dark but not too light, like a medium brown. Her face has an oval shape to it. She has a small, flat nose with a rounded tip. Her lips are wide, the bottom a little thicker. Her complexion is flawless.
My eyes fall upon hers. Instantly, I am hypnotized…again. Abby’s eyes are such a delicate color of brown that I think maybe they’re amber. They’re round and large, traced by black eyeliner, protected by long lashes. They’re stunning. Then it registers. She’s looking right at me, smiling. My body warms throughout.
Answer her, dummy!
I smile back at her. “You. Actually. I was looking for you.”
Abby opens her arms. “Well, here I am.”
“Right.” I nod. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She draws the word out, wary.
I shake my head and laugh a little at myself. “Sorry. I’m…and you’re…” If ever the world is going to end, can it please be now?
Abby quirks an eyebrow. “Can I try?”
My forehead creases. “What?”
“Parker!” Abby grins and takes both of my hands in hers. Her touch. Oh my god. “It’s so great to see you! How are you?”
I laugh for real because her enthusiasm is contagious. I open my mouth to speak, but she comes at me and plants a kiss on my cheek. My pulse accelerates at a concerning velocity. Breathe, Parker, breathe. I inhale through my nose, and I smell the fresh, citrus-like aroma emanating from Abby. I manage to steal an extra whiff before she backs away. She eyes me expectantly. We haven’t let go of one another yet.
“I’m good!” I exclaim, half-mocking her. “How are you?”
“Much better now.” She winks at me.
I might die.
“Are you thirsty?” Abby asks. “Because there’s a sweet, corner table in the rear with our names all over it. You down?”
“Oh, I’m down.” Not only am I down, I am done for.
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