by Zoe Fishman
“Speak of the devil,” she said aloud, as her heart resumed its normal pattern. It was her mother. She had just recently learned to text—her friend’s seven-year-old granddaughter had given her an expert tutorial, including a brief session on texting jargon.
“Hey gurl!” her mother had typed. Sabine cringed. “What RU up 2? Ready for your hot d8? Don’t forget to wax! LOL.”
Kill me now. Nothing was more cringe-inducing than a sixty-five-year-old woman trying to kick slang. Except maybe a thirty-two-year-old woman uttering the phrase kick slang. Sabine made a mental note to follow her own advice.
She put down the phone and surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked good. Pretty even. She smiled at her reflection and took another sip of her wine. Just then, the buzzer rang shrilly, wrenching her out of her composed state and directly depositing her into a state of panic.
She flew around the apartment like a crazed bird. Wine corked, check. Glass in sink, check. Quick brush of teeth to avoid red wine mouth, check. Lip gloss reapplication, check. Nothing on fire, check. Jacket, check. Door locked, check. She took a deep breath outside her apartment door. This was it.
She bounded down the stairs, careful not to take them too quickly. It would be typical for her to break her ankle now. Safely at the bottom, she peered out the glass partition on the door. There he was, in all his Subway Crush, Raisin Jewel glory.
“Hey,” she said, her voice quivering in excitement.
“Hey!” He moved to hug her.
I’m touching him! His shoulders felt so strong and warm. She fought the urge to lick his neck.
They disentangled and looked at each other, both of them with huge grins plastered across their faces.
“You look pretty,” said Zach.
“Thanks,” answered Sabine, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. “So do you.”
“I always wondered what color your eyes were,” he continued. “It was impossible to know from the other side of the subway car. They’re not quite green,” he said, peering in closely for a thorough examination, “and they’re not quite brown.”
“They’re hazel,” Sabine explained. Jesus, he was cute.
“Hazel,” he repeated. “They look like tiger eyes.”
Sabine laughed. “Thanks, Zach. And your eyes are chocolate brown. I always knew that, somehow.”
“Should we go? Tiger and chocolate, out on the town?”
“Yeah, let’s.”
“Make a left here,” Zach instructed. “I thought we’d get a drink and then eat some Mexican food. Wait, do you like Mexican food?”
“Love it. If I could bathe with avocado, I would.”
“Oh good. Walking over here, I realized that I didn’t have a Plan B. If you hated Mexican food, we would have been screwed.”
“If I didn’t like Mexican food, I would be screwed, period. A person without love for soft tacos is a person without a soul.”
“I’m putting that on my tombstone,” said Zach. Sabine smiled. Their chemistry was palpable. “Listen, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you all week,” he offered nervously. “Not that you were expecting it or anything. I mean, I was definitely thinking about you, I just had this monster case at work. . ..”
“Hey, it’s okay. I figured as much. I had a crazy week, too.” Sabine was impressed that Zach had brought up his absence himself. Who was this guy? He was almost too perfect. She kept expecting some douchey Ashton Kutcher look-alike to jump out of a moving taxi and tell her that she was being punk’d. As if on cue, Zach grabbed her hand.
The conversation continued to flow effortlessly as they hopped over slush piles the color of thunderclouds to get to the bar and then the restaurant. The physical contact increased organically as well—a laugh turned into a thigh grab; the tasting of each other’s entrée; Zach’s hand at the small of Sabine’s back as he followed her out of the restaurant.
Walking home, Sabine pretended to be entranced by the activity on the street. Inside her head, however, she was quickly weighing the pros and cons of inviting him in.
Pro: good sex. Con: bad sex. Valid pro: having sex with Subway Crush! Subway Crush!!! Valid con: blowing any chance of a real relationship because she was so quick to hop into bed.
Do I even want a real relationship? She pondered the inevitable decline of her independence as a result of said relationship and wondered.
“Hey, whatcha’ thinkin’ about?” asked Zach, putting his warm, strong hand over hers and breaking Sabine out of her thoughts.
“Oh, nothing.” Well, actually, I’m wondering if fucking you is a good idea. They arrived at her apartment, unclasped hands, and faced each other awkwardly.
“I had a great time with you tonight,” said Zach. “You’re just like I thought you would be and more.” He laughed nervously. “Jesus, that sounded goofy. But hopefully you know what I mean. So, next weekend, are you around?” he asked.
“What?” she answered, shaken out of her pro/con game of sexual roulette.
Zach looked slightly puzzled by her confusion. “Zach, I am so sorry. My brain was out to lunch a couple of minutes ago. I’m afraid I missed everything you said.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Sabine decided to tell the truth. She had a feeling that Zach would get it. They were both adults. To pretend that sex wasn’t on either of their minds was futile.
“I was wondering whether I should ask you up or not,” she explained, feeling bashful.
“Oh yeah?” said Zach, with a coy smile. “What did you decide?”
“I couldn’t come to a unanimous head decision. Naturally, I would love for you to come up, but I just don’t want to do anything stupid, you know?”
“I do,” answered Zach, taking her gloved hands in his. “That’s actually what I was telling you while you were in la-la land. I want to come up more than anything, but I think I’m just going to go home instead. I dunno, I. . .I don’t want to rush things.”
Sabine smiled. “I agree. Let’s use our brains and not our. . .”
“Other things,” said Zach, finishing her sentence. “I really want to see you again. That’s why I was asking you if you were around next weekend. Saturday night, maybe?”
“I am.”
“Good.” Zach pulled her close and kissed her lips. A long, lingering peck. His lips felt like heaven: plush, soft, firm.
“See you,” said Sabine, pulling away before she wrestled him to the ground. “Thanks for tonight.”
“See you.”
Sabine turned and went inside.
In her apartment, she unzipped her jacket and cuddled a confused Lassie. “Lassieeee,” she cooed, “he’s perfect.” Lassie was unimpressed. He wriggled out of Sabine’s grasp.
Lying on her couch and looking up at her ceiling, Sabine smiled broadly. Was it possible that she had finally met a decent guy? In New York?! Talk about an urban legend.
She undressed and washed her face, realizing that the margaritas she guzzled at dinner were stronger than she had thought. She winced at the idea of her inevitable tequila hangover and the manuscript she had to edit. Not a fruitful combination.
She turned out the lights and hopped into bed, relishing the heavy warmth of her down comforter. Her phone beeped on her bedside table.
“Good night, Subway Girl,” it read.
Underneath her comforter, Sabine did a mini victory jig and rolled her head back and forth in extreme happiness. Urban legend or not, she was downright giddy.
“Good night, Lassie,” she whispered, opting not to text back. She placed her phone back on the table and rolled herself into a blanket burrito, drifting off to sleep with a huge grin plastered across her face.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlie
This is so good,” Charlie announced appreciatively. She swallowed the rest of her ambitious bite of beet salad. “Wow. Beets are my new favorite vegetable.”
Sasha nodded in agreement. “Yeah, they are really delicious. My salad isn’t half bad either.” She took
another bite as Charlie sipped from her glass of wine. “So, how’s Prana?” she asked, after swallowing. She and Charlie were out for their annual March 14 dinner. Annoyed by the concept of Valentine’s Day, they had been treating the same day a month later as their big middle finger to the Hallmark-inspired establishment for three years running. Sasha had introduced the tradition during a romantically bleak time in their lives—calling it an excuse to celebrate themselves. In reality, it was more of an excuse to indulge in yummy, overpriced food and drink too much.
“The same, really,” answered Charlie. “Some days are great and some days are a pain in the ass. Like electric bill day for example.”
“I hear that. We are raped by Con Ed every month. I can’t wait for spring. That’s at least three months of no heat and blessed sunlight.”
“Spring! I want it so badly. Winter always stretches on for eternity. Did I tell you about my newish Saturday class?” asked Charlie as the waiter cleared their salad plates.
“No, what’s the deal?”
“You know that BU reunion thing I went to a few weeks back?”
“Yeah, the one that you were dreading?” asked Sasha, with a sly smile.
“Yep, that’s the one. I ended up running into three women I used to go to school with. We started talking and I turned on the charm. Next thing I knew, they all agreed to start a Saturday beginners’ intensive.”
“Awesome! But wait, there’s only three in a Saturday class? Aren’t you losing money with such an exclusive class? Three students—”
“Well, on paper I know that it sounds a bit small, especially for such a potentially busy time slot. But it works out, you know? The class is early and they’re paying a bit more for my undivided attention.”
“Oh, I get it. Cool. So, do you like the class?”
“You know what, I really do.” Charlie took a piece of bread from the basket on the table and dunked it in some olive oil. “They’re all really interesting women.”
“Are you guys buddies now?” asked Sasha.
“Well, we’re all very friendly. But I can’t really be friends with them if I’m their teacher. I think that blurs the lines a little too much.”
“You and your lines. You know, it’s okay to push boundaries sometimes, Charlie. If you like these women, you can be friends with them. I think friendship might actually be a good thing in such a small class. Their comfort around you would probably filter right into a more pronounced sense of their comfort with yoga.”
“You think so?” She considered Sasha’s argument. The truth was, she did want to open up a bit more to Bess, Sabine, and Naomi—to be a person outside of just their yoga instructor. She just wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea. The idea of mixing business with pleasure and letting down her guard was always a scary one for her. There were too many risks involved. But maybe Sasha was right. Charlie’s rigidity often was her worst enemy. Even though she was aware of this, it was hard to break the habit. There was a sense of safety in it.
“I do,” answered Sasha. “Change is not always a bad thing, you know.”
“I know.” The waitress returned with their entrées and placed them on the table with a smile. “Speaking of change,” said Charlie, happy to maneuver her way out of the conversation, “what’s new with you? Anything to report?”
Sasha smiled coyly, looking down at her lobster ravioli. “Actually, yes.”
“Do tell!” exclaimed Charlie. It wasn’t like Sasha to hold anything back.
“I met someone,” she whispered, a broad smile lighting up her face like a halogen lamp.
“No way!” exclaimed Charlie. “That’s tremendous. Give me details now, you minx!”
Sasha laughed. “I met him in class.”
“What? Talk about blurring the lines! Jesus, Sash, what happened?”
“I know, I know. I didn’t plan on it happening, it kind of just did.” Sasha took a bite of her ravioli.
“Hurry up and swallow!” Charlie practically yelled. “Oh wait, I guess that’s a pretty appropriate line given the context of our conversation.”
“Dirty mind! Very funny. He started coming to my advanced class on Tuesday nights. I noticed him right away, of course, but I was determined not to fall pray to the typical ‘yoga guy’ charms. I figured he was there to ogle some chicks in tank tops, you know?”
“Do I ever,” answered Charlie. She had encountered many yoga guys in her time. All about small shorts and tribal tattoos, they would fumble through the classes with their roving eyes, anxiously awaiting the postclass hang, whereupon they would pounce on the first taker.
“Anyway, a couple of weeks passed and there was none of that. He would come in, set up his mat in the back of the studio, and then, as soon as class was over, he would leave. No hanging around, no nothing,” Sasha explained.
“How’s his practice?” asked Charlie.
“Really graceful. He knows what he’s doing. And completely unobtrusive, you know? Humble.”
“Humble, hot, and quick to leave?” asked Charlie. “Sounds like a dream.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, I guess about the third week in, my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked him what his name was before class.”
“What’s his name?” asked Charlie. “I’m imagining something tantalizingly exotic, like Rafaelo or something.”
“Not quite,” said Sasha. “Unless you consider Adam exotic.”
Charlie laughed. “Well, maybe it’s exotic in some country. So, he told you his name and the next thing you know, you guys are in love?”
“Not exactly. He told me his name and then it was just a gradual thing, you know? Over the next four of five classes, we just started opening up a bit to each other. It started very quietly, with a hello and then just kind of innocently led to a coffee one afternoon after class. That coffee date led to a movie, and then the rest is history I guess.”
“Wait, so you guys started dating while he was taking your class? Isn’t that a bad idea? Did the rest of the class catch on?”
“We went out two or three times before things became romantic,” explained Sasha. “Sure, I had reservations about bending the constraints of my professionalism. But I wasn’t about to let the first guy who had interested me in months slip out of my fingers because of some antiquated notion that didn’t even apply to our situation. I mean, this isn’t Psych 101 in college, you know, where I’m the professor and he’s the young, naïve student. These are two consenting adults in a very physically oriented environment.”
“That is true,” agreed Charlie. The ferocity of Sasha’s defense told her that this was not the first time she had had to explain their romance. “But still, I would be wary.”
“Well, I was. When it became apparent that we had romantic feelings for each other, he noticed my hesitation about taking things to the next level. He asked me if it would make me feel better if he stopped coming to class. I told him that it would, so he stopped. He takes Gil’s class on Tuesday nights now.”
“Wow, that was easy enough to work out,” said Charlie. “How long have you guys been seeing each other?”
“Since December,” answered Sasha, smiling bashfully.
“What? You’ve been seeing him since December and you’re just telling me now? It’s March!”
“I know, it’s sort of wack, Charlie, but you have to understand—I haven’t told anyone until only very recently. There’s something amazing about keeping something like this to yourself for a while. Then it’s just the two of you. It’s yours and nobody else can penetrate the bubble. It’s nice.”
Charlie shook her head. “I guess I can see your point, Sasha. But I can’t help but be a little hurt. All of those weekends when I asked you what you had been up to, you never once mentioned his name. You were lying to me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry about that. I just really wanted to keep it to myself for a while. We planned on telling our friends sooner obviously, but life kind of got in the way.”
“Fair enough,” said Charlie. She guessed she could see where Sasha was coming from, despite her hurt feelings. “I can see that you’re crazy about him.” She smiled at Sasha. “When you talk about him, your eyes crinkle.”
“They do?” asked Sasha. She smiled. “It’s true, Charlie, I’m in love with him. He is an amazing guy. I never thought I could feel this way again, after Nick.” Nick had broken up with Sasha around the same time Charlie’s heart had been annihilated by Neil. They had bonded over their mutual heartache.
Thinking back on those days, Charlie’s heart melted a bit. Now that Sasha had healed, who could she turn to when she had a Neil relapse? She suddenly felt very alone. She took a deep breath, determined not to let her self-pity steal her friend’s thunder. “Sasha, I am so happy for you!” she exclaimed. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Thanks, Charlie. I really think you’ll dig him.” The waitress returned to clear their plates. Charlie refilled her glass of wine. She needed a sip, badly.
“Hey, are you seeing anyone new?” Sasha asked.
Charlie almost spit her wine out. “Sasha, come on now, you know I’m not.” Despite herself, her thoughts drifted to Mario. She considered bringing him up, but decided against it. Confessing her burgeoning lust for the deli guy seemed silly somehow.
“What about Facebook?” asked Sasha. “Any fresh meat there?”
Charlie thought about their previous conversation about Facebook being a porthole to your sexual past. So far, the closest she had come to reuniting with a former conquest was her middle school boyfriend, Jason Healey, who she had maybe pecked on the lips once during a particularly humiliating game of spin the bottle. Jason now lived in Hartford and had four kids with his wife, Misty.
“Unless you count being super-poked as foreplay, no,” Charlie replied.
Sasha laughed. “Just wait. If you build it, they will come. You’ve been on there for only a couple of weeks, right?”
“Yeah,” answered Charlie. “I haven’t really had time to mess around with it yet.” She didn’t tell Sasha that she had had to bribe herself not to search for Neil. Just last week, as she hovered over her keyboard about to enter his name into the search engine, she had promised herself a new pair of boots if she refrained from doing so. The boots had won out, but she wasn’t sure how long she could afford to ignore her instincts.
