Reconcilable Differences: A 'Having It All' Novel
Page 32
D'arcy shook her head. “I never saw a thing.”
Kate was disheartened to hear that Eli noticed the strange attraction between she and Simon almost immediately. It was no wonder then, that Sharon had noticed it too, and become… jealous? Is that what it was? It dismayed Kate that she’d hidden her emotions so poorly. Hardly the objective professional she prided herself on being.
Eli shrugged. “Call me a sensitive guy.”
D'arcy elbowed him, shaking her head. Turning to Kate, she sobered. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Not right now, but thanks. We’ll see what the Practice Advisory Committee comes back with. If I’m suspended you can have me for dinner.”
“We’ll do that anyway,” laughed Eli.
“Eli, how can you be so cruel? Why do you think this is funny?” D'arcy scolded.
“You’ll see. It’s not funny. I’m just… encouraged. Everything will work out just fine. It was meant to be.” The smile he gave Kate was warm and knowing, almost conspiratorial.
“How can you be so sure when I‘m not?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
By the time she was through meeting with D'arcy and Eli, Kate had to rush to meet Alexa on time, striding briskly the few blocks to Emile’s on Broadway. The weather was changeable. She squinted at the indecisive wispy and tumbled clouds that pulled apart in all directions like candy floss, moved by unseen forces high in the stratosphere. Despite the early hour, a band of clear sky to the Western horizon showed tints of mauve and orange with a cool white sun hovering low in the winter sky like an alabaster bowl.
In spite of everything, Kate felt oddly buoyed by D’arcy’s sympathy and Eli’s mulish encouragement.
When she arrived, Alexa was waiting for her at the restaurant on the corner, a small atmospheric French bistro that Alexa favoured on the nights she came home late from the office.
The place was narrow, as French bistros ought to be, lined in gleaming varnished wainscoting with old posters from the French stage pinned above, interspersed with charming objets, such as taxidermy grouse and cracked crockery. The maitre’d nodded in their direction, and after allowing a few moments for them to settle, sidled over with menus and a warm accented welcome in a voice as slippery and gravelly as Georges Brassens. She slid into a chocolate leather banquette behind a veil of thick crisp white linen, smiling at him and glancing around.
Other guests were sparse but there were a few business types nodding over papers, and one solitary well-heeled middle aged woman, who looked to be a friend of the maitre‘d, for he stopped by her table frequently and exchanged more than a few hushed words in French, his sonorous voice rumbling like a truck.
The aromas of bacon fat and delicately stewed meats reminded Kate of long-forbidden temptations. She scanned the menu du jour. It seemed almost a crime to order quiche when there were so many other fabulous choices, yet Kate knew no one made it better, and she craved it today.
After ordering a carafe of white wine and their food, they sat for a few minutes in silent appraisal of each other’s mood.
“Well,” Kate said. “How goes it with ‘the partner’?”
Alexa sighed and shrugged. “Oh, he’s gone back home this week, apparently.” She said this without conviction.
Kate shook her head, feeling cross with Alexa’s stagnant romantic life and low expectations. “You’re wasting your life on that deadbeat. Time to cut him loose and find yourself a real relationship.”
A slow sardonic smile spread across Alexa’s face. “Like you, for example?”
Kate found herself fidgeting, and squirming, not quite able to hold Alexa’s gaze.
“Okay. Let’s have it. Are you worried about that letter?”
Kate filled her lungs and let out a long, slow sigh that crested on an almost-whimper in her throat. So many things were compounding at once, she could hardly find the words. “Yes and no. But that’s not what’s bothering me. I just came from the final meeting with my clients, and they said something…”
Kate related the meeting with her clients and their inexplicable support and empathy with her and Simon. “It’s almost as if hubby’s cheering us on.” Alexa’s reaction was equally enigmatic, regarding Kate through narrowed hazel eyes. “It’s rather ironic given the ethics complaint.”
Alexa took a thoughtful sip of her wine, and jabbed her grilled pate with her fork, waiting. Jane Birkin warbled softly in the background, filling the lull with the whispered innuendo of her melody, an intimation of longing and melancholy. Kate frowned. The French had a way of making everything so trenchant.
“How well do they know you?”
Kate open her mouth to reply, then shook her head. They didn’t really, did they? But for that one evening with Eli, she’d not shared anything personal with them. As was often the case, she ruefully considered, she knew so much about her clients that her empathy gave the sense of intimacy, when in truth there was none. “Oh, Alex. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Maybe I need to hear people saying, ‘Oh, you’re so perfect for each other! I’m so happy for you,’ to justify my own irrational feelings.”
“Is that what you want me to say?” Alexa asked.
Kate ignored her and focused on her salad and quiche for a few minutes, chewing slowly, savouring the creamy, rich texture. Was that really it? Could she trust the opinion of virtual strangers who knew nothing of her relationship with Simon, or her painful past? How could they know what was going to make her happy?
“Anyway, I’ve been having second thoughts about having him over for dinner.” She glanced at Alexa. “And third thought, and–“
“Just do it, already. Stop thinking so hard.”
Kate ploughed ahead. “Am I supposed to stay single forever? Where will I ever find a man as good as Simon again? Who will understand me if he doesn’t?”
“Shut up about that already! How is that going to make your life any easier? Have a go with Simon. Enjoy the moment. If it doesn’t work out, so what? You’re a beautiful, intelligent and still young woman, Kate, and there are, contrary to what you seem to believe, still lots of fish in the sea.”
The pressure to make sensible choices made her anxious. Kate almost anticipated a familiar dizzy, fainting spell, but took a deep breath and realized she hadn’t had one in a while. In fact, she really was getting a handle on her overwhelming emotions. “But what if–“ A faint buzzing in her head drowned out the music and she froze mid-sentence.
Alexa made an exasperated sound in her throat. “I love you Kate and I’ll always be here for you, but you’re driving even me completely nuts. Instead of analyzing everything to death, just go forward, swing with the punches, live and see how things turn out. Have a little faith that you’ll be able to judge as you’re going along. It’s just dinner, for goodness sake. He’s not proposing marriage.”
The buzzing grew louder, more insistent, almost like it was coming from outside her head, not inside. Kate consciously slowed her breathing. Shanti-mukti-shanti-mukti. But what of love? What of my undying love for Simon?
The buzzing finally took the shape of the muffled insolent refrain of Alexa’s silenced cell phone. Kate shook her head in confusion.
Alexa pounced at her bag, plunged her arm into its depths, and removed a plastic bottle of spring water, her car keys and a hairbrush before emerging with the phone, tucking it under her dark hair. “Yes?” A pause. “Oh, hi, Krystof.” Her eyes darted to Kate and down at her plate. Alexa fingered her knife, turning it over and over, it’s polished surface glinting in the sunlight. Alexa’s colour rose. “Tonight? Sure, sure I can. Okay.” Alexa closed the phone and set it down, her eyes meeting Kate’s. Kate lifted her eyebrows in sardonic query. “He wants me to work late.” Alexa’s shoulder jerked up, and the shadow of a sad apologetic smile skipped across her face.
Kate pressed her lips together.
Alexa continued. “Do you remember our first conversation about this back in October, after Simon had surfaced, and you had you
r first panic attack? I think I was more excited than you were. Even though we trashed him that day, I was kind of hopeful that you’d hook up.” Alexa’s gaze drifted to the street scene out the window, her throaty voice softening to a purr. “I spent so many years watching you worship him, and…” she raised a clenched fist, “…hoping it would work out for you, I think I lost sight of reality, too. You made a beautiful couple, and seemed so much in love, even though it ended up short-lived.” Alexa lifted her glass and sipped wine, pensive. “You know I’m not romantic, but who wouldn’t wish your dreams to come true, most of all me? You know I love you like a sister.”
“You’re contradicting yourself. On the one hand, you say follow your dreams, and on the other, go with the flow. What about your thing with Krystof? He’s married, has a kid. Do you not have hopes that your relationship with him will become something more?”
Alexa shook her head. “Nah. That’s what I mean. We’re just biding our time together, enjoying each other’s company. I don’t think about what it means or how long it will last. I don’t care. In fact, I know it won’t–”
“But…
“It’s for the moment. If feels good. I know I’ll be all right. I don’t have to have all the answers. You need to be more like that. If being with Simon, or just thinking about being with Simon, causes you all this stress… well then, don’t do it. Just drop it.”
Kate’s heart squeezed. “I’m not like that.”
Alexa set down her glass and reached across to grip Kate’s hand. Kate looked down, fixing her gaze on the wide amber and silver ring that Alexa always wore, strong, bold and uncomplicated like her friend. “I’ve been a poor friend these past few months. This has been an earth-shattering event in your life, and who could understand that better than me? But I’ve been preoccupied.” She slowly rocked her head back and forth, her moss-smoked eyes shot with gold sparks intent on Kate’s. “I don’t blame you for slipping back into your old fantasies.”
“I’m not fantasizing. I’m trying to deal with my life.”
Alexa wiped her mouth and stuffed everything back into her bag. “Well, whatever makes you happy. That’s the best advice I can give you. It’s just that you always seem to make yourself suffer. It’s not necessary.”
“I still need to decide what to do.”
“If you can’t deal with it, then cancel the dinner—it’ll only confuse you more. You have the strength. You don’t need him. It’s not supposed to be this hard. Let it go, Kate.”
Can’t deal with it? Alexa made it sound like Kate was both immature and weak. Is that what her best friend really thought of her?
“Do I have to walk away from Simon to prove that I’m strong?” That sounded almost like a cliché. In a roundabout, paper-bag-princess sort of way. But it wasn’t that simple.
She’d show her.
She was strong. And if she was a little crazy for love, well, who wasn’t? Even Alexa couldn’t extract herself from a destructive affair with her married boss after three years of getting jerked around like a puppet, despite her protestations. She was in no position to give relationship advice. It seemed Kate would have to figure this one out on her own. Kate wasn’t like Alexa and she’d have to rely on herself to know what to do.
~*~
Kate finally understood there was no one she could turn to who could help her decide what to do about Simon.
She’d held off calling him to cancel their dinner date. There’s no rush. I might as well think it through. He would understand, wouldn’t he? Her emotions frayed, she’d gone to an hour and a half long yoga class Saturday morning in search of serenity, but found herself less than satisfied at the end of it, tears somehow held just at bay, as though the meditation had allowed deeply buried feelings and thoughts nearer the surface. With nerves that felt raw, she reached for the phone.
It rang just as her hand closed over it.
“Hello, honey! How are you?” came the familiar distracted voice.
“Mom.” She tensed, her defenses going up unconsciously. Her voice always came out sounding tight and strangled when talking with Mom.
“I’m fine. Busy, of course. How are you?”
“I’m super, honey. I’m so glad I caught you. Can you join us for dinner tonight? I’m making lasagna.”
Ah. The moment of truth. She sunk into a chair. “Uh. Thanks, Mom. But I'm have a friend for dinner.” Well, at least for the moment that was still true. I can still change my mind.
“Oh! Is it with that nice tall architect, what’s his name…?”
Like she forgot his name for just one minute. Mom had been hinting about Jay for almost two years. Why didn’t she just come out and say what she was thinking? Hurry up and get married you social deviant. I want more grandchildren before it’s too late! Kate sighed heavily. Mom didn’t need to know the details. “You’re thinking of someone else. Nope. I’m not seeing Jay-the-digital-artist.”
“Oh. I see. Well, okay then.” How is it her mother was able to inflict guilt with so few words, like little poison darts. “We don’t see much of you, honey.”
“I’m pretty busy with work. I’ve just brought a really great couple to reconciliation,” she announced hopefully, twirling the fringe on a placemat.
“Uh huh. That’s nice. Did you get the email from Stuart with the kids’ Christmas wish list? Are you planning to come to San Francisco with us for Christmas?”
More guilt. She stood up, tapped her foot. “I don’t know, Mom. Probably not. I can’t leave… ” she let her excuse trail. Mom wouldn’t understand her anxiety over the Executive review, and she sure wasn’t going to open that can of worms. She straightened the placemat, lined up a haphazard stack of mail.
“Yes, of course. Your clients need you. Would you like us to take a package for you?”
Kate nibbled her fingernail thoughtfully. “No, it’s okay, thanks. I shipped it. Well, I’d better go. Say hi to Dad for me. Call me before you go.” Kate hung up the phone and sighed again, her fingers tapping an uneasy tattoo on the tabletop. It wasn’t too late to call Simon and cancel the dinner. He’d be disappointed, perhaps even angry. But she could always say she’d come down with a cold and just postpone it until… Or maybe after her disciplinary hearing, she would feel… Aah! Will I ever know my own mind?
Part of her was soaring with happiness in expectation of his visit, his comforting companionship, perhaps even his renewed attentions. Was that the naïve and deluded part? But there was still that small helpless creature cowering inside of her, fearful, insecure and uncertain. And it couldn’t be ignored. It was whining so loudly it made her chest hurt. She had to do something. She picked up the mail and moved it over to her desk.
She drifted to the kitchen and browsed through menu ideas. It wasn’t that she’d decided one way or the other, but she ought to be prepared, just in case. Oh. Who am I kidding? I want to see him. Of course I do. She wanted to spend that longed-for quiet time with him, all alone, away from prying eyes. She ached for it. Therein lay the trouble. Longing for Simon became an obsession, an illness that had debilitated her. She couldn’t allow herself to want him and not feel somehow that it was a weakness, a dependency. How could she trust herself?
She opened the fridge and stared with indifference at its contents, her sight turned inward. But perhaps that was the answer. Since he insisted on spending time with her, she might as well indulge herself. If she focused on being objective, the illusion would undoubtedly pale. She was no longer a naïve nineteen-year-old girl. She would be able to see him for himself: just an ordinary man. She might even get bored or irritated, like she had with other men. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the solution to her dilemma. An antidote. As long as she didn’t get carried away, and as long as she didn’t lead him on, of course. That would be dishonorable. She had to stay cool. Observant, open, but cool. Yes, that was it. It would be a kind of test. She felt her shoulders relax, and looked forward to the evening with a new sense of resolve.
She stood in her faded jeans and bra and nodded at her favourite pretty blue and violet sweater on the bed. There was no need to dress up and yet she wanted to look nice. Nice, but not sexy. Well, not too sexy. But not frumpy. Crazy woman. Her hair was barely dry, and she just managed to dash on a little make up when the buzzer sounded. Her heart pounded as she looked at the red numerals on the alarm clock beside her bed. Six fourty-four. She pushed the button to unlock the door; her stomach knotted and she felt a bloom of perspiration on her freshly washed skin. Irritably, she applied more deodorant and a spritz of cologne for good measure and yanked the sweater on, buttoning its dozen tiny buttons with trembling fingers. A quick glance in the mirror to assess the results revealed wide anxious eyes and tight drawn lips. Pacing and wringing her hands like the accused before the jury’s verdict for the four or five minutes it took him to arrive upstairs, she forced herself to take pranayama breaths, trying to bring back the focus of her morning yoga and her earlier sense of purpose. But now she just felt agitated and excited.
Opening the door at his tap, she found… “Jay?” Oh. My. God!
He hunkered in the door, lifting his arms in appeal. “Hey, Kate." He took a tentative step forward and exhaled with force. "Wow, it's good to lay eyes on you.”
“What are you doing here?”
He walked past her, his eyes narrowed. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She went rigid. “You shouldn’t be here.” She bit her lip. How quickly could she get rid of him? He stopped at the hall table, lifted a book, fingering its spine, and turned around to face her.