“I can’t.” She lowered the cone, smile drooping. “I can’t change my life based on a few wonderful days.”
“A week. And why not?”
“All my plans. My future. Gran and Grandad—”
“Are not going to kick off in the next few months just because you’re not there. You think they’d want you to turn your back on happiness for their sakes? You’re doing it again, you know, ordering a single cone when you really want a double.”
“Melanie…”
“The only reason you don’t want to stay is because you know he’s The One, so you’re running away as fast as possible.”
More outrage noises. Really good ones. “Why on earth would I do that to myself?”
“The same reason I slept with Sledge instead of pursuing someone who made more sense as a partner. But knowledge is power, and I’m changing my strategy.” Melanie tapped her head smugly. “I made a list of everything I want in a guy. Then I crossed off the cosmetic ones. You know—heart-stoppingly gorgeous, loves to dance, penis the size of a salami.”
“Shh.” Alana peered around for anyone close enough to hear, giggling into her hand.
“And you know what I ended up with?” She stopped to let Alana enjoy the suspense, then her throat thickened and she couldn’t make herself say his name. Come on, Melanie. “Edgar.”
“What? You’re mumbling.”
“I said…Ed-gar.”
Alana’s eyes shot wide. “Edgar? That guy with the beyond-help hair?”
“Beyond-help.” She shook her head sadly, feeling queasy.
“And zero fashion sense?”
“Negative fashion sense. That’s the one.”
“And a girlfriend.” Alana crunched the first bite of her sugar cone. “Which makes him inappropriate, too.”
“I know. Except for that part, though, he’s it.” Her voice was too high. She felt a little itchy.
Alana bit into her cone again. “He does have great eyes, Mel.”
“Great eyes.”
“And his body isn’t bad at all.”
“You noticed that?” She hunched and released her shoulders.
“I’m not dead. And—” Alana pushed hair back the wind had blown across her mouth “—if I didn’t know he had a girlfriend, that one time I saw you together when we had lunch at Christmas, I would have said he’s crazy about you.”
“He’s crazy about Emma.” She laughed too loudly. She wasn’t going to bother mentioning the distinct feeling she got at their last meeting that Alana could be right. Which made no sense, given how devoted he’d seemed to his girlfriend for so long. Maybe they were having problems?
“Have you ever met this Emma person?”
“Nope.” Melanie licked her custard down flat to the cone, her appetite fading fast.
“Maybe he made her up.”
“Ha! That’s crazy.” A hint of panic raised its pesky little head. “He talks about her all the time, stuff they did together, what movies they watched, what she thought of them, her favorite foods. And Sledge knows her. Said she has a lot of black hair.”
“So do skunks.”
Melanie had to cover her mouth to keep from spraying vanilla custard. She liked her sister again today, and that felt good.
“How did that guy get to be named Sledge anyway?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But…” Melanie leaned confidentially toward Alana, relieved at the subject change. “If you want my opinion, a girlfriend gave him the nickname.”
“What makes you say that.”
“Sledgehammer. In bed. He’s a pounder.”
“Ugh.” Alana wrinkled her nose. “Men like that learned about sex watching porn.”
“And they wonder why real women don’t come, screaming, every five minutes.” Melanie snorted. “‘Because, honey, ya just smashed my pleasure button into numb pulp.’”
Alana nearly choked on her cone. She planted a hand on her chest and let go, laughing until her face turned red and tears ran down her face.
Melanie smiled, experiencing a rush of sisterly love. If Alana would be like this all the time, Melanie wanted her to stay in Milwaukee, too. They could actually have fun together, which they hadn’t managed to since puberty hit. “I wish you wouldn’t go, Alana.”
Alana’s laughter ran out of steam. “Aw, Mel.”
“I’d like the chance to get closer. Six years ago when you left, I know it wasn’t possible, but I feel as if now…”
“I know.” Alana turned to hug her. “You and me?”
“You and me.” Melanie squeezed her hard. She wanted so much for her sister to be happy with Sawyer. And she wouldn’t mind being happy herself. At some point. With someone. They broke apart and leaned back against the car, resumed eating their cones, both crunching now, Melanie feeling relaxed again. Cars rushed by on Blue Mound. Customers came and went.
“What are you going to do about Edgar?”
“Oh. Well.” She couldn’t believe how she was reacting. On paper, her theories about Edgar as a romantic prospect had made so much sense. But sharing them with Alana was nerve-racking. “What are you going to do about Sawyer?”
“I’ll think about staying.” She put her hand up when Melanie snorted. “No, I really will, Mel. I even told Sawyer I would when he asked me to stay.”
“He asked you to stay!” She socked her sister on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my God, can I be bridesmaid at your wedding?”
“Ha.” Instead of shrieking, Alana actually grinned. “Down, girl. He even lined up a job for me.”
“Wow. Wow.” Melanie couldn’t believe it. Sawyer was putting even more pressure on Alana than she was. She felt amateur in comparison. “So I guess you don’t need me nagging you.”
“Especially because it’s my turn to nag. What about Edgar?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She tried to pretend the last bit of her cone was fascinating while her stomach knotted up again. “I can’t interfere with what he’s got going with Emma.”
“Who in two years you’ve never seen. Why don’t you show up at his place after work? Say you were just in the neighborhood or visiting Sledge. Find out if Edgar has any skunks around.” She started giggling again. “Or, God, what if Emma is inflatable?”
Melanie did spray custard that time, but not entirely from being amused. Alana laughed so hard a father and son nearby turned and smiled. Melanie hoped they wouldn’t ask what was so funny.
“Well.” Melanie forced another chuckle, wondering why she hadn’t cracked up as hard as her sister. “There’s a concept.”
“I’m just saying…” Alana shook with a leftover giggle, then got herself back under control by licking the last of the custard off her fingers. “Seriously, go over there, tell him you decided you want to date someone more like him, and does he have any friends. His reaction will tell you everything you need to know.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Her stomach gave another unsettling tug. “On one condition.”
Alana froze with her pinky still in her mouth. “Uh-oh.”
“You stay another month.”
“No.”
“Two weeks.”
“Melanie.”
“A week and a half.”
Alana pressed her lips together, but a smile threatened anyway. “Five days.”
“A week, Alana. Come on. He’s worth it.”
“Maybe.”
“Good.” She finished her own cone and pushed away from the car, too twitchy to stand there anymore thinking about men. She wanted to go home, change and jog a few miles, get rid of this restless energy.
Tomorrow she’d visit Edgar after work. It did seem like a sensible idea, and she was trying very hard to be sensible. Plus, having decided to go, she might as well get it over with. She’d pretend to stay late at the office after he went home, or have a drink somewhere first, maybe with Jenny, to give Edgar time to settle in for the evening with Emma. Jenny could give her courage…or stop her by telling her she was crazy.
That would work. And be so much easier.
Melanie climbed into Alana’s passenger’s seat, custard still turning traitor in her stomach. Her earlier conviction that this time she had it together and Alana was a mess had broken up and dissolved. She felt like her old messy self again. Hooray.
Alana started the car, pulled onto Blue Mound heading east toward Washington Heights and home. Melanie buckled up and leaned back in her seat, watching the neat rows of houses passing, tense with dread.
What happened if after all this progress it turned out that understanding her problems with men didn’t bring her any closer to fixing them?
MELANIE WALKED DOWN Water Street, taking small precise steps. Six o’clock and she was exhausted. She’d been on time to work that morning, part of her new, more serious leaf-turning-over commitment, but there had been meetings and deadlines and a birthday lunch for Jenny’s cubicle partner Doreen. Through it all she’d felt like she was high on something, but not pleasantly. Talking to Edgar had been torture, especially because of course he noticed the change and wanted to know what was wrong. She’d asked him about Emma, what had they done the previous evening? Watched TV on the couch, then he went to bed and read. Emma didn’t read? No, she wasn’t much of a reader. What did she do? Took a bath, then came to bed with him.
Emma sounded really boring.
But who was Melanie to judge? She’d gone after romantic thrills her whole life and never managed to be remotely happy.
Another block gone, another one to go; her steps got smaller. She hadn’t found a miracle parking place this time. Was that a bad sign? She didn’t know.
Another half block. His building grew as she got closer.
Maybe he wouldn’t be home?
But then she’d have to come back sometime and that would suck.
She crossed East Erie Street, the last barrier, and made it up the steps to his front door. A few more steps and she was in the foyer, scanning the buzzers for his name. She pushed 3C with a shaky finger. Waited.
“Oh, well.” She turned away from the panel and made for the exit. Obviously he wasn’t—
“Yeah?”
—home.
She sighed, turned back and approached the speaker. Time to live by her brave and noble words. “Hi, Edgar, it’s Mel.”
“Melanie.” His voice softened into concern. “Are you okay?”
“Can I come in?”
“Um…yeah. Yeah, sure, come on up.” The buzzer sounded, the door clicked unlocked. She pushed through and trudged up the stairs, wincing when she passed Sledge’s door. Another flight and Edgar met her on the landing outside his apartment, took her arm anxiously.
“Did something happen? You’ve been acting strange all day.”
Her stomach gave a little flutter, but she couldn’t tell whether it was pleasure or dread. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yes. Of course. Sure.” He waited expectantly.
“Uh.” She looked around the dingy stairwell. “Can we go into your apartment?”
“Yes.” His voice was overly hearty. “Yes. Come on in.”
Was his place a mess? Or was there another reason he didn’t want her there? Had he not told Emma they were close friends? Were he and Emma about to have sex when she buzzed? Was Emma inflatable?
He pushed open his door and gestured her in. “After you.”
His apartment was not what she expected. First, it was neat. Very neat. And clean. Scary clean. And elegant. Dark wood furniture; chairs and sofa with fabrics in shades of teal and burgundy and gold, even coordinating throw pillows; pots of plants and African sculptures on end tables and bookcases; Indian woven tapestries on the walls, which were a warm ochre color; a small fountain cascading water over pretty stones into a glazed bowl; a tank with colorful fish swimming happily around water plants. Brilliant use of the modest space so that even though the room was well-furnished, it didn’t feel at all crowded.
Emma wasn’t a skunk. She was a woman with incredibly sophisticated, international taste. Melanie had spent all these months—years, actually—thinking she was too cool for Edgar, and it might turn out to be the other way around.
She shouldn’t have come.
“Edgar, your place is gorgeous. Look at this.”
“Oh. Thanks. Thank you.” He seemed nervous, rubbed his hands on his bright green shorts, which he’d paired with a maroon T-shirt, shudder.
“Is Emma around?”
“No. No, she’s not. Not sure where she is right now.” He paced toward the kitchen, then came halfway back. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Oh, sure. Beer if you have it. If not—”
“I have it. Or wine. Or anything stronger.”
“I’ll take a beer, thanks, Edgar.” She heard the sound of a refrigerator opening and even in her misery over discovering Edgar might be out of her league, she couldn’t keep her curiosity at bay and followed.
His kitchen was gorgeous, too—professional range, impressive cookware hanging from an iron rack easy to reach from the stove. More plants by the window and on the solid, quality kitchen table. Why had she been so sure his place would look like a college dorm room?
“You and Emma must love to cook.”
“I love to cook. Emma loves to eat.” He poured salted almonds into a bowl, grabbed a bag of sweet potato chips from the cabinet and a dish of baby carrots from the refrigerator.
“Edgar, just the beer is fine.”
“Oh.” He stood holding the food, looking lost.
Melanie’s heart lifted a little. He was still Edgar. “I’ll take it in for you. It’s nice of you to go to the trouble.”
“For you it’s no trouble.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Eddie.” She sat on the spotless sofa, terrified she’d spill or leave crumbs, and hoisted her bottle, anxious to get those first calming sips down. Jenny hadn’t wanted to go out after work, so Melanie had been rattling around her office cubicle for the past hour, working herself up into nervous misery. “Cheers.”
He frowned. “Did you want a glass? Sorry, I didn’t think—”
“No, this is fine.” She put her hand on his arm, which always surprised her with its strength. “Really. Thank you.”
“So? What’s going on? You seemed distracted all day.” He took a swig of beer and settled in as if she hadn’t interrupted his evening unexpectedly, as if he had nothing to do for the rest of his life but listen to her.
Edgar was something really special.
“I’m fine, really. Today was stressful, that’s all.” She nodded stupidly, with no idea how to launch into what she wanted to say. He must have had an old-fashioned clock somewhere because she could suddenly hear it ticking.
“You…said you wanted to talk about something?”
“Yes. Yes.” She held the bottle in her lap, not wanting to risk staining his coffee table. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”
“About…”
“About me going for inappropriate men.”
“And?”
“And I think you’re right.” She peeled off a piece of the beer’s gold foil label. “I need to find someone different. For sure. I need to date someone…like…who is different.”
She pushed the neck of the bottle back between her lips and gulped. Dammit, she couldn’t do this. Everything was so weird with Edgar sitting right there close to her, not in a cubicle, not in a public restaurant, but on his turf, his and Emma’s turf. He’d relaxed and she was still a complete wreck. She should have trusted her gut instinct that this was all wrong, instead of her intellect. Her id over her superego.
Except that same id was always the culprit when she got into trouble with no-good men.
This was horrible.
“I think that’s great, Mel.” He put his hand on her shoulder, rubbed gently. “I hate seeing you get hurt.”
“Yeah, um, thanks.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes. Worse and worse. She’d barged into his room and all she’d managed to say was, �
�I want to date different men”? He already knew that. And typical Edgar, even if he was thinking “Why the hell did you inflict yourself on my evening to tell me old news,” he gave no sign of it.
She owed him the real story. Edgar, you are so special and I think someone like you could make me really happy, and maybe I could make someone like you happy, too.
“The thing is. Uh, I was thinking about what kind of man I’d want.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
She forced herself to stop staring at the bottle in her lap, and looked up into his attentive, sweet, wonderful blue eyes. Your kind. “I was thinking I’d like to date someone like—”
The door burst open. “Hey man, sorry I took so long, they mixed up the order.”
In walked a male body in black, carrying a pizza box. A pair of equally blue eyes, blazing with heat and curiosity and sex turned from Edgar to Melanie.
Melanie’s jaw dropped. Oh my God. Her heart was already beating too fast from the awkward scene with Edgar, but it gave a valiant stab at speeding up even more. She tore her gaze down from those blue orbs of doom before she fell under their spell.
“Who’s this?” The strong black-stubbled jaw tipped; black hair swung free over his ear. Was he checking her out? She didn’t dare look higher to find out, so she looked lower. Black T-shirt tight over muscular chest. Black jeans tight over fabulous hips and legs. Black spiked belt, black motorcycle helmet clutched in black-gloved hand.
She kept her head down. She could not look at him again. She must not look at him. To look was to lust. After the mistake with Sledge, after all her subsequent soul-searching and self-discovery, she had to, had to have learned her lesson.
“Stoner.” Edgar sounded as if he’d aged forty years. “This is Melanie.”
“Yo, Melanie. Whassup?”
“Melanie.” Edgar gestured to the sex-apparition and dropped his hand despondently on the sofa arm. “This is my brother, Stoner.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Nice to meet you.”
Nice was an understatement. He was cool water in a parched dessert, he was that first steak after Lent, he was a three-speed rotating vibrator in a girls-only dorm.
While She Was Sleeping... Page 18
