When I rip off the Band-Aid in the most PC way possible, telling him that I don’t feel a romantic connection and just want to—ultimate Band-Aid pain here—just be friends, he stutters about, perhaps trying to save face. He says he’s sorry it couldn’t work out, but that, “Yeah, yeah. Friends. That’d be cool. Yeah. That’s great.”
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Dean and I won’t actually just be friends. His tone, his distance, his interest (and my disinterest) in pursuing something further…no. In fact, (and I wouldn’t blame him) I know I may very well never see Dean again at The Cup and the Cake. And, as nice a guy as he was, I’m okay with that. Sometimes these things work out and sometimes they don’t. You move on.
“Do you feel like total crap?” Claire asks later in the evening after I’ve made the painful call to Dean. Her call comes when I’m in the middle of a dinner of Greek yogurt with berry granola sprinkled on top, curled up on the sofa with a blanket, watching a second-season episode from the 90210 DVD Robin’s left at my place for ages.
“Not so much,” I answer dryly. “I mean, I hate to hurt his feelings, but he had to see it coming.”
Claire laughs loudly. “Yeah, except for the whole last-minute kiss you smacked on him!”
“I know, I know,” I groan. “Please don’t remind me. Stupidest move ever!”
“What’d he say about that one?” She snaps her fingers and says, voice slightly muffled, “Conner, tell Schnicker to get off that blanket, please. That’s not for him.”
“About the kiss?” I ask.
“Yeah. Did it come up with the break-up call tonight?”
I tell her that first it wasn’t really a break-up call—more like a no-to-another-date call—but when she scoffs and tells me “Whatevs,” I explain that I told Dean the kiss was a way for me to test my feelings.
“Was it?” Claire asks in partial disbelief. “Was it really?”
“Sounds good enough to be true, right?”
“But it wasn’t?”
“Nope. Not true, but gentler, I think.”
Claire says she’s not so sure, but that it really doesn’t matter at this point.
“I take it you didn’t feel any sparks there, though?” she says. “When you did kiss him?”
“Nothing.” I set aside my half-eaten yogurt, no longer feeling hungry.
“Then why did you do it?”
And there’s the question that has, surprisingly, yet to be asked. It’s the first time I’ve even asked myself the question. Part of me thought, right after I’d done it, that I only kissed Dean to shut him—and Chad—up. It was all such an unpleasant situation with Chad watching on.
Part of me also thought it’d be the surest, fastest way to get Dean out the door and on his way, date finally coming to a close.
Part of me—and only a very tiny part of me—thought I’d done it to prove to Chad that Dean and I did have a connection, that the date did go over well. But then once I began to ask why that even mattered to me—why I gave a rat’s ass about Chad’s approval or disapproval of my and Dean’s “relationship”—I totally abandoned the Question and Answer ship. It was all far too convoluted and, frankly, indisputable. It just doesn’t matter at this point.
“Sophie?” Claire asks. “Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know,” I half-lie. I have theories, but…technically not a solid answer.
“Was it to prove something to Chad?” she takes a stab, reading my mind as all close friends can. “Or to yourself?”
“Maybe.” That’s not too far from the possible truth. Did I want to prove that I, Sophie Wharton, could date with abandon just like Chad? That I, too, could have a successful relationship like everyone else?
“Maybe it’s best to forget about it,” Claire says. “The kiss obviously didn’t mean anything, and it obviously led to nothing.”
“Exactly.”
“Probably did a teensy bit more harm than good, though,” she says in a small, cautious voice.
I howl and tell her that I know. I made a poor judgment call there, but what can I do? It’s over with.
“Hey,” she says, voice upbeat. “The good news is that John’s going to come and visit you! How awesome is that, right?”
How I love Claire—always able to turn a dull moment into something positive.
“You’re right,” I say excitedly. “He’s always a blast to hang out with. That’ll be fun.”
“And!” I can picture Claire bouncing up and down anxiously on her seat on the sofa. “He could be a great ticket to help you meet some nice guys, Sophie. You two could go out to some bars, some clubs, he could be like your wingman or something.”
I laugh and tell her that as much as I appreciate her helping me out in the love department, and as much fun as I have with John, I’m not exactly looking for my brother to find me some booty call, a date, or anything lasting and meaningful.
“You never know,” she says with a clicking of her tongue. “And if not for you, then for him! Is he still with that London lawyer?”
“Jean? I don’t know.”
“Well, if he isn’t, then what a fine chance for you two. He finds you a hookup, you find him one.”
“Goodnight, Claire,” I say with a light laugh. “I’m officially love-chatted out, so I’m going to bed.” I pick up the remote and shut down the TV.
“I’m not chatting constantly about love,” she pouts.
“Fair enough, you’re not, but I had one of Robin’s cheesy 90210 DVDs on, and adding this puppy-love drama to my real life is just too much. I’m calling it a night.”
“Going off to dream land, eh?” Claire snaps her fingers again and tells her dog to get off of the blanket.
“Yup,” I say, carrying my dishes into the kitchen, hitting the lights behind me.
“Then you have yourself some sexy dreams about French hotties in Paris,” she teases.
“Girl…”
“Or perhaps Chad…”
“Okay, you have so crossed over the funny line.” I step into the bathroom and immediately draw myself a bath.
“I’m teasin’. Well, if you can’t have love in your real life right now, then where’s the harm in dreaming?”
“Perhaps,” I say, pouring in some bubble bath. “But my dreaming is just as complex as reality.” I sniff. “Maybe more.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Hey, John?” I call out to my older brother as I flip through the day’s mail. I rap my knuckles on the bathroom door. “John?”
“Out here!” comes his voice from my small balcony.
I toss aside the mail, mostly bills, peppered with some advertisements.
Claire was right: Though John’s only just arrived and we haven’t had much time to hang out, having my brother in town is great. Having familiar and warm company in the apartment is nice, getting to rekindle our close sibling bond once again refreshing.
“What are you doing out here?” I step out onto my balcony and survey the wooden bistro table that’s covered in sheaves of paper. I look up into the sky. It’s grey, kind of ominous, and there’s a slow and steady wind in the air that seems to be beckoning a storm. I rub my hands up and down my arms briskly. “Not exactly outdoor weather.”
“Ah,” John shrugs off. “There was some sun coming through the spotty grey. Actually quite nice.”
“It’s January in Seattle.” I rub my arms some more, hoping the friction will provide some warmth. When it doesn’t I reach for the cheap IKEA fleece patio throw draped over the back of the empty chair. “‘Quite nice’ I can’t believe.”
“Compared to England it is,” John says as I take the seat across from him.
I pull the fleece tightly around and peer at his stacks of papers. “What’s all this? Busy, important lawyer work?”
“Yeah,” he says with a moan.
He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. He brushes at some eraser dust on his pin-striped, slate-colored trousers. John’s alway
s well-dressed, even when he’s on vaca. He’s got a penchant for fine clothes and looking clean-shaven, hair coiffed, and never without the scent of Tom Ford or Versace. It’s part of the lawyer gig, I suppose, and the lawyer salary no doubt facilitates his inclination for the finer things in life.
“On vaca,” I say, nodding my head to the table, “but never quite really, right?”
“Just trying to stay a step ahead of the game. I’m sure it’ll be all-hands-on-deck when I get back to work.” He gestures vaguely to his paperwork. “Thought I’d take a look at the next case, a light familiarization. That’s all.” He interlocks his fingers and places his hands behind his head of dark brown hair, not a single hair a centimeter too long over the ears or the back of the neck.
“The Wharton family obsession gene of getting the Ps and Qs in order?” I tease him, knowing that while John’s more laidback than his little sister, he’s still got that OCD streak and prefers to stay on top of things, keep appointments in order, reduce the risk of disaster by maintaining as much control as possible.
“Something like that,” he says with a grin.
“Well, how’s this?” I pull the fleece tighter and lean forward. “Lara texted me earlier. Said she thinks we should go for happy hour.” I glance at my watch, then say, “Or, really, a night out. What do you say?” I nod to the papers again. “Or are you too busy?”
“I’m game,” he says enthusiastically.
“You sure? She tried to rally all the girls, but it looks like it’ll be just you, me, her, and her boyfriend, Worth. Oh, and Oliver, and Evelyn, and her boyfriend Chad, might come, too. Mentioned it at work and they kind of jumped all over the idea.”
He picks up a legal pad as I add, “Unless you’re too jet lagged or something. I mean, you only just got in last night.”
He laughs and says, “It sounds fun. I flew in from California, not England.”
“Right,” I say simply, standing up.
As I fold the blanket and sling it over the back of the chair, John says, “Do you not want to go or something?”
“Oh, no. I’m good.”
John squints his blue-green eyes at me, almost the exact same color as my own, and reads me like an open book. “What’s bugging you, Sophie?”
“Fine,” I concede quickly.
I don’t resume my seat but instead lean against the sliding glass door to ensure I’ll make it quick. I tell him how Claire said that maybe I should do something with him, like this happy hour/going out thing tonight, to help me get out of my dating funk.
“Maybe like a wingman thing or something?” I say, face instantly scrunched in consternation. I’m not so keen on the idea, and I don’t want to make my brother regret having come visited. I’m sure he didn’t imagine “being a wingman for his little sis” would be on his list of Seattle Experiences.
John just laughs in response, then when he realizes I’m being serious (or at least as serious as I can be relaying what Claire had suggested) he clears his throat and a straight-laced expression covers his face. “You want me to help hook you up?”
“I don’t want you to.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity of this whole thing. “It wasn’t my idea, but I’m trying to get out there. You know, be proactive?”
“Okay,” he says, lightening up when he realizes that this isn’t comfortable for me to talk about, even though John and I are close and have confided in each other before with sensitive issues. Like “first times” and dates we had that Mom and Dad forbade (and which we swore to never reveal). Then there was that one time I stole a pack of gum from Trader Joe’s in fourth grade and was so terrified and guilt-ridden I sought absolution in John, which he provided with a hug and a promise that it wasn’t so bad, because his best friend stole a video game from a garage sale. (At the time everything seemed absolved, though today so totally moot.) And then there was that one time John came home drunk as a skunk in high school and went to mass completely hung over. I pretended to have “the flu,” too, to help with his cover, and right before the homily began Mom and Dad insisted that their flu-bit children scamper on home and stay in bed for the rest of the day.
Yes, John and I have been each other’s confidant, each other’s safety net, a listening ear when needed. But asking for help with trying to get my dating life jumpstarted? Sort of embarrassing and definitely desperate.
“I’m only asking because Claire thinks it’s a brill idea, and,” I say, “I don’t know, I told her I’d ask you. She wouldn’t stop bugging me until I promised I’d at least ask.”
John’s laughing, gathering up his papers, and the first few drops of the soon-to-be-storming evening begin to shower down. “All right, all right. You said Lara’s bringing her boyfriend?” I nod. “And Eleanor’s—”
“Evelyn.”
“Evelyn’s bringing her boyfriend?”
“Chad,” I say with another nod, and a roll of the eyes.
John points a finger at me. Despite the pitter-patter of raindrops, he pauses his paper-gathering and cocks his head to the side. “Chad? Didn’t you two have a thing years ago? In college?”
“Okay, don’t rub it in.” I begin to help him collect his papers before the rain does them in for good. It’s starting to pelt down harder now, the wind kicking up a few notches.
“It was him, right?”
“Yes,” I say sternly, “that’s right.” I carry an armful of papers into the apartment, John following closely behind.
“And now he’s dating your employee?” He sounds slightly exasperated.
“Yes. Sore spot a bit, but I don’t care about them, their relationship.” I flip on the dining and living room lights as the darkness of the rainclouds are ushered in by harder gusts of wind, sending the apartment into a dreary dimness.
John chuckles as he saunters into the living room, tossing his paperwork onto the dining table. “Okay. So Evelyn and Lara are coming in pairs, what about this Oliver guy? He bringing his girlfriend? Could you two hook up?”
“Oliver?” I spit through a cackle.
John gives me a look as if to say, “And? What’s the problem?”
“Oliver,” I wheeze, “is gay.”
“Oh.” John looks a little unsettled. He scratches at his wing-shaped dark eyebrows, then makes a long face. “That won’t work out then.”
“Come on,” I say breezily, plucking my iPhone from the coffee table. I scan to Lara’s recent text. “House 206. Half hour? Not exactly happy hour, but booze is booze, right?”
***
“You know,” Lara says, unbuttoning her fuchsia-colored coat, “I’d say we hardly do this, but for a busy group we sure do find the time eventually.”
Lara’s boyfriend, Worth, takes her coat from her and, along with his, goes to hang them on the coat rack in the back of the hip downtown bar.
Worth is a perfect gentleman and an ideal match for Lara, seeing that he’s also a thirty-something committed to his career. He knows what he wants and doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who wastes time getting it. He’s average height, nicely built in a jock sort of way, has kind eyes but a confident expression when at ease, a strong handshake, and always a hand or an eye on Lara. He seems smitten, and, much to his and Lara’s delight, she’s smitten with him.
“This is a great idea,” I tell Lara. I hand my black waist-length coat to John, and he joins Worth. “Have some fun time out with John. Maybe even score a hookup.”
“You’re serious?” she says. “Claire honestly convinced you?”
“I’m taking advice from all you girls,” I say simply. “But maybe I can also help score for John. You never know.”
“Claire’s wanting to match-make him, too?” Lara adjusts her pearl bracelet.
“Yes,” I say in a whiney tone. “But John has been broken up with Jean for quite a while now, evidently. Could do him some good.”
“That one didn’t work out either?”
I close my eyes and shrug, making a disappointed gesture. “I know, another bust.
”
“She was gorgeous, wasn’t she?” she asks as Worth and John make their way back to the booth.
“Like all of them?” I say, and pull my cell phone out from my black clutch. “I wouldn’t know. Never saw a pic of her. But probably.”
“Bummer,” Lara says. “Well maybe it’ll be a win-win. John can help you score, and you can help him.”
“We’ll see,” I say right as John takes a seat next to me, leaving plenty of room to his right for whomever will show up next.
“We’ll see about what?” John asks. He grabs the trifold, bright purple cocktail menu from the center of the table and runs his eyes over it.
“Oh,” I say, looking to Lara, “we’ll, uh, see when the rest of the gang gets here.” I flash her a quick smile, then glance at my phone, half-expecting there to be a call or message from Oliver or Evelyn. There’s only a text message from Jackie. It reads: Again. SO sorry I couldn’t make it. Busy w/ work. I’m on fire!! XOXO
I wave my phone about and tell Lara Jackie says she’s sorry she can’t make it. “Too much work,” I say.
“Yeah. Robin and Bobby couldn’t get a sitter last-minute,” Lara says, disappointed. “And it’s not exactly a Friday or Saturday night.”
“But still a great idea, pulling this one out.” I slip the phone back into my clutch. “We’re never out with the boys in tow.”
“Hey, there!” a booming male voice calls, immediately interrupting the small talk.
“Hi,” the sweet, high-pitched voice of Evelyn follows Chad’s.
Meet-and-greets are made, and the couple, arm in arm, take a seat at the booth.
“Already ordered the first round?” Chad asks eagerly. He points to the cocktail menu still in John’s hands.
“Hello,” Oliver says in a singsong voice as he materializes seemingly from nowhere. “Was stuck driving behind these two slow pins.” He hitches a thumb at Chad and smirks.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 26
