I’m tempted to mention that for someone so integral to his place in this world, he’s yet to mention her to me. But wouldn’t that make me sound like a psycho girlfriend? Which I’m definitely not. His girlfriend or psycho. So I keep my mouth shut and stick out my hand.
Carly shakes it as she asks, “And how do you two know each other?”
I could be reading into it, but I swear I detect a bit of an edge to her voice.
“Who, Jess here?” Brandon says, and I’m tempted to look around to see if there’s anyone else Carly could be talking about. “We go way back. Grew up in the same neighborhood, went to high school together.”
“Oh, how nice,” Carly says. “I wonder why I’ve never heard of you.”
“Oh, well, you know her parents, Bill and Jane Brooks. Jess, however, went off to New York to attend NYU right after high school.” He looks at me, sobering a bit, clearly wondering how much detail he should give about my move back to the south.
“I’m back now, though,” I say, attempting to be vague.
Carly gives a little snort. “Couldn’t hack it in the big city, huh?”
It’s possible she’s just trying to be funny—in a not-funny-at-all kind of way, of course—but it still stings, and my defensive hackles go up.
“Actually, my fiancé was killed in the World Trade Centers on 9/11,” I say before I can stop the words from leaving my mouth. Carly’s doe eyes go even rounder than they were to begin with. I feel Brandon staring at me, and I’m sure his expression is aghast, but I refuse to break eye contact with Carly I-Can’t-Live-Without-Her Redhead. “So, yes. You’re right. It became a little difficult to hack it.” Then I turn to Brandon. “You know what, I need to use the restroom. I’ll find you in the restaurant. Nice meeting you, Carly.”
And then I run inside, leaving them in my proverbial dust. The hostess greets me but I ignore her as I race past the bar toward the bathroom. The tears are going to come at any moment. I need to get to a stall before they do. I can hardly catch my breath. And all I can think is how big of a mistake this was.
I escape into a stall and slam the door before leaning my back against it. The tears come. I don’t try to stop them, even though it’s going to make my mascara run. I don’t have anyone to impress anyway. And I’m pretty sure I’m never leaving this bathroom tonight—not until it’s time to go.
The main door to the bathroom creaks a moment later, and heels click across the tile.
“Jessica?”
Shit. It’s Carly. The last person I want to talk to right now.
“I know you’re in here,” she presses. “I see your shoes underneath the door.”
Damn it. I sniffle but I don’t answer.
A second later, the door rattles as she leans against it on the other side. She lets out a long breath.
“I’m really sorry I said that,” she says, and she truly does sound remorseful. “I-I didn’t mean anything, I just…”
I let the silence linger for a moment before I say, “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” And truly she couldn’t have. “I’m sorry for how I reacted. I…” I take a deep breath. “This is my first time out in public since it happened. Unless you count the shopping trip with my mom yesterday, which I don’t.”
Her laugh is tinkling and lighthearted. It makes me long for a time when I felt that way.
“I wouldn’t count shopping trips with my mom, either. Those can be harrowing.” There’s another beat of silence. “Do you think you could come out now?”
I turn around and unhook the lock as her heels click away from the door. When I come out she’s leaning against the counter, a sheepish expression on her perfect, doll-like face. No wonder Brandon forgot all about me when she came on the scene.
“You okay?” she asks, and her concern seems genuine.
I nod and walk toward the counter. I’m facing the mirror, and she’s facing away, like we’re in one of those über modern love seats. I look like Hell. My mascara has run black streaks down my cheeks. Eyeliner is smudged. And the skin around my eyes is puffy and red. Just looking at my reflection makes my chest flutter with a fresh set of tears.
“Hey,” Carly says, her tone gentle, like she’s soothing a baby. “We can fix it. Here.” She reaches into her tiny purse and somehow procures a sizeable compact that contains concealer, blush, two eye shadow colors, and the tiniest tube of mascara I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’ll fix you, but you have to promise not to cry again. Deal?”
I laugh. I feel like a toddler. “Deal,” I say, my voice thick.
A few minutes later, she turns me toward the mirror. It’s a miracle. She’s a miracle. And now I understand why Brandon probably can’t live without her.
“So…what’s up with you and Brandon?” I ask before I can stop the words from spilling idiotically from my mouth. I wish I could take them back. Rewind the clock a mere five seconds.
Carly snorts. “Me and Brandon?” She laughs even harder. “You’re kidding, right? You know I’m his assistant. That would be unethical. Not to mention, he’s way too young for me.”
I blink up at the stunning redhead. She can’t be more than twenty-two, tops. Brandon is close to that. Unless she has some weird thing about only dating men who are old enough to be her father, I can’t imagine why she would think he’s too old for her.
“How old are you?” I blurt out, and then realizing how rude that sounds, I add, “Never mind. Forget I asked. That was horrible of me to ask.”
“Jessica,” Carly says, putting an end to my blabbering. “Relax. I’m not one of those uptight women who refuse to share their age. I’ll be thirty next month.”
My jaw hits the floor. I mean, it’s not like thirty is old or anything, but I just can’t believe she’s thirty.
“Brandon is like a little brother to me,” she says as she swipes coral-colored lipstick across her lips. “Well, except that he’s my boss.”
“That’s an awfully complicated relationship.”
Carly shrugs. “But it works. You ready to go out there now?”
I’m not. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be, so there’s no point delaying the inevitable.
“Sure,” I say, and then Carly loops her arm through mine and leads us out of the bathroom.
When we reach the party room, everyone is still milling about, drinks in hand. God, I haven’t had a drink in months. I could totally use one right about now.
As if on cue, Brandon saunters over to us, two glasses of red wine in hand. He’s smiling, and his hazel eyes never leave mine.
“I’m glad you came out,” he says as he hands the wine to me.
“Well, you have Carly to thank.”
Carly grabs the other glass of wine from him and gives us both a wry smile. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she says as she walks away.
I’m a little nervous all of a sudden. And not just because I’m at a party for the first time in ages. It’s Brandon. Or maybe the realization that the possibility of him being with another woman had the power to make me jealous. But how can that be when my heart still belongs to Kyle?
“You okay?” he asks, moving to stand beside me.
I look down at my shoes. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m not usually that…high maintenance.”
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
I shake my head, feeling really stupid. “No, it’s not your fault. I just…It’s—”
“Been a long time. I know.” He smiles sideways at me. “Well, I’m all yours now. I promise not to leave your side all night.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I say with a little laugh. “I’m a big girl. I need to start acting like one.”
“In that case…” He holds out his elbow for me to latch on to. I’m reluctant. I haven’t had contact with many people, let alone a guy, in a long time. It feels strange, because he’s not Kyle. Yet I really want to take his arm. “Let me introduce you to my colleagues.”
After what I’m sure is the longe
st pause ever in the history of the world, I take his arm, and it’s not nearly as weird as I thought it would be. It’s comforting, actually.
We make our way around the room, pausing at each little cluster of employees, and Brandon quickly makes the introductions every time. I nod and smile, but choose not to say much. I’m too fascinated by Dorky Brandon and how easy he is in this environment, like he was born to mingle. He’s not in any way the same kid I knew in high school. The one who either had his nose in a book or was hanging from a hook in the girls’ bathroom, the victim of an Ultimate Wedgie.
A giggle bubbles up, and despite my best effort to tamp it down, he notices.
“Something funny?” he asks as we make our way to the dining table to get our plates for the buffet.
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head.
“You are such a liar. What were you thinking about?”
His hazel eyes are dancing with mirth, but I’m afraid if I tell him the reason for my own mirth, he’ll get upset about the reminder of his high school torture.
“Nothing,” I say, more emphatically this time. “I swear. I’m just…having a good time, that’s all.”
He smiles. “Good.” He flicks his head in the direction of the food. “Ready to eat?”
It’s several hours and several glasses of wine later before we finally say goodbye to his office crew and head back to the Prius. It’s gotten really cold. The kind of cold that penetrates every layer of clothing you’re wearing and goes right down to your bones. I shouldn’t be that cold. I lived in New York for two years. But I suppose the body adjusts to wherever it’s living, and now I’m frigid.
Brandon opens the door for me and then rushes to the other side. He hops in and quickly starts the ignition. Cold air blasts from the vents, and we sit there, waiting, rubbing our hands together and shivering. It takes a few minutes, but finally the heat kicks in and we both relax a bit.
“Oh, thank God,” I say, and I realize it’s the first time either of us has spoken since we left the restaurant.
“I was worried we’d die out here of hypothermia.”
“You know the restaurant is still open, right?” I say, my voice deadpan. “I hope you’d head back in there before your toes turned black and fell off.”
When he gives me a playful smile, my heart lifts. I feel effervescent tonight. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it was the lively company. Maybe it’s…
The twisting in my gut returns.
“Well, I’m glad we didn’t have to worry about any of that,” he continues, and I struggle to remember what we were talking about. “Did you have fun tonight?”
I nod, looking straight ahead out the window as we leave the parking lot and head onto the deserted road.
“I really did,” I say, still surprised about that fact. “And listen, thanks for being so…cool.”
We come to a stoplight and he pops the collar on his coat with a little shrug. “Well, I am a pretty cool guy.”
I laugh as the light turns green and we speed along to the next one.
“So, are you ever gonna tell me what you were laughing about earlier?”
Oh, God. I wince. “You really want to know?”
“Spill it.”
I take a deep breath. “I was remembering a time in high school—”
“Oh, boy. Here we go,” he says, but I can tell he’s laughing already.
“The time I found you in the girls’ bathroom.”
I don’t need to say anymore. He’s half laughing, half wincing. “I was hoping you had forgotten about that.”
“Forgotten?” I blurt out. “How could I forget finding you strung up by your underwear?”
We’re both laughing now. The mood in the car is light, fun. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not completely scarred by the experience,” I say once I’ve caught my breath.
He shrugs again. “If anything, stuff like that made me even more determined. Built character, you know?”
“That’s a great way of looking at things.”
“It was either that or throw myself off a bridge. I’m happy with my choice.”
We fall silent again, and I’m glad to realize there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. As a matter of fact, I feel completely comfortable with him. If I didn’t, I never would have agreed to come out with him tonight.
When we pull into my driveway a few minutes later, Brandon turns off the ignition, and all of a sudden it feels like a date again. Like he wants to sit in the car and make out before walking me to the door. I have no idea if that’s true, but I start to panic nonetheless.
“You don’t have to turn the car off,” I say quickly, gathering my purse from off the floor. “You’ll freeze.”
“I was gonna walk you to your door.”
I shake my head. “Not a date, remember?” I pull the lever on the door, but his hand on my arm stops me from jumping out of the car.
I stare at his hand and then finally look up to meet his eyes. Even in the darkness, I can see how tender, how understanding, his expression is. It makes my heart race, and my body does all kinds of other things I don’t want it to do. He’s not Kyle.
“Walking you to the door hardly makes it a date,” he finally says.
The cold air gusts in from my half-open door, snapping me out of my trance. I remove his hand from my arm and give him a wide, if not forced, smile. “Thanks again for a great evening. Tell Caroline I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon.”
And then I bolt from the car and toward my house, leaving him no opportunity to be chivalrous.
EIGHT
When the doorbell rings at 3:30 the next afternoon, I bound down the stairs to answer it, my laptop under my arm. It’s Caroline, of course. She’s coming to start on the recipes, which makes me both nervous and happy at the same time. I want Kyle’s work to be immortalized. Even if the recipes are crap (which I’m sure they’re not), he deserves to have them saved on something other than a composition notebook that’s susceptible to wear and tear, water, fire…dogs.
Mom meets me in the foyer just as I’m about to answer the door. She’s surprised to see me showered and dressed, I can tell by her wide eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. I’m glad. I don’t want to talk about what’s making me feel more human lately. More alive. I’m not ready to admit it, not even to myself.
“Who’s that?” she asks.
“Caroline. She’s helping me with something.”
“Oh?”
I suppose I owe her an explanation, but I can’t leave Caroline standing on the stoop in this cold. I swing the door open and there she is, in all her Goth glory. Her hair is freshly dyed, and her makeup is thick. Like she’s trying to hide behind it.
“Hey,” I say, trying to match her lack of enthusiasm. “What’s up?”
She rolls her eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Brooks,” she says when she sees my mom standing behind me. At least she has the decency to be sheepish and respectful around grown-ups.
“Hi, Caroline!” Mom clearly isn’t interested in masking her own enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you were coming over. Do you want a snack?”
I’m tempted to roll my own eyes. We’re not children.
“Actually,” Caroline says, and I jerk my head toward her. “Do you have any cookies?”
Cookies? I wonder if she’ll ask for milk next.
Mom smiles knowingly at her. “I’ve got a fresh package of Oreos and a new carton of milk.”
“Thanks, Mrs. B.”
Mom disappears into the kitchen and Caroline turns to me, all moody again. “We gonna do this or what?”
“Um…yeah. Of course.”
I pad into the kitchen with Caroline’s heavy shoes clunking along behind me. As Mom sets out the milk and cookies, I put the laptop on the table and open it up. I opened Word earlier to a blank page. It’s all ready to go.
“All right,” I say. “You’re all set.”
Caroline stares at me like she’s waitin
g for something, her penciled black brows raised so high that I can’t see them under her bangs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“The recipes?”
Oh! Of course. They’re upstairs. On my bed. I meant to grab them, but…
“Sorry.” I slide out of my chair. My heart is racing. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m not so sure about this. Maybe I don’t want anyone else, let alone a bratty teenager, to have access to the only thing I have left of Kyle.
I turn my engagement ring around my finger. Okay, not the only thing, but those recipes almost seem more personal, more intimate, than the bejeweled piece of metal around my finger.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks as I head for the stairs. “What recipes?”
I hear Caroline say, “Apparently Kyle left a book of recipes. I’m going to transcribe them.”
Mom’s voice is faint, but all she says is, “Oh.”
When I return a moment later, book in hand, Mom’s acting like nothing happened, and Caroline is drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. She doesn’t move from her slumped position until I place the book in front of her.
“Here you go.”
“Okay,” Caroline replies. “Here I go.”
Caroline’s fingers start to fly over the keyboard. I’m stunned. Where did she learn to type like that? It’s not until Mom says my name that I realize I’ve been staring, mesmerized at the keyboard.
“What’s up?” I say, turning to face my mother.
“I thought maybe you could help me with dinner tonight,” she says, and I have to suppress my groan. She knows I hate to cook. And it would only serve as a reminder of Kyle and how adept he was in the kitchen.
“Mom,” I say, and I’m very aware of the insolence in my tone. “You know I don’t cook.”
“Not cooking,” she trills. “Just…helping me prep. You know. Cutting veggies, mixing up a salad dressing. No ovens or stoves. I promise.”
“It’s not like I’m afraid of the heat.”
“I’ll help.”
We both swivel to look at Caroline. Her fingers have stopped, poised above the keyboard, and she’s staring back at us, anticipation on her face. It’s the first time she’s actually seemed like a sixteen-year-old to me since I met her. Somewhere in there, I can see the eager, waspy young girl who might have been head cheerleader had tragedy not struck her home at such an impressionable age.
Learning to Live Page 6
