Someday Maybe

by Ophelia London

  “Oh, yes.” Megs jogged in place, her springy ponytail bouncing up and down. “Gotta run those five miles.”

  More than ready for them to leave, I tried to steady my heart and my breathing, but they were both out of control. It was too hot. Too stifling. Was San Francisco in the middle of a heat wave? I pressed a hand to the back of my neck then ran it across my throat and clavicle, again and again.

  “So, Rach, I’ll see you—” Meghan’s gaze whipped back to me in a double take. “Rachel,” she whispered, leaning toward me. “What are you doing?”

  I flinched at her accusatory tone. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Have you seen yourself? You’re all dewy and tousled and…” She snickered through her teeth, lowering her voice another notch. “And you’re touching yourself…like you’re thinking about sex.”

  I dropped my hand from my throat. “What?”

  “Seriously.” She nodded at me. “Is that one of Roger’s T-shirts? It’s way too big, and since when do you go commando upstairs? I can totally see your…”

  I fisted the front of my shirt, pulling it back in place from where it had slid off my shoulder, covering the part of my boob I’d just displayed to the world.

  “Better.” She straightened and returned to the trail. “Bye, Rach,” she chirped. “Call me later.”

  I lifted a hand to wave good-bye then glanced in Oliver’s direction. He was bent over, facing the other way while petting Sydney, who’d wandered from my lap. Before I could even exhale, he pivoted a one-eighty, and our faces were two feet apart.

  “Nice to see you, Rachel.” His gaze flicked from my eyes to the top of my V-neck that I held together in one fist.

  I felt a charge at the back of my neck, under my hair, in the air around my head. Without another word, he straightened and jogged away.

  It wasn’t until Sydney pulled on her leash that I realized I hadn’t moved. When I managed to make it to my feet, it was much warmer outside. How long had I been paralyzed on the side of the trail?

  Securing the leash in one hand, I pressed my other hand over my eyes, trying to decide if what just happened actually did happen, or if it was one of my funky dreams. I stared down at the patch of grass where Oliver had been standing. Could I still see shoe imprints?

  So, Rad was Oliver. Perfect.

  My best friend had the hots for Oliver. Double perfect.

  Welcome home, Rachel.

  Besides Chris Pine and that one singer in Backstreet Boys, Meghan and I had never gone after the same guy. Not that we were now. I’d known Oliver a million years ago, and I probably hadn’t made the best second impression by lounging on the grass, looking—as Meghan insinuated—like I probably used to look right before Oliver and I had…

  Gah! Way to stay classy, Rach.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The classic rock continued all morning. After an extra-thorough shower in an attempt to scrub the events of the running trail off my skin, I left home, driving without a destination, though it wasn’t a surprise when I ended up across the bridge at Another Time & Place.

  A lovely punch of spice and citrus invaded my nostrils as I entered the store. Simply being in the same room with so many aromatherapy wonders was enough to ease my tensions. I grabbed a few sticks of beeswax candles, but what I was really after was more oil.

  “Hey. Rachel, right?” Spring came out from the back.

  “Hi. And you’re Spring. Hard to forget a name like that.”

  “We’ve got my mother to thank.” She rolled her eyes. “So what can I get for you? We’ve got some—” She stopped at the sound of something crashing behind her. She glanced at the set of salon-style double doors that led to the back office, but didn’t move to investigate.

  “Do you need to check on that?”

  “That?” She waved a hand. “No, I know what that is. It’s nothing.”

  “Springer.” A man’s voice came from the back, then the swinging salon doors swung apart. “Have you seen my other— Oh, hey.” It was the argyle sweater guy from before. He wasn’t in argyle today, but a suit. Or rather the bottom half of a suit. His top half consisted of an unbuttoned, untucked white shirt with a dark blue tie hanging loose under the collar. Why did it seem I always stumbled upon these two in the middle of…I don’t know.

  “Wasn’t aware you had a customer,” he added, going to work on the buttons.

  “This is a store. Of course I have customers.” She glanced at me. “I have a paper due and we were, um, ya know, editing.”

  “Cool.” I nodded, not needing gory details. “Hi.” I waved at the guy, thinking it would be more awkward if we tried to pretend like I didn’t notice him standing there half dressed.

  “Henry, this is Rachel,” Spring said. “One of my highly valued Naturally Pure customers.”

  “Nice to meet you.” He finished the last button. “You’re into oils, too?”

  “Yeah. And aren’t you into cranberries?”

  His glance shifted to Spring. “Honeycutt.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You will so pay for that later.” He kissed her on the forehead, gave one of her little braids a tug, then disappeared into the back.

  I looked at Spring and we both laughed. “Sorry,” I said. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you—or him. It was too easy.”

  She waved me off. “Believe me, Henry Knightly doesn’t get embarrassed. His sister runs a relationship blog and I’m pretty sure he tells her everything. Anyway, he shouldn’t be such a cynic about the holistic lifestyle.” She leaned against the counter. “And he’s into oils, too. He just won’t admit it.”

  “I had a boyfriend who loved Citrus Joy on me. He said it made me smell like Fruity Pebbles.”

  “That’s hot.” Spring moved to the display. “You should totally stock up.”

  I pictured Oliver’s face from this morning, when I’d caught him not-so-subtly checking out my wardrobe malfunction, and his secretive smile that followed. Then I gave myself a mental head-thwap. No, Rachel. Just—no.

  “We’re not together anymore.”

  “Too bad. I’ll bet the chemical remembrance of childhood sugar cereal was a ginormous turn-on for him.”

  “Yeah, it was.” The weight of a small mountain sat on my chest. Just then, my cell rang. “Sorry.” I pulled it from my purse and checked the face. Sarah. Speak of the freakin’ devil. I declined the call.

  It wasn’t her fault, but simply looking at the name on my caller ID made me twitchy. A few seconds later, my phone pinged with voicemail. I walked toward the display of jewelry while I played the message, gnawing on my knuckle.

  “Hi Rachel. It’s Sarah Wentworth. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. So sucky you got stuck at work. We really missed you last night. Really. My brother dropped by—I told you he was, right? I met a lot of new people. Meghan and your brother and Tim. Seriously, everyone’s so friendly. Thanks again for inviting me.” A pause. “So, I was wondering, I mean, I know it’s Saturday and I’m sure you already have plans tonight, but if not, do you want to hang out? No biggie. Give me a call back when you can.”

  Why did she have to be so damn sweet?

  “Bad news?”

  I glanced at Spring rearranging pamphlets on the front counter.

  “Your face,” she added. “It’s all frowny.”

  “Not bad news. Just…weird.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Hmm. That’s worse than bad. Guy trouble?”

  “Sort of.” I shrugged. “Well, yes. Definitely guy trouble.”

  “They’re such children, aren’t they? I mean, seriously, if you don’t agree with everything they say, even if their facts are clearly wrong—”

  “I can hear you, babe,” Henry called from the back.

  Spring lifted her chin. “I know you can, babe,” she replied. “Here.” She handed me a bottle. “Try some Jubilation. It’s an elevating blend.” She leaned her elbows on the counter. “I actually met the chemist who invented it, and she told me it’s meant to du
plicate the release of endorphins and pheromones, like a burst of straight estrogen.”

  I opened the bottle and took a sniff. It was interesting, familiar. “Endorphins? Like after you exercise?”

  “No, more like after you…” She lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh, as in…”

  “Ohhh,” I repeated, catching her drift. I took another whiff. “I can’t put my finger on what it smells like, but it reminds me of…”

  “I know.” Spring grinned. “That’s the point.”

  “Spring.” Henry held open one swinging door, fully dressed, tie in a perfect Winsor knot. “I better not find any of that on your nightstand.”

  “Of course not, babe.” He nodded and disappeared. “I don’t need it,” she added in his direction. Then she looked at me and whispered: “I really don’t.” She fanned her face. “So this guy problem you’re having, what’s the deal?”

  I sighed, desperate to discuss it with someone. Spring was safe, she wouldn’t know who I was talking about. “Okay, well, long story short, someone I dated ages ago is back in my life. But not really back, just kind of back.”

  “In a good way?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It didn’t end well with us—at all. And now I’m accidentally friends with his sister, and when I ran into him this morning for the first time in six years, I inadvertently flashed him my boobs, and I’m pretty sure my best friend is in mad lust with him.”

  “Frack,” Spring said. “Good thing I have an oil for that.”

  I smiled. “I thought you might.”

  A short while later, I left with another stash of oil and the address of a good bar in Nob Hill. Henry’s recommendation. I sat in my car and sandwiched my cell, needing to reply to Sarah about tonight.

  Meghan was coming over later for takeout, then to practice her conversational Spanish with Roger. Unless she had a sudden date with “Rad,” of course—gah. My stomach clenched. There was no reason Sarah couldn’t come over. I scrolled down my missed calls and rang her before I lost my nerve.

  Back at the apartment, I scoured my bathroom top to bottom. Later, I booted up my laptop, sifting through my Yahoo inbox. A nice long email was waiting from Krikit. I replied thoroughly to my sister’s message, even attaching a few choice photos of George Michael, in case she was having a bad day.

  Just before the girls were due to arrive, I rang the neighborhood Chinese place and ordered an array of greasy-delicious food therapy. An hour later, half of the food was gone.

  “What does your fortune cookie say?” Meghan asked Sarah from across the coffee table where we gathered. “And remember, you have to add ‘in bed’ at the end of the fortune.”

  I gave her a look. “Are we thirteen?”

  She tossed a wonton at me. “It’s part of the fun, loser.”

  Sarah was looking down, silently re-reading her mystic message.

  “What does is say?” Meghan repeated, noting our new friend’s blush.

  “Umm.” Sarah shifted. “It says, ‘Excitement and intrigue follow you closely wherever you go.’”

  “In bed,” Meghan tagged on.

  “That totally bugs.” I stabbed my half-eaten egg roll with one chopstick. “That’s not even a fortune. A fortune is supposed to forecast something to come, not tell you what’s currently happening.”

  “Does yours forecast anything?” Sarah asked Meghan.

  “It says, ‘A closed mouth gathers no feet.’”

  “In bed.” Sarah shrieked, and the two of them dissolved in laughter. “What’s yours say, Rach?”

  I cracked open my cookie with one hand, already sensing the fortune was going to be something I didn’t want to hear. “Umm.” I squinted, pretending to focus on the teeny font. “It says, ‘If you want a rainbow, you must put up with a little rain.’” I lifted my eyes while wadding the tiny slip of paper into my fist.

  “In bed?” Sarah said, confused.

  “Yeah.” I twisted my lips and shrugged. “Doesn’t make sense. Who wants ice cream?”

  “That’s a crock,” Meghan cut in. “That’s a Dolly Parton song.”

  My neck felt hot and splotchy. Dammit. I knew I’d heard that phrase somewhere. So much for coming up with my own fortune on the fly. Some creative writer I was turning out to be.

  “Crappy fortunes, right?” My voice sounded high and strangled, and I slipped the wadded paper into my pocket, knowing I’d probably black out if I attempted to read to them what my fortune really said: “A past love will send you a sign of affection.”

  In bed.

  Nice joke, cookie.

  After a single knock, Giovanna barged through the front door. Without so much as a hello, she strode directly to us, sank to the floor between Sarah and me, and started picking at the leftovers on our plates. It was after nine at night, yet she wore round, black sunglasses and her dark hair was in a twist on top of her head, looking very Holly Golightly.

  “Hungry much?” I chuckled.

  “Starving.”

  Sarah, who’d yet to meet Gio, leaned away, looking rather terrified at our local goddess of fabulous.

  “Didn’t you go out to dinner with what’s-his-head?” I asked, sliding over the plum sauce so she wouldn’t have to reach. “Enrico, was it?”

  “Enzo was tonight,” Meghan corrected.

  “Didn’t he feed you, Gi? Oh, sorry.” I waved around the table by way of introduction. “Giovanna, Sarah. Sarah, Gio.”

  Sarah tried to smile. “Nice to, umm…”

  Giovanna never stopped chewing, but was courteous enough to lift her sunglasses, make eye contact with Sarah, and nod. “Too petrified to eat,” she finally said, and then added something in French I didn’t understand. A drop of soy sauce was smudged on her chin.

  While Sarah and I cleared the plates, Meghan disappeared into Roger’s room to practice Spanish. When she finished an hour later, Roger took all the leftover food and made himself a late-night picnic in the kitchen, heckling us when the conversation turned to Pitt versus Clooney. Gio was on her back under the coffee table, sunglasses still in place, snoring softly, while Sarah was in my room looking through my books, leaving Megs and I to sprawl across the couch and flip through my DVR.

  “You didn’t tell me you knew Rad,” she said.

  The remote control slipped out of my hand.“Did he say we knew each other?” I asked in my best totally casual voice.

  “He said you met freshman year.”

  “Long time ago.” I made a show of pointing the remote at the TV, but the channel wasn’t changing. Then I noticed it was pointing backward.

  “That’s what he said, too.” Meghan reached for the bowl of pretzels between us. I pushed it over. Sarah reentered the living room carrying three novels. “He said he was surprised he even recognized you.”

  Sarah plopped on the couch next to me. “Are you ladies talking about a guy?”

  For the life of me, I did not know how to answer. Even Meghan appeared uncharacteristically tongue-tied as the question—and the name of its answer—hung in the air.

  “Um, your brother.” I rubbed my nose. “We were saying—”

  “You know Ollie, Rachel?”

  I shrugged, feeling all sorts of weird. “Kind of.” My cheeks were about to burst into flames, so I did some slow yoga breath through my nose, trying to stop the oncoming blush, which probably made it worse. “We met at USF—a long time ago,” I added, even more casually, waving my hand in the air to display the appropriate breeziness.

  “Seriously?” Sarah slid closer. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him when we were talking about him at dinner the other night?”

  “I didn’t know it was… I wasn’t—”

  “That’s Rad’s name?” Gio startled us all. After the boatload of carbs she’d just inhaled, I thought she was down for the count. “Ollie?”

  “Oliver,” I corrected automatically, then concentrated on the remote again. Wowzers, there’re just so many buttons, weren’t
there? “I guess he goes by Rad.”

  “That started when he transferred to State,” Sarah said. “We never call him that at home.” She swished her long, chestnut hair. It was the same color as Oliver’s before he’d shaved it off. And her eyes were the same light gray and shape as his. I was so clueless.

  “Which poor star of Ocean’s Eleven you talking about now?” Roger asked, appearing out of nowhere. “Or do I want to know?”

  In a burst of what could only be called a “desperate attempt to change the subject,” I flung the remote across the room. It hit the wall and the batteries flew out. “Oops, slipped.” I slid to the floor, fumbling for the four double-A’s.

  “My brother, Oliver,” Sarah said to Rog.

  So much for distractions.

  “He was at Tim’s last night,” she added, “and he was friends with Rachel in college.” She looked at me with a big smile. “I love how we all know each other!”

  I glanced up from all fours to see Roger peering down at me. We exchanged a brief glance while I felt puke lapping at the back of my throat. Not a word. Please.

  “So!” I exclaimed—mostly because I didn’t have another remote to throw. “Megs! W-why don’t you break out the karaoke?”

  “Only if you change the lyrics for me.”

  “Fine, sure,” I said. “Which song?”

  She rubbed her chin. “I want to make it hard for you this time. How about Maroon Five’s Misery.”

  Happy with the successful change of subject, I sat cross-legged on the floor. “Okay, it’s now titled ‘I am Rotisserie,’ and it’s about a chicken in a restaurant window. Wait.” I held up one finger. “Only it’s not a chicken, it’s a woman, and she’s naked…naked in a restaurant window, covered in herbs.” We all burst out laughing, even Rog. “Give me a second to come up with the chorus.”

  “Did you know Ollie writes music sometimes?” Sarah said. “He used to make up funny lyrics all the time. He’ll think this is hilarious.”