Fiona grabbed Meg’s wrist to look at her watch. “Yikes! It was ready half an hour ago. I’m surprised Boonjira hasn’t called.” They stood. “Hey, you said you had laundry to do. I have a washer and dryer here.”
“I couldn’t impose.” Meg placed the kitten she had been holding into the box. She discreetly checked the temperature on the heating pad. It would have been awful if they inadvertently poached the little guys.
“Sure you can. You can buy me coffee the next time I go to Helga’s, if it makes you feel better.” Fiona picked up her keys and phone.
“An honest barter changes everything.” Meg walked toward the door with Fiona. “Clean laundry for the price of a cup of coffee. How could I refuse?”
Fiona shook her head. “I should have said coffee for a week.”
“A week it is, then.”
“You’re worse than I am at bartering!”
“It’s totally worth it. I’ve heard having an apartment with laundry hookups is a big deal in this city. You lucked out big time.”
A waft of sweet chocolate decadence assailed them on Fiona’s doorstep as they stepped outside. The bakery a few doors down was baking their famous chocolate croissants.
Meg took a deep breath. “The smell gets me every time. I’ve frequented the bakery more times than I should have since I moved to this neighborhood.”
“Oh, the croissants are very good. Not as good as Mrs. Rickles’ chocolate chip cookies, though.”
“Who’s Mrs. Rickles?”
“She’s my next-door neighbor and my very own chocolate chip cookie connection.”
“You have your own chocolate chip cookie connection?” Meg waited for Fiona to lock the door.
“Yup. She bakes me fresh chocolate chip cookies every Sunday.”
Meg chuckled. “You’re bragging now.”
As she stood on the doorstep, Fiona’s laugh ringing in her ear, Meg felt the perfect moment enfold her. In the magical moments before the streetlights snapped on and the ambient electric light replaced that of the setting sun, the warm July evening paused, caught in a fragile gauzy filter that evoked a sense of timeless belonging. The sounds of the neighborhood flowed gently around them. Smell and memory intertwined to bring Meg a sense of sublime happiness. The feeling was uniquely New York, and a tingle of excitement wiggled in her belly. This moment was why she’d stayed in New York for the summer. This was it.
Fiona seemed to sense the magic of the moment, because she closed her eyes and took a long breath. She looked so lovely in the golden light before dusk, and Meg stared at her. Fiona opened her eyes and Meg looked quickly away.
“Every Sunday. And they’re usually still warm and chewy straight from the oven when she brings them over.”
“I’m moving in, then!” Meg joked as they took the short stairway up to sidewalk level. “But seriously, you don’t mind if I do my laundry at your place?”
“Not at all. I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”
Meg followed Fiona as she created a path through the light crowd, and relished the rare, non-humid, and comfortably warm summer night.
“Well, thanks. You don’t know what a relief it is not to have to hunt up enough quarters since the change machine is always busted. Not to mention the hard, plastic chairs—if you’re lucky to get one—which are often splattered with unknown, possibly biological, most definitely toxic, substances.”
“Your relief may evaporate when you realize washing one load at a time takes a lot longer!” Fiona laughed.
“A small inconvenience if it means I don’t have to keep a vigilant eye on three different machines, which are never even remotely close to one another.” Meg didn’t mention that extra time in Fiona’s presence was hardly a drawback, either.
“I’m glad to offer you a reprieve from your normal laundry experience, then.”
“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.” Meg held the door open to the restaurant.
When they walked in, a beautiful older woman dressed in traditional Thai clothing rushed over to give Fiona a hug. Fiona introduced Meg to Boonjira, and after a short conversation where Meg was impressed to hear Fiona’s command of the Thai language, they collected their food and made their way to Meg’s place to pick up her laundry.
The apartment was quiet when they entered, and Meg was relieved to find Aunt Vi wasn’t home and, more importantly, entertaining one of her endless female companions. That would have been embarrassing. She hadn’t thought about the possibility when she brought Fiona over, and a twinge of anxiety had hit her as they approached the door. She decided to make the laundry pick up quick just in case Aunt Vi came home while they were there.
Meg headed down the hall and noticed Fiona hesitate in the foyer. She motioned for her to follow. Because the spotlights of a billboard on the building across from hers provided more than enough illumination through the open curtains of her bedroom window, she’d gotten into the habit of not turning on her bedroom light at night unless she was painting or reading. She realized a couple of steps into her room that it might seem weird to be standing in a dark room with a woman she’d just met, so she turned to flip the switch. As she did so, she ran right into Fiona, who was only a step behind her. Her arm glanced across Fiona’s chest, and the warm softness of Fiona’s breasts beneath the T-shirt felt nice even as Meg jumped away, embarrassed.
“Sorry,” she muttered and stepped to the side, reaching for the switch. She wondered if her face was as red as it felt.
“No harm, no foul.” Fiona laughed.
“I’m usually not so clumsy.”
“Oh, but I am,” Fiona said. “I shouldn’t have been walking so closely.”
Shaking her head in amusement, Meg set the bag containing their food on the dresser and pulled out a change of clothes.
“Since we’re here, I’m going to change out of my work clothes, if it’s okay.”
“Sure, no problem.” Fiona stood in the middle of the room and looked around.
Meg took her clothes to the bathroom and changed quickly into a soft yellow T-shirt, shorts, and flip flops, then ran a brush through her hair. She considered brushing her teeth, but reminded herself this wasn’t a date.
When she returned, she was unprepared to see Fiona looking at a canvas standing on an easel near the window.
“It’s not finished.” Meg stated the obvious in her unexpected nervousness over having Fiona appraise her work. “I’m thinking about painting over it.”
“Oh, don’t. It’s lovely.” Fiona studied the painting of a woman lying across an unmade bed.
Before she’d gone to work, Meg had worked on the sweeps of fabric tangled around the woman’s nude body. She was pleased to see they looked real against the flesh of the woman’s hip.
“Thanks.” Heat rushed through Meg at the way Fiona looked at the painting.
“You’re very talented.”
“I’m not sure I would say that.” Meg could always see the flaws in her paintings. They never turned out exactly as she envisioned them. It’s why she didn’t show them to anyone. Having Fiona see this one was excruciating.
“Well, I would. Do you use a live model?”
“Not since I took a class about a year ago, when I started drawing people. I used to only draw animals.” Blushing, she nodded her head at the canvas. “She’s a product of my imagination.”
“It’s gorgeous. I’ve always been drawn to people with artistic or musical talent. It’s weird, but I sort of fall in love a little with them.” Fiona laughed self-consciously. “You know, figuratively,” she added quickly. “It’s like you see a little bit of their souls. Or maybe it’s jealousy, since I don’t have a creative bone in my body.”
Meg blushed at the comment. “I kind of get it. I feel the same way about musicians.”
“I can’t wait to see what she looks like when you finish he
r. You’ll show me, won’t you? Don’t paint over her. She’s too pretty.”
“I can’t quite see a face for her yet.” Meg, feeling shy about her work, grabbed her laundry bag, stuffed the clothes she’d changed out of into it, and buckled up the flap. She pulled the canvas straps closed and the basket turned into a convenient backpack. Pushing her sketchbook into one of the outside pockets out of habit, Meg pulled the bag onto her back.
“Shall we?” she asked as she picked up the food.
25
The kittens were still sleeping when they returned with the food and Fiona was ravenous. The vicious hunger of pregnancy demanded to be appeased. Meg placed the bag of takeout food on the tiny kitchen table and shrugged the laundry bag off her back.
“Do you want to start a load before we eat?” Fiona asked. “I’ll show you where the machines are.”
Turning toward the hallway, Fiona glanced at the flip flops Meg had left near the door and smiled.
“Oh. Sorry.” Meg moved toward her shoes. “It’s an old habit. No one in my family wears shoes unless they have to.”
“I’d rather be barefoot, myself.” Fiona kicked off her running shoes. “I like how comfortable it is to be around you.”
Meg smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I feel the same.”
Fiona enjoyed the way Meg’s dazzling smile made her feel.
“The washer and dryer are in here.” She opened the louvered folding doors next to the bathroom, which were halfway down the short hall leading to the only other room in the apartment, her bedroom. The apartment was small, but it was comfortable. The machines were full-sized, side-by-side, which was rare in New York City apartments, where space was always limited. If one was lucky enough to have their own washer and dryer, they were often apartment-sized stackable machines.
Meg dropped her bag on the floor in front of the washer. “This is going to be nice. After dormitory laundry rooms and city laundromats over the last few years, the thought of relaxing during the spin cycle is oddly satisfying.”
“Oh yeah. I remember dormitory washers. I had many a load tossed on the floor by an impatient jerk when I left for a minute to go to the bathroom.”
Meg sorted her clothing into piles. “I have three small loads, do you have any laundry needing to be done, or should I set the machines for smaller loads?”
The question took Fiona off-guard. She had never done laundry with someone else, not even when she lived in the dorms as an undergrad. The prospect seemed so intimate.
Meg seemed to sense Fiona’s hesitation and she looked over her shoulder at her. “Are you one of those people who get weirded out by mingling laundry with someone else?” A smile played on Meg’s lips.
“Who? Me? No. I’ll bring it out.” Fiona tried to be cool but kicked herself for being such a whack job.
She went to the bathroom to get her hamper. They silently separated their clothes into three piles before the machines—whites, darks, and something-in-betweens.
“I’ll finish getting dinner ready,” Fiona said, when Meg began the alchemy of adding soap and fabric softener to the rising water. Even with the twinge of unease Fiona felt, part of her actually liked the idea of Meg doing her laundry.
She pulled plates out of the cupboard and grabbed some silverware out of the drawer.
“You’re using china?” Meg watched Fiona set the table.
“You didn’t expect paper plates, did you? How gauche!” Fiona spoke in her haughtiest voice, not bothering to explain that Aunt Corny’s china was her only dinnerware and she didn’t do paper plates.
“Certainly not, Madame! Please forgive my barbarian ways.” Meg performed a contrite bow.
Fiona held back a laugh. “Apology duly noted.” She went back into the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Can I get you a beer, wine, hard cider, water, milk, or orange juice? I have a small selection of liquor too, if that’s your fancy.”
“Beer sounds good. We can save the kamikazes for after dinner,” Meg joked.
“I’ve got a stout, a pilsner, and a hefeweizen.”
“You’re like a regular liquor store,” Meg laughed. “The hef sounds good.”
“My friends leave one or two when they come over. I don’t drink much and never by myself, so sometimes I have more beer in my refrigerator than I have food. I’m glad to get rid of some of it.”
“Sounds like my roommate. Except it doesn’t stay in her fridge very long.”
Fiona wondered who Meg’s roommate was, but since she didn’t explain, Fiona didn’t pry.
She gathered their drinks and brought them to the table, placing a frosted pint glass of beer before Meg and a glass of ice water near her own plate. They made small talk as they ate, discussing local restaurants and places Meg hadn’t yet had a chance to visit.
“Tell me about the bar exam. Was it as hard as people make it out to be? Do you feel like a hardened lawyer now?” Meg asked.
Fiona chased a piece of mango around her plate with a fork, feeling nothing like a hardened lawyer. “Do I look like a hardened lawyer to you?”
“Actually, no. You lack the edge I associate with most lawyers.”
Fiona cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“It’s a good thing.”
“Your parents are lawyers. Are they hardened?”
“Good question. Most of the time, they’re just my mom and dad. But if you get them riled up, the lawyer comes out in full force, believe me.”
Fiona winked at her. “Well, I guess you haven’t seen me riled up yet.”
Meg nodded. “True. So, tell me about the exam.”
Fiona hadn’t thought of the exam in easy/hard terms. She simply prepared for it and took it. She put her fork down, leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she considered the question.
“See, now you look like a lawyer.” Meg pointed at her folded arms.
Fiona laughed and uncrossed her arms. “I can only go by my own experience,” she said finally. “The exam was a lot of work to prepare for, but it wasn’t hard. Either you know it, or you don’t. I think—no, I know—some people I went to school with underestimated the work and got psyched out about it, which made it harder for them.” An image of Mike played through her mind. “Your family is full of lawyers. What do they say about it?”
“My parents used to describe it like you did. But then my brother failed the bar. After that, they made it sound almost impossible. I’m sure it was to make him feel better. From what most people say it sounds a lot like the veterinary boards. If you study hard enough, you should do okay.”
“Yeah, I suppose so, although I don’t think I’d ever pass anatomy.” Fiona grimaced.
“And I’d never pass law history.”
“I had a study group I worked with for three months, and I took a six-week clinic to prepare me for the bar.”
“My brother did the study group thing the second time and it worked for him. He didn’t tell us until he passed, though. I just recently heard about it from my mom. We thought he was wandering around Europe, where he ran off to after failing the first test. I guess he didn’t want to tell us if he took it and failed again. Let me guess. You passed the bar the first time you took it, right?”
Fiona sensed some tension in Meg when she spoke about her brother, but she didn’t feel comfortable asking about it. “Well, the firm I work for gave me lots of study time, and the group helped. So, yes. I passed it the first time. There’s about a seventy-five percent success rate for first-time takers, maybe a little more. It also depends on the time of year you take it. July takers have a higher success rate for some reason. I took it in February though.”
“It sounds like you worked hard to succeed. CJ failed the July test, but passed in February.”
“We had a few second-time takers in our study gro
up. They helped us understand what the real test would be like—well, at least most of them. One guy, Charlie, seemed to get off on trying to scare us,” Fiona said.
“Sounds like something my brother CJ would do.” Meg sat back in her chair. “He likes to mess with people.”
Fiona gathered their plates. When Meg moved to help, Fiona stopped her. “I’ve got this. Finish your beer.” She stacked their plates and took them into the kitchen. The mere thought of Charlie made her angry. His arrogance and shitty attitude were irritating, but the way he treated Mike was cruel. “I’m sure your brother is nothing like this guy. He was a piece of work. He seemed like a nice guy most of the time, but he had a mean streak. Good-natured kidding would have been cool. You know, to ease some of the tension. But this guy went out of his way to mess with people’s heads. Especially my friend Mike’s. I’m sure that was one of the many factors that played into Mike failing the exam.” Fiona put the leftovers into the refrigerator and started to rinse the dishes. She thought about how he’d wrapped Mike around his finger. She hoped Meg hadn’t noticed the bitter tone in her voice. Then the night with Mike came back to her and the familiar embarrassment flooded her. If Charlie hadn’t made Mike so upset by bringing that woman to the party… The steel door in her mind tried to slide shut against the memory, but trying to forget didn’t make her any less pregnant.
“He sounds like a real winner.” Meg moved to the counter separating the kitchen from the dining area as she sipped her beer.
“Thank goodness, I’ll probably never see him again. I heard he’s moving back home to some cushy job in his family’s law firm.”
She turned off the water, left the dishes in the sink, and went back to the table. Meg followed her and sat down, too.
“Hey, don’t knock the family gig, lady. Having to work with family carries its own challenges.”
She remembered Meg was going home to work at her Aunt’s veterinary clinic. “Sorry! I didn’t mean you. I meant he doesn’t deserve his good luck. I usually don’t wish ill will on people, but he’s just such a jerk.”
Without a Net Page 12
