by Ruby Lang
“I wanted to say,” she began hesitantly, “I’m sorry for not calling all week.”
He hadn’t expected her to contact him at all and he didn’t know how to respond.
He asked cautiously, “Are you getting in touch with me because you’re sorry about how we left it, or is it because you really need my answer about the job?”
“Sulagna has been asking me to check in.”
She’d been told to call him. He’d put her in a terrible position.
Now he had the chance to take her out of it. He steeled himself and put on his most professional voice. “The firm kept me waiting a long while, Fay. I needed to take my time, too. There were a lot of decisions to make and I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing.”
Oliver tried not to wince as her voice became a degree colder, “It’s true, we dropped the ball. We’ve been going through a lot of growing pains as the firm expands and I apologize. But you should have disclosed to me that you were up for a job.”
He blew out a breath. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it. He just had to fix it. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Fay. I didn’t mean to deceive you and I really didn’t want to make you lose your trust in me. It—Well, that was the worst thing about this, the thought that you were going to look at me differently.”
“Oliver—”
“That really is what makes me a bad fit for your firm. That you don’t trust me personally and that there’s a good reason for it, even if... Well, I shouldn’t have tried to shoehorn myself into this slot, especially now that I’m starting to realize that it’s wrong for both of us. I don’t need this job. I—” He drew a breath. He had to tell the truth, to her, to himself. “I don’t want it. Not if it makes you and me miserable. And that’s not a reflection of how I feel about you, or of what we started with each other. It’s not at all. That’s what’s most painful about this—” He kept his voice steady. “I like what I am now a lot better than what I thought I was supposed to be. I know that sounds cryptic but I’m just starting to work it all out.”
“Did you—did you just talk yourself out of working with us while we were on the phone?”
“Yes. Well, no, but yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve decided not to take the job.” He let out a whoosh of air, ruthlessly quashing any anguish he felt. He felt good about his decision to strike out on his own, but he was letting the dream of Fay go.
He said more—he couldn’t remember what else came out of his mouth—but Fay had gone silent. There was no use prolonging it.
Sometimes better didn’t mean getting everything he wanted.
* * *
It means I’ve decided not to take the job.
And he’d laughed. The damn man let out a laugh, saying, “I’m so glad to finally get that out. To tell myself, to tell you that I’ll be happier this way. You’re the one I want to share all my news with, and you’re the one I shouldn’t confide in.”
She should be angry, confused, but part of her drank up the words, that joyful sound. It was completely the wrong reaction to have. She ought to have been trying to convince him to change his mind. She ought to have been trying to figure out what she was going to tell Sulagna and Teddy. But all she could do was listen to him and wish that he were in this room with her so that she could see his face.
He was talking again. “I’m sorry again, this time for leaving your firm in the lurch. It’s unprofessional—well, this whole thing has been unprofessional, or extra-professional.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
“Fay.” His voice was gentler now. “I can understand if you are disappointed in me, and maybe it’s the best for both of us if I just end this conversation here. I’m sorry. The one thing I wish is that it had worked out between us because...well, I’m sorry none of it did.”
He waited for an answer. And when she said nothing, he said goodbye and hung up.
What just happened?
She took a deep breath and hugged her arms around her.
He wasn’t taking the job. She should be relieved. Another project tabled—not completely satisfactorily but at least she could put the worst of it behind her. But she didn’t want that.
He had found something outside of the glossy bubble of imagination they’d created for themselves over the course of a few weekends. His reality was the opposite of everything she’d done with him in all the dreamy temporary spaces they’d shared—even what they’d done in her own transitioning apartment, a space borrowed in time.
So why had it felt so real? If it had been merely an interlude, then why was this so painful?
When they were playing house together, of course, it was pretend. But they’d been moving through neighborhoods and houses, standing in front of brick and mortar fireplaces, kissing in closets. Their bodies were real. They’d sat on the floor of her apartment and since she’d met up with him again, she always pictured Oliver there with her. She could see him so clearly even though he was gone.
Fay sent a terse email to Teddy and Sulagna about Oliver’s decision. Then she switched off her phone and went home—early.
She spent the evening and the next morning finally unpacking the last of her boxes. She put books on bookshelves and started hanging pictures on her walls. She came across the cartons which held personal documents: her birth certificate, expired passports, old tax records.
Her marriage license.
She’d had a serious relationship and life with Jeremy. The marriage had been a done thing—a solid mass like a paperweight on all the contracts and tax forms that came with life—or so she’d thought. She’d treated their relationship like something she had finalized so that she could put it behind her, and go on and do the real work.
But in doing so, making the marriage so—so done, she’d stifled herself and probably Jeremy, too. She’d wanted to grow and change. Maybe he had, too, in different directions. She had never bothered to inquire, had she? They’d both treated their commitment like it was finished. Over. Maybe that’s why Jeremy got bored with her. She’d lost interest in him, too—and he’d known it.
Oliver was still figuring things out. Well, didn’t she need to do the same? One thing she knew, he certainly didn’t get to have the final word on this. He didn’t get to feel regretful—not when she still had plenty to say to him.
Oh yes, she was ready to talk to him now.
She picked up the phone. “Oliver,” she snapped, before she lost her nerve, “I’m not done with our conversation. Don’t worry, I’m not calling you to ask you to take the job—but you didn’t let me talk about us yesterday, and you owe me.”
There was a pause in which she thought he might hang up on her. “I do. You’re right.”
“Oh.”
“It so happens that I’m looking at apartments right now—the kinds that I can actually afford. So, uh, for old time’s sake, would you care to join me? The real me, that is?”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she made her voice brisk. “Where should I meet you?”
Chapter Nine
Later on Saturday
Oliver was waiting for Fay at the top of the 215th step streets in Inwood, the northern tip of Manhattan. With Oliver was another person, who put away his phone as she approached. “Nat Huang,” said the man extending his hand. “This guy’s brother. And yes, I stayed this far uptown for another half an hour just so I could get a good look at you.”
She probably should have laughed. But she was winded and hot from climbing up the long sweep of stairs. Plus, her body had blossomed even more warmly now that she was around Oliver again. A blush prickled her cheeks, and she was very aware of every irregular flit of her pulse. She swallowed and gave Nat a grimace-smile. “I guess it’s a good sign that you wanted to look and not yell at me.”
�
��I also wanted to be here in case you decided not to show up, and I had to bring this sad mess home.”
That wry turn of voice, the mischief in his face—there was definitely a family resemblance, not that she could quite look at Oliver long enough to compare even as her eyes kept moving toward him. How could she miss him more while he was right in front of her? But he still hadn’t said much, and Nat’s friendly chatter was an uncanny echo of the ease she’d had with Oliver.
But now, silence. She realized she hadn’t spoken for a minute. She swallowed and cleared her throat.
Oliver handed her a bottle of water, and she was too discomfited to thank him. Their fingers touched. She heard his sharp intake of breath. Or was it hers.
Too much.
Nat laughed quietly into the silence. “Well, since you two probably won’t get into it until I leave, I’m going to find my way home to the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment.”
Nat pushed Oliver on the shoulder and left. And now she and Oliver watched Nat skip down the stairs and turn toward the subway.
She cleared her throat and opened the bottle of water. “Thank you for this.”
“It’s a hot day. I thought you’d need something.”
“Yeah, thank you. It’s humid. Thank you.”
And now that she was talking, she couldn’t stop thanking him. Where was all of her bravado? God, this was awful.
“Nat was helping me out this morning when you called. But although he has many excellent qualities, he isn’t really much good at apartment hunting. Started pretending he had altitude sickness. I mean, he lives in the fifteenth floor of a building on the UWS. Anyway, I thought this neighborhood looked like a good place to land. I’ve always loved Inwood.”
He was trying to put her at ease even though he didn’t have to anymore—not the way they’d left it.
“Should we head over to the apartment?”
She nodded, managed to get down a mouthful of water without choking and coughing, and they walked through a cluster of tall apartment buildings and into a marble-walled lobby, the stone polished and buffed to a high shine.
“Art Deco,” Oliver said.
She turned around slowly to catch the way the light glinted on the smooth surfaces. When she’d made a complete revolution, she came to a standstill in front of Oliver.
He was watching her—not looking around at all.
“So bright,” she said.
He nodded and they stood there a moment longer before heading into the elevator.
They were greeted at the apartment door by a bored-looking broker who glanced up briefly from his phone. “We’re showing another apartment across the hall if you and your wife are interested.”
“Oh, we’re not married,” Oliver said. “This is my...longtime acquaintance. I wanted her opinion on this place, too.”
The broker gave a perfunctory nod and gestured as if to shoo them into the rest of the apartment.
“Longtime acquaintance?” Fay hissed as they hustled into the narrow kitchen, finally glad to have something other than yearning and awkwardness to latch on to.
“Well, what was I supposed to say? My, um, friend? Helper? Partner in crime solving?”
“No. Partner in crime solving is Olly and Darling.”
“So it was.”
They looked around the kitchen and at everything but each other. “I like it,” Oliver said grudgingly.
“If you take those blinds down, it’ll be much brighter in here.”
“The appliances are new.”
“You’ll cut up peppers for another one of your stir fries with peanut sauce right on that butcher block counter.”
“I only make those for special people.”
Fay looked up. And finally she allowed herself to meet Oliver’s eyes.
“I said our conversation wasn’t over. Because I want to keep talking with you. I like talking with you, and I know you do with me,” she said. “I was planning to call you. I’ve been making some changes in my life lately, in the week that we haven’t really communicated with each other. I wanted to tell you about them. I wanted to see your face to just...share with you.”
Oliver picked up where she trailed off. “I’m sorry again that I didn’t say anything before. Because I want to share these things with you, too. I care about you. I like being with you. I miss it. I know now that we can’t expect to go back to what we had for those couple of weeks. But in the back of my mind, I hoped that you’d call me up one Saturday morning and forgive me and take a chance with me anyway.”
“I’m sorry I assumed that you just wanted a job from me.”
“I should have said something sooner to keep you from reaching that conclusion. I didn’t want you to think of me as that disappointing guy who lives with his brother and doesn’t have a job. I didn’t think enough about the effect of keeping the truth from you. And now that I’ve had more time to talk to you more clearly, I want to say, it’s not because I wouldn’t want to work with you. I think that would be fun—well, our very specialized definition of fun. But I’ve decided that I want to strike out on my own. I think I really need to, so that I can concentrate on the kind of work I enjoy, make new goals for myself, enjoy figuring out who I am and what I want. But it’s not going to be easy being around me while I muddle through this.”
They had been talking softly and their steps had led them past the living room, down the hall to a small, light-filled bedroom.
Fay released a breath. “That sounds wonderful, Oliver.”
“It does?”
“It really, really does. I’ve never liked easy. And I’m making changes, too. I feel like I’ve been starting over for a long time. But with you, for the first time in a while, it felt like I could have fun—be fun and be full of hope. So, I’ve talked to my partners about how we need to distribute the burden more evenly and be a lot more organized. And I made an appointment to see a therapist, and I’m feeling really optimistic about it. That time I was with you made me feel excited about my future again.”
Fay couldn’t read his expression, so she kept talking. “I’m not saying we should do exactly the same thing—pretend to be other people, fool strangers and ourselves. The afternoons we spent over those couple of weeks was probably the best time I’ve ever had. But we were playing around, acting, being silly. We’re not Olly and Darling showing up to Striver’s Row with enough cash to make a deal on a house. I don’t necessarily want to do that again. But what I do want is the chance to attempt even silly things, to mess up, to succeed. It mattered that I tried something different and new and that I let myself enjoy it. That was good and real.”
Oliver stepped closer, eyes intent on hers. “If you want, this could be real now.”
She reached out her hand and slid her palm into his, and he accepted it.
He stared at her for one long moment, and then he was pulling her out, through the sliding doors and onto the terrace and they were kissing. His lips felt so good on hers, his body felt good pushing her back into the worn old stone of the wall outside the apartment. They were there for a long but fleeting moment, learning each other’s mouths again, warming and wetting each other, breathing into each other. She wanted to hold on to this, his solidity, the strength in his shoulders and back, this moment. She moved her teeth and tongue over his chin, along the sharp line of cheekbone and over to his ear. His hands stroked up and down her back, pulling her closer and closer with each movement until her entire body was molten and pliant and molded into him.
Someone slid the terrace door closed, and shuffled away again.
They pulled their heads away—just a little. She laughed softly into his neck.
“So, I have an offer to make,” he said.
“For this apartment? Or for me?”
“Both. Well, I’ve already made an offer on this place, and the senior broker is looki
ng it over.”
“Not that guy out there.”
“No, someone more enthusiastic. But I also have an offer for you.”
“Get on with it, then.”
“Fay Liu, I like you a lot. I like your smile, your lips, your energy, your directness, your visible impatience, our mutual sexual frustration right now. I’m pretty sure that one day I could even love you. So I’d like to offer a newer, improved me. I’d like to begin again—again.”
His hand stroked up and down her side and she softened against him. “I like it. I like you.”
“Okay.” He leaned into her ear. “So, how should I start? My name is Oliver Huang. I’ve just started a new business, and I think I have a new girlfriend.”
“A lot going on in your life.”
“Yeah, it’s an exciting time.”
“I’m Fay Liu.” She pulled back to survey the view. “Nice place you have here.”
* * *
Watch for the next book in the Uptown series, coming from Ruby Lang and Carina Press in winter 2019.
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Acknowledgments
A long list of marvelous people contributed their talent and energy to help me produce this short book. Deepest gratitude to my agent, Tara Gelsomino, who shepherded me through tough drafts, confusing negotiations, and general messiness.
Thanks and love to Amber Belldene, whose insight and warmth I rely on so much.
A huge debt of gratitude to my longtime friend Kristin Olson, who cast her planner’s eye over this manuscript. All mistakes are very much my own.
Much love to my husband and daughter for their warmth and good humor and for their faith in me.
