Chapter Fifteen

I called Micki and convinced her to join me for a double feature at a movie theater on Saturday afternoon. I didn’t want to be alone, but I didn’t want to talk either. Which is why I love Micki; she knows when to pry and she knows when to just buy a mega-sized popcorn and chill. We saw some space adventure that got a lot of laughs from the crowd and some action movie with racecars. After it ended, the only thing I remembered about it was that a ton of stuff blew up, and I appreciated how the roaring soundtrack made it impossible to think about anything else.

When we left the theater, the rain had finally stopped and the early night was crisp and cool. Micki checked her watch and whistled. “I have just enough time to go home and change before work. You coming in tonight?”

I shook my head. “I’m probably going to hang with Kat.” Not true. I’d gotten a text from Kat earlier saying she was going to spend the night packing. We’d have our normal brunch date in the morning.

Very uncharacteristically, I just didn’t want to go out. I was already picturing my favorite pair of pajamas. Micki eyed me sympathetically. “Come to Fizz if you change your mind. I’m experimenting with a new bourbon cocktail. You can help me name it.”

It was a solid enticement. Every year she held a contest to name a new concoction and, much to my chagrin, I had never won. Winning was on my current bucket list. “Tempting.” I smiled weakly. “But have a good night if I don’t see you.”

She gave me a shoulder squeeze as her Lyft pulled up. “Cheer up, Tess. We still have lots of time to stop the FSG.” I waved at her, bemused, as she climbed into the car and it pulled away. I hadn’t thought about the FSG all day. I’d been moping about a very different man.

In my apartment building, Roz strolled out of her unit just as I cleared the stairs, wearing a killer red suit and matching heels. She caught sight of me and did a slow twirl. “On a scale of one to ten, how gorgeous do I look?”

Easy answer. “An eleven, at the very least.” Once a month Roz enjoyed dressing up on a Saturday night and treating herself to an outing at a gay martini bar up in Andersonville. I went with her sometimes, and it was always a hoot. But even that didn’t sound fun tonight.

She took a long look at my sourpuss face. “Bad bikini wax? Yeast infection?”

From Roz, this was a fairly pedestrian conversation-starter. Still, “Jesus, Roz. No!”

When I didn’t immediately counter with a question about menopause or senility, her expression went from expectant to mildly sympathetic. “Lawyer hasn’t gotten the video off the site yet?”

Roz had been on a business trip in New York this week and I hadn’t updated her. “Ah, no. And she doesn’t think she will.” I summarized my meeting with Natasha Long. Roz’s mouth turned down at the corners and she squared her shoulders like a general about to go into battle. Terrified that she was about to change her evening plans, I said, “But I’ve found a plan B. I hired another kind of help.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oooh. A hit man? The mob?”

“Solid Chicago thinking.” I laughed. “But no. A hacker. A really smart guy.”

“Oh wow. Don’t see too many of those with you.” Her lips trembled as she suppressed a smart-ass grin.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re hilarious. Don’t call me for help up the stairs if you have too many Manhattans tonight,” I threatened.

She sniffed and headed for the stairs. “There’s no such thing as ‘too many’ Manhattans.”

“Night, Roz.”

After pulling on my coziest pajamas, I poured a glass of red wine and fidgeted on the computer for a few minutes with some vague idea of getting a head start on the workweek. But I was just clicking around blindly. I couldn’t focus on anything.

Closing my laptop, I took a deep breath. Years ago, my therapist had suggested a surprisingly effective technique for me when I was spinning on an emotional issue and feeling numb. Spinning on emotional issues and feeling numb had directly contributed to the horrible explosion of my engagement. I needed to be more in tune with what was going on in my brain or else I’d cause mass destruction.

The therapist had instructed me to speak aloud and explain what I was feeling as though I was talking to a ten-year-old. Apparently, ten years old was what she considered the actual age of my psyche. The concept sounded asinine, but for some reason, hearing myself explain my emotions in my own voice using simple language always did help.

Clearing my throat, I started. “I am very attracted to Max physically. He was attracted to me too. We had really good sex.” That was the easy part. “But we also have fun talking and being together, and I like him a lot.” I almost laughed, my voice was so robotic. “I like him a lot,” I said again, forcing myself to hear it. “I’m feeling like shit right now because my feelings were hurt this morning when he didn’t ask me to stay after Aria got there.” Deep breath. “I am sad because I think he likes me but he’s still in love with her.”

More wine, please. I’d forgotten that while it was good to have clarity kick aside some of the numbness, it could also hurt like a bitch once I melted. Which was actually very stupid. Even if Max wasn’t still pining for Aria, there was no way I should be mooning like this. Max was clearly a “long-term” guy, and I shouldn’t be messing with him anyway.

Ugh, I really hated the occasions where the smart part of my brain couldn’t override the “but this is what I want” part.

After a glass and a half of the Cabernet, my phone became magnetic. I wanted to reach out to Max so badly my fingers itched and twitched. But to say what? He could still be doing errands with Aria for all I knew. Maybe the farmer’s market turned into lunch, which turned into a museum visit, which turned into laundry together, which turned into dinner…blah blah blah. I gulped down the rest of my second glass. Hell, aside from no diamond ring, maybe their relationship hadn’t changed at all since ending the engagement. Maybe they even still slept together sometimes.

The allure of the phone became so strong I put it under a pillow and went to take a shower. A long, hot shower to wash away every trace of him. I’d worn his shirt all day, and now I was afraid I had a new scent addiction to his fabric softener. When I finally emerged from the steam, I crawled back into my pj’s and collapsed on my bed with a stack of books. Might as well take advantage of my antisocial feelings to catch up on some reading.

My phone buzzed and my heart skipped a beat. It was just about the same time as last night when Max had texted he was sorry. Maybe the man always felt a little apologetic around 9:00.

I didn’t want you to leave this morning.

Oh really? Then you should have asked me to stay.

He didn’t like that. He responded immediately. I’m the one who asked you to hang out and watch a movie! You’re the one who ran out like the house was on fire.

The nerve of him! I glared at my screen as my thumbs went crazy. I think you’re forgetting something rather important that happened between you asking me to stay and me deciding to go.

There was a longer pause this time. OK. I didn’t handle it well when Aria showed up. But you were gone before I knew what to do!

Not good enough. Frankly, it seemed obvious that he didn’t know how to handle it because he was more concerned with Aria’s feelings than mine. Which hurt, but I understood. He’d been engaged to her, for God’s sake. He’d known me for a couple of weeks. We’d slept together once. It’s not like we were seriously involved.

No worries! Hope the farmer’s market was fun! I was always good at defaulting right back to Tough Girl.

Damn it, Tess. I didn’t go to the farmer’s market. I hate the farmer’s market.

That made me smile a little. I hated the farmer’s market too. Who wanted to spend all morning picking out fruits and vegetables from a bunch of stalls that all sold the exact same fruits and vegetables? God invented supermarkets for a reason.

He kept typing. Aria left four minutes after you did, and I watched the movie we picked out and ate more donuts and felt sorry for myself. Does that make you feel better??

Actually, it did. Yes.

Are you out somewhere?

I leaned back against my pillows, considering. If I am, are you going to lecture me about drunken mistakes?

No! he answered quickly. I was just making conversation.

I couldn’t help poking at him a little. Sure, sure. Is this a booty-text?

I wished I could see the expression on his face. Had I made him laugh? Texting was awesome, but it left a lot to be desired when you were as strung out on someone else’s facial expressions as I currently was on Max’s.

His response: Booty-texting? That’s a thing?

Oh please. Everyone under the age of seventy-five knows that booty-texting is a thing. Actually, people in nursing homes probably booty-text too. Saves them the effort of going to the TV room down the hall to see if anyone’s interested in a hookup after the Blue Bloods reruns are over.

A longer pause this time.

Then: You’re an odd woman, Boots. And no, this is NOT a booty-text.

Good. Truly. I absolutely did not want Max booty-texting me — sometimes I’m even good at lying to myself.

He shot another one over. I do feel sort of bad though. You were such a snoring, covers-hogging sleepyhead last night that I wasn’t able to deliver on your demand. You didn’t get your third.

I bit my lips together to keep my face from cracking in a wide smile. He was right. I hadn’t gotten my third orgasm. But I could be generous. We can count the Stan’s glazed donut as my third.

No, no. My masculinity can’t take the concession. Next time there will be three. Good night, Tess.

I corked the bottle of wine and got back in bed, unable to straighten the goofy smile on my face. It was amazing how two simple words had saved the evening. The entire day, in fact.

Next time.

“You’re in a good mood this morning.” Kat raised her coffee cup to her lips.

I snapped my menu closed, unsure why I even bothered to look at it after all these years. Kat and I had been going to this diner every Sunday since she started college. Kat was a dedicated runner, and liked to do a long run on Sundays. The diner was a perfect six-mile run from Evanston. When she moved into the city after college, I’d insisted she take self-defense classes. She’d agreed on the condition that I join her, and so that became our new Sunday morning tradition: “punch and brunch.” It was so much fun we’d repeated the course three times until the instructor told us we were more than qualified to defend ourselves against a variety of attackers. Now we just met to eat. And without fail, I ordered the number three: two eggs over easy with bacon, hash browns, and white toast.

She gave me a knowing expression. “Did you meet a new friend last night?”

“No.” I sniffed, then grinned. “Not last night.” Truth be told, I was a little giddy this morning because I’d woken up to a text from Max. He’d sent over a picture of Puss in Boots with the simple message: Thinking of you.

“It’s the guy I met at the Gage a few weeks ago,” I said unnecessarily. Yep, this was a bad crush, complete with mentionitis. If Kat hadn’t given me such an easy in with her question, I would have found a way to bring the conversation to Max somehow.

The waitress took our order and refilled our coffee cups. “So, what’s he like?” Kat asked. “Is he a Jerry?”

“No.” Definitely not.

Kat pursed her lips, looking a lot like my mother. “Is he one of your dating disaster guys?”

I rolled my eyes and spoke primly. “It’s been ages since my last bout of silliness.”

“Oh really?” Kat scoffed. “How long ago was it that you and some guy fell asleep on the Red Line all night and called me in the morning to come meet you in Chinatown?”

I put my napkin in my lap and waggled my coffee cup at her. “You choose to remember it that way. I choose to remember it as the morning we discovered the best dim sum in the city.”

She did my favorite husky-trill laugh. “Fair enough. But now I’m at a loss. If he isn’t a Jerry and he isn’t some random you picked up for a night of fun, what is he like?”

I imagined Max grinning down at me, his eyes crinkled behind his glasses. The way he rolled up his sleeves at the office and hunched over his keyboard. “He’s super smart and kind of nerdy. Really good at his job.”

Kat’s jaw dropped. “That’s not how you usually describe guys,” she said slowly. “Usually you just describe how they look.” Sad but true. Since I didn’t date seriously, the guys I hung out with didn’t always have a lot going on that interested me beyond their looks.

“He’s tall,” I offered. “Wiry. He wears black-rimmed glasses.” I smiled to myself, remembering how he’d had to remove them on Friday night when they’d gotten all steamed up.

“You like him!” Kat exclaimed. “Holy cow.” She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “I have to meet him before I leave.”

Oh boy. I needed to knock it off. “I doubt it’ll go anywhere,” I said quickly, hoping to dampen her enthusiasm. Unfortunately, it also dampened my own.

“What do you mean?” she asked, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. “If he’s so smart and he puts that silly look on your face…”

Aria’s pixie face flashed in front of my mind’s eye. Might as well be blunt. “Worst case, he’s still in love with his ex-fiancée. Best case, he has serious boundary issues with her.”

Kat frowned. “Oh.”

The waitress put our steaming plates on the table. As usual, Kat had gone healthy with a bowl of oatmeal and a side of fruit. I took advantage of the distraction to change the subject. “Are you getting excited for Mom’s big Farewell to Kat party?”

She dumped some raisins and maple syrup into her oatmeal and gave it a swirl. “It’s so nice of Mom to put it together, but I feel bad she has this on her plate along with being so busy at work. We were supposed to have dinner together on Wednesday night, but she needed to stay late to help Mr. Gupta with some last-minute project.”

Alarm bells began to ding inside my brain, causing my stomach to churn. Suddenly the bacon didn’t smell good anymore. I put my fork on the table. Mr. Gupta, the CPA and family friend my mother worked for, was a tennis fanatic. His league played on Wednesday nights, and he’d often boasted to me of never missing a single match.

“What’s wrong with your food?” Kat cocked her head. Usually my plate was clean approximately two minutes after it was set in front of me.

“Nothing.” I picked up a piece of toast and smeared butter on it. “Did Mom say how many people had RSVP’d to the party?” I forced myself to laugh. “Has she decided what she’s wearing yet?”

Kat speared a strawberry and shook her head. “She’s been so nuts I haven’t even spoken to her this week except for a few texts.”

And…the toast went back on the plate. “So you haven’t seen her or talked to her at all?” That was highly unusual. A flutter of panic crawled up the back of my neck. Although I hadn’t needed to in years, I was so used to hiding this particular kind of fear from Kat that she didn’t notice anything different about my voice or face. Under the table, I shredded my napkin into tiny pieces.

“I have this theory that she’s trying to wean us off one another before my move,” Kat admitted. “Also, she knows how busy I’ve been with trying to get everything wrapped up at work and get myself packed. I think she’s just trying to give me some space.”

“Makes sense.” I nodded several times. “Totally makes sense.”

After brunch I drove Kat to the UPS store to grab boxes and packing tape. I chattered on about the movies I’d seen the day before and made her laugh with stories about awful Zack Morris from Away-Ho. I commiserated with her on the rent prices in the Bay Area and debated whether it would be better to visit her the first time in January or March.

All the while, I was counting down the minutes until I could drop her off.

As soon as I did, I drove home like a maniac and sat down at my laptop. Then I logged into my mother’s bank account. She still hadn’t been paid. I looked at her credit card and debit card purchases for the last month. Again, I found a horrible omission. This month, there was no debit at the Walgreens pharmacy.

Hands shaking, I called Mr. Gupta.

When I arrived at my mother’s suburban apartment complex around 2:00, it was raining again. I turned off the engine and sat in my car for several minutes, letting the rain pound on the windshield and hide me from the rest of the world.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d walk into her apartment and find her reading the newspaper at her kitchen table. She’d look up at me with annoyance and say, “Tess? What are you doing here?” Then she would dazzle me with logical reasons for avoiding Kat, for not showing up to her job, and for not paying for her meds.

Fuck. I laid my head against the steering wheel. I supposed I’d done enough crappy things in my life to deserve a month like this, but Jesus. First the Sex Ghost, then Kat moving, and now this.

My phone rang, and the display showed Max’s name. It was like a cosmic reminder from the universe that not everything about this month had been awful. If I hadn’t been so utterly destroyed at the moment, the very sight of his name would have lit me up like a Christmas tree. I was already lecturing myself about letting it go to voice mail when my traitorous body went ahead and answered.

“Hey.”

“It’s raining again,” he said without preamble. His voice was warm and flirtatious and it brought unexpected tears to my eyes. “Want to try for round two on the scary movie?”

“I can’t,” I whispered.

His tone changed abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed the tears and forced myself to speak as normally as I could. “I have to deal with a family issue today.”

“Are you OK? What can I do to help?” he demanded. Sheesh, he really was a long-term guy. I’d known him a couple of weeks and he was ready to give up his Sunday to dive into some unknown shit show. What in the world had Aria been thinking to let him get away?

“Nothing,” I said. “I can handle it. I gotta go.” I hung up before he could ask any more questions.