The Boyfriend Effect

by Kendall Ryan

  Reaching across the table, I swat him with the back of my hand. “Jerk,” I mutter, but I’m grinning back at him.

  This time when Hayes reaches across the table, our hands clasp and my heart skips a beat.

  “I promise I’ll help,” he murmurs, his eyes locking with mine. “Whatever I can do and however I can help, I’ll do it for you . . . for Riverside. You have my word, dove.”

  My heart goes splat.

  3

  * * *

  HAYES

  Dinner out with the guys is a casual affair, and usually one I look forward to. But something feels off about tonight.

  To be honest, I don’t want to be here. My guess is it’s because I haven’t been able to get Maren off my mind, but it could also be because my so-called friends forced me into taking some time off last week, and I’m still feeling guilty about it.

  Cheeseburgers and beers from McGil’s solve most problems, though, so things are beginning to look up. Our server delivers our food, along with a stack of extra napkins we didn’t ask for but are certain to need.

  After setting down the plates, she lingers at our table a moment too long. I’m sure she sees three successful, attractive bachelors when she looks at us, and she’s not wrong. But guys’ night is sacred, and even Connor knows better than to go hunting for pussy during guys’ night at McGil’s.

  “We’re all set, thanks,” Wolfie tells her, flashing an annoyed glance her way, and she scurries off.

  Connor shakes his head at him. “She seems nice.”

  I watch their interaction with a distant sort of detachment, knowing I need to snap out of whatever this is. I’m distracted and edgy, and it’s only a matter of time until Wolfie notices. The dude picks up on everything, and it’s almost impossible to hide something from him.

  “You good?” Wolfie asks, appraising me from across the table with a creased brow.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on, Hayes. We know you better than that. What’s going on with you?” Wolfie levels me with a serious glare.

  Knowing better than to blow him off, I rub a hand over the stubble on my jaw and decide to go with the answer that doesn’t reveal that I’ve been thinking about what his sister would look like naked. “Um, shit went sideways last week with Samantha. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Samantha? She was your flavor of the month, right?” Connor chuckles into his beer. “What the hell happened this time?”

  I groan out a sound that my friends interpret correctly.

  “That bad, huh?” Connor gives me a mocking look.

  I grab a couple of napkins and dig into my meal. I’ve had longer relationships with one of these burgers than he’s had with a woman. The dude’s allergic to monogamy. A total playboy. He and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he’s been a friend since college and is one of my business partners, so I do my best to play nice.

  Because Connor’s a perpetual bachelor, I don’t expect him to understand my need for companionship. But I’ve always been this way; it’s just how I’m wired. I feel more like myself when I’m part of a duo. But I must be doing something wrong, must be the world’s worst boyfriend to always end up in this same position after a few weeks or months.

  Wolfie glares at me. “Tell us, Hayes.”

  God, would it kill the guy to smile every once in a while?

  “She wanted commitment, and I wasn’t ready,” I say around a bite of my burger.

  Connor smirks. “So the usual then.”

  “Fuck off.” I grin at him and toss a fry at his face.

  Wolfie shakes his head. “Behave, children.”

  If I’m the Casanova of the group, constantly searching for my other half, and Connor’s known for his revolving bedroom door, Wolfie’s kind of like the dad of our crew. With his stern reputation and that perpetual scowl on his face, I’d say that solidifies it. I constantly feel like I’m disappointing him and can never say no, which is one of the reasons I’m always checking in on his sister when he asks. It’s the least I can do. Especially because I know how much shit he and Maren went through growing up.

  “Knowing you, you’ve probably already moved on to the next unfortunate soul,” Connor adds before shoving two fries into his mouth.

  I give my head a firm shake. “Nope. Not this time. I need a break, man. I’m giving up dating.”

  Wolfie meets my eyes and nods. “That’s probably wise.”

  I nod back, but my feelings about this topic are anything but settled. Part of me worries I won’t be able to do it. Another part is worried I’ll never find a good woman to settle down with. And still another part of me wonders why my relationships never seem to work out.

  The conversation moves on to business, which is no surprise, and I find myself nodding and grunting at the appropriate times. I offer my opinion when needed or asked for, but my mind wanders.

  More specifically, it wanders straight to Maren.

  When she opened up during our breakfast together about her struggles at work, the somber look on her face gutted me. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders, and there’s no way I couldn’t offer to help. Riverside is more than just a job to her—it’s the safe place she went after school. It’s where she spent her afternoons visiting with her grandfather before he passed. It’s part of what makes her Maren.

  No longer hungry, I push my half-empty plate away. A quick glance at Wolfie confirms that he can’t read my thoughts, and thank God for that, because they’re not always so pure when it comes to his little sister.

  As much as I try to keep myself from thinking about Maren as anything other than Wolfie’s sister, it’s not easy, and it’s getting harder the more one-on-one time I spend with her. I want to help her keep her job, but it’s not just that. I want to do a lot of things with her, if I’m being honest—both platonic and not so platonic. But if I’m going to stay single for a while, I need to ignore all those thoughts, and I might as well use my new free time for something good.

  And that’s when it hits me. I may have just thought of the perfect solution to help Maren. And if it also involves spending a lot of extra time with her, so be it.

  Maybe it will put an end to this weird funk I’ve found myself in, as long as I keep myself in check and the end goal in mind.

  4

  * * *

  MAREN

  “Hi, Maren!” Mrs. Jones calls from her wheelchair in the hallway.

  I poke my head out of my office to wave hello. Her CNA, a nursing assistant, waits patiently for the exchange to be over and done with, wrapping her manicured fingers loosely around the wheelchair handles.

  Mrs. Jones is a resident who needs constant supervision and care. Ever since she slipped in the tub last spring, she’s been rolling on four wheels. If you ask me, I think she likes the chauffeur service.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jones. How’s your back feeling today?”

  “Better.” She smiles, the wrinkles deepening around her big brown eyes. “That massage man you brought in was wonderful. I didn’t know men did that kind of work.”

  I smile through the cringe. It’s bizarre to me what some of these older folks latch onto from their pasts . . . especially the outdated prejudices that seem to lead to these little offhand comments. But then I remember that I might not see Mrs. Jones again after this month. If Riverside tanks, I might not see any of my residents again. And I know I’d miss these conversations terribly.

  “People are doing all sorts of work these days. Look at me,” I say with a shrug.

  “Time for breakfast and book club,” the CNA says gently.

  I give Mrs. Jones a nod. “I should borrow that massage therapist from you next time,” I call as the CNA steers her away. “Don’t wear him out, okay?”

  I can still hear Mrs. Jones laughing when the elevator doors close behind them.

  My stomach grumbles. I usually eat breakfast before I come to work, but ever since the staff meeting, I’ve had a hard time getting out of bed in time for wor
k, let alone eating.

  After finishing an email, I pocket my Riverside ID and lock my office door behind me, starting the short trek down the hall to the elevator. When it takes me to the fourth floor, Mrs. Jones and her book club are already getting situated in the restaurant with bowls of fresh fruit and oatmeal.

  I pick up a tray and opt for a breakfast sandwich. The cashier nods when I flash my ID at her, pressing the buttons that put the meal on my tab—fancy words for docking my paycheck by a few dollars. The food here is surprisingly good, so I don’t mind one bit.

  During mealtimes, I make it a point to sit with the residents. Part of my job is to be the point of contact between a resident and their medical team. I have bimonthly meetings with each resident, as the schedule allows. Chats over coffee and cookies are just an easy way to circumvent the red tape and keep my finger on the literal pulse of Riverside.

  The morning sun streams pleasantly through the tall windows that face the inner courtyard, luring me across the floor. There, I find one of my favorite people, Donald, relaxing in an orange armchair. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling as he dozes peacefully.

  I set my tray on the coffee table as quietly as I can. Lifting my sausage-and-egg breakfast sandwich to my lips, I take a cautious bite. The crunch is loud enough to wake the dead.

  “And this is the lullaby I deserve?” Donald grumbles as he cracks open his eyes, the perfect picture of a crotchety old man.

  But I know he’s not actually grumpy. There’s always a sparkle in his stormy blue eyes, promising good humor and endless banter. I could use a little entertainment today.

  “Sorry, Don.” I chuckle, covering my mouthful with one hand. “The bread is toasted.”

  “Toasted? From that crunching, I would have guessed it’s made of gravel.”

  “I sure hope not.” I feign concern, inspecting the sandwich.

  “You’re new here, kid. You’ll get used to it,” he tells me with a wink.

  We share the same smile that we always do whenever he brings up how new I am. To Don, a couple of years here means I’m still new. But I don’t feel new. Either way, I don’t mind the teasing, and I sure don’t mind being called kid when it’s Don doing it. I guess, out of all the residents here, he reminds me of my grandpa the most.

  “How are you holding up today, Don?”

  “Oh, the obligatory question,” he says, straightening his posture like the good student I’m sure he was. “Fine. Very fine. And how are you?”

  “Oh, I’m good.” I smile unconvincingly, and he raises a wiry white eyebrow.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he says, a stern edge to his voice.

  Once upon a time, Don was a college professor, and a strict one at that, I’ve been told. There’s no use hiding anything from the man. But we technically haven’t gotten the green light to talk to residents about Riverside’s financial woes, so I’ll have to beat around the bush.

  “I’m just tired. Spent the last few nights up late, trying to figure out a predicament.”

  There. It’s true, but vague enough that it shouldn’t raise any red flags. Don is skeptical, however, squinting at me like he’s trying to read my mind.

  Not a chance, Don.

  Eventually, he relents, leaning forward with a huff and reaching out one hand. I take his palm in mine, soft and scratchy at the same time, his papery skin marked with age spots. My heart hurts whenever I remember just how old he is. Ninety-four on his last birthday. I can’t handle much more loss in my life, but I also know he won’t be around forever.

  “I’ve been alive for over ninety years, Maren. And I haven’t seen many people work as hard and as long as you do. If you work for it, it’ll happen.” With that, he pats my hand lightly and leans back into the armchair with a sigh. “Now, eat your breakfast so you can get back to it.”

  My eyes prick with tears, but I blink them away. I haven’t cried in front of a resident yet, and I don’t plan on crossing that line today.

  “Yes, sir,” I whisper with a wry smile.

  Without another word, I finish my breakfast while Don resumes his morning nap. On the way back to my office, I flag down a CNA and ask him to check on Don in an hour. His neck cramps up if he sleeps on it wrong, after all.

  Back at my office, Peggy is waiting at the door.

  “I’m sorry, did I forget a meeting?” I ask, reflexively reaching for my phone to check my calendar app.

  “No, no, not at all. Just wondering if we could chat for a second,” she says, sounding worried.

  “Of course.”

  Peggy follows me inside, closing the door behind her before slumping into the chair across from my desk with a heavy sigh. The moment we make eye contact, she bursts into tears.

  I spring into action, grabbing the tissues from on top of my filing cabinet and sliding them across the desk toward her. She takes a tissue with a soft thank-you and wipes the tears from her flushed cheeks. The bulky beads on her necklace clatter with each shuddering breath.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, a lump forming in my throat as I prepare for the very worst she could say.

  “Oh, you know,” she says with a sniffle. “Accounts payable says we’ve got until the end of the month before we have to cut payroll. I’ll be forced to lay off so many employees,” she says, then dissolves into another puddle of tears.

  It takes every ounce of stone-cold professionalism in me not to give in to the tragedy of it all and cry with her.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?” I ask, my throat tight. “There’s got to be something.”

  “Well, not that I’ve found. We can look into loans, but I don’t know how we’d ever pay them off. Unless a big donor sweeps in and saves the day, Riverside as we know it is done for. It’s just gotten too expensive to operate,” Peggy chokes out.

  Pulling herself together, she scoots forward in the chair, a new determination in her eyes. “Maren, you’re such a wonderful, hardworking young woman. You should look for another job sooner rather than later, before everyone else starts looking. Put me down as your reference. I’ll tell any potential employers how incredible you are. You would be a godsend to any employer.”

  “Thanks, Peggy,” I say with a weak smile, wishing this conversation were over. Actually, I wish this conversation was one I never had to have. All I want to do is run out of here, hop on the Red Line, and take it straight to my uptown apartment where I can cry in peace, away from everyone.

  Peggy pulls me in close and gives me a big hug before she leaves.

  I squeeze her tight, knowing that whatever I’m feeling must be amplified tenfold for her. She’s been here for over a decade, so I can’t imagine what this must be doing to her.

  The rest of my morning passes in a blur of appointments and reports. I’m pulled away from scanning my emails only by my phone dinging with a reminder.

  Lunch with Scarlett.

  Still numb, I pack up my purse and lock my office, stepping out into the midday glow of summer in Chicago. The café we picked is only a short walk away, and I’m reaching for the door just as Scarlett approaches.

  “Hey!” she calls out, all sunshine and warmth in her flowy pink top and cream cardigan, her rainbow-hued crocheted purse slung over one shoulder.

  All it takes is one look at my best friend, and the emotions of the day come barreling forward, releasing the tears I’ve been holding in all day.

  Scarlett rushes toward me with open arms and a worried expression. “Oh my God, Mare. Are you okay?”

  “Not really,” I manage to say, sniffing loudly and wiping away tears that now freely stream down my cheeks.

  “Let’s grab a table, and you can tell me all about it, okay?”

  Scarlett does all the talking, thank God. She orders my favorite soup-and-salad combo for me and a chicken salad sandwich for herself, before guiding me to the most secluded corner table available on the patio. By the time the food is served, I’ve tearfully confided in her about the whole depressing situation
at Riverside.

  “That’s heartbreaking.” Scarlett sighs, leaning over to rub my back with small, comforting circles. “I’m so sorry, Mare. What a disaster.”

  “Thanks for listening.” I sniffle, dabbing at my eyes with a paper napkin. “Can we talk about anything else now? Please?” I blow the steam off of a spoonful of lemon rice soup.

  “You know I’m always here for a good distraction. You won’t believe the date I had last night. The bastard showed up in a Hawaiian shirt—short sleeves, flower pattern, garish colors, the whole nine yards.”

  “Nooo.” I laugh, shaking my head in gleeful commiseration.

  Scarlett goes on a lot of dates, and they’re usually pretty terrible across the board. In her search for Mr. Right, she’s compiled an extensive canon of disaster stories, all told with an incredible sense of humor. While I do feel for her latest dating disaster, I’m already perking up at the hilarious situation she has once again found herself in. She was right—she always provides a great distraction.

  “Like, I know it’s summer and all, but I thought we collectively burned all Hawaiian shirts back in the early 2000s? As a society? Like, no, dude! There are rules!”

  I’m full-on belly-laughing now, the drama of the day nearly forgotten. I can always count on Scarlett to lift my spirits.

  When we finish our lunches and say our good-byes, I hug her a little longer than usual.

  The rest of the afternoon passes by in a fog. My resident meetings are uneventful, and my paperwork even more so.

  By the time I pack up and leave for the day, my mood has sunk again. The hot summer sun mocks me, still high in the sky at five p.m.

  Heading for the train station, I make the quiet trek through the residential neighborhood where Riverside is comfortably nestled. I usually love this part of the day, when the work is done and the only concern on my mind is what I’ll have for dinner.

  Tonight, I’m numb with disappointment and helplessness. My mind is overcome with trying to figure out what I can do to help save Riverside, but so far, I’ve come up with nothing, which makes my mood sink even further. For once, there are no train delays, so I make it home in record time.