Happy New You

by St John Brown, Brenda

  Tom nods, and we wave as he leaves.

  Dakota turns with an overly enthusiastic expression. “Well?”

  I gaze around the room. It’s the right size for a gym, and the best place we’ve seen by far. I hesitate to answer her, waiting for the roof to collapse or a rodent-roach to scurry by. But nothing happens.

  “I think this might be it.” As I say it out loud, most of the disappointment of the day fades away.

  “Yes!” Dakota's fist pumps the air. “And it’s the cheapest location too. Bonus points for that.”

  We’re both laughing, and I’m pointing at parts of the room where I want equipment to go. Lost in my thoughts and plans, Dakota reminds me of our most urgent need.

  “This calls for a celebratory lunch, on me,” she announces.

  I completely forgot about being hungry. When a person finds the place where their dream can come to life, I guess food becomes an afterthought.

  We head out of my future gym and back into the lobby when something buzzes in my back pocket.

  Lifting my phone, some of the excitement of the moment disappears when I see who’s calling.

  “Hi, Al. I missed you this morning.” I try my best to keep the irritation out of my voice as I answer the call.

  “Sorry. I’m so sorry but this emergency came up and I couldn’t—”

  “Emergency? Was it your family?”

  I wonder for a moment if I’m being too harsh on Allison. She’s been trying to work less and enjoy life more. Maybe it’s not her fault. Now I feel guilty for thinking the worst.

  “Oh, uh, no. Not with my family. Actually, and you’ll laugh when you hear this, but for some reason, my boss thinks I made a mistake in this big file I’m working on with Dani. I had to come in to prove him wrong, of course. I’m sorry I missed the walk-through. How did it go?”

  Frustration instantly replaces the last drop of guilt I feel.

  “He needed it fixed this morning? On a Saturday?”

  “No. No, of course not. He sent an email to me late last night, and I forgot to check my email before bed. My fault. I saw it this morning when I woke up.”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turn my back to Dakota who is waiting patiently by the door.

  Taking several deep breaths, I try my best not to raise my voice. “But he needed it this morning? Why couldn’t you tell him you were busy? That you made a promise to me and you couldn’t get out of it. You know, like you said you would when we talked last night.”

  “It’s a misunderstanding with my boss and I need to fix it as soon as possible. I really am sorry, Matty. But it can’t wait.”

  “Al, this day was crucial to me. This is my dream materializing, and you chose a job that was anything but an emergency over your boyfriend. What do you think that says to me?”

  I can hear her breathing but no words for a few moments.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her voice is weaker than I’ve ever heard in the past. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the woman of my dreams, yet I’ve put up with excuses, disappointment, and heartbreak. All of it is coming from her.

  Maybe that means she isn’t the woman of my dreams.

  “I’ve got to go, Al. Dakota’s taking me to lunch to celebrate finding a location.”

  I hear Allison respond, but I swipe the red “end call” button before I can find out what she says. I tuck my phone back in my pocket and move toward Dakota, even though my appetite is gone.

  26

  Mateo

  September

  “Oh my God! Catch the ball. For once in your goddamned, miserable life, catch the ball and run.”

  Seth's face is the same color as the tomato salsa sitting in the bowl on the coffee table. He's got fire in his eyes and nacho crumbs on his chin. So lost in the game, he doesn't seem to realize that our narrow couch does not have enough square footage to warrant this level of manspreading.

  Hillary’s arm is draped around his shoulders and she's jabbing her knobby fist in the direction of the television screen. “Yah! You're a total dickhead. Yah!”

  Frustration bleeds from Seth’s pores when he turns to me. “The rules of the game are so goddamned simple. All he has to do is catch the ball and run. That’s all he has to do!”

  High expectations much? And this from the man who claimed to be having a medical emergency the last time I forced him to run a lap at Central Park.

  I slouch back against the cushions and bring my bottle of lukewarm beer to my lips. “Cut the guy some slack,” is all I manage to grumble.

  My friend is right—the wide receiver is sort of terrible. But I feel for him. He's running around in shiny yoga pants with a ball tucked under his arm like a designer purse, trying to not get steamrolled by the pair of three-hundred-pound tanks trying to take him down. He’s not working under optimal conditions.

  “Total dickhead!” Hillary shouts again.

  From where I'm sitting, I throw her a sidelong glimpse. Just one look at the girl and I know she has no idea which team we're supposedly rooting for.

  But she's here. She's fully invested in this. She likes Seth and she wants their fuck-buddy situationship to evolve into something more. So she's putting in the effort. Unlike some women I know.

  Allison hasn't tried to contact me once since I ended that call with her yesterday at noon. And knowing her, I'm pretty sure that means she spent the weekend neck-deep in depositions and pleadings and mind-numbing case law.

  God—I'm in love with this girl. I have been for longer than I care to admit. Sometimes I look at her and my chest goes so tight with hope and wanting I think I might burst. Sometimes I look at her and I see an inkling of all those feelings reflected back in her brown eyes.

  But other times, it feels like she's not even trying.

  I mean, c'mon—all she had to do yesterday was show up. That's all I needed from her. Her presence next to me, sharing the excitement, soothing the jitters...but that was too much for her to do.

  I don't want to resent her. I don't want to hold a grudge. It's just that I'm putting my whole self on the line for her and I'm not sure I'll ever get what I need in return.

  Allison has good intentions and I know she'd feel bad to know how deeply this situation is bothering me. I think I’m justified in being pissed at her, but at the same time, I don't want her walking around with a bunch of guilt because she feels like she's falling short of my expectations.

  My conflicting thoughts are a battlefield inside my head. I want this girl. For real. Forever. But I'm starting to worry that this isn't going anywhere. That it can’t go anywhere because even though I’m sure Al wants me, she wants work more. And I didn’t land my dream girl only to come in second to her nine-to-five.

  Or in Al’s case, her eight a.m. to midnight, with an occasional two a.m. brief-writing session thrown in.

  “Touchdown, motherfucker!” Seth shoots to his feet so fast that Hillary falls face down on the couch cushions beside me. It's not until he's a few seconds into his hip-thrusting victory dance that he spins around and sees her struggling to wade her way through the too-soft couch cushions like a newborn turtle hatchling working its way across the sand.

  But worry not!

  He hauls her up to her feet and brushes her hair from her face. Now, he's resuscitating her with his tongue. “D’you see that, bae? Touch. Down!” More resuscitation.

  Those two are a hot mess.

  “I think I'm gonna go get some fresh air.” Neither of them bothers to acknowledge me as I rise up from the couch and grab my sweatshirt from the hook by the door.

  The air is nippy as I burst through the lobby door of my apartment building into the drizzle. But the heat of the turmoil in my chest crackles like slow-burning logs. I can't fucking do this anymore...

  I move mindlessly through the city streets, barely registering when I descend into the subway, only to reemerge an eternity later just down the block from Allison's place. It's not quite a downpour but the rain is definitely comi
ng down faster now. I stomp with purpose through the Lower East Side. What the hell am I doing?

  I'm not sure. All I know is I can't settle for this halfway relationship anymore. I need her to tell me—no—to show me that she's all in with me.

  Just as I'm closing in on her building, I see a yellow cab pull up to the curb. Al stumbles out with an overstuffed leather work bag slung over one shoulder. She tries to yank the wheels of her monstrous rolling briefcase from the back seat.

  “Jesus…” I mutter under my breath as I dart across the pavement, just in time to catch her before she falls flat on the wet sidewalk.

  On a startled gasp, she looks up at me with wide eyes. “Matty?”

  “Dammit, Al. It's eight fifteen on a Sunday night.” I haul out the briefcase and slam the cab door shut. “Don't tell me you've been at the office all day.”

  Gaze cast down on the sidewalk, she runs her knuckles over her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” My fingers coil around her wrist and pull her hand from her face. "What happened?"

  She blinks up at me. Her face is wet and it's not from the rain. “I knew I couldn’t trust her,” she whispers, her lips trembling. “I knew I couldn’t trust her.”

  Panic rises into my throat. “What are you talking about? Did somebody hurt you?”

  The tears come down harder. She sniffles with purpose, like she’s trying to hold herself together when she’s really just falling apart. “Fucking Dani…” she mumbles.

  I let go of the briefcase handle to grab her face in both hands. “Al, what did Dani do?”

  Through her curtain of tears, Allison gives me a deadly look. “I knew I couldn’t trust her but you told me I was being paranoid.” She breaks free of my hold and wobbles her way around me, right up to the building’s front door.

  Confused as hell, I lean around her and pull the steel and glass door open for her. She spits out her thanks and takes unsteady steps toward the elevator.

  She's limping. Her ponytail is lopsided. Only one side of her blouse is tucked into the waistband of her ankle-length pants. She looks like a mess. A beautiful mess, but still a mess. She's tired. Exhausted. But she refuses to slow down.

  She jabs at the button and the doors open. I follow her onto the elevator, dragging the briefcase along. “You’re being cryptic as shit right now. Tell me what’s going on.”

  She collapses against the mirrored wall of the elevator as it begins its ascent to her floor. “I had one simple job…” she mutters to herself. “All I had to do was make sure there was no pending litigation against the company our client was planning to buy. That's all I had to do. That was the only little thing." She shakes her head ruefully as she adjusts the heavy bag on her shoulder. “And I screwed that up.” Her eyes shoot to me, full of blame. “Because I was distracted.”

  I still don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, but now, I feel my defenses kicking into gear. “What are you accusing me of, Allison?”

  “I made a mistake in the client’s file and instead of working with me to fix it, Dani ratted me out to my boss! I know it was her.” She looks absolutely devastated when she says that. “I always knew I couldn’t trust her, but I let my guard down, Mateo. Because of you. You told me I could trust Dani. You were wrong and now I have to pay the price.”

  I close my eyes and pull in a rough breath. I should probably put my arms around her and tell her that it's okay, that whatever mistake she made can be fixed, but I'm too pissed to be Nice, Ol' Matty, the perfect boyfriend, right now. I'm a furious man who is furiously in love with an infuriating woman.

  “You're mad at me, Al?” Growling, I jam a finger hard into my chest. “You're going to blame me?”

  She glares. “You should have stayed out of it. You should have minded your business. You don’t understand what it’s like to work in that environment. It’s cutthroat. You can’t trust anyone. There’s no such thing as ‘friends’ at Benson, Hyatt, and Menski.”

  With her in this state, it’s pointless for me to try and reason with her but I give it a shot anyway. “Are you sure it was Dani? She’s a good person. We’ve known her for years. She wouldn’t backstab you like that.”

  The elevator dings on her floor and the doors open. Allison leads the way toward her apartment. I jerk the rolling briefcase into the hallway and follow after her.

  A bitter laugh flies out of her mouth as her bag drops to her feet by her front door. “Oh wow. Dani gets her wife to write you a check for your gym and now, all of a sudden, she’s your BFF? You’re taking her side over mine?”

  Damn. Her words are like hot acid on my fucking soul.

  My voice comes out firm and unwavering even though my limbs are practically vibrating with anger. “My loyalty was never for sale. You should know me better than that.”

  She pauses. I watch as she considers my words. Her shoulders rise with a heavy exhale. “You’re right,” she says in a small voice, and she gives her head a little shake. She turns to face me. “I do know you better than that. I-I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” She pulls on her messy ponytail. “It’s just... How do you think it makes me feel? Hearing you taking Dani’s side when I’m telling you she betrayed me?”

  “Do you know that she betrayed you? You’re a lawyer. Where’s your proof? Aside from the rivalry you’ve built up in your head?”

  “I’m not making things up. I know what I’m saying.”

  “Not everything is all about competition, Allison. There's life outside of the Pensive Cygnet walls of that fancy-ass prison you call a job.”

  Her brows furrow with confusion. “Pensive Cygnet?”

  “Dammit! It’s like you think that after a long day at the office, Dani and Dakota snuggle up by the fireplace with a cheese platter and bottle of good Prosecco while they brainstorm ways to screw you over. Get real.”

  “Matty, this is serious,” she says, her hand frozen halfway to her doorknob, her voice lilted with fear. “My client is pissed. And rightfully so. It's going to cost him tens of millions of dollars to settle this lawsuit out of court and he has no choice because he just bought a freaking company that’s up to its eyeballs in liability. And now my bosses know that's my fault. What if Pritchett sues the firm? Can’t you think about how I feel right now?”

  My voice bursts through her rambling. “I think about how you feel. All. Day. Long,” I snap. “When I'm out in the park coaching a client through their workout routine, I think about how you said that burpees are the devil’s work. And when I'm making a new smoothie recipe for my Instagram followers, I wonder if this will finally be the recipe that will get you to like kale. And when I'm crawling into my cold, lonely bed after a long day, I wonder if you took a minute away from your computer to stretch your legs and rest your eyes... I think about you always. I ache to spend all my time with you. And you...all you think about is how to get ahead at work.”

  She huffs, her chest rising with indignation. “Well, I can't just sit around and daydream about my boyfriend all day. Bad things happen when I lose my focus. Clients lose millions of dollars. My job requires brainpower, Matty.”

  “And mine doesn’t?” I shake my head and look away. “Wow...tell me how you really feel.” Sarcasm quirks my tone.

  She flinches. Her keys jingle as her hand falls to her side. “I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t put words in my mouth.” She delivers the rebuke in a rush.

  My chest aches. The reality of our situation is finally settling in for real. And I don’t like it one bit. “This is how it’s always going to be…” I mutter more to myself than to her, really. “I’m always going to play second fiddle to your law books and your conference calls and your working lunches. And you’re always going to think I don’t get it because I’m just a guy who makes smoothies on Instagram in my underwear.”

  She digs the toe of her shoe into the cheap hallway carpeting. “That’s not fair.” Her voice cracks when she says it.

  My fingers plunge into my wet hair and I tug on
it. “How do you think I feel knowing that the woman I lo—"

  I've lost count of how many times I've come close to saying those three little words to her. And as raw as I feel right now, this is not the time to make grand confessions. But her eyes plead with me as she steps closer. "I'm the woman you what?"

  “Nothing.”

  “No, Matty. Say it…” Her voice quivers.

  “Stop it, Allison.”

  The tears spill over, tracking down her face. She looks so small. “Not Allison... It's Al.”

  The whole self-control thing? I thought I had it mastered, but with this little woman? It’s just too hard…

  I rush toward her and pin her body to the door. I'm not able to keep the fury out of my kiss. The sadness. The disappointment. It sucks to admit it to myself, but this really feels like it might be our last kiss.

  When we pull apart, she's breathing hard. Her cheeks are flushed. And she's wearing that look. The look that never fails to bring me to my knees. Her hand lifts slowly from her side as she steps forward and pinches the drawstring of my hoodie between her fingers. “Come inside, Matty.” Her seductive tone is killing me. “Come inside and make love to me.”

  But I know that if I give in, I'll just get more of the same. I can't do that to myself or to her.

  I jam both hands into the front pockets of my damp jeans. “No, I can’t. I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore.”

  Every cell in my body riots, every inch of my soul rebels, but I don't look back. Even when I hear her calling after me, I jog toward the stairwell and disappear down the stairs.

  27

  Allison

  October

  “What are those brown lumps floating in there?” Dr. Ramirez lifts the lid, giving the contents a quizzical look. She’s a bowel surgeon, and I feel like she’s seen a lot of brown lumps, if you know what I mean. And I bet none of them get that tone.