by Emily Duvall
I get out my phone and turn on the City Walker app. The screen comes to life with a digital map of the area, even though I have the outline of the city memorized. The digital boots on my screen change direction as I turn right and left, and eventually, lead me to the residences at Four Points Arlington.
I arrive to find Libby pacing in the lobby and talking on her phone. “She’s here,” she says to someone and ends the call. “That was Caleb.”
“Not him again,” I groan and roll my eyes. “He thinks I’m not capable of walking.”
“Next time just wait for me. I told you I wouldn’t be long.”
“I was hungry, and you took way longer than twenty minutes.” She can’t argue with this because she doesn’t have my stomach. I point to the door, to the issue at hand. “I can’t find my badge.”
She opens her purse and picks out the badge, dangling it in front of my face. “Found this under the bench at the museum. When you dropped your purse, it must have fallen out.”
I take it and walk around her to the door. The barcode slashes over the scan and there’s a satisfying beep and greenlight on the sensor. The door clicks open and I pull the handle towards me.
“Wait up,” Libby says, following me inside.
Libby comes with me to my apartment. I kind of wish she’d go to her place, so I can get out Countess Coins. I don’t like that I’m currently fifth in the world for this game. I need to be number one.
She puts her purse on the kitchen table and goes straight to the cabinets, pulling out two wine glasses. “Are you going to have a drink with me?”
“If you have white wine.”
“Like I would offer anything else,” she says cheerfully and takes out a chilled bottle.
The wine is poured. I never drink more than two glasses. She takes hers and walks over to the window at the far end of the apartment. This is her favorite spot to stand and I go next to her, we both look at the city below, covered in a mantle of dusk and a few stars in the sky.
“You saw Caleb at the restaurant?”
“I did.” I take a sip of the semi-sweet delicious drink. “He was with Sara.”
Libby gives a pointed look. “They’re certainly lasting longer than I predicted.” She swirls the wine in her glass. “Did they ask you to eat with them?”
Embarrassment creeps through me. “I sat with them by accident and they told me to find my own table.”
Her hand freezes mid-air and her lips press together hard. “Are you okay?”
I hear the chime of money landing in a jar. “Why do you always ask that?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I was hurt and I’m not anymore.”
“They can be such jerks.”
Jerks that have each other. Jerks that go out to eat together. Jerks that kiss and have sex. “Are they dating?”
“If you ask Sara, yes. If you ask Caleb, I have no idea. They’re sleeping together. Everyone around the office knows that much. They haven’t exactly been discreet.”
“You used to date him. Were you discreet?”
“We did not date. Caleb and I had more of an office flirtation. We went out one time and we never kissed. I’m just not into him on a romantic level. Never have been.”
I sit on the couch and take off my socks and shoes, curling my feet beneath my legs. We’ve had this discussion before, about relationships, but I always want to know more. “Why do Caleb and Sara make a good fit?”
She snorts. “They’re both in love with themselves.”
“But not with each other?”
“I doubt that.” She joins me and gets settled, twirling the stem of the glass between her hands. “I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long.”
“Why?”
“They’re using each other. They’ll get bored once someone better comes along or someone with connections at work. Which is what I want to talk to you about.” She coughs and clears her throat. “Remember the job I applied for at Hockley and Lyon?”
“The one that will make you a partner?”
“Yes.” She sets down her glass and faces me. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach the corners of her eyes. “Julie offered me the promotion.”
“She did?” I smile at Libby, but that vanishes. “Caleb said he got the job.”
Libby is contemplative and quiet. She presses her fingers to her forehead. “He’s wrong,” she says, lifting her face. “He might have thought he got the promotion, but that’s why I couldn’t leave the museum. Julie had asked me to stay. She wanted to talk.”
“How much money will you make?” I correct myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask that.”
“Don’t sweat it, and yes, I’ll make a lot more. So…there’s…a catch, some news about the job. Something I didn’t share with you when I had applied. The position requires me to work out of the firm’s Manhattan office.”
“New York is three hours away by train.”
“You could always come with me. Your firm has an office five blocks away from where I’ll be.”
I stare at her blankly. Wait. What? Me? Move to New York?
“Maren? What do you think?”
“I don’t want to live in New York.”
“I know there’s a lot to consider. We’ll have to share an apartment at first, housing costs are outrageous. Once we’re settled we can look for a place more affordable when we figure out where we’ll want to live. There’s so much to the city, the food, the sites, you’ll love it there.”
I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave. Emotion rises in my voice. “I’m not going with you.”
“Maren, you have to be open-minded about this.”
“No, I don’t. I live here.”
“You can’t live alone.”
“I do now.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I know you’ve been on your own, but I’ve been right here with you. Who will you hang out with? Who will you go out to dinner with?” Her cheeks flush red. She thrusts the glass on the table and faces me again. This time she grabs my hands. “You have to say yes. You can’t stay here, and I need to know you’re okay. What will I do without you?”
“You would work. You would go to the gym and have dinner with your friends. You don’t need me. I don’t need you.”
Libby’s eyes are suddenly watery. “Don’t say that. It’s not true. I do everything for you.”
“I don’t ask for you to come over. I don’t ask for you to tell me what to wear and bug me about what I’ll eat for breakfast.”
“You need me to do those things.”
My pulse quickens. My heart beats wild. “You’re wrong. I don’t need you.”
Libby’s finger stabs her chest and her voice is loud. “Do you think I always want to be here, making sure you’ve brushed your hair and you look ready for work?”
“I look fine. You’re the one obsessing about my clothes.”
She stills. Her eyes flare. “You have no idea how much I’ve done for you. How much I’ve given up for you. I’ve turned down jobs for you. I haven’t bought a house. I don’t date. I go everywhere with you.”
“Then stop, okay?” I say louder, unable to control my tone. “Just stop.”
“You don’t even care. Look at you. You’re probably thinking about your video games.” She stands and storms off to the kitchen, swiping her bag off the table. “This is not about you this time. You’re coming with me.”
That’s the last thing she says before slamming the door.
Chapter 4
Caleb
Sara and I have quick, meaningless sex. Just how I like it. She’s on her phone the second we’re through and I do the same, sitting up and resting my head against the headboard. My important parts are concealed by the sheets and I check the O’s score. I’m anxious to hear if Julie’s decided about the promotion.
“No freakin’ way.” Sara swats her hand against my chest.
I’m uninterested in whatever she’s about to say and give a distra
cted, “Uh-huh.”
“Julie promoted Libby to the New York office.”
Dread slices through me like a knife splitting me in half. I drop my phone. Shit.
Sara shoves her phone in my hand. “Here. See for yourself.”
I read the announcement with a raging, disbelieving gaze. Printed in bold black text. A royal F-You to the countless hours and weekends I’ve put in over the last year. I curse at the sight of Libby’s name. I want this job. Everyone in the office wants the position. The role was mine. Not hers. How is this even possible?
Envy and disgust are etched in Sara’s frown. “What was Julie thinking?”
“She wasn’t.”
“How can Libby even think about accepting? She’s got her sister to babysit. The one who tried to sit with us at dinner. God, wasn’t that awkward? She didn’t get the hint. I have no idea what crack Julie’s been smoking. I mean, Libby? Seriously? She’s a mediocre lawyer at best. There’s nothing special about her.” She clicks her phone a few times and grumbles. “I have to tell my crew.”
Chimes light up her phone. Apparently, they already know. Word is catching like a ring of fire. I grab my phone and re-read the email, expecting to find fault and for this to be a mistake.
Sara sighs and rests her head against the pillow. “I didn’t tell anyone, but I applied for the position.”
My gaze is deadlocked on my phone. This isn’t even a realistic reach. “You’re not even a junior associate.”
“I know. My sister lives in Manhattan and I’ve had this lifelong goal to live in the big city with her. Getting in with the New York team would be a dream. If you were there, too…” She gives me a fleeting glance. “I still can’t believe this.”
I can’t either. This must be a mistake. “If you want to move, why not ask Julie for a transfer?”
“I did, twice.”
I give her a long look. “Since when?”
“A month after we started dating, and again, when I applied for the partner position. She’s never liked me.”
Sara’s comment holds zero weight. Julie wouldn’t have created such an impressive career if she led by emotion. She keeps around the employees who meet her level of expectation. Julie and the other partners don’t let anything slide. I know this because if you make a mistake, they’re all over you with emails and meetings to discuss what went wrong. You feel their wrath acutely until they move on to someone else. Sara’s in the inner circle, I don’t think she sees her position that way, but the last thing I will do is reassure her. That’ll take up half my morning.
I withhold my opinions.
Sara drags her hands down her face, stretching the skin at her cheeks. “I have to go. I have stuff to do today.”
Awesome.
She fixes her long hair in a bun and the sheets drop, exposing her full, creamy breasts. I’m more pissed-off than tempted and rip off the covers, striding naked towards the bathroom.
“Thursday night, my place,” she calls out and dresses fast. Less than a minute later she’s put back together and out the door.
We skip the whole coffee-and-breakfast routine. I’ve never asked her to stay for the morning. Our relationship has been going on long enough that I’ll need to make some decisions about the next steps. Not marriage or children, but how long to keep sleeping with her. I’m approaching the sands of sensitive time. She’s close to asking if she can leave a toothbrush, I can feel the question burning on the tip of her tongue. The six-month mark hits like clockwork and women become territorial, like she’s earned the right to keep a set of clothes in my closet. No, ma’am.
The good news? She leaves me with a full day to meet my goal of sleeping in and starting my day around noon. I go back to sleep and find no rest, just incredulous thoughts and choice words for Julie. I mean, how could she? The announcement robs me of a lifetime of plans. I fling the covers off the bed and get up.
I throw on athletic clothes and start the morning with a jog. There’s no reason I can’t work through my annoyance on the running trails, a habit I do four times a week.
Today’s weather is the perfect combination of low heat and humidity. The kind that man was meant to be outside and enjoy. My fingers shove earbuds in my ears and my feet hit the pavement on the sidewalk in front of my house. The music pulls me further inside my own world. I’m lost in the angsty guitar riffs and disturbed voices from the grunge era. The angry lyrics match my dark mood. I get lost in the music. I wanted that promotion. Maybe Libby won’t last one second in New York. My pace quickens at this hopeful thought.
I run hard and fast. I wind around the men and women out for walks and jogs. I avoid a couple close calls with mothers pushing strollers. I make the mistake of looking at the playground—at a father catching his daughter off a slide. Children run around chasing each other, laughing their hearts out with their mothers and grandmothers hot on their tails. I cough back unexpected emotion. Unwelcome heaviness settles in my bones like a hard grip. I look away and swerve to avoid running into another jogger. I’d been so wrapped up in Libby’s news that I thought I would forget. I thought I would get a pass from the real culprit haunting the specific hours of this day. The day the doctors told us Darcy was treatable, but not curable.
The next month approaching is a marker of eight years. Almost a decade without Darcy. Years and months and days and minutes with my role of parent no longer required. I gasp, holding back tears I swore I would never shed. She would have been on the same playground squealing and running with her friends, their hair in high ponytails with oversized bows.
I put the sequence of events out of my mind. I drive that fury at what should have been my big career moment. My arms pump and pain shoots down my shoulders. I can take it. I can handle it. I…almost miss the brunette sitting on the bench staring out at the world. I could turn away from her. She wouldn’t even know I was here, but my thoughts are raw, they’re selfish and I can’t miss the chance to get insider information on Libby’s job. Where is Libby anyway?
I make my way over. “Maren.”
Brilliant green eyes meet mine. Her hair is pulled up and styled in a loose, high ponytail. I can see her face. Her smooth skin. The light shade of her cheeks. I wasn’t expecting to notice her every feature. One breath is all it takes for me to see her clearly. She looks different, surprising. I underestimated her beauty.
“Caleb Allan,” she replies with a genuine smile.
I squint over her head and return my gaze to hers. “Where’s your sister?”
“Running errands.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
“We’re fighting, and no one likes to be around Libby when she’s mad.”
Laughter slips from my mouth. “Fair point.”
She looks me up and down. “You run?”
“I think you know the answer.” I glance at her shirt and read. “What does that say?”
She stretches out the fabric. The words I’m Really Excited to Be Here are printed in small cursive letters. “The message is ironic. It’s a joke.”
My frown neutralizes. “Thank you for the explanation.”
She nods at the phone strapped to my upper arm. “You listen to music while you run.”
I pull out the earbuds. “Do you even listen to music?”
Her expression has more attitude than a teenage girl. “Why wouldn’t I?”
A low chuckle escapes my mouth. “Guess I’m not that brilliant at reading people.”
She continues as if I hadn’t asked her a question. “Nineties grunge, hip-hop, and Daft Punk. Those are my tunes.”
I won’t touch the Daft Punk comment, but grunge? Yeah, no way. Not buying her declaration that she knows anything about that genre. My mood turns into cross-examination mode, all tone, no heart, and maybe a tiny piece of my bad morning is unfairly taken out on her. I dangle the earbud in front of her. “Alright, D.J. Maren, name the song.” I wait expectantly, hoping she fails.
She takes the earbud, doesn’t wipe off the
surface, just sticks the speaker in her ear. A couple of head bops and a serious smile draws up her crooked lips. She looks up at me.
“Well?”
“Hunger Strike, by Temple of the Dog, created by Chris Cornell. Easy.”
Totally unexpected. I give her credit. “Not many people remember that one.”
“Most people don’t have a time of year they go through every song by the top artists in that genre. Every May I switch to grunge. In the fall, instrumentals and pop. Winter? Christmas music, obviously, and spring, I change between country and hip-hop.”
I peer over at the phone in her hand. “What else is on your playlist?”
“Renditions of old songs. Zombie. Sound of Silence.” She moves her gaze to something in the distance and her face is incredibly serene. “The lyrics are raw.”
My eyebrow furrows. “Because you know about lyrics that are deep?”
“Of course. Don’t you? The repetition of a bridge makes sense. The harmony is a bonus.” She hands back the earbud and stands. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’ve got to finish my run and get back to my apartment in forty-five minutes.”
“What’s happening then?”
“Libby’s making lunch.”
“I thought the two of you were fighting.”
“We still have to eat.” Maren stands and stretches her arm over her chest. There’s an air of confidence to her, she reminds me of a soccer player staring down the field at the goal. “Why are you still here? Do you want to run together?”
I take a physical step back like she’s asked the unthinkable. My lips twitch into a scowl. “No.”
“Why not?” she keeps at it.
“I just don’t.”
She shrugs and sets off without me.
Just like that. Maren is gone. Her world did not fall apart at my rejection. I’m not one to admit when I’m being a dick, but this qualifies, and I owe her my presence.
Determined to show her that I can run with her, I take off after her. I catch up with her as the path curves away from the playground and I settle next to her and match her strides as if we’ve been running buddies for years.