by Emily Duvall
Maren does not acknowledge that I am beside her. Nor does she flatter me with a sideways glance. “I changed my mind,” I say loudly.
Her lips compress into a hard line. Her eyes don’t break from the straight path in front of us. “I know,” she says, still not giving me a second of her time. “You’re right next to me.”
“If you don’t want me to run, I’ll go my own way. I came over here because—”
“Stop talking, Caleb Allan,” she gripes. “I’m running. You’ll slow me down.”
I have officially been told to shut-up. A first, in my world. I close my mouth and move my feet. But damn, I am grinning.
Maren’s fast. The girl runs like a laser beam and more serious than a drug dealer chasing after stolen product. She’s serious about her strides and doesn’t say a blessed word to me the entire jog. Out of pure need to polish my ego, I maintain her speed, while trying not to stop and beg for a break. I refuse to be the one to drop out and hang back.
By the time we reach her apartment, I’m sweaty. I’m out of breath. And there’s no way I’ll admit she flat-out left me in the dust, even though we weren’t racing. “Quite a run,” I say, pressing my hands to my hips.
She doesn’t immediately go inside the building. Oh no, Maren walks around in a circle in a gathering area on the lawn. Traffic clogs the street in front of us and we get the pleasure of hearing a stream of horns honking. Anyone in their cars can see us. She positions her body in a lunge and looks over at me. “You should stretch.”
“I don’t stretch,” I say adamantly.
“It’s good for your muscles.”
I stand next to her, folding my arms over my chest. I’ll look ridiculous doing lunges. I might know someone passing by in one of those cars. “I’m good.”
She lowers her arms to her feet and dangles her hands above her toes. “Libby’s moving to New York.”
Like a fastball, I’m hit with the change of subject that spills tension into my bloodstream. “I read the announcement this morning. Did she say anything about why Julie picked her?”
“Julie was impressed with the work on the Muller case.”
My fist pumps low and my voice is spiteful. “Knew it. Did she say anything else?”
Maren looks at me with heartwarming sincerity. “Libby said you’d be jealous.”
“I’m not,” I straight-up lie, fighting back hours of pent-up animosity towards my biggest competition. My gaze settles on the high-rise building behind her. “So? What does this mean for you? Are you packing up your apartment?”
Maren pulls her arm across her chest and squeezes. “Nope. I’m not going.”
A blast of hope strikes my chest. If Maren stays put, then Libby might stick around. I didn’t expect this beautiful piece of information and now there’s no way I will mind my own business. The run was worth the intel. I hide my surprise. “You’re staying in town?”
“Yes.” She pounds out the word with striking resolve.
“What about Libby? Did she change her mind? Did she turn down the job?”
“Oh no, she’s going. She’s got her heart set on the big city.”
The hope deflates like a whiny balloon losing air. “I thought the two of you were a package deal.”
She stops stretching. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She takes care of you.”
“I don’t want her to anymore.”
Their situation can’t be this simple. I don’t want to point out the obvious, but a part of me hears the convincing rise of her voice. If she isn’t leaving, I might be the one packing and securing an apartment overlooking Central Park. I’m siding with Maren for the moment. “Don’t you need her to be here?”
She does the Maren shrug. “Why would you say that? You sound like Libby, like everyone in my life. And how would I know anyway? I’ve never been without her.”
I’m skeptical and withhold my doubts, but none of this is my business or my concern. The jog is over, and I want to get on with my day. “I have to go. Good luck to you.”
She looks up and smiles. “Thanks for running with me, Caleb Allan.”
I backtrack and make sure she sees my glower, pointing to my hard lips. “Drop the whole Caleb Allen bit. The two-name thing is old.”
“To you.”
“Bye, Maren,” I say without feeling.
I put the run and the conversation behind me temporarily. I hold out a bit of hope that if Maren is intent on staying, then maybe I still have a chance. If Libby doesn’t go and stays too, then I’ll get what I want.
Sara’s busy with friends this weekend, giving me time to anticipate my next move and coming up short. Despite staying productive by mowing the lawn and working, my thoughts slingshot back to reality. Come Monday, I won’t be telling my staff it’s been nice working with them. My time is spent planning new career moves. When will the next position open? Where might I go? San Francisco? Houston? I’ve always thought I could see myself in Chicago. Maybe the New York gig wasn’t for me, at least, I convince myself enough of that for the rest of the weekend. It keeps my mind occupied instead of going down another road.
The start of the work week arrives with a dose of dread.
The office talk is worse than I thought. Libby’s promotion is all anyone’s going on about. The door to my office is closed and I’m reviewing a document.
Libby enters my office and stalks right up to my desk. “What do you think you’re doing?” she says, bracing her hands on my desk and giving me an eyeful of her contemptuous gaze.
“Congratulations on the promotion,” I answer without enthusiasm and go back to the text.
“I wasn’t expecting to get the job in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not.” I don’t look at her. “I’m going over the Jordan file. Did you know he spent three-thousand-dollars on condoms in a year? His dick must be exhausted.”
“I don’t care about Solomon Jordan and his hookers. I’m talking about Maren. You jogged with her.”
“You act like I slipped drugs in her wine glass. I spotted her on a bench and I stopped by to talk. She asked me if I wanted to join. You know this type of four-alarm drama won’t go over well in Manhattan.”
Her mouth gets small and her eyes, narrow. “You can’t go running with my sister.”
“Statements like that make me want to do it more. Your sister is fine. She’s capable of deciding if I can run with her.”
“Well don’t. Maren isn’t like me or Sara or anyone else you’re using.”
Now she has my full attention. I drop the document and sit up straight. “For the record, you can’t name one time that I’ve used you, and second, Sara and I have been together for half a year.”
“That must be a really long time for you.”
“Libby.”
“Caleb.”
We’re at a standstill.
“I get that you can’t stand the fact that I got the promotion but show me some overdue respect.” She runs her hands over her face. “I’m sorry.”
I groan internally. “Don’t be.”
“The move has me up late at night. It’s a bigger change than I thought, and I’m worried about Maren. She gets attached, Caleb. If she thinks someone is a friend, she expects they will always be there for her. There’s no variance for her when plans change, when you get held up at a meeting and can’t meet her exactly on time. She doesn’t read people well and she’s terrible at taking social cues. She’s like having a child.”
“She’s not a child at all,” I come to her defense, thinking of the glimpse I got of Maren running. She held her own. She didn’t need Libby. “Maybe you treat her like one.”
Hell is in her eyes and she explodes. “You know nothing about her. I’ve been watching out for her my whole life. You think one run makes you an expert on her? You think you know what it’s like, but you don’t.” Libby backs her hands off the desk. “Stay away from her. She doesn’t need your friendship.”
I give Libby
an innocent look, knowing this gets to her. “What if I happen to run in to her while jogging?”
“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out. Run right past her for all I care. She probably won’t even notice you.”
Anger seeps through my veins. Something inside tells me this is far from the truth, but I let the comment go. I have something better to rile her up. “I hear Maren’s not going to New York.”
Her entire face reacts with disbelief. “She told you that?”
“Yup. She sounded very certain.”
“She’s just being stubborn. She’s coming with me.”
“Does she know? I got the feeling she’s not handing back the keys to her apartment.”
“She’s refusing to go.”
I hold up my hand and bend my finger with each fact. “Maren’s an adult. She lives on her own. She said the word, No.”
“Shut-up, Caleb. Stop being a lawyer.”
I have gotten to Libby and this brings a grin to my lips. “Maybe I should be hers.”
She sighs and rubs her finger against her temple. “I don’t trust anyone to be there for her.”
“She wants to stay. So, let her.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants.” Libby calms herself down and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Promise me you’ll leave her alone.”
“The last thing I need is to get in the middle of the Cole family custody issue. You have my word.”
Chapter 5
Maren
Since our fight, I haven’t spoken to Libby about the move, but it’s all I think about. Libby’s moving. Libby’s going. Am I supposed to go with her? Should I leave? Do I want to? The words repeat in my head like a run-on sentence, except there’s no end. I take two pills and wait the thirty minutes until they absorb in my bloodstream. One of the medications I’ve been on since middle school is for anxiety. The other is a new drug which dulls the sensory reaction to my surroundings. The trick works, focusing on one idea to get over thinking about another. Twenty-nine minutes until the drugs work.
Libby sends me a text. Emergency at the office. Won’t be stopping by. Eat breakfast before you go to work. See you tonight. Love you.
I eat my waffles and place my dish in the dishwasher. What would the commute be like in the big city? Where will she live? Will she miss me? Twenty minutes since I’ve taken the medication…
There’s this daily checklist Libby made for me to make sure I accomplish the boring tasks in the morning. Once she leaves, I can tear it down and make my own rules. I don’t use this every minute of every day, I do it more for Libby. We get along better when I follow it. I have time to play a game of Countess Coins. I glance at my note board and see the words in bold letters: No digital time in the morning. Libby’s presence reinforces this as the rule.
What will happen to these rules if she’s not here?
Can I do this?
Do I want to?
I slip on my thin, capped-sleeve sweater and leave my apartment.
The walk to the Metro takes no time and Libby is usually on her phone, which makes the trip less efficient as I turn around constantly and see her trailing behind.
The train is on time and the car is packed with commuters. I wedge myself between two women and grab the pole for support. Instead of obsessing about Libby’s promotion, my thoughts are of Caleb Allan. My stomach flips. What was that? I felt it. Like a gentle, warm, swoosh. At any rate, I hope he doesn’t run in to me again in the park. Running is my favorite time.
As far as men go, he’s decent looking enough. I like his face. His eyes look perpetually pissed-off whenever he’s looking at me and I know I haven’t said the wrong thing because he doesn’t give me a chance to talk much, but—I do like the way his body is in shape which tells me he cares about himself, except for the lack of stretching. But if he tries to run next to me another time? That would ruin my workout. He would slow me down.
The Metro train comes to a squeaky-brake stop and I beat everyone else out the doors and onto the escalator. I get to the office building and swipe my badge. Charlotte beats me to work (damn) and I find her seated at her desk with a concentrated expression on her face as she reads something on her computer screen.
“Morning, Mare,” she says without looking over.
“It’s Monday. You owe me twenty-five dollars for the snacks.”
“I knew you’d remember.” She stops typing and reaches in her desk drawer. She holds out the crisp cash. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I take the money and fold the cash in my palm.
Charlotte yawns and drums out a few more sentences in the report she’s typing. “Did you have a good weekend?”
“Libby’s moving to New York and Caleb Allan ruined my morning run.”
She swivels around fully in her chair. Her mouth is hanging open like it did when she found out her ex-boyfriend had a boyfriend. “Your sister is moving? When?”
“In thirty days.”
“That’s huge news. Why didn’t you call me? I would have met you for coffee.”
“You know I don’t drink coffee.”
“Mare, what does this mean for you? You’ll finally be living without Libby watching your every move.”
“She doesn’t watch my every move. That would be annoying. And impossible.”
“Are you okay with this?”
“Yes, I am. I’m staying here, and I don’t think anything will change.”
“Well, good for you.”
My eyebrows raise. “Really? You think so?”
“Of course I do. This is exciting for her and for you.”
I smile. “Wow. Thank you. I guess I needed someone on my side.”
“I’m always on your side.” Charlotte nods at her computer screen. “Do you want to go to the cafeteria and talk more? I totally need a break from this earnings report.”
“I’d rather start my work.”
“Later then, when you’re finished. Oh, and, Mr. Spencer came by. He said to go to his office before the nine o’clock.”
“Did he say what it’s about?”
“You know him, he could have his briefcase glued to his head and you would never know why.”
I don’t want to think about Mr. Spencer maneuvering through my office door with his leather case sewed like Frankenstein to the side of his head. I shove my bag in the bottom left drawer and go see what he wants.
The building layout puts my office two doors down from the break room. The women hover around the espresso maker and talk about nothing every morning. They latch on to anyone within ten feet and ask about the weather, the restaurants, the farmers market. They want advice on a range of topics, from how to remove permanent ink from wood to whether Catalina or Thousand Island dressing goes better with taco salad or their latest remedy for a migraine. They don’t like when I tell them there’s this thing called Google.
I increase my speed, hoping they don’t drag me into their social abyss.
“Maren, come back.”
I almost made it. “Hey, Cathy.”
“Good morning.” She’s at the counter cutting a piece of crumb cake. “Did you try this? It’s delicious.”
“I already ate breakfast.”
Cathy dips herself a slice and faces me. “I need your opinion on something.”
“I’m in a hurry. Mr. Spencer’s waiting for me.”
“This will take less than a second.”
“We’re already past a second.”
She laughs. “You’re too much.”
I just stare at her.
She pushes her lips together. “Do you have children?”
“No.”
“Hmm, well, you’re one of the younger ones in this office. Have you ever tried one of those elimination diets? You get rid of something like dairy or sugar and see if you feel better?”
I glance at the crumb cake. “No.”
“You’re not dating anyone, are you?”
I want my head to sink into my shoulders and fall
through my body. “No.”
“I might have someone to set you up with. Would you be interested in a blind date?”
“I’d have to see him ahead of time.”
“He’s really much better looking in person, otherwise I would show you a picture.”
“I would rather you didn’t. I’m going to be late.” I rush down the hall and I push the button for the elevator, but it is taking forever and I’m already taking longer than I should.
My heart is thumping by the time I reach Mr. Spencer’s office, the highest floor in the building. I wish I had a desk up here, away from Cathy and her crumbs.
“Morning, Maren,” his secretary, Noelle greets me. “What’s wrong?”
“Cathy stopped me.”
“Oh.” Noelle types rapidly on her computer while looking at me. “I see.”
“Do you think we could put up a no-small-talk policy in the break room?”
Noelle’s mouth breaks into a smile. “I wish.” She nods at the door. “You can go inside.”
I put my hand on the doorknob and turn.
“Knock first.”
“You just said to go inside.”
“Protocol.”
Oh yeah. That. I comply and wait for Mr. Spencer to approve of my entering.
“Maren, hello,” his voice booms. He makes his way around the desk and outstretches his hand.
I meet his grip with mine and look him in the eye. This is expected of me when I meet people. Hand. Shake. Eye. Contact. Done. Successful. Whew. “There wasn’t a meeting on my calendar for you. What’s this about?”
“Please, take a seat.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk.
I sit down. Mr. Spencer’s office doesn’t have much furniture. The chair is uncomfortably hard, and his desk is see-through. There’s a welcoming lack of clutter and like me, he doesn’t put out photos. The tones are gray like the shades of his hair and he’s dressed in suits that are crisp as the money Charlotte had handed me. Charlotte calls him intimidating. I don’t see him that way. He understands numbers on the same level as I do. I learn from him and he makes me a better analyst.
Mr. Spencer takes a seat behind his desk. “I got a call from your sister. She tells me she’s moving out of Virginia.”