by E. J. Noyes
Brooke, fear not–the cavalry has arrived! Hope you’re surviving. Jana.
After a moment’s thought, I penned an x after my name. Though it was only a written form of the hug I’d wanted to give her earlier, it’d have to do. I closed the lid and held the parcel out to Kelly. She was utterly trustworthy and I knew she’d never open the box to look at what I’d just written inside. “Last errand and I promise I’ll leave you alone. Can you please take this down to the third floor and deliver it to Brooke at Donnelly and Donnelly?”
“Am I waiting for a response to bring back?” She took the box, holding it to her chest as though it were a newborn.
“Nope. Stop, drop and run.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks.” The moment she was out of sight, I unwrapped my lunch and turned my attention back to the issue at hand. How my gift of a gooey brownie and a coffee éclair would be received. No, that’s not it. The issue at hand is…a soon to be ex-husband who would regret pushing my client to court. Goodbye, Benevolent Jana. Hello, Hardass Jana.
* * *
I’d expected to see Brooke again in the café during the week, but not as soon as the morning after the choco-delivery. She sat at a table just inside the door, situated so she could see through the glass walls into the lobby, and as I stepped into the café she stood, already smiling. My mood lifted to match her seemingly exuberant one. She seemed to do that, like she had some weird influence that instantly made me feel better when I was around her.
I didn’t bother hiding my pleasure at seeing her, and seeing her looking a whole lot less frazzled than the day before. “Why, Ms. Donnelly. Two days in a row? I do believe this is becoming a habit.”
Grinning madly, she held up both hands. “Nothing more than a coincidence of the totally orchestrated kind. I realized that I don’t have your number, and it seemed a little too forward to come up to your office or look your firm up to call you on a business line for ah…a, um personal type thing. So, here I am. Casually stalking you.”
“I see,” I mused. “And why exactly are you stalking me?”
The grin faded slightly and was replaced by a look of earnest, eyebrows-raised seriousness. “To give you my eternal gratitude for your sweet gift yesterday. Seriously, you saved my ass.”
“You’re very welcome, and I’m glad it helped.”
She gripped my forearm, firmly enough to keep me in place, but not enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Her voice lowered and I had to lean in to hear her properly. “I mean it, Jana. Yesterday absolutely fucking sucked, like one of the worst workdays I’ve ever had and then your box arrived and it completely changed my day. It wasn’t just about the treats—which were fabulous by the way—it was the thought. That you’d heard something I said and then gone and done something like that. Just a really nice unexpected thing, and it made me feel good.” By the time she was done explaining, Brooke’s cheeks were bright pink. “It was really kind,” she added quietly.
Her gratitude was lovely, of course, but what really sent warmth coursing through my body was that she’d found something in what I’d done beside a basic “here’s a treat to cheer you up.” I was surprised to find my throat tightening, and I forced a smile, trying to seem nonchalant and like I didn’t want to cry or hug her or something. “Well, honestly, I can’t take all the credit. I sent our receptionist out to buy something for you.”
“Do you always try to deflect when you do something nice? It’s the thought that counts and all that, and the thought was so sweet.” Brooke released my arm. “Anyway, I was going to buy you coffee to thank you, but I discovered I don’t even know what you drink. Then I was going to just pay for it so it’d be done when you made it down here, but that seemed kind of impersonal. In the end, I decided to wait for you and here I am.” By the time she’d finished her explanation, she was almost out of breath.
I was about to tell her that she didn’t need to buy me a reciprocal thing, that sending her something I’d hoped would lift her mood had made me feel good too. But she looked so damned excited, plus her rambling explanation mirrored my own rambling tendencies, and I enjoyed being with her and talking to her. “I drink everything, and coffee sounds great, thanks.”
We lined up, I chose something at random and we moved off to the side to wait for our takeout orders to be ready. “So, yesterday. Did you get everything done in the end?”
“Mhmm. And with only five thousand, two hundred and eighty-one swear words.”
“Shit, mustn’t have been as bad as you had me believe.” I winked to make sure she got that this one was a joke.
Brooke grinned. “I know, I’m such a drama queen.” She flicked her hair back, huffing a dramatic sigh.
Leaning close, I murmured, “I must be rubbing off on you then.”
Her mouth fell open, then twisted into a smile. She managed to get out an indeterminate sound before the barista interrupted with a call of, “Order for Brooke!”
Brooke strode over and collected our coffees, leaving me to wonder what exactly she’d been about to say. She handed mine over with a gracious, “Madam, coffee for you.”
“Thank you.” I collected a couple of fake sugars and together we made our way to the elevators.
Brooke punched the call button with her elbow. “So I guess I’ll see you down here at another random time this week?” The statement was casual and matched by an almost slouched posture. The whole thing reminded me of how I used to try and act super cool around boys when I was a teenager.
I decided to take a chance that not only she enjoyed our banter as much as I did, but that she even wanted to hang around me. “Listen. Why don’t we just make this coffee and conversation before work a regular, every morning thing? If one of us can’t make it, then no harm no foul, but we may as well accept it’s becoming a habit.”
She paused for only a moment, before hastily agreeing, “Sure, great, fabulous. I’d like that.”
“Me too,” I said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “How’s seven thirty work for you?”
“Perfect, but isn’t that early for you?”
“Not by much, and the conversation is worth it.” I held up my cup. “And so is the high-quality coffee you seem to inspire in the baristas here. I swear it’s better when you’re around.” We stepped into the elevator together, and Brooke leaned across me to press the buttons for both our floors.
“Really? I’ve always found the coffee universally great.” She grinned. “Maybe it’s just my presence making it taste better for you.”
“Maybe it is,” I shot back without thinking. “Shit, will us meeting every morning mess up your daily gossip sessions with the server?”
“Nah, I make multiple trips downstairs, and I’m sure we can catch up for gossip during the day.”
“Phew. I’d hate to interrupt such an important part of the day.”
“You’d be worth it.” The elevator chimed, and Brooke stepped out, her smile wider than I’d ever seen. “Have a good day. See you in the morning.”
“You too.” Left alone, I rode up to my floor, smiling the whole way. Worth it. Yeah, I totally was.
Chapter Six
Mom had gone full organizational fiend, and top of her list was the fact I hadn’t had the final fitting of my maid-of-honor dress. Second on the list was that I didn’t have a dress for the party she was throwing the night before the ceremony. A party. The day before the wedding. I felt like I was ten steps behind everyone, still wondering why we needed a party the day before the ceremony when there would be an after-ceremony party.
When I’d asked Mom, she’d said—as though it were the most obvious thing—that we needed a party so all of the people who’d watched Sabs and me grow up could mingle and give Sabs and Bec their best wishes. And if I knew my mother, so she could show off the house and her family as she loved to do. Ergo, I needed to have a new dress. The fact I had a closet brimming with dresses was a moot point because according to Mom, none of them suited. How the hell she knew whic
h of my outfits suited and which didn’t was beyond me, unless she’d installed cameras in my walk-in closet. Her insistence on buying a new really nice dress strengthened my suspicion that she was trying to set me up with someone.
Yippee…
Pacing slowly in front of my office windows that gave me a view of the glass monstrosity across the street that’d recently risen up to ruin my view, I gently rebutted everything she said, and closed with, “I barely have time to pee at the moment, and I’m going to go Saturday, okay? I’m sure everyone can wait another few days for a final fitting and quality check for the dress. I’ve already spoken to Sabbie and Bec about it, and they’re totally okay with the timing.” A small lie. The little vein in Sabine’s forehead had bulged. “And I promise I’ll find something nice for the garden party.”
Mom fretted, “Who will make sure the dressmaker has it right? And who will make sure you’ve found a nice dress for yourself? Don’t think I don’t know you pay someone to buy you clothes.”
Apparently my entire family thought I was incapable of performing eighty percent of basic adult activities. It was true that I found intensive clothes shopping both tedious and stressful, so once a month a personal shopping service did the legwork for me. “Shit, Mom. I’m sure the dressmaker knows what she’s doing. And I’m not incapable of buying clothing for myself. Remember my earlier statement about barely having time to pee? I’m busy, you know, working. And I’m fairly certain I can stand there while she runs a tape measure—” The sound of a knock on my open office door interrupted me. “…over my boobs,” I finished as I turned around.
Right away, I realized that I probably should have checked who was knocking before I blurted about my breasts. The people I worked with were used to my lack of filters, but Brooke, who Kelly had just delivered, probably not so much. I’d have been embarrassed if it wasn’t for Brooke trying and failing to hide a smirk.
Mom tsked me. “Fine. But I want photographs of every dress option. From all angles.”
I smiled my thanks at Kelly and motioned that Brooke should come in. She did so, then closed the door quietly behind her and stood waiting. I mouthed an apology, adding an eye roll for good measure and indicated that she should take a seat. I resumed my pacing as Brooke settled on the black leather couch against the far wall of my office. “Yes fine, Mom. I’ll text you pictures.” Like hell. I wasn’t a teenager needing my mother’s approval for an outfit.
“Are you bringing a date?” she asked.
I almost snorted at the absurdity of her question, but managed to rein myself in to answer with a simple, uninflected, “No.” Before she could ask why, I jumped in. “I don’t know anyone I’d want to bring, and anyone I might happen to meet between now and then will be too new to be subjected to yours and Dad’s special brand of parental interrogation.” My parents were fabulous, and I loved them more than I could ever express. But my family took great delight in torturing and teasing me when it came to my love life. Or lack thereof. Lust life was probably a better fit. Actually even that was stretching it at the moment. How depressing.
Mom hmmphed.
I cut off any potential response with, “I have to go. A client just arrived and then I have a mountain of work to do and I, uh…need to prep for court tomorrow.” My clients always seemed to arrive during phone calls with my mother. Very inconvenient. Brooke just managed to muffle her snort.
Mom conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Fine, go and be a legal hotshot, but call me tomorrow. We’re not through with this conversation. Love you, Jana Banana.”
Wonderful. I cringed as if Brooke had heard Mom calling me my childhood nickname, which she probably had given the volume of my mother’s voice. Brooke and I had met up twice for morning coffee this week and shared a few semi-personal things. But Jana Banana was a step too far at this stage in our friendship. “Love you too. And sure, will do.” Or not. I needed at least a day to regroup and prepare myself for Mom’s next verbal advance.
I hung up and dropped the phone onto my desk before making my way to the couch where Brooke sat with one leg crossed over the other, a large white paper bag resting in her lap. I stared at the expanse of calf for a moment, trying to decide if I was envious or simply admiring her legs. After a few moments I decided it was both. Finally, I recalled my manners and greeted Brooke. “Hi. Sorry, my mother,” I said by way of explanation for keeping her waiting.
She stood, a broad smile lighting her face. “Let me guess, you should be living your life differently to the way you are, and you’re incapable of doing anything right?”
“Bingo. Very perceptive.” I grinned. “In this case it’s me not yet attending the final fitting for the maid-of-honor dress for my sister’s wedding, and because I use a personal shopper I’m apparently incapable of buying a new dress for a party too. And you know, still single and not producing grandkids. All-round failure as a daughter,” I deadpanned.
“I highly doubt that.” Then, despite everything I’d just said, the thing Brooke zoned in on was, “Wait, you use a personal shopper?”
“Mhmm. It’s just…I mean, I don’t like wasting time wandering around stores. I’m waaay too impatient for that. I’d rather pay someone to bring me things and I can go yes, no, maybe, thanks very much and send me the invoice. But in Mom Land, a lack of time apparently translates to lack of fashion sense.”
Brooke’s up and down inspection of my outfit was slow. “I’ll vouch that you certainly don’t lack that. Prada suits you. Even if you didn’t pick it yourself,” she added cheekily.
“Thank you.” I gave a small curtsy. “I think she’s just pressing my buttons even more than usual because I have a suspicion she’s trying to set me up with the son of someone from her baking group. Or sewing group. Or card game circle. Or one of the twenty other social groups she’s a part of.” My brain looped back. “Sorry, did you want coffee? Tea, water, something else? Did Kelly offer you something?”
“She did offer, but I’m fine thanks. So when is this wedding and alleged set-up party?”
“Six-ish weeks away. End of September. I mean, it’s a wedding but not really a legal wedding. Just something for my grandparents to be involved with. We’ll wear fabulous dresses and my sister’s best friend and his boyfriend will stand around looking hunky in suits. Everyone will cry. Then we’ll indulge in too much food, drink and fun afterward.”
Brooke’s left eyebrow arched curiously. “Your sister doesn’t really want to get married but…thinks a pretend wedding will make your grandparents happy?”
I grinned at the leap she’d made. “No, she desperately wants to get married but she’s a lesbian. Long story short, my paternal grandparents are pushing ninety and aren’t up to traveling, so Sabine and her fiancée decided to have a wedding ceremony union type thing in Ohio before…you know. But same-sex marriage isn’t legal there yet. Hence, the wedding that isn’t. I have to do the witness duty, mini bridesmaid thing again when we get back to D.C. a few days after to make it official.”
Brooke’s eyebrows came together briefly before her forehead relaxed again. “Oh. I see,” she said neutrally. “Sounds great.”
Instantly my hackles rose, and I felt the familiar defensive indignance rise up. “Is that an issue for you?” The question came out cold and with an edge of anger.
“You being a bridesmaid twice? Not unless you’re going to wear the same dress both times. That’s lazy.”
“Funny,” I said dryly. “I meant, is it an issue for you that my sister is marrying another woman?” Even as I asked the question, I couldn’t pin down why I cared about what this woman, who stood somewhere between acquaintance and friend, thought. Maybe because she seemed so…great, so normal and funny and kind and for her to be a homophobe was just fucked up. “Because, honestly, that would be kind of shitty of you.”
Brooke’s mouth fell open and she expelled a choked splutter. “Oh, hell no! It’s not an issue, Jana. Really.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to a stage whisper. “That w
ould be rather hypocritical of me.”
It took a moment for me to realize what she was saying. “Ohhhh, you’re…oh, right. Good. That’s great. Fantastic!”
“Yes. It can be. Very great. Incredibly fantastic.” Her smile turned conspiratorial, then she suddenly seemed to remember the reason for her visit and thrust the paper bag at me. “Sorry, totally got off track as usual. Here are your shoes, mended and in full working order. Sorry, they were only just delivered or I’d have given them to you this morning when we had coffee.”
“Ah, thanks for that. I appreciate you going to the effort.” I set the bag down behind my desk.
“No problem. You don’t want to check they’re in one piece?”
“Nope, I trust you and by extension whichever repair place you trusted.”
“Good to know. Hey, listen, if you need someone to help you out with buying a dress for this party, I’m more than happy to offer my assistance.”
I leaned against my desk, crossing my arms. “Really? And do you think you’re qualified to assist according to the exacting standards of Mrs. Carolyn Fleischer?”
Brooke gestured to her outfit. “Well, look at me,” she said. “Clearly I am.”
Laughing, I agreed, “Yes, you are.” My up-and-down inspection was quicker than hers had been. She wore a high-waisted, form-fitting charcoal skirt over a pale pink silk blouse with subtle ruffling at the neck, matched with nude shoes. It screamed tasteful elegance. She probably didn’t need a personal shopper. “All right then. I gratefully accept, and I’m sure my mom, my sister, and my almost-legal sister-in-law will be over the moon.”
“Excellent, glad I can help. When’re you planning on going?”
“Saturday morning.” After a beat I added, “Maybe we could grab something to eat after? My treat, as thanks for enduring the tedium of finding a dress that lives up to Mom’s expectations.”
“It’s not exactly a hardship, Jana. But thank you, that’d be nice. We can organize details tomorrow morning over coffee?”