Your New Best Friend

by Jayne Denker

  "I'll call you after I'm done."

  When I present myself for review, turning to one side then the other, he looks me up and down and nods. "Squared away," he says, opening the door.

  He reaches for me one more time, but I hold him off with a hand to his chest. It has the opposite effect. He yanks me back inside, completely messes up what I just straightened, then pushes me out into the hallway…right into Beebs, who's standing there, fist raised to knock, his mouth open in shock. I blush violently. He smiles. Delightedly.

  I doubt Conn and I are going to be able to keep this a secret for very long.

  * * *

  Beebs catching us doesn't dampen my mood in the least, however. If I thought I was floaty and stupid earlier this morning, I'm even more so as I make my way to the real estate office. The bell over the door sounds like the sweetest church chimes, Eric the Red doesn't look as coked up as he usually does, and even Maude's pinched expression doesn't bother me. Is this place cheerier, or is it me? I suspect it's the latter.

  Then I have the biggest surprise of the morning: my father is in his office.

  "Daddy, what in God's name are you doing at work?"

  "I brought donuts!"

  "That explains Laura's white mustache. Maybe. Anyway, this isn't like you. Have you had a stroke?" Maybe a fever has set in and he's delirious. I toss my things onto the leather sofa and round the end of his desk to put my hand on his forehead. "What's wrong?"

  He pushes my hand away, but gently. "Nothing's wrong. Can't your old man come into his own place of business? And bearing donuts, no less?"

  "Why are you not following the advice of a doctor for once and taking it easy for a couple of weeks?"

  "I'm sitting at my desk. It's just like sitting at home but less infuriating. Have you seen the state of daytime TV lately?"

  "Don't change the subject."

  "It is the same subject. You asked why I'm here. I'm answering you. It's because Maury drives me up a wall."

  "Dressing, driving, and sitting here are all stressful. Aren't your incisions hurting?"

  "Magda dropped me off, and I have wonderful painkillers. Now, I want to talk to you."

  He sounds almost serious. I wonder if he's had some complications. Or maybe the pre-op tests found something wrong, something more serious than his appendix. "What is it?"

  "You think I should take it easy," he begins.

  I nod. I did do some thinking about this while he was in surgery. "Absolutely. You're not getting any younger, and—"

  "I beg your pardon!"

  "What I mean is, maybe you should take a look at how you're living your life. All the unneeded stress. Like running for office. Maybe you should consider withdrawing from—"

  "Not on your life."

  "Okay." I'm prepared for this. I have a backup plan. "Then how about letting me take care of your appearances from now till November?"

  "No."

  "Charles, you're pissing me off."

  "That's not very ladylike."

  "Look, old man—"

  "Let me talk, offspring," he commands. "I have done a bit of soul searching lately, but not about backing off or taking it easy. Quite the contrary, in fact."

  "Dad—"

  "Listen. Please. Before I found out all this was just my appendix, I came up with at least a dozen different deadly diseases and conditions that could be causing me all that pain."

  "Of course you did." No need to wonder where I get my overactive imagination from. It runs in the family.

  "Anyway, I realized I've spent half my life trying to find something wrong with me. Physically. You know."

  "I do know. Very well."

  "But once something actually turned out to be wrong with me, I realized what a waste it's been, worrying about nothing all these years. It's kind of a sick hobby, isn't it?"

  "I'd go with 'weird pathological behavior.'"

  "I'm sixty-five years old. I have decades ahead of me if I play my cards right. Why should I spend any of it looking for illnesses I don't have? I know this is a cliché, but life is short, isn't it? We should be living it instead of spending our entire time on earth afraid of it."

  "I agree."

  "Good."

  "Does this mean you're turning the real estate office over to me now?"

  "Nice try."

  Oh well.

  "This goes for you too," he continues. "You've got that lovely new business of yours. Make the most of it. It could really be something."

  "Oh, I don't know," I demur. It started off as an accidental opportunity to get paid for doing what I usually do: be too free and easy with my advice. Without a practical business plan, I can't see this thing having a very long shelf life. The summer people will be leaving in a few short weeks, and I'll be back to helping out the locals, which I've always done anyway, as part of my noblesse oblige.

  "Keep your options open, is all I'm saying."

  "I will. I promise. So how are you going to live your best life then?"

  "Enjoy it. Not take it for granted. Not try to hasten my trip to the burying ground. Stay healthy enough to enjoy my grandchildren."

  "Hey. Don't go thinking too far ahead, mister."

  "I suppose not, considering you haven't even dated anyone in…how long has it been? Months? Years?"

  "Okay, you can stop right there."

  "Don't make me wait too much longer, that's all."

  I kiss my father on the top of his white head and say nothing, absolutely nothing, about Conn, even though I want to. For the first time in my life, I can actually envision that sort of a future. I don't want to jinx it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  You awake yet?

  I am awake, but barely. I squint at the text. It's from Conn. Yesterday, after eight days of ridiculous, if secret, bliss, he actually asked me out on a date. I was ready to turn him down flat because the concept of drinks and dinner still feels pointless. But hey, we wouldn't be us if we didn't fall into this thing completely backward, right? Then he supplied the details: he needs to check out some properties in Provincetown, and he asked me to go along, not only for the company, but because he values my opinion. How could a girl say no?

  I pictured a nice drive out to the Cape, a lunch stop, investigating his real estate options, and maybe a little stroll around Provincetown before driving back. Plus I'd get to see Taylor again. But Conn is contacting me so early, I'm certain something's come up and he's canceling.

  What's going on? I text back.

  Change of plans.

  Arg. I knew it. Then another text comes in.

  Picking you up now.

  Wha—now? I'm not showered, not dressed, not primped and primed. I can't go now. I start to text back, when he anticipates me.

  Don't worry about doing yourself up. You're perfect the way you are. And it's too late anyway—I'm outside your apartment.

  Damn him. Cool your jets, I answer. Be out in five.

  I'm planning on ten, but he doesn't need to know that.

  Seven minutes have gone by when he starts banging on my door. I'm mostly ready, just stuffing random items into my purse, so I grab my shoes with one hand while I open the door with the other.

  "Let's go! Time's a-wasting!"

  "Don't you clap your hands at me, mister. You can't change plans and expect me to jump. You haven't even come bearing coffee." I give him a rude view of my backside as I slip on my sneakers.

  "It's in the car. We need to go now."

  "Why the rush? Has Godzilla risen from the waves and is stomping toward Abbott's Bay this very minute?"

  "Because the conditions are perfect to go to the Cape by boat. There isn't a ripple out there, and the forecast is clear all day. I figured we could take the old tub for a farewell journey."

  There's so much packed into his statement I don't know where to start. First of all, traveling from the North Shore to the tip of the Cape can be dicey, even in summer, depending on the winds and the currents. Conn's a responsible boa
ter, so I trust he checked the marine forecast repeatedly before considering it, but it still comes as a surprise. And…"Farewell journey? You sold her?"

  "Frank Comey is a very happy guy."

  "I heard him say he was going to fleece you!"

  "I know it. He's completely predictable. I jacked up the price, so when he chewed me down, it was the exact amount I wanted in the first place. You're not hanging with a dummy, I'll have you know."

  "Oh, I do know."

  "So? You up for it?"

  Of course I say yes immediately and quickly dig my beach bag out of the closet, stuff a sweater into it, and make sure my sunscreen is in there.

  Taylor meets us at the marina in Provincetown, where she's finagled a docking spot for the day from a friend. From the look on her face when we walk up to her in the parking lot, it's clear she isn't expecting me.

  "Oh my Goooood!" After some squealing and hugging, she pushes me away from her abruptly and looks me over. "You're different."

  "I'm exactly the same."

  "Nope. Something's different. Did you get laid?"

  I can't tell if she's actually expecting an answer.

  Fortunately, she bounces to another subject immediately. "Hey, how's your dad?"

  "He's doing well."

  "So you had some free time to come along and keep an eye on me, make sure I don't cheat Garvey, here?"

  "Something like that."

  "Well, you don't scare me. I've got some hot properties you're going to love."

  On the way to the first place, Taylor starts spouting statistics about the locations she's selected, frequently glancing in the rearview mirror at Conn to gauge his interest. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, and asks a ton of intelligent questions. The guy is shrewd, smart, and hot as hell when he's speaking my language of real estate. He doesn't need my advice, or Taylor's. He knows what's up all on his own.

  Still, as we finish touring the first space, he takes my elbow, sending electric currents up my arm, and murmurs in my ear, "Professional opinion, please?"

  "It's a dump."

  "I concur."

  Really, the place should be torn down and the land sold as a building lot, but I'm not sure it'd be worth it even then, as the location is terrible. Conn's new place needs to be in the heart of Provincetown where there's a lot of foot traffic. This is not that place.

  "Taylor's just getting the crap out of the way first, so you'll fall for the most expensive property. Whatever you see last will be the one that sticks with you."

  "I don't know. This place is pretty sticky."

  It's true. When I lift my foot off the kitchen linoleum, the floor doesn't quite want to let go. "Can we get out of here before we carry Eau de Grease with us for the rest of the day?"

  "Hey."

  I've started to walk away, but Conn pulls me into his arms. I glance over my shoulder to see if Taylor's around. I hear her voice in the distance—she's busy on her phone—so I relax into his embrace. "Yes?"

  "Thanks for doing this. I know it's a pain."

  "Not at all. As a real estate agent and an investor in this venture, I reserve the right to make sure you're making the correct choice of venue. Plus I could never say no to you."

  "Oh really?" he says slyly as he nuzzles my nose. "I'm filing that away for later."

  "Are you, now?"

  I let him kiss me, only a little nervous about Taylor walking in on us. Then, the more forward he gets, the less I care about what she sees, what she thinks or, really, anything at all concerning…what's her name, again?

  When that person we're with—oh, right, Taylor—calls from the dining area, "Let's move, people! More to see!" Conn releases me with one final small peck, and I walk ahead of him feeling like I could take on the world with one hand behind my back. Which is where one hand needs to be, to bat away someone else's hand that keeps reaching for my ass. Naturally we degenerate into one of our usual slap-fests, but this one is so very different. There's a lot of giggling on my part, for one thing, and the wrestling portion is much more intimate. It culminates in Conn grabbing me around the waist from behind and lifting my feet off the floor. He carries me over to Taylor and deposits me there, where my old friend stands in stunned silence, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. I merely pat down my clothes and continue out the door under my own power.

  By the time we check out the third property, Taylor has gone nearly silent. She's too busy watching our every move to make small talk. I know her. She's waiting for the right moment to pounce, and pounce she does, as soon as she gets rid of Conn by sending him out back to look at a small patch of dirt that could be this location's herb garden.

  When she rounds on me, I play dumb. "I like this one," I comment, looking out the window at the other shops on the street. "This location is perfect. So many successful businesses nearby."

  "All right, how long has this been going on?"

  "How long has—?"

  "Oh, cut it out. You and Conn."

  "What? Friends help friends look at real estate."

  "Oh, you are so far beyond friends now it's not even funny. And it's about time, if you ask me." She crosses her arms and studies me intently. "So how is it?"

  "How's—"

  "Do not say 'how's what?' Cut to the chase. Tell me about the sex."

  I know better than to keep denying Conn and I are together. Taylor always could get the truth out of me with one look. And if her patented glare doesn't work, she resorts to noogies.

  I can feel myself blushing as I admit, "Okay, you've got me. But it's new, all right? Really new. So don't jinx it."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "I am not telling you how the sex is." Because we haven't had any yet. I'm not telling her that. "This is…special."

  Taylor tilts her head and smiles. "Okay."

  "Are you happy for me anyway? I want a hug, bitch."

  "Of course," she says, throwing her arms around me. "Congrats. You finally got what you wanted."

  "What are you talking about? I never expected this."

  "Sure. Whatever."

  She releases me without another word, but I know what that smirk on her face means: I knew you liked him when even you didn't know…this has been coming for a long time…pretty much everything I've already heard from Hannah. Maybe they're right. Maybe they could pick up on my true feelings for Conn even when I couldn't. Or wouldn't. I don't care about the past though. What matters now is the future. Which is why I decide it's time to clear the air completely.

  "One more thing: I want to apologize."

  "What did you do?"

  "It's silly."

  "All the more reason to tell me."

  "When you came back to Abbott's Bay to have your oh-so-secret meeting with Conn, I thought you were, you know…after him."

  "After him?"

  "I thought you were plotting to get into his shorts that day."

  She laughs and flips her gorgeous hair. "Oh, believe me, if Connacht Garvey had ever expressed even the remotest interest, I absolutely would have nailed him."

  "You're kidding."

  "Honey, I would never kid about an ass like that." Taylor's phone rings, and she turns her attention to it while she tosses off, "Oh, hey—if it doesn't work out between you and Conn, I want to be the third to know. I want a shot at him."

  "You're so nasty."

  "Proud of it," she whispers with a wink as she answers her call.

  Taylor is nasty, but I know we've gotten her stamp of approval.

  * * *

  That night Conn and I finally get our dinner date. Maybe being buffeted by the stiff breeze off the ocean on the home-bound journey wore down my resolve…or maybe it was the sight of Conn as captain, squinting fiercely at the horizon as he piloted us home. All I know is when we get back to dry land at sunset, I hear myself suggest we go to the Bay Inn for dinner, just so I can spend a little more time with him.

  Dinner turns out to be really nice, like any pleasant get-together wit
h an old friend, but even better because that old friend—that handsome, hot, charming, and funny old friend—spends the evening staring hungrily at me across the table like he wants to have me for dinner instead of his steak.

  Despite the fact that Conn and I agree none of the properties are what he's looking for, meaning Taylor has to come up with a new round of options, it's been the perfect day. I'm happy.

  Until Conn pulls up to my apartment and helps me out of his car. I've been digging in my purse and beach bag but can't find my keys.

  "They didn't slide off the deck into the Atlantic, did they?"

  "Very funny. I stowed my belongings properly, like a smart boater." I delve deeper and come up with only a half-eaten granola bar, a used tissue, and some ATM slips. I stop fumbling and try to recall what I did this morning. Conn hustled me out of my place so quickly, I…crap. "I think they're up there," I say, lifting my eyes to the dark windows of my apartment. I can almost picture them in the straw basket on the table next to the door.

  "That's okay—"

  "Ugh, I don't want to call my dad. He promised me he'd go to bed early while he's recovering. And the key to his house is on the same key ring—"

  Conn does his familiar move of putting his hands on my shoulders and locking eyes with me till I focus. "M, it doesn't matter."

  "You're not going to break my door down, are you?"

  He laughs a little and shakes his head. "No. And I'm not handy with a lock pick either. But you can stay at my place."

  "I…uh…"

  "Melanie, it's not a big deal."

  It absolutely is. This is huge. This is loaded.

  "Relax," he says. "You can have my bed, and I'll sleep in my old bedroom."

  "The one with the twin bed you can't get to unless you climb over all the boxes of Christmas decorations and the dusty Bowflex?"

  "Hey, I use the thing. Occasionally. Anyway, the couch is also comfortable, no matter what you think of it. Does. Not. Matter. I will give you whatever you want."

  If I'm going to be honest with myself, sharing a bed with Conn is what I want. But I'm not going to be the horndog who violates our pact first. With a sigh I wave him back toward his car and drop into the passenger seat again.