by Jen Meyers
Just as I was about to declare it a lost cause, my eyes settled on one guy sitting with his back against the wall. Deeply tanned and with messy dark hair, he looked like he’d recently returned from somewhere tropical. He was relaxed, cool but not aloof, taking in the bar scene as he sipped something on the rocks.
Perfect.
I pointed him out, and The Girls oohed and ahhed. Problem solved. As I wove my way through the crowded bar, Harmony yelled “Make good choices!” while Lucky called out, “Use protection!”
If I weren’t so used to my friends, I would have been embarrassed. Instead I ignored them, focusing my attention on The Guy.
It was only once I got close to his table that he noticed me, and the smile he gave me stopped my heart.
This guy reminded me of Josh. Almost eerily so. He wasn’t some kind of doppelganger, but there were so many similarities it was almost bizarre.
At first all I could think was that this was a BAD idea. It couldn’t be good…to go out with someone who reminds you of the person you don’t want to be with but maybe really do.
But then I realized he might be the perfect antidote to Josh. Because it would be kinda like dating Josh, but this guy would disappoint me—they always do—and after I dropped him, my feelings for Josh would drop too.
This could, in fact, be the most perfect plan of all.
I smiled at him, reveling in my dating brilliance. I could even turn this whole thing into a column: How to Get Over the Guy You Can’t Date (But Secretly Want to). Not my usual fare, but what the hell? I was ready for a little writing variety.
“This seat taken?” I said.
He stood up, held the stool out for me. “It is now.” Then he sat back down. Up close I could see that he had gray eyes that were nothing like Josh’s blue ones, and where Josh had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and an adorable thrown-together look—stop thinking about Josh as adorable, Will—this guy was clean shaven and there was a careful precision to his casual look.
I kinda liked that he was similar but very different all at the same time. I had a feeling that this would work.
“I’m Will,” I said, and held out my hand.
“Travis. Very nice to meet you, Will.” His warm fingers grasped mine in a firm handshake. I liked that a lot. “Not to be cliché,” he said, “but do you come here often?”
I laughed. “Actually, I do. My girlfriends and me—this is our Spot. What about you?”
“First timer. I just got back in town, and stumbled across this place as I was out for a walk.”
“Where are you coming back from?”
“Bahamas.”
“Work or play?”
“A little of both.” He lifted his glass. “Can I get you something?”
Looking him up and down, I said, “First answer me one question.”
“Shoot.”
“How do you feel about books?”
“I’d have to say I’m a fan. Or are you one of those paper versus digital fanatics?”
“Nope. Just a book fanatic in general.” I grinned. “And I’d love a Sam Adams.”
Travis and I talked for another hour, then he asked me to dinner. I waved goodbye to The Girls from across the bar as we headed out to a nearby restaurant, someplace he’d been dreaming about while he was stuck in the Bahamas, poor thing.
The weird thing about the evening? I didn’t think about writing about him AT ALL. I mean, it’s not like he was perfect, he just wasn’t making any huge faux pas like most guys. So there were no column snippets floating through my mind, begging me to write them down.
It was slightly disorienting.
But then I’d been looking for a distraction when I picked him, not a guy to write about. I mean, I’d been looking for a Josh. A Perfect Guy. And I was struck by the fact that I really HAD been picking the wrong guys on purpose…I just never really realized it until I picked Travis.
And, yes, I know everyone kept telling me that’s what I’d been doing, but it’s not like I listened to them, okay?
But he was nice, intelligent, and seemed very interested in what I did. He was a little blah compared to Josh, but I WASN’T comparing him to Josh. As much as possible, that is. The thing is, I liked him and we had a perfectly enjoyable evening together. And when he asked me if I’d like to go to a charity gala with him the following Saturday, I immediately said yes.
And honestly? I felt better. About everything. Travis, I could tell, was going to help me lose what little feelings I may or may not have for Josh. I refused to accept that I could be falling for him—it just wasn’t possible…or probable, given my own personal Declaration of Independence from Love.
And then we’d all live Happily Ever After.
At least that was the plan.
If only Josh had stuck to it.
sixteen
I couldn’t face the emptiness of my apartment, at least not yet, so I changed quickly and scurried up to the roof. The air was crisp and cool, a perfect autumn night of dark skies and stars that I could just barely make out over the lights of the city.
My favorite kind of night.
Except there was no Josh.
Okay, I admit it. Part of me had been hoping he’d be up here and we could get back to OUR normal.
Maybe he was still out with his date.
THAT thought sucked, so I pushed it out of my mind, and instead mentally went through my closet, thinking about which dress I’d wear to the gala next weekend. The more I thought about it, the more I felt like meeting Travis tonight was kismet. Fate was finally smiling on me…and it was about time given the shitty week I’d just had.
The wind whispered, catching my hair and making it dance around me. It was still hanging loose over my shoulders, so I pulled it up into a messy bun, and secured it with the elastic I’d slipped over my wrist earlier. Tension evaporated from my body and was carried off across the city skyline, and I was starting to feel as if everything was going to be all right.
Being up here always did that to me. High above the streets of Manhattan, I felt both big and small. Life felt huge, surrounding me on all sides with the pulsing, electric feel of New York. But one look up at the sky, and my world felt small and insignificant.
I’d always been mystified and fascinated by the utter vastness of the universe, and couldn’t help but marvel at it every time I looked up.
“You getting drunk on the sky again?” Josh’s voice was right behind me, and I smiled. I hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Does it to me every time,” I said. “Every. Single. Time.”
Something cold pressed against my hand, and I glanced down to see Josh pressing a bottle into it. I was so happy he was here, and with an offering of beer, I couldn’t speak for a moment.
He plopped down in the chair next to me, leaned back, and took in the sky. “Looks just like it always does,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as he teased me.
“It does not. Every night it’s just a little different, and you know it.” I sighed. “Doesn’t it just blow your mind that you’re seeing the light of the stars from where they were millions of years ago? Who knows where they are right at this moment, how many of them are gone, and how many new ones have appeared. You and I will never know. Never see that.”
“That’s a cheerful thought.”
“I just mean no one will see it for millions—”
“I know what you mean, Will.” His voice was soft, filled with laughter. He was so good at getting me going. “And yeah, my mind is sufficiently blown.”
We were quiet for a few moments, lost in the epicness of the night. I took a couple of sips, then reached over and clinked my bottle against his. The sound of glass touching glass faded off into the night, overtaken by the taxis down on the street.
“Good to be back in your apartment?” he said.
“The apartment’s as good as new…except for my poor ruined desk. And the couch needs to be replaced, but I don’t care about that,” I said
. “But it’s quiet. Too quiet. So I ended up going out.”
“With the Girls?”
I nodded. “Yup.” Heart beating fast, I added, “Then I met a guy and went out to dinner with him.”
He didn’t say anything, just took a drag on his bottle, and pressed his lips together.
Shit.
“Is he making the next column?”
My voice a little shaky, I laughed. “That’s the weird part. He was actually perfectly fine. We’re going out again on Saturday. Travis is taking me to some charity gala.”
His eyes flicked to my face, and all I could think was Please be okay with this. Please, please, please. All I wanted was to go back to being Us.
“Travis?” he said.
“Yeah. Travis Cornwell. He runs some kind of importing business.” Something flickered in his face, and I would have sworn he was almost smiling. “What? Do you know him?”
He didn’t answer, just leaned back in his chair again, looking more relaxed and I wasn’t sure how to take that. Whether that meant Travis was a good guy or if Josh knew he’d eventually be making the column regardless of how well this first date had gone.
But I shook off those thoughts. The point of Travis was to get Josh out of my system anyway. I wasn’t looking for anything permanent.
And never would be. Period.
“You had a hot date tonight, right?” I said, changing the subject. “How’d that go?”
He shrugged. “Eh, she wasn’t…exactly right for me. I ended up cutting it short and spent most of the evening working on something.” He turned to me then. “In fact, it’s something I’d like to show you sometime.”
“Really?” I sat up, intrigued. “What is it?”
He shook his head. “You have to see it.” When I opened my mouth to argue, he held up his hands. “Just go with it, Will. You don’t have to know everything in advance. This is important to me. I want to see your face when you see it for the first time, and I don’t want that spoiled by telling you anything about it.”
“I promise you can watch my face all you want. Even if you tell me now.” He narrowed his eyes at me and clamped his mouth shut. “Just a little hint? Please? Pretty please?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Okay, Princess.” I tried to sound nonchalant, but the truth was it was killing me to not know. And I was fairly certain he knew that. “So, when do I get to see the Mystery Thing?”
“How about Sunday?”
“Fine,” I said. “Though it would be even better if you told me what it was now. Then I can be suitably prepared to act accordingly.”
“Not a chance.”
I huffed. “I hate surprises. Have I ever told you that? HATE them.”
“You’ll live.”
“You totally suck.”
“Aw, Will. Sweet-talking me isn’t going to work either.”
I reached over and pushed his elbow off the armrest of his chair just as he was taking a swig, and he laughed even as beer dripped down his chin. He just leaned over and wiped his wet face on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
And all I could do was laugh.
Just like that we were back. Thank god. Whatever that kiss had been was over and done with, and our friendship was fully intact.
I felt better, in that moment, than I had in days.
I breathed in, feeling fully content. “What a great night,” I said. “You know the only thing that could possibly make it better?”
“What?”
“Big Gay Ice Cream.”
He shook his head. “Never been there.”
“SERIOUSLY? How is that even possible?” I looked at him incredulously, turning so quickly I almost knocked over my chair. “How have I never taken you there? That’s a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions because it’s the best ice cream in the WORLD. Clearly I am a failure of a friend.”
He stood up, held out his hand to me. “Then let’s remedy this right now.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
I held out my phone to show him the time. “They’ll be closed by the time we get there.”
He smirked, sinking back down into his chair. “You know their hours?”
“OF COURSE I know their hours. Did you not hear me say it’s the BEST ice cream in the WORLD?”
“What time does your doctor’s office close?”
“What?” I said, turning to look at him. The wind ruffled his hair as he narrowed his eyes at me. “I have no idea. Five? Six?”
“But you know the hours of some ice cream shop in the Village.”
“I know the important things.” I gave his shoulder a little shove. It hardly moved. “And it’s not just some ice cream shop, it’s THE ice cream shop. You’ll see. You’ll be eating your sarcastic words when we go there.” Sitting back in my chair, I looked up at the stars again. “And sarcastic words are the WORST, taste very bitter, my friend.”
“Which will only make the ice cream taste that much sweeter, right?” he said with a laugh.
And all I could think was that everything was sweeter with Josh around—which was exactly the kind of thing I was NOT supposed to be thinking.
I sent up a little prayer that next weekend would come quickly and that Travis would work some kind of magic on me. Because the more time I spent with Josh, the more time I wanted to spend with Josh.
And THAT was a problem.
seventeen
From where I sat working at the kitchen table, every time I looked up I was staring into the achingly empty space left by my desk.
My heart squeezed a little.
“It’s yours,” my dad had said three years ago, walking me into his office, his hands squeezing my shoulders. The small space was cramped, but cozy. Deep orange walls that made you feel like you were inside a pumpkin, and somehow always made me think of Cinderella. In that room I felt as if anything was possible—that if a fairy godmother could turn a pumpkin into a carriage, I could turn myself into anything I wanted to be, too.
The desk had felt full of that same magic.
“Dad,” I’d said at the time, shaking my head, “I can’t take your desk. You need it.”
He turned me around so I was facing him, took my chin in hand. “I want you to have it, Willowbee. You are a writer, and a writer needs a desk.” He nodded toward it, and I let my eyes drift over to it again. Oh, how I did love it. “I hardly use it anymore, anyway. It’s always been special to you, and there’s no sense in you waiting for it until I die.”
“Don’t talk about that. You’re not dying.” I wrapped my arms around his chest, and squeezed, pushing his words out of my mind. I didn’t like to think about losing him, no matter how far in the future it might be.
“What I’m saying,” he said, leaning his chin on my head and hugging me back, “is that I want you to have it now in your new apartment. There’s no sense in waiting. I want to know that you’re using it, creating your stories, writing whatever is in your heart.”
I wrote my first novel at that desk, and the following three. Started my fifth—which I was still hoping to get off my dead, waterlogged laptop. Most of my columns had been written or polished at it. Sure, I had a laptop and could sit anywhere to work, but I loved writing at that desk. Feeling the fairy-godmother magic work through me as I spun stories out of strings of words, created characters out of thin air, changed people into their best selves.
And now it was gone, leaving a gaping hole in my living room.
And in my heart.
I hadn’t been able to tell my dad yet. I didn’t know HOW to tell him, honestly. I wasn’t worried he’d be mad. He’d seen the damage. Maybe he already knew. But somehow, I just couldn’t utter those words out loud. It was hard enough just thinking them.
My phone buzzed, breaking into my thoughts.
JOSH: Can you get the door?
ME: What door?
JOSH: Yours, genius. My hands are kinda full.
ME: Of whom?
JOSH: Come on, Will
. You know I only bring women back to your place when you’re not home. Jeez. Give me SOME credit. Now…you gonna get the door?
ME: If your hands are full, how are you able to text me?
JOSH: WILL.
Get the door for him? My forehead crinkled in confusion as I got up and walked over to my door. Why would he need—
I opened the door, and Josh stood on the landing next to a beautiful desk. It looked a little like mine—the lines of it were similar—but it also reminded me of the little table I’d liked in his workshop. It had those same long bamboo stripes inlaid across the top and down the front of each leg. It was distinctly Josh.
Speechless, I stepped out into the hall and let my hand run over the smooth satin surface of the wood. Tears sprang to my eyes, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t hold them back.
“What?” Josh came around the side of it and peered at me worriedly. “You don’t like it? It’s okay, Will. If it’s not what you want—”
“It’s perfect.” I whisper-choked the words.
And it was. I loved it even as a part of my heart hurt even more that my dad’s desk was gone. This gorgeous desk cemented it. I know it didn’t make sense, but that’s how if felt. How could something fill a hole AND make it bigger all at the same time?
I swallowed the lump in my throat, willing my eyes to dry so I wouldn’t look like a lunatic. I mean, it was a piece of furniture being replaced, for crying out loud. Not a person.
Though in some ways it felt like a person, as strange as that sounds. I mean, that desk felt like it’d had my father infused in it, and I’d planned to hold onto it forever, even if I couldn’t hold onto him. And after his appointment with Dr. Heartworm, I was starting to really worry about him. Losing the desk felt like I was losing a piece of him already.
But it was also Josh’s incredible act of kindness that was throwing me over the edge. The fact that he’d made me a desk blew me away.
“Okay, maybe I don’t hate surprises so much,” I said. “At least not all of them.” I glanced up at him. “But I thought it wasn’t until Sunday. Or did you just tell me that to throw me off?”