by Lila James
“Out. I have to meet with Jackson. I’m working, remember? If you miss me, you can watch me plunge down that ski slope over and over again.”
“Where’s your sense of humor? And how is the piece coming along? You two only have a couple of weeks left.”
“I’m aware of that, Jean. It’s coming along swimmingly,” I said over my shoulder, heading out of the office.
“Tell the gorgeous Jackson I say hello,” Jean called after me.
When I arrived at the coffee shop, Jackson was seated in front of his laptop, watching something on his screen. Several onlookers had gathered around him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but my question was answered by the mirthful expression on Jackson’s face and the bewildered looks of the two onlookers as they saw me standing there. They were all enjoying my ski video as well.
“You’re a celebrity,” Jackson said, tearing his gaze away from the screen. “Have you seen this?”
“Yes,” I said with a grumble, giving a pointed look to the two onlookers. “I’m sorry, but we have some work to do.”
They scattered, and I sat opposite Jackson with a glare.
“Thank you for sharing my misery with the world. Now do you want to get some work done or not? Jean just reminded me of our deadline again.”
“I had no idea you were going that fast,” Jackson said, his eyes glued to his computer screen. “I mean, it’s amazing Katerina didn’t get seriously hurt.”
“Oh. Of course. Katerina,” I bit out, suppressing the stab of jealousy I felt. “Who cares that Adrian could have flown off the slope and broken her neck? Poor Katerina got a scrape on her cheek.”
“I’m just saying,” Jackson said, still not taking his eyes off the screen.
“We have to focus.” I reached over and closed his laptop.
“Hey,” Jackson said in mock protest. His teasing look vanished as he studied me, and he briefly placed his hand over mine. “How are you doing? You were pretty upset yesterday.”
“Better,” I said, extracting my hand from his. “I mean, I get to look for apartments, which is always fun to do in the city.” I sighed. “But it’s for the best.”
“You know, I’m pretty good at finding deals on apartments. And I’m friends with a couple of brokers. I could help.”
“No. I’ll be fine. It’ll be quick and easy.”
“Sure,” Jackson said, shrugging. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
We discussed the body of the article, and Jackson determined we could talk to the other couple he had lined up at the end of the week. We would obviously scrap the disastrous Liz and Stewart piece.
“Hey, what about your mom and that young guy, instead?” Jackson asked out of the blue.
“No way. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? That would cover online dating since that’s how they met. And the age gap is interesting. It could reiterate our point that love can come from the most unexpected places.”
“First of all, the age gap is weird. Second of all, how did you know they met online? And third, she’s my mother.”
“They told me at the ski lodge. Think about it, Adrian. It would be interesting. We’d expand our audience to people who’ve been divorced as opposed to just the young twenty-something single.”
He had a point. But I was horrified at the prospect of interviewing Mom. What if she spent the majority of the interview criticizing Dad? Bringing up childhood embarrassments? Talking about my “wedding?” The list went on and on.
“I could interview her alone, if that helps,” Jackson offered.
“Why can’t I interview you and Just Katerina?” I asked, though I felt vaguely ill at the prospect.
“Why can’t I interview you and Douglas?” Jackson countered.
The thought of Jackson interviewing Douglas and me was even more unsettling. “OK, OK. I’ll ask Mom later. I’ll see if we can interview her early next week.”
We discussed a few more key points, and we both agreed to write the opening and closing to the article separately.
“And then we’ll be done. Other than some editing sessions, we’ll never have to see each other again,” Jackson said.
“Can’t wait.”
And I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait to be free from his know-it-all condescension, his arrogance, his laugh, his knowing gaze, his light-brown eyes that looked amber in the light of the sun, his amazing grin, his strong arms with muscles that I could make out clearly beneath the fabric of his shirts.
I shook my head, clearing it of those thoughts. Ignoring the sharp pang I felt, I straightened out the papers in front of me.
“One more thing. My brother and Emma are having a dinner thing at their house this weekend. They asked me to invite you.”
“Oh,” I said, pleasantly surprised. After the encounter we’d had the last time at their place, I didn’t think I’d get to see them again. “Sure. Just text me the details. Can I bring a guest?”
“The rebound?”
“He’s not a rebound.” He wasn’t. “I’m assuming Just Katerina will be there?”
“Yep. And she’s just delighted you’ve made her a YouTube star.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to this dinner party already,” I said with mock cheeriness.
I called Mom when I was back at the office to get it over with, ignoring the giggles of my coworkers as they all viewed my infamous ski video online.
“You’re famous, honey!” Mom chirped when she picked up the phone.
“You’ve seen it, too?” I asked, horrified. “How?”
“One of Laurence’s friends saw it and passed it along. It’s actually not that bad, sweetheart. I just don’t know why you wore that horrible outfit. You look like a penguin draped with a dead polar bear.”
“Aw, thanks Mom. As if I couldn’t feel any worse.”
“So how are things? To what do I owe one of your rare phone calls?”
“I call you all the time,” I returned and then proceeded to ask her if Jackson and I could interview her and Laurence for our article. Her reaction was not at all what I expected.
“Um, I’m not sure,” she said after a long pause.
“Really?” I asked, delighted. “That’s no problem. I’ll just tell Jackson.”
“No, no, he loves Jackson. Hold on one second.” I paused as Mom put me on hold. “Honey?”
“Wait. Is everything all right with you and the Zygote?” I asked. I decided to add a little humor to the whole situation. “Is he cranky because his diapers need changing?”
“Adrian, Laurence is—”
“Will the other kids not make room for him on the jungle gym? Did he drop his ice-cream cone?” I continued, grinning.
“Wow,” Laurence’s amused voice came on the line.
I froze, horrified.
“Now I’ve heard some bad jokes about my age in comparison to your mother’s,” he continued. “But those were—”
“Oh my God, Laurence. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was just joking around. Ha ha. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Laurence said, chuckling. “You didn’t know I was on the line. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Let you continue. See how long you could have gone on.”
“Laurence,” I repeated. “I am so, so, so sorry.”
“I just wanted to hop on the line to say we’d be delighted to do your interview,” Laurence continued. “Unless, of course, you insist on calling me the Zygote throughout the whole interview. Then I’d have to protest.”
“No. Of course not. Thank you. And again, I’m so sorry.”
“The more you apologize, the less sincere you seem,” Laurence said with a laugh. “I’m going to hand you back over to Marilyn. You can continue mocking me.”
Laurence got off the line (or so I thought), and I launched into a series of frantic apologies, which Mom grudgingly accepted. I concluded the call by telling her that I thought Laurence was a fine, upstanding, handsome, great man.
“He’s really not on the line, Adrian,” Mom said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”
I spent the rest of the day and the majority of the week scouring the ads for one bedroom or studio apartments. Every apartment for rent I found was the size of a shoebox and rented for about half a million a month. I had always managed to live not too far away from the magazine’s offices, but it looked like that would have to change. Especially with the increasingly hostile silences between Liz and me. I assumed she and Stewart broke up because I no longer saw him around the apartment. I felt slightly guilty about this, but I brushed the feeling away. I wasn’t the one who cheated, now was I?
I confessed my frustration about my apartment hunting to Douglas over dinner later that week. He wasn’t sympathetic in the least.
“It is New York, love. It’s not the easiest place in the world to find an affordable flat. If you hadn’t gotten into your mate’s business in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You mean that I should have said nothing? Just let her keep lying to him?” I demanded.
“Adrian, let’s not get into all this again. It just wasn’t your business. That’s all I’m saying. Am I allowed to disagree with you?”
“Of course you are. I’m just having a hard time with this whole situation, and you’ve barely been listening to me.”
“I listen. I always listen. Ninety-nine percent of the time I’m listening and you’re talking, and I say one thing and you explode,” Douglas snapped. “How about I get the check?”
In the cab on the way to Liz’s apartment, Douglas and I didn’t say a word.
“Douglas.” I broke the silence, turning toward him. “Look. I’m sorry. I’ll work on being a better listener. And I’ll stop complaining so much. I must be a drag to be around sometimes. I like you a lot. I do.”
Douglas looked at me for a long moment before reaching across to take my hand.
“All right, then,” he said, a warm smile touching his lips.
*
The next day Jackson and I interviewed a hipster couple, Lori and Trey, friends of Emma and Daniel. They lived in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. They told us they met in the grocery store and it was love at first sight.
“I looked at him, and I just knew,” Lori said, looking at Trey now. “Can’t explain it. Just one of those things.”
The interview went smoothly—a lot less dramatic than our previous interview—and it was over quickly. As we headed toward the subway station, I asked Jackson if he believed in love at first sight.
“Not anymore,” he answered. I could tell by his expression that it wasn’t wise to press him, so I left it at that.
We stopped at a deli within walking distance from Liz’s apartment, where he asked how the apartment hunt was going.
“Terribly. I’m considering cardboard boxes. They’re cheaper, and I saw a great one near Central Park.”
“That’s it. I insist on offering my help,” Jackson said, taking out his cell phone.
“Only because I’m desperate,” I replied, conceding. “Who are you calling?”
“You’ll see.” He got up to talk on his cell phone out of earshot. He returned ten minutes later, grinning ear to ear.
“What?”
“Field trip,” he replied.
Jackson took me to several apartment buildings that were actually affordable: one on the Lower East Side, one on the Upper East Side, and another one in the Village. They were all studios and one bedrooms. But one spacious studio near Midtown made my heart stop … in a good way. I could see where I would put furniture, where I would curl up and read, where I would watch movies, where I would dance in my underwear.
“I’m in love,” I said, hungrily taking in every inch of the studio.
“Let me make another call.”
Jackson came back moments later and told me that if I could have the deposit and first month’s rent by the end of the day, the apartment was all but mine. His friend was a higher up at a brokerage firm, and he could apparently pull strings for some of his buildings. I yelped with delight, and without thinking, I flew into Jackson’s arms.
Jackson laughed, embracing me. I flushed and stepped back, but Jackson didn’t drop his arms. I stood in the circle of his arms, my heart pounding loudly in my chest, beaming up at him.
It wasn’t often that I was this close to Jackson, and I was again struck by how handsome he was. There were tiny gold flecks in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. We stood silently for a long moment, and before I knew it, one of us—I don’t remember exactly who it was because I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I really hoped it was Jackson—leaned forward, and our lips met in a kiss.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Telltale Heart
I didn’t rate kisses. And up to that point I did have my share of memorable kisses. There was the magical kiss I had with Greg Harper at my senior prom, the kiss with Eric Holby at the movies during my junior year of college, and a wonderful kiss with Marcus at the conclusion of our first date.
But this kiss. This kiss. It knocked all my previous kisses out of the water. I forgot where I was. Who I was. At that moment, there were only his lips on mine, his hands on the small of my back, my hands clasping his neck, and a heated feeling of elation that seemed to flood my senses.
Jackson was the one who broke the kiss, abruptly stepping back and turning away from me. I just stood there, my breathing ragged as I looked down at the floor.
The silence that followed seemed to stretch. When Jackson turned to face me, he looked guilty.
“I’m sorry. I mean, there’s Katerina.”
“Katerina,” I echoed, a flash of jealousy hitting me. “Right.”
“And Douglas,” Jackson continued, closing his eyes.
“Right. Um, let’s just forget it,” I said, blinking back an unexpected rush of tears. “It never happened. People kiss all the time. No big deal.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said quickly, as if convincing himself. “OK. Well. Here. My friend’s business card. His name’s Finn Harrison. You can drop off the deposit at the end of the day.”
And he was gone. I swear there was a Jackson-shaped hole in the door, he took off so fast. I clutched the business card in my hand, feeling strangely empty.
Still reeling, I headed back to Liz’s apartment. Jackson had looked as if he couldn’t stand to be in my presence after our kiss. In fact, he’d looked mildly disgusted with himself. This did nothing for my ego, considering that I could hardly walk straight and my heart still hammered wildly. All from a mere kiss.
I was so focused on analyzing Jackson’s reaction, in fact, that I forgot one important thing—or person, rather. Douglas. The thought of Douglas struck me so abruptly that I was almost hit by a cab as I paused while crossing Fifty-Ninth Street. I scurried along as the cab honked. Not only was I officially a cheater, but I was also guilty of what both Marcus and Liz had done, which made me a hypocrite. And a self-righteous one, at that. The only way I wouldn’t be a hypocrite was to tell him. Right away. And if he wanted to break up with me, well, it was what I deserved. I took out my cell phone as I approached Liz’s building, determined to call him right then and tell him.
I dialed his number, praying for voice mail. My prayer came true because it did go to voice mail.
But I chickened out and hung up. I reasoned that I couldn’t leave a message telling him I had kissed someone else, now, could I? That wasn’t news I wanted to leave on his voice mail.
As I continued toward Liz’s apartment, I could now grudgingly admit that I’d been judgmental with her. Yes, what Liz did was a lot worse, considering she was carrying on behind her boyfriend’s back. But I had kissed someone else, and Douglas didn’t deserve that.
I entered the apartment, and to my relief I saw Liz perched on the couch in front of the television. I approached her with the intention of apologizing.
“Have you found a place yet?” she aske
d, picking up a magazine from the coffee table and heading into her room.
“Yes, actually,” I said, hurt. “But I wanted—”
“Great,” Liz said, meeting my eyes with relief. “When are you moving out?”
I stared at her in disbelief. Liz seemed genuinely happy that I was leaving. Was she really that upset over something that had ultimately been her fault in the first place? Something that I was fully prepared to apologize for?
“Probably the end of next week. Then you’ll never have to see me again,” I snapped, heading into my room and slamming the door behind me before she could respond.
So much for reconciling with my so-called best friend. I half hoped she would come knocking at my door, and we could apologize and laugh just like old times. But of course no such thing happened. I had the terrible sinking feeling that perhaps our friendship was really over.
*
When I saw Douglas that night for dinner, there just didn’t seem to be an appropriate time to casually inject, “Hey, by the way, I kissed the handsome guy I work with. But we both decided it just didn’t happen, so technically I guess we can say it didn’t really happen. More wine?”
Well, maybe there was an appropriate time at the end of the night, when Douglas asked me what time we should head over to Emma and Daniel’s for the dinner party the next night. Jackson would be there, and I didn’t know how I’d act around him now.
“Um, about that,” I began.
“Is anything wrong, love?”
“We should probably bring a dish over,” I said, silencing my screaming conscience by downing a swig of wine.
“Of course. Absolutely.” Douglas reached across the table to take my hand and raise it to his lips.
I looked down to avoid his gaze. The image of my kiss with Jackson kept playing over and over in my mind, a harbinger of my conscience like the beating heart in that Edgar Allen Poe story, “The Telltale Heart.” While my transgression wasn’t nearly as bad as murder, I still felt horribly guilty. So I was thankful when Douglas called for the check.
I didn’t spend the night with Douglas, feigning a queasy stomach, but in reality I couldn’t spend another minute with him while trying to battle my guilt.