by Marian Vere
“Sure, no problem. If you need to take the car, the keys are in the console.”
“Great, thanks.”
Just as I turn to walk away, Bree joins us, all aglow.
“So how was your walk?” Margaret asks with a hush of confidentiality.
“Great,” Bree says, trying to be blasé, but then gives herself up by blushing furiously.
I smile at them both and turn back to Chris, again fighting off that damn knot.
“Come on, Nick, your turn, tell everyone about Chuck Hoster!” Derek says over the roar of laughter.
“No way, not a chance! That’s where I draw the line,” Nick laughs, as he downs the last of his Coke. “But I’m sure they would all love to hear about Michelle.” The way he says her name implies that this is a—ahem—romantic encounter, and the rest of the group is instantly eager to hear the tale. Derek, however, is less enthusiastic and pales slightly.
“N-No one wants to hear about that. How about we tell them about the time—”
“Oh, but it’s a great story,” Nick interrupts, smiling at his friend’s discomfort. “I’ll tell it for you. You see—”
“Nick, I swear to God,” Derek growls at him, though he is smiling now, chagrined.
Nick continues as if Derek hasn’t spoken. “We were at a bar on the Upper West Side one night, The Dead Poet I believe—”
“Nick,” Derek groans, leaning forward onto the table and resting his head in his hands.
“And there were a few women there we had never seen before.”
Derek has given up the fight, but moans slightly as his ears begin to turn red.
“Our illustrious Derek,” Nick continues in a terrible medieval English accent, “picks out one of the ladies and makes it his personal goal to take the fair maiden home with him that night.”
“Poor girl,” Rob adds with a laugh.
“Go to hell, Rob,” Derek mumbles without lifting his head.
“So all night he is after this woman, whose name we come to find is Michelle, and all night he is shot down. Finally, persistent little bugger that he is, he’s able to get her to talk to him, and eventually leave with him.”
Derek lets out something of a whimper, his ears almost purple.
“He leaves the bar and gets her home, only to find out that his Michelle is actually a Michael!”
The group erupts into laughter, while poor Derek sinks his head to the table in mock defeat. Nick reaches over and ruffles his hair, receiving a playful punch in the shoulder in return.
Isn’t this nice. Everyone is laughing, telling stories, and having a ball while I sit here in my own little slice of hell. I don’t think I have ever felt more awkward and out of place in my life. My smile is so forced it feels like my entire face is carved out of granite—it probably looks more like I have gas than like I’m enjoying myself—and I am doing what I hope is a natural-looking gaze rotation: look down at my plate, over to Margaret, across the table to Derek, over to the four half-empty soda bottles standing in the middle of the table, back down to my plate, wait a few moments, repeat.
Luckily, everyone else is having too good a time to notice that I have become some sort of socially inept robot. I have never seen Margaret this way. She is laughing so hard, she may very well fall off her chair. As for Bree…it’s hard to say. About fifteen minutes ago she was sitting next to Mr. Kerkley, drinking up every word he said with wide-eyed wonder. He was more than happy to reciprocate her interest and rested a hand on the back of her chair, at which point I removed her from my rotation. I haven’t looked back since.
There has to be a way out of this nightmare. If I could just find an excuse to leave the room. Maybe I could say that I received a phone call from home and have to leave right away. I know the reason would have to be something serious, but I’m fine with that. Hell, at this point, I’m not above putting Lisa in the hospital with an imaginary illness if it gets me out of here. Extreme, I know, but I’m desperate and I can apologize to her later. After all, I’m sure she’d understand. I’ll even owe her a fake hospital trip for her next awkward social situation if that would make her feel bett—
“What about Miss Basham? You’re awfully quiet.”
Hearing my name yanks me out of my mental evacuation plan and back to the faces around the table, which are all looking at me waiting for an answer to a question that I didn’t hear.
Oh, please don’t make me talk.
My hands instantly start to shake in my lap, and blood rushes to my cheeks. “Yes?” I ask, hoping for a repeat of whatever was asked.
“War stories? Bar fights? You haven’t shared yet. Whatcha got?” Derek asks, a friendly, teasing smile on his face. He must think I want to be included. Little does he know I want nothing more than to crawl in the nearest hole and never come out. Yes, crawling and hiding go completely against my “show Mr. Kerkley I don’t care” plan, but right now that is the farthest thing from my mind. I’ll get back to that later, preferably when the entire party isn’t staring at me.
“Sorry.” I shake my head and rejoice that my voice didn’t squeak.
“Well, if you aren’t going to go, then I will,” Margaret says. “I was doing a walkthrough last year…”
Ah, the bathroom sex story. Margaret was walking a client through a penthouse uptown. When they got to the master bath, they opened the door to find the owner and the maid going at it in the tub. God bless Margaret. If that story doesn’t take the focus off of me, then nothing will.
With a small sigh of relief, I glance to my left to see Chris sitting quietly, looking down at his hands folded on the table. If I’m going to get through this evening, I need to at least try to talk to someone—for the distraction if nothing else—and, seeing that he looks about as comfortable as I feel, I decide Chris is my best option. I slide one seat to the left so that I am directly adjacent to him.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“So, you hate this as much as I do, don’t you?” I ask in a low voice no one else would be able to hear.
“Pretty much.” He smiles. “I don’t do well in groups.”
“I know the feeling. If you don’t mind my asking, why did you come up?” I figure he had to know from the beginning that this would be an uncomfortable situation for someone as introverted as he is.
“Nick asked me.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like there could be no other reason. It is really…sweet. He is willing to make himself uncomfortable to help his friend. He may be the epitome of shy, but those three simple words proved something else about him—he is extremely loyal. I am suddenly fiercely happy that Nick has such a good friend. What an odd thing to feel.
“So,” I ask, recovering myself, “shall we be awkwardly out of place together?”
“Sure.” He seems genuinely relieved at the idea, despite his ears going a bit red.
“Where do you live?” I ask, already relieved to have found a way out of the general group discussion without being blatant about it. It is also nice to have someone I am genuinely interested in talking to.
“Manhattan. I grew up in Queens.”
“Really? Where in Manhattan?”
“East Village. You?”
“Midtown West,” I tell him.
“I looked there, but I couldn’t find anything open.”
“I sublet from my sister. My old studio wasn’t in the best neighborhood, and she had been on me forever to move, but I couldn’t afford it. When she got a place uptown, she basically forced me to rent her old place from her at a fraction of what it should actually cost.”
“She forced you?”
“Well, not so much forced as gave me an ultimatum that I couldn’t refuse.”
“Which was?” he asks with a grin.
“Either I agree to the move and the low rent, or she would spend whatever money she made on the sale of the apartment to hire me a live-in bodyguard.”
“Sounds like she takes good care of you,” he chuckles.
“She does. She doesn’t always know best, but she tries.” I glance over at Nick before I can stop myself.
No, she doesn’t always know best.
“So, how do you know Mr. Kerkley?” I ask as casually as possible, secretly hoping to steer the subject away from Lisa.
“Through Derek, actually. Derek and I were roommates at NYU. During our senior year, he went to London to study abroad, where he met Nick. They kept in touch after Derek came home, and when Nick came back to the States, they reconnected and have been tight as brothers ever since.”
“Oh, I guess I assumed you both worked with Nick at some point.”
“Well I do, but that’s coincidental. I’m a systems administrator for Sytsaff, which Nick’s company now owns, and Derek is an attorney for City Hall.”
Our conversation continues pleasantly, and sooner than I would have thought possible, dinner is officially over. Everyone makes their way to their individual activities. For Nick and his family and friends, it’s a movie in the media room. For Margaret, it’s a call to her husband and a chance to organize the paperwork for tomorrow’s inspections. For Bree and I, it’s bed, since we have both been up since four a.m. I’ve left out the part where Mr. Kerkley invited Bree to watch the movie with him and his guests, because I’ve decided I didn’t hear that.
After refusing Mr. Kerkley’s offer—ahem, I mean, after I don’t know what because I wasn’t paying attention—Bree and I head upstairs to turn in. She practically floats up the stairs.
“So, the beach on Sunday! That should be fun,” she says, as we reach the first landing. I mentally added in the “with Mr. Kerkley” that she left out, but was obviously thinking.
“Sure, though I’m going to have to get a suit,” I say, hoping to steer the conversation in a new direction.
“Oh, you didn’t bring one? I have a spare you could borrow. I think it would fit.”
“No, it’s fine; I’m meeting Susan tomorrow morning at some shopping mall. I’ll get one there. Thanks, though.” I give her one of the first smiles of the night I don’t have to fake.
“Oh, good!” she says, as we stop in front of her door. “Well, goodnight!”
“Night,” I say as she steps into her room.
I look down the hall toward my room, but instead of heading in that direction, I go back to the large bay window across the hall from the top of the stairs. I look out across the enormous back lawn, and sigh in spite of myself.
Even at night it’s beautiful here.
As I gaze lazily out over the lawn, my mind wanders back to dinner tonight. I didn’t have the chance to approach Mr. Kerkley and prove my okay-ness like I’d hoped, and I can’t quite figure out if that makes me sorry or relieved.
Maybe both.
Not that I think I can’t do it, or am afraid—not at all. It’s just that alone in your room is probably the easiest place to be brave.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me and I turn to see a man standing at the top of the stairs.
Oh God.
Mr. Kerkley.
I stare blankly at him, praying it’s too dark for him to see that my face is ridiculously red, while he looks back, his face locked in an unreadable expression.
Okay, now is your chance, say something.
Silence.
Say something, idiot! Don’t just stand here like a boob!
Nothing.
“Goodnight,” he finally says with a slight nod.
I open my mouth to reply, but no sound comes out.
He turns down the hall toward his room without looking back.
DAMN IT!
I run to my room and shut the door behind me before even taking a breath.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Here I have this great casual indifference scheme, and I can’t even say goodnight? God, if he didn’t think I was an idiot before, I’ve certainly cleared that up for him!
Embarrassed and thoroughly disgraced, I undress and slump onto my bed.
Okay…maybe it’s time for a new plan.
6
“OH MY GOSH, it’s so good to see you!” Susan says, giving me a tight hug.
From across the parking lot I’d seen the brown wavy hair that I would recognize anywhere, and had all but run up to greet her.
“I know!” I’m embarrassed how close I am to tears.
But it is good to see her. I can’t think of anyone who knows her and doesn’t love her. She’s always been the kind of friend you can tell anything to, and not worry about being judged or criticized. She isn’t dramatic or petty like so many women are. Even when she was younger she didn’t take to gossip or rumors, which was comforting when you needed someone to talk to or confide in. It’s rare to have a friend who you know will always be there for you when you need her, but that’s exactly who Susan is. One of those friends who—no matter how long it’s been since you last saw each other—when you meet up it’s like no time has passed at all.
God, I need her right now.
“So, do you want to go eat?” I ask, realizing we’re still in the parking lot of this ridiculously nice outdoor shopping mall. When I pulled in I was immediately glad I was driving the Escalade so that I could at least pretend to fit in—though even the Escalade wouldn’t turn any heads next to the auto-elite of this parking lot. In the back of my mind I wonder if I’ll be able to find a bathing suit here that’s within my price range.
“Well, the place I want to take you to doesn’t open until ten, so do you mind walking around until then?”
“Actually that’s perfect. I need to buy a bathing suit.” I cringe.
“Sure, there’s a great place just down the way.”
After two stores—the first was a juniors store with no tasteful options—and countless racks of suits, I’m at my wit’s end.
“Where are the normal suits?” I huff, leafing through yet another rack.
“Well, that depends on what you mean by ‘normal suits,’” Susan says, smiling at my tone.
“Normal as in—just because I am relatively thin and have a decent rack doesn’t mean I want to look like a hooker—suits.”
“I think we passed that aisle—” she giggles “—but have a look at these.” She motions to the display of cover-ups.
“Cover-ups, good. The more we cover up, the better.”
“Why? You look great in a two piece.”
I picked up a yellow sundress and held it against myself. “No, it’s not that, it’s just that the last thing I need is to look like I am trying to solicit male attention.”
“You mean Sunday, or in general?”
“Sunday.”
“Any particular reason?”
Sigh. “Yeah, but I’ll tell you later. For now, just suffice it to say, no hooker suits.”
“Okay. Well, maybe you can de-hooker one of the suits with something like this.” She holds up a two-piece, thin-linen, drawstring pant and top ensemble.
It actually isn’t half bad. The pants are relaxed, and the jacket-style top has loose, elbow-length sleeves, with a drawstring closure just under the bra line. It’s pale green, and matches a pink and green two-piece suit I had not entirely hated.
“All right. Sold.”
We take my purchases, and—now that it was well past ten—head to breakfast. The restaurant she leads us to is really nice, and has a great menu. When we get inside, I see a door leading to a deck that has tables overlooking the large lake that borders the shopping center. Only one table out there is occupied, and that couple is ready to leave.
“Could we possibly sit outside?” I ask the hostess. I really did want to tell Susan about my situation, and would feel infinitely more comfortable in a secluded area.
“Oh, sure. Right this way. Rocky will be thrilled. No one seems to want to be out there today.”
“You don’t mind do you? I know it’s a little cool today,” I ask Susan as we are seated.
“No, this is nice. I’ve never been out here.”
“Rocky�
�� turns out to be our waitress, and after we place our drink order, Susan eyes me with a concerned look.
“Is everything all right? You seem distracted.”
“You could say that.”
“Work?”
“Sort of. Our new client, the one we’re here for.”
The ill-attempted fairy tale between Nick and I had happened while Susan was studying overseas. We only spoke once every few months during the years she was away. The first conversation I had with her after meeting Nick didn’t happen until after it was over between us. To this day I had never told her. Actually, I had never told anyone. Lisa was the only one who knew about him when we were dating, so obviously she knew when it ended, but other than that I had kept the story of those three precious months to myself.
Susan looks at me quietly. She doesn’t pry or try to force anything from me. She simply waits patiently, knowing I’ll talk when I’m ready.
“Well, I guess it started eight years ago…”
I tell her everything. How Nick and I met, dated, fell in love. About his dreams and plans, the proposal, all of it. By the time our breakfasts come, I had reached the part of the story where Lisa finds out about the engagement, and her less than subtle reaction.
But that is as far as I go.
That was as far as I had ever gone. Even just in my own mind.
Over the years, I had mentally relived all the moments Nick and I had spent together countless times, but had never consciously allowed myself to think beyond the proposal. It’s like there’s a black hole of time in my life, starting from just after that evening to about a week later, when I awoke from my deluded haze of denial and found myself alone.
As much as I don’t want to bring all those memories to the surface again, I want to tell her. Somewhere in me, there has always been a need to tell someone. Lisa had asked of course, but I could never bring myself to talk about it. I was always too afraid, terrified that if I let the memories out of the box I have so carefully kept them in, they will totally consume me.
I don’t know how long I have been staring down at my half-eaten strawberry waffle when Susan asks, “So what did you do?”