The Brooklyn Book Boyfriends

by Kayley Loring

  I text back a quick message to thank the dog caretaker, when I hear my protégé, Lloyd, say the thing that I’ve just been thinking.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in ages.”

  I immediately look up and frown at him. I don’t like knowing that people are aware of my moods. It’s not like I’m surprised—I know I’ve been a moody little shit this week. I just don’t want people to notice. Because when people notice, they tend to ask questions. And I don’t have answers. No, that’s not true. I just don’t like the answers I’ll have to give.

  “You had lunch yet?” he asks. Lloyd isn’t in my department. He’s in the engineering department of the leading ad tech company I work at. He and hundreds of other math and computer science geeks work to create a simple platform for corporations and individuals to market themselves on whatever channel, format, and screen they choose to. My department provides legal support for global commercial/client transactions, data and licensing agreements, internal contracts, as well as strategic legal advice and counsel for the sales teams. It’s a lot of work, but being on an in-house general counsel team for one company is a sweet, cushy job compared to working at a law firm. I know because I’ve done both. I’ve come to decide that I actually prefer working with nerds than other lawyers. In particular, I’ve somehow formed a friendship of sorts with Lloyd because he keeps coming to me asking for dating advice.

  As if I’m some kind of expert.

  He’s several years younger than I am, and I always wanted a younger brother. I suggest grabbing a bite outside. Our office has all the amenities we’ve come to expect from leading tech companies: top-notch healthy cafeteria, gym and yoga studio, ping-pong table. But seeing Daisy frolicking outside makes me want to get some fresh air too. Maybe I’m not pissed about Vanessa. Maybe I just need more oxygen.

  Nope, I’m pissed about Vanessa.

  Being outside and seeing New Yorkers wandering around and eating lunch on benches and steps while gazing at cherry blossoms just makes me mad, as we head toward our usual lunch spot.

  “So, that girl I told you about last month, the one I was texting with for a few weeks?”

  “The one from the wedding?” Good. Let’s talk about Lloyd.

  “Yeah. That never ended up going anywhere. We went back and forth making plans to meet up, but she kept having to reschedule, and then finally she told me she got back together with her boyfriend.”

  I stop walking for a second. Lloyd looks back at me. I don’t know why that revelation makes me so sad and angry, but it does. We continue on. “Sorry to hear about that, man. I know you liked her.”

  “Yeah, well. So, you think I should just let it go?”

  “Yes. Definitely. Let it go.”

  “Yeah.” He looks over at me. “Everything okay with you?”

  “I’m just hungry.”

  “I’ve noticed that you’ve been working out at the office gym this week instead of the one you usually go to with Vanessa…”

  Hearing someone else say her name is jarring and grating on my nerves.

  I grunt a noncommittal reply.

  “And you’ve been…not happy lately. Stop me if I’m overstepping.”

  “You are.”

  “It’s just if you want to talk to me, you can. I’m always blabbing to you about my love life or lack thereof, but this should be a two-way street.”

  “We broke up.”

  He exhales as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Wow. Sorry. That’s… So you don’t live with her anymore?”

  “I moved out.”

  “Really? Wow. Where are you staying?”

  “I was at a hotel in SoHo for a few days. Now I’m at my aunt’s place until I find more permanent arrangements.”

  “Yeah? My cousin’s a rental agent if you need a good one. He’s not a scammer.”

  I have no idea why Bernadette Farmer’s face pops into my head when I think about how I don’t feel like dealing with real estate just yet. “I’m still deciding if I should rent or own next, actually. Thanks, though.”

  “Okay, let me know.” He scrunches up his face. “Well, now that you’re single, I feel obligated to tell you that I have a female friend from college who wants to meet you. I brought her to the Christmas party last year, but she said that seeing how gorgeous your girlfriend was just made her want to cry. She wants to marry you and have your babies, actually. I’m ninety percent certain she won’t even kill me when she finds out I told you that.”

  I really don’t appreciate that I get some phantom whiff of Bernadette’s fragrance all of a sudden. Now I’m not only picturing her face but also her perky breasts. They aren’t particularly large, but they seem so…friendly. And now I’m thinking about the outline of her nipples beneath the fabric of that dress she was wearing when I met her and even under that T-shirt she wore when I was in her apartment. And now my dick is getting hard while I’m talking to Lloyd on the way to lunch.

  That woman needs to stay in her apartment and out of my thoughts.

  I clench my fists, finally remembering to respond to Lloyd. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

  “Okay, let me know. She would probably also be happy being your sex slave.”

  “You probably shouldn’t go making offers like that on behalf of other people.”

  “It’s just that she literally said that after seeing you at the party.”

  I pat Lloyd on the back. “Nice to know.” We are across the street from the café, and I see an empty table outside that I want. I’m about to step out into the crosswalk, but I realize Lloyd has stopped in his tracks.

  “Whoa,” he says.

  I follow his gaze across the street and get a weird feeling in my gut when I see what—or rather who—he’s staring at. It has been a couple of days since I saw her in her apartment. Seeing her out in the wild is strange and exhilarating, and I fucking hate how pretty she looks with her hair up. She’s wearing a long black dress with a jean jacket and carrying her huge tote bag as well as a shopping bag, standing on the sidewalk outside our destination. She looks at me hesitantly, like she doesn’t know if she should walk off in the other direction or wait there to say hello.

  “That girl is,” Lloyd says under his breath, “my type.”

  She is definitely not my type is what I’m thinking. Although I can’t really say what type she is, other than jarring and exhilarating to the point of aggravation. But I say nothing, and I am trying to will her, with my expression, to run away in the opposite direction. Instead of complying, as usual, she chooses to do the very thing that annoys me. She grins, plants her feet on the ground, crosses her arms, and waits for me to cross the street.

  I just shake my head at her as we advance toward her.

  Lloyd sighs audibly as he looks back at me. “She’s staring at you. Of course.” He notices me frowning back at her. “Wait—do you know her?”

  “Barely,” I mutter.

  “Well, hello there,” she says, arms still crossed, as if she’s been waiting for me for an hour. The black dress accentuates her creamy skin, and the sun lights up her reddish-brown hair. It makes her even more striking than usual, despite the casual outfit. I can’t take my eyes off those damn rosy lips that look like they’ve been kissed hard, for hours. I get mad, wondering if some other guy has been kissing those lips—maybe her boss.

  “Hi there,” I say, clearing my throat.

  “Fancy seeing you here. This where you work?”

  “Not right on this sidewalk exactly, but yeah, a few blocks from here.”

  For some reason, she appears to be pleased that she’s evoked a sarcastic utterance from me. “I was just running an errand for my boss.” She finally notices Lloyd staring at her. “Hi,” she says with a smile.

  “Hi,” he says, holding his hand out. “I’m Lloyd.”

  She shakes hands with him. “I’m Bernadette.”

  “Bernadette,” Lloyd muses, like it’s a small song. “Nice.
Hi.”

  Christ, Lloyd, you already said that. “Lloyd and I work together,” I say out loud but not to anyone in particular. “Bernadette lives in the apartment next to the one I’m currently staying in.”

  “Oh, you’re neighbors?”

  “For now,” she and I both clarify at the same time.

  She laughs. I don’t.

  There is a long, awkward pause in conversation, and all of the street noises of Manhattan can’t seem to silence the voice in my head that is yelling at me to invite her to lunch.

  I start to walk past her as I say, “Well, we’re going to have lunch and I have a meeting in an hour, so…”

  “Right,” she says, shaking her head and laughing. “Me too. See ya.”

  Lloyd stammers, “Hey, you should—we should…”

  “See you around, Farmer,” I say, ignoring the looks I get from both my temporary neighbor and my work friend.

  Over lunch, I make a brief and convincing case to Lloyd that Bernadette is nuts and that she is obsessed with her boss and not a good candidate for him to date for many reasons.

  I list all of the reasons for his benefit, not for my own. It’s not like I need to remind myself of all the reasons why I wouldn’t and shouldn’t date her. I’d just rather talk about that than explain to Lloyd why Vanessa and I broke up.

  6

  Bernadette

  What. An. Asshole.

  It was so sunny before I encountered him, but as soon as I decided to stop to talk to him, it clouded over.

  I stomp around lower Manhattan for half an hour before finally settling on a place to eat lunch, fuming about how rude Matt McGovern is, and then stomp back to Sebastian’s place and settle into his office to stare at my laptop without typing anything because I have so much anger coursing through my veins. At least, I think it’s anger. It might be an infuriating cocktail of anger, confusion, and horniness. But the horniness has nothing to do with the fact that he looked so fucking great in his sleek black shirt and jeans and everything to do with the fact that I need to get laid. In general. By no one in particular. Especially not by one particular person who happens to be living next door to me, one who is a total asshole.

  I briefly flip through my mental Rolodex of past and potential sexual partners. It takes all of two seconds because my past partners are either now partnered up with someone else or have moved out of state or got too clingy for comfort and I swore off seeing them again. The only potential partner I can think of is my boss, and there’s barely any real potential.

  Sebastian is in his studio with the door closed. Tommy is done posing for him, and I probably won’t see him for a while because he just started rehearsing an off-Broadway play. But I pick up my phone, planning to text him to tell him I’m available to meet up tonight if he wants, because he is an awesome wingman and he will definitely help Mama get some.

  I almost swallow my tongue when I see that I have an e-mail notification from “iammattmcgovernsemail@gmail.com.”

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN (personal)

  Subject: Hi.

  Sorry if I was rude earlier.

  That’s it. That’s all it says. I scroll down to see if I’m missing something, like an explanation as to why he was rude earlier, or why he’s a rude person in general, or perhaps an emoji of a sad face, but nope. That’s the message.

  Without hesitation, I click “Reply.”

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: That’s nice.

  I assume that by “earlier” you are referring to every interaction we’ve had since we met.

  I thought you said you had a meeting to get to.

  I’m sorry you felt the need to lie just to get out of having lunch with me.

  I would have declined the invitation anyway.

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN

  Subject: Nice try

  Already had the meeting. On FaceTime.

  FYI, my protégé thought you were hot, and I was just trying to save you the annoyance of having him ogle you while you tried to eat your lunch.

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: Thanks?

  What makes you think I’m not totally used to being ogled while I eat lunch?

  There’s usually a circle of adoring men around me while I shove salad into my mouth, so it’s not like your protégé would have made me feel uncomfortable.

  Also—who refers to another person as their protégé?

  Maybe he just thinks of you as an old guy who needs some company.

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN

  Subject: I…

  Deeply regret emailing you.

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: I deeply regret not running away when I saw you

  Also…maybe I would have liked to get to know your so-called protégé. He was cute. If you were really trying to protect me from him, then maybe you should have waited for a sign from me that I needed to be protected from him.

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN

  Subject: I think I’m the one who needs protection

  From your emails.

  If you would like Lloyd’s number or would like me to pass along your email address to him, it would be my great joy to make the connection for you.

  He is a very bright young computer engineer. Despite his charmingly nerdy façade, his favorite music is hardcore techno, he is an enthusiastic user and lender of Adderall, and in his free time he enjoys wearing eyeliner and going to raves. The last girl he dated broke up with him because he has screaming fits in his sleep and kept giving her hickies.

  You guys would make a super-cute couple.

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: I deeply regret responding to your email

 

  I get no response after that. I keep checking my phone every ten seconds for the next half hour while trying to itemize Sebastian’s receipts. I don’t know if I’m mad at him for abruptly ending our back-and-forth email conversation or at myself for being so mad at him for abruptly ending our back-and-forth email conversation.

  I decide that I’m mad at him for forcing me to send him another email in response to his lack of response.

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: RUDE

 

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN

  Subject: NOT RUDE

  I choose to never respond to messages with emojis in them.

  I don’t do emojis.

  I never use emojis.

  I don’t like emojis.

  TO: MATT MCGOVERN

  FROM: BERNADETTE FARMER

  Subject: WHUCK?!

  That’s like someone refusing to use abbreviations in the twentieth century.

  I like emojis.

  They save time, and you can judge a lot about a person by which emoji they decide to use in a situation.

  TO: BERNADETTE FARMER

  FROM: MATT MCGOVERN

  Subject: I have plenty of other ways to judge people

  If you’ll excuse me, I also have many other emails to respond to and several other people to judge.

  Have a great afternoon.

  Asshole.

  I can’t stop myself from responding with a smiling cat emoji, but then I place my phone facedown on the desk and get back to work.

  I honestly didn’t think about Matt McGovern at all for the rest of the day, but once I’m back in my apartment, I can hear him next door. It sounds like he’s tossing a toy down the hall and Daisy’s running to fetch it and return it. I swear, if I only ever heard him through the vent, I would be under the impression that he’s a tot
ally sweet man. It’s not like I can always hear what he’s saying—in fact, most of the time I can’t. But I can hear the tone of his voice when he’s in bed, talking to Daisy, and he’s so unabashedly loving (“Who’s my girl? Who’s my sweet, beautiful girl? Yes, you’re my girl! I love you, sweet, crazy girl.”) Last night I heard him play guitar and sing to her in a high pitch to make her howl along with him. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer dooooo. I’m half crazy, all for the love of yooouuuu!” It’s all very charming and endearing. And so annoying that he shows absolutely no sign of being that sweet person at any other time.

  I have now removed my soaking wet shoes and clothes (thank you, surprise windy thunderstorm!) and slid into my slippers and sleep shirt before hastily towel-drying my hair. Now I am padding around the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and staring inside. I’m opening cupboards, staring inside. I’m opening up my food delivery app and staring at it before finally opening up the thing that I have been wanting to open up ever since my encounter with Matt earlier… A bottle of Pinot Noir.