The Man Test
Page 23
I smiled at the sweet gesture. There was hope for this couple.
By the time they left, it was the end of the day. I pulled my dark hair back into a neat ponytail and finished some office odds and ends. Just as I was packing up to leave, I noticed a missed call from James. That’s right, my boyfriend, James.
Almost a year and a half ago, he’d rescued me for the second time from yet another preventable tumble. That was the day he gave me a second chance, and I promised myself in that moment that I wouldn’t screw it up. Or at least I wouldn’t repeat any of my same mistakes, which included being cunningly deceitful and setting him up to cheat. As the saying goes, I turned a new leaf that day.
“You’re still here?” Andy popped in.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“You and James wanna meet me for a drink in a bit?”
Andy was one of the partners in our three-therapist practice. Somehow after years of my contempt for him and the stint in which he was my emotional drill sergeant, a.k.a. my therapist, I started to see him as a human being and not just an egotistical, know-it-all prick who only cared about himself. Andy was actually a nice guy with a big heart, but I was sure I was sworn to secrecy. He had a reputation to protect.
In fact, we became the kind of friends that met for drinks with our significant others. Though, Andy never really had a significant other. They were more like insignificant others. We became so friendly that I even suggested a date with Telly. They went out, of course. Once . . . that I knew of anyway. Neither of them would tell me what happened that night. In fact, they get a little weird whenever I mention it. Both use the same answer as if they were contracted to do so. “It could never work between us.” Sure . . .
After asking a dozen more times, I let it go.
“I wish we could, but we’ve got to get ready to leave tomorrow. I’m still not packed.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s right, you’re going to Montana.”
I confirmed with a smile.
“Are you nervous about meeting the parents?” Andy asked.
“No, I’ve video chatted with them lots of times.”
“They have internet in Montana?”
I smirked and swatted his shoulder. Truthfully, the question had crossed my mind before too.
“Well, enjoy it. I’ll see you next week.”
“I will. Ciao!” I swung my five-pound purse over my shoulder.
Downstairs, pairs of run-of-the-mill push and pull doors had replaced the untrustworthy revolving door during the remodel. As I made my way out of the building, a chilly breeze brushed my cheeks. All winter long, I never got used to slightly freezing while walking the six blocks home in the evenings. Though the city lights illuminated the street, I couldn’t wait for daylight savings time and warmer San Francisco air.
I dug my leather gloves and phone out of my tote purse and called James.
“Hey, baby doll,” James’ voice crooned on the line. I blushed.
“Hey, you,” I said, slipping on my gloves. Much better.
“I just dropped Marvin off at David and Rachel’s. You wanna sleep at my place or yours tonight?”
Hmm . . . his place or mine . . . our favorite dilemma. We hadn’t moved in together, but we spent enough time at each other’s places to be considered cohabiters. At least that’s what I told myself to ease the pain that it had been over a year and we hadn’t yet made the move.
To be honest, I feared a Chad repeat, or at least a version of it, if James moved in. Chad, my ex-fiancé, hadn’t even unpacked his boxes when I caught him in bed with another woman. Most of the time, I strongly advised couples to live together before marriage, but in my case with James, I wanted to wait. In case I was cursed.
“My place is closer to the airport, and my bed is nicer,” I said.
“So you say.”
“It’s a fact, James. MapQuest it.” I covered my nose with my hand and breathed out hot air to warm my face.
“I was referring to your insult about my bed.”
“Babe, you can’t argue with a Tempur-Pedic and Vera Wang sheets.” I could use those cozy sheets right about now.
“Uh, I only understood half of that.”
Men.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “My place it is.”
He chuckled. “I’ll pick up dinner and be there in an hour.”
“See ya then, love you.”
“Love you too.”
Later, I discovered that expensive bedding did not always result in luxurious sleep. I usually fell asleep on my left side, but I couldn’t get comfortable so I switched to the right. Same thing. I flattened on my back and glanced at the clock. Only four more hours before the alarm would go off. James breathed wispy sleep sounds next to me. His warm body heated the bed like an oven. I kicked off the covers and stirred him in the process.
“You okay?” James mumbled.
“I can’t sleep.” I shoved my pillow deeper into the pillowcase.
“How come?”
I sighed. “I’m anxious.”
“About what?” James rubbed the sleep out of his blue eyes.
“About meeting your family. Your entire family.”
James’ cousin, Emily, was getting married and all of the Young clan were gathering in Montana for the event.
“Why?” he asked.
“I’m a half-Chinese girl from California. I don’t know anything about life in the mountains.”
He scrunched his face and scratched the stubble on his cheek. “Mar, it’s Montana, not the old west.”
“I know. I just want to fit in. I want them to know I’m Young material, ya know?”
“Shhh . . . you’re over thinking it.” He pulled me in and swaddled me with his strong arms. They were like a protective shield; nothing physical, emotional or otherwise could hurt me. “My family adores you, and the rest are gonna love you because I love you.”
“Okay,” I said and snuggled into him even though it was too warm. Within minutes, he fell asleep. Eventually, I did too.
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AMANDA AKSEL
AMANDA
(ah-MAHN-dah)- Latin- Meaning lovable or worthy of love.
Fitting. I've always had an affinity for love.
Being born in sunny San Diego in the mid 80s to a young military couple gave me plenty of insight into the dynamics of a romantic relationship. Somewhere between moving coasts every three years, I found myself engrossed in fairytale romances and dressing up like a bride.
My first real love was writing. By my sophomore year in a new high school in Virginia, I had a slew of short stories, songs, poems, and articles to my name. Writing was fun. It was a way to get the emotions, dialogue, and pictures out of my head, and create a destiny for my characters.
I had no intention of making a career in writing, because it wasn’t what I did, it was who I was. In reality, I wanted to be an actress. Ah, to be the face of someone else’s authored story. The plan was to move in with my aunt in L.A. after graduation, but I had a change of heart.
Instead, I stayed with my high school sweetheart (now husband) and attended a film school in Norfolk, VA. It was at this school that I discovered my love for writing screenplays and felt compelled to follow that path. But . . . as the practical girl I was brought up to be, I decided to go to a real university. While working full time, I completed my BA in Psychology in four and a half years. Becoming a couples therapist had always been my “backup” career and there I was on my way to solving love's most complicated quandaries one couple at a time.
With all my new free time after graduation, I decided to turn my full-length screenplay into a novel in hopes it would help my screenplay sell. I think I was in the middle of writing chapter two when I realized that everything I had ever written was to prepare me for that moment when I knew I was a novelist. Talk about
the affirmation of my life. Now my plan is to solve love's most complicated quandaries one novel at a time.
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