Yes, You

by Carla Ryan

  "April vacation," Jake says, not looking up.

  "Right, right. Where's your dad?"

  Jake shrugs.

  "They're in the back yard," Yvonne says, her mouth full of cookie.

  "Thanks." you say, and head for the kitchen. A batch of peanut butter cookies -- minus two -- sits on cooling trays, but they're already room temperature. And melt-in-your-mouth yummy.

  You don't call out for Jabir, wanting to surprise him. Surprising him, seeing his goofy face contort in shock, has been one of your life's greatest pleasures since meeting him in middle school.

  Yvonne's intel turns out to be a bust; the yard's empty. You try the office, the laundry room, but there's no sign of him or Yara anywhere. Not until you go upstairs and start peeking in rooms do you hear them. They're quiet, keeping their moans and gasps muffled for the kids' sakes, but there's no mistaking the sound of sex on the other side of the master bedroom door.

  A midday bedroom rendezvous? Now that's the kind of vacation you can get behind.

  You should go in anyway. Jabir would be pissed, but Yara would laugh, which is why you two get along so well. The kids are all the way downstairs so there's no chance of them getting scarred for life, and Jabir's expression when you opened the door would be priceless. Your hand is almost on the knob when you hear something you don't expect.

  Giggling.

  First her, then him.

  It only lasts a few seconds, but the sound crawls into your brain and sits there, demanding attention but too foreign for you to comprehend.

  The bed starts squeaking with quickening movement, but instead of going in you back away and return downstairs, dropping onto the couch beside Jake. Trying to shake the inexplicable sadness that's creeping over you, you grab the graphic novel from his hands and start flipping through, keeping a thumb on his page.

  "This looks terrible," you say.

  "It's the best one of the series!" he says, switching from silent apathy to vehement indignation in an instant.

  "Shhh!" Yvonne says, spitting a little as she hushes her brother.

  "Why?" you whisper to Jake.

  "Captain Chilly McChillface --"

  "Terrible name," you say.

  The nine-year-old gives you a probing, skeptical look.

  "Alright," you reluctantly concede, "maybe it's kind of a funny name."

  "Captain Chilly McChillface," he repeats emphatically, "is a polar bear, which means he hates the heat, but he's also a pirate, which obviously means he has to go to desert islands all the time."

  "Obviously."

  "Usually his parrot always has to pour ice water on him, but in this one..." He trails off into laughter, and Yvonne joins in. "...they shave all his fur off!"

  "Hilarious," you say flatly, trying your best to keep a straight face.

  Jabir and Yara still aren't down yet, and you have to get back to the city for lunch. Saying goodbye to the kids, you write a note for Jabir and leave it on the counter, then grab another cookie for your mother. Or the long walk to the car. Whichever comes first.

  * * *

  Already seated at her usual table, your mother waves and calls out your name as soon as you step through the door. As if you could miss her. That hat, huge and made entirely out of neon pink feathers, is the craziest one yet. She'd make jaws drop even at the Kentucky Derby.

  "New hat?" you ask, ducking beneath the gigantic brim to give her a hug.

  She tilts her chin up and spins slowly to display her plumage. It might be hideous, but you can't deny the craftsmanship. The feathers are intricately woven together, highlighted with delicate glittering pink gems. Coupled with her black-and-white checkered jumpsuit, some fashionistas might even call her a trendsetter. You just call her nuts.

  "Too much?" your mother asks.

  "Definitely."

  "Good," she says with a satisfied smile. She scans the restaurant, about to call out for the waiter, but he's already coming up beside her, a bottle of her favorite wine in hand. "You know what I want, Eion," she says as you both take your seats.

  "Sirlion, Mrs. Thomas?"

  She grins and squeezes his arm. "Isn't he the best? He always remembers me."

  "I think it's your hats he remembers," you say.

  "They're doing their job then," she says, giving him a wink. "Make it a four-ounce today, please, and extra potatoes too. I'm in an indulgent mood."

  Eion, whose polite smile never wavers, nods and pours her some wine.

  "None for me, thanks," you say, holding a hand over your glass.

  "I insist you drink with me," your mother says. "I'm in too brilliant a mood to drink alone."

  Ignoring her comment, you order the scallops, and Eion rushes off. "You're a chipper flamingo today," you say.

  "Why shouldn't I be? Ziti finally finished my new chapeau and it is magnificent --"

  "Repellent, you mean."

  "-- I'm having lunch with my favorite daughter --"

  "Your only daughter."

  "-- and I had the most magical morning with Noel today."

  "Didn't you finalize the divorce this morning?"

  "Freedom," she says, spreading her arms, "how I've missed you!" Giving you a conspiratorial smile, she leans forward and motions for you to do the same. Dropping her voice to an exhilarated whisper, she says, "Crane got me half!"

  Half?!?

  Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and it takes you way too long to remember how to exhale.

  Noel Thomas manages the most successful hedge fund in the city. He's got to be sitting on at least a billion. And thanks to her last two divorces, your mother was already worth two commas.

  "Holy shit, mom," you manage to say.

  "Don't swear," she admonishes, losing none of her excitement. "I knew I hit the lottery when I bagged Noel, but I thought at most I'd only get a couple houses and a few mil. Then at the meeting today I almost keeled over when the judge read the settlement!”

  She takes a long drink, then sighs happily. "I love it when they screw the secretary."

  "Okay. That's not messed up or anything."

  "Oh it's all part of the game to see who can hold out the longest. I can't say my eye wasn't starting to wander towards the end there too, but men's standards are so low, they always beat me to it."

  "It's no wonder --"

  A woman across the restaurant giggles, distracting you, and making you lose your train of thought. You glance down at your phone on the table. No word from Jabir.

  "What about you?" your mother asks, oblivious that you said anything. "When are you going to find someone you can plan a wedding with? That's the best part, you know. It never gets old."

  "You should know."

  Her giddiness wanes as she takes another drink, her eyes narrowing. "What's with the sour puss? You're going to inherit a freight train full of cash when I croak. If I don't spend it all on chapeaus, that is."

  "I have enough money."

  Money you earned yourself, thank you very much.

  "No such thing, babykins. Well..." With a wry smile she adds. "...maybe there is."

  She frowns at you again and settles back in her seat, arms crossed. "You couldn't stand Noel, so I know you're not sad to see him go, so it must be work that's bothering you. Did something happen with Jabir?"

  "Work's fine. I'm fine too. I'm just tired."

  "You're always tired; the only time you admit it is when you're mopey."

  "I'm not mopey."

  She arches an eyebrow at you.

  "Okay, maybe I'm a little mopey."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know, I'm just feeling off this afternoon for some reason."

  "You need a vacation," she says, jabbing a finger at you. "That's what it is. You've been working too hard."

  Eion arrives with your salads. You quickly take a bite to have an excuse not to talk. Your mother doesn't even touch her fork.

  "You spend more time in your office than that beautiful house of yours," she continues. "You sh
ould take some time off and decompress."

  "I can't do that."

  "Why? Jabir can't handle things on his own for a week or two? He's on vacation this week, isn't he? It's only fair you get one too."

  "I am not taking a vacation."

  Still scrutinizing you, she starts picking at her salad. After a couple of silent bites, her face lights up with understanding.

  "I know the problem," she says.

  Here we go.

  "No you don't."

  "Yes I do."

  "No," you growl, "you don't."

  Smiling like she's about to reveal the final piece of evidence in some cozy mystery movie, she says, "You, my girl, are in love."

  "I am not in love." Just saying the word makes your mouth go dry.

  "It happens to the best of us, babykins, there's no getting around it." She clenches her fists in excitement. "Is it someone from work?"

  "I never mix work and sex. You know that."

  "Is that the problem? You're in love with someone from your work?"

  "I'm not in love!" you shout. The restaurant falls quiet as all heads turn towards you. Hiding your face with your hands, you glare through the tunnel at your mother and whisper, "I'm not in love."

  "Okay, okay," she says, as your fellow diners resume their conversations. "A mother can hope, can't she?" She takes a sip of her wine. "How else are you supposed to recognize the enemy if you don't even know what it looks like?"

  "I've gone this long," you mutter.

  You see Eion across the room and catch his eye.

  "Can I get you something?" he asks.

  "I'll take that wine now."

  "That's more like it," your mother says, lifting her glass to you. "The perfect cure for a case of the dumps: spirits and celebrations!"

  Or drowning your sorrows. Whatevs.

  Chapter Four

  By the time Jabir calls you back, you're the last one in the office.

  "That's some epic afternoon delight," you say in greeting. "Have you been at it all day? I didn't know you had it in you."

  "Why did you come all the way down here? And why the frack did you cancel the call?"

  You hit send on your last email of the day and shut your computer off. "Whoa. I knew you'd be mad, but I wasn't expecting Battlestar Gallactica mad."

  "You schedule a strategy call when I'm on vacation and make me swear I'll be on it," he says, "and then you cancel at literally the last minute? I know you don't care about vacations but I do -- especially when the last day gets completely screwed over."

  "From what I heard it was you doing the screwing,” you say, switching into your flats for the walk home.

  “Don’t call it that,” he snaps. “And don’t change the subject.”

  Sheesh. Touchy.

  "I'm sorry I cancelled the call but it was for a good reason," you say. "Why'd you take so long to call me back? I told you it was important."

  "So is spending my last vacation day with my family. I promised them we'd go biking along the canal this afternoon, so that's what we did. Unlike some people I know, I keep my promises."

  "Okay Mister Infallible, I seem to recall a certain Jabir Helou abandoning me an hour before prom when Kirsten Abbott's date got mono."

  "That was a million years ago," he says. "And anyway, you were only using me to make Erin Rhimes jealous."

  Switching to bluetooth, you put your phone in your purse and get your jacket on. "Yeah, and it would have worked. Instead I spent the night playing cribbage with my mother."

  "That's on you. You still could have gone."

  "It's fine," you say, locking up your office. "I ran into her last year on the T and we went back to her place."

  "You never told me that!"

  "No need. It didn't live up to my expectations."

  "No one ever does."

  You switch the lights off and wait for the elevator. "Enough about me. You are not going to believe who showed up at my office this morning."

  By the time you step off the elevator, Jabir's gone from angry psychoanalysis to unintelligible bewilderment.

  "He wants to... He actually said he... How could..."

  You let out a frustrated groan. "I forgot to FaceTime you! I really wish I could see your face right now."

  "What did you say?" Jabir asks. "I wish I'd been there."

  Hearing him admit that is almost as good as seeing his dopey surprised face.

  "Don't let Yara hear you say that." You wave goodnight to the building's security guard and head outside just as a dump truck drives by. Holding your breath, you wait until the cloud of exhaust passes to answer Jabir's question. "I told him I'd have to talk to you and the board, but that I support the merger."

  "Is it a merger or an acquisition? How much autonomy would we have?"

  It's a warm night for mid-April, with no breeze to cool you down as you cross the busy street and begin the short walk home. Leaving the traffic behind, you escape into the tree-lined bike path that is your commute, dodging a steady stream of cyclists and speed walkers.

  "He wasn't super clear on that point," you say.

  "I bet."

  "All he said was that he wants Spare to be part of the Won't Waste empire, and that he wants to learn from us."

  Jabir scoffs. "That's cutthroat for he's afraid of the competition and wants to steal our algorithms. And if we're becoming part of Won't Waste, it's not a merger. He's taking us over."

  "I'd be VP of the whole company. I'm not about to let him gut everything we've built."

  "You'd have no way to stop him if he did. It's a bad idea."

  "Think of the market share we'll gain access to," you say. "I did some research this afternoon, and Won't Waste just got its first contract in Canada. We could be international!"

  "We wouldn't be anything. Spare wouldn't even exist anymore."

  "Maybe not in name, but in spirit."

  "It's a bad idea," he repeats.

  "By 'bad' you mean 'genius,' right?"

  "By 'bad' I mean 'we'll get fracked.'"

  "That's the kind of optimism I'm looking for."

  You pass behind your favorite Japanese restaurant, breathing in the alluring scents of noodles and tempura. Jabir does nothing to fill the silence.

  "I know there are dangers," you say, "but it's not like we're flying into this blind. There are a lot of steps between now and signing a deal. All I'm asking is for you to keep an open mind. Cassatt isn't the smooth talker you think he is. I'm not saying I trust him, but I like him. He didn't look at my tits once."

  "There are gay smooth talkers."

  "He's been married twice. To women."

  Jabir lets out a long breath, and you know you've hooked him. You were never really worried. He always says yes to you eventually. Everyone does.

  "I still think it's a bad idea," he says, "but let's see if the board agrees with me."

  You lift both arms and do a victory dance. A passing jogger grins and holds up her hand, which you promptly high-five.

  "Thank you Jay," you say calmly.

  "If you're VP," he says, "what would my position be in all this?"

  "President of the best friend department, obviously."

  "You didn't talk about that, did you?"

  "It's top of my list for our next meeting."

  "You're the worst partner ever."

  "Aww, I miss you too bro." You emerge from the bike path, pausing at the intersection and joining the group waiting to cross. "Want to come to the city and celebrate?"

  Jabir laughs. "You're relentless."

  "Come on! Hop the train and meet me at Lucky Strike in an hour."

  "We're watching a movie on the projector in Jake's room after dinner."

  "The Friday night of my dreams," you say sarcastically. "Bring the fam then. We'll all bowl. It'll be fun. I haven't seen Yara in ages."

  "We are not taking an hour train ride when there's a bowling alley ten minutes from our house."

  The crosswalk opens up and ever
yone except you starts across. "I'm not ten minutes from your house."

  "Sorry, you're on your own. There's nothing to celebrate anyway. All this might be a dead end."

  "But we're on his radar! That means we're making a difference. We're disrupting the system just like we wanted. Isn't that worth celebrating?"

  You can picture him there in his study, standing by the big picture window looking out on their back yard. The sun's almost down, so he probably can't see anything but his own reflection. Maybe he's imagining how different his life's become, how he used to be the one to suggest driving to Boston at the drop of a hat, how you two would crash in on his MIT friends and drag them out for a wild night of debauchery.

  "Come on, Jay. I know you want this. You need this."

  He exhales.

  Yes!

  "I'm gonna go set up the projector," he says.

  Say what now?

  "Are you serious?" you demand.

  "Have fun tonight."

  "Jay? Wait, Jay!" You look down at your phone. "He hung up," you say in utter disbelief.

  You're only a handful of blocks from your house, but you feel like a tourist, looking up and down Binney Street, clueless where to go next.

  Fine. If Jabir won't celebrate with you, you'll find someone who will. You start scrolling through your phone, skipping all of your employees (you can't tell them about the potential acquisition) and all of your exes (why are their numbers still in here?). The only numbers left are your salon, your car dealer, and your mother.

  As nice as your hair stylist is, you're not about to take her out drinking. The dealership is out of the question, and the thought of seeing your mother twice on the day of her fourth divorce makes the icky feeling that's been clinging to you all afternoon even worse.

  Okay. New plan.

  The light switches and this time you join then crowd, crossing the street while mentally sifting through your closet and picking out an outfit.

  Time to make some new friends.

  * * *

  To make it easy on yourself, you head to your favorite gay club. It doesn't take long to spot two nervous looking college girls glued to their seats at the bar, and you've barely finished your first drink before you get them to agree to go back to their place for their first threesome.