Yes, You

by Carla Ryan

  Pulling her glass back in front of her, she stares at the water and starts playing it like a piano again. "How long was your last relationship?"

  Relationships: not a safe topic.

  "Why?"

  "I want to know."

  That's not a reason. "Two months."

  Her gaze flickers up to you. "When did it end?"

  Last week. "A while ago."

  "Why?"

  You squirm in your seat. "I don't like talking about this stuff."

  She stops tapping and scowls at you. "Why not?"

  How did she get so mad so fast? A minute ago she was complimenting you. Might as well give her what she wants. Hopefully that'll be enough to get this back on track.

  "She liked me more than I liked her," you say. "Now can we --"

  "How long was your longest relationship?"

  Seriously? "Why do you want to know?"

  "Don't you think I have a right to know?"

  Why is she pushing so hard on this?

  The waiter arrives with your food, bringing a much needed halt to the escalating tension.

  "Anything else I can get for you?" the waiter asks.

  Telepathic abilities so I can know what the hell is going on in this woman's head?

  "I'm good, thanks," you say.

  As he walks away, Marigold resumes her hard, self-righteous stare. You're about to launch into another apologetic yet romantic speech about trusting the present and forgetting the past, when the futility of it hits you. You've already been down this road with her -- twice -- and you're getting sick of running around in circles.

  "Look. I already laid all my cards out on the table. I like you, and the fact that you're here right now means that you like me too."

  She frowns but doesn't deny it, which could, perhaps, be considered progress.

  "I can sit here and tell you that I've never cheated on anyone," you continue, "and that I've never slept with my girlfriend's sister or best friend or anything like that -- which is all true -- but it doesn't matter what I say if you've already decided that this isn't worth it."

  Chewing on the inside of her lip, she watches you and starts playing her glass again. You pick up your fork and take a bite of your curry rice, trying to distract yourself from the churning in your stomach.

  What if she leaves? You shouldn't have gotten so upset. The romantic flattery got you this far, why change tactics? Now she's sitting there trying to decide if this is worth it -- no, if you are worth it.

  This long game crap is a nightmare!

  "I'm sorry."

  It's quiet, barely loud enough for you to hear over your chewing, but she said it.

  She's sorry!

  "Somebody broke my heart a long time ago," she says, "the day I saw you at the bar, actually. I guess seeing you reminds me of all those painful memories."

  Great. Not only do you have to win her over, now you have to make her forget about an old girlfriend too.

  "We'll just have to make some new memories then," you say, giving her an encouraging smile.

  She smiles back, uncertainty slowly giving way to a glint of humor. "So say we all."

  Mental note: newly discovered turn-on: women making Battlestar Gallactica references.

  Chapter Twelve

  "How is this even going to work?" Marigold asks as you walk her to her car.

  The rest of the evening has gone perfectly. Well, as perfect as a night without sex can be. The conversation was mostly light, centered on work and books and other neutral subjects. You didn't even have to bust out those childhood anecdotes you had on deck.

  "You live in Boston," she continues, "and flying back and forth every weekend isn't an option."

  "I can pay for it."

  She flashes you a disapproving frown, which you can't help but laugh at.

  "What is that for?" you ask.

  "There's no way I'm letting you spend that kind of money on me."

  She stops beside her hybrid, and you catch your breath as she turns to face you. Even after sitting across from her for almost two hours, her beauty still startles you.

  "Don't you worry your pretty little head," you tease. "I have a plan."

  "Oh really," she says, amused. "Care to elaborate?"

  You shake your head. "Nah."

  The dreaded awkward silence falls. You move closer, edging it out. Her smile falters.

  "Thanks again for dinner, and for..." Her gaze flickers from your eyes to your mouth and back again. "...being so understanding."

  This is the moment you've been waiting for. The hunger is there, the desire. She wants you.

  You lean in, about to discover what that lip gloss really tastes like, when you notice something else in her eyes, something that stops your heart.

  Fear.

  Is it the ex-girlfriend again? Or is it you? Will kissing her make the fear go away? Or will that only make it worse?

  The joy of the moment is gone. You're too wrapped up in your own head. You step back. Her eyelids flutter in confusion. You know what you have to do.

  There's a first time for everything.

  "How about we take it slow?" you ask.

  Is she disappointed? Relieved? Both? It's hard to tell.

  You take another step back and say, "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

  A sweet, understanding smile touches her lips... those soft, kissable lips...

  Is it too late to change your mind?

  "Then you'll be needing my number," she says with a grin.

  "That would help," you say, taking out your phone. You take a breath to calm your revving engine and give her the number. But as you put your phone back in your purse, Marigold leans forward and kisses you on the cheek.

  Your bones seem to melt away as her warm lips press against your skin. Stunned and dizzy, you close your eyes, your heart beating so fast you can hardly breathe.

  "Goodnight," she whispers into your ear.

  You turn to her, needing to taste those lips, to feel them again, now, forever, but she's already pulling away. As she gets into her car, you cover your cheek with your hand, as if you could trap her kiss there. The memory of her touch skips down into your chest, circling around and settling there like a cat getting ready for a long nap.

  Maybe this whole long game thing isn't so bad after all.

  * * *

  Ramped up from your successful first date, you spend the next few hours researching your plan to stay in town. Eager for morning you sleep fitfully, and even though you set your alarm for six, your eyes snap open ten minutes early. With a cup of steaming coffee in your hand, you throw a hoodie over your pajamas, sit on the back deck under a murky pre-dawn sky, and call Jabir.

  "Ready to come home yet?" he answers.

  "Hardly," you say, unable to suppress your smile.

  "Sounds like your vacation is serving its purpose. You're feeling better?"

  "It is, and I am. Thanks again for being flexible on this. I know I dropped it on you and everyone else at the last minute, but I really, really needed it."

  "I'm happy to hear it," he says, "and I'll be even happier when you're back in the office on Monday."

  "Yeah, about that, I have a crazy idea I want to run past you."

  "Let me guess: you're leaving the company to become a Tibetan monk."

  "Hell no," you laugh. "I wouldn't last a day."

  "Good, you passed. At least now I know you haven't been brainwashed."

  You get up and start pacing the small deck, excited to tell him, but nervous about how he'll take it. This is a huge change in Spare's corporate strategy, and you've never asked Jay for anything this big. What if he pulls rank and says no?

  "I miss you man," you say, taking a sip of coffee. "How's the family?"

  A lone seagull lands on the beach and starts bathing in a large puddle. You keep expecting to see the sun come up over the water, but it's the wrong coast and the wrong ocean.

  "You're stalling," Jabir says. "This must be big."

&
nbsp; Having your best friend as your business partner is a double-edged sword.

  "I care about your family's welfare," you insist.

  "They're great. Spill."

  "Okay, fine." You take another drink and set your cup down. "We're about to launch the next phase of Spare's growth."

  "Uh-huh..."

  "I know the plan is to spread along the East Coast and then expand west, but..."

  Gulp. Here goes.

  "...what if we jump right to the West Coast instead? We could establish our presence out here and then meet in the middle. Raj has wanted us out west from the very beginning, and now I'm thinking she was right. The demand for waste stream management is huge out here, and California has great incentives for businesses like us. There's plenty of warehouse space outside of San Francisco; I've already found some candidates that aren't too pricey. But the real kicker, is that instead of spending tons of money trying to snag residential customers, we start with the school districts. We get the schools to sign on, get a bin in every classroom -- maybe we even give them some for free for good doobie points -- and integrate Spare into the curriculum, getting instant name recognition and word of mouth advertising while the kids learn about recycling and reusing in a real, tangible way."

  There's a whole flock of seagulls sharing the communal bath now, honking and splashing. You go inside and shut the noise out.

  Jabir hasn't said a word.

  "I know what you're thinking," you lie. "You're thinking about how much of a genius I am, and how lucky you are to be my friend."

  You finish your coffee, waiting for him to laugh. He doesn't.

  "So you're in San Francisco?" he says.

  "Yeah."

  "Is this why you went out there? To scout for locations?"

  "No no no," you say quickly. "I legit came out here for a vacation, but I got into a conversation with a local teacher --"

  "Slept with her, you mean."

  You wish.

  "No, again, Mister Conclusion Jumper. I was talking to a teacher about our company and she said it would be a great tool to give the kids a personal connection when they're learning about recycling, and it got my wheels spinning."

  "Why don't we do that out here where we already have the infrastructure?" he asks. "We could work out the kinks without starting from scratch in an entirely new territory."

  Asking questions: good sign.

  "We could do it back east too, but the point is to see how effective a marketing strategy it is by entering through the schools instead of approaching the residential market directly."

  "We don't have to go across the country to do that. We could go one state over to Connecticut to test it."

  Debating: good sign.

  "Connecticut doesn't have the kind of incentives California has."

  "Incentives that we're going to spend on flying out there all the time -- and we'd have to hire a new exec to run the West Coast operations. We weren't planning on that kind of expense for another few years."

  Time for the real bombshell.

  "I'll run it."

  Totally casual. No worries here! Your voice is always this high-pitched.

  "You'll run it," Jabir says flatly. "You hate it out there."

  You look back out at the water. As the sun rises behind you the sky begins to pale, bathing the ocean in the same gray hue as Marigold's eyes.

  "It's growing on me. Plus, I won't charge the company for my rental."

  "Does this have anything to do with the offer from Won't Waste? The CEO lives in San Francisco."

  Searching for an ulterior motive: bad sign.

  "No, I swear I never thought about setting up shop out here until last night."

  "What about that teacher? Is this related to her somehow?"

  Stupid Jabir being so stupidly insightful.

  "She's the one who suggested the idea, so yeah, I guess."

  Haha! Not a lie!

  "But you want to get in her pants," he says.

  Oh boy. Time to deflect.

  "This is about getting Spare into one of the hottest markets in the country. You've got to admit that the mindset of the people in this area is perfect for our services. I wouldn't be surprised if we were in 200 homes by the end of the year."

  "But we need you out here. I'm the tech guy. I don't know how to do all the stuff you do. And you know how sweaty I get during interviews."

  "First of all, you know more than enough to start your own company, which -- don't. Second, I won't be out here forever, and whatever I can't handle remotely I'll fly back for. Third, tell marketing to deal with the interviews."

  Jabir lets out a sigh.

  Ahh. The sound of yes. You grin and prepare for your victory dance.

  "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asks.

  Wait. What?

  "You've been acting really weird," he continues. "You didn't find out that you have a long lost sister or that you're dying in six months or anything, did you?"

  "As far as I know, I'm still an only child with years ahead of me."

  "Are you okay though? I'm worried about you. There's nothing else going on?"

  Oh man! This is why you hate lying. Especially to your oldest friend.

  "Don't worry, okay?" you say. "Coming out here has helped me get a new perspective. I'm past my funk, and I truly think this is the right path forward for Spare."

  Omission isn't lying, right?

  The sunlight almost touches the water now, with only a fine ribbon of night clinging to the horizon. The seagulls take off together, as a house cat -- not Shark-Tastic -- passes nearby.

  "Okay," Jabir says. "Let's try it. I'll have Loretta schedule a call with the board for next week."

  The glory of victory is dulled by your guilt for keeping Jay in the dark. "Don't bother," you say, spooning yourself some peanut butter for breakfast. "We're seeing them in a couple months anyway. I won't be able to do much between now and then."

  "Yeah right. You'll have half the city signed up by then."

  It's good to hear the smile in his voice, but it only makes you feel more guilty. You head back onto the deck. "Thanks, Jay. We'll have lunch when I fly back to pack, okay?"

  You hang up and breathe in the salty, seaweedy air -- so similar to the Atlantic and yet not quite the same. The realization that you'll be breathing this air for the next year makes you both excited and homesick at the same time, although it's the office you miss more than your actual house. But kissing every freckle on Marigold's body will more than make up for not seeing Jabir's goofy face every day.

  As you turn to go in, you notice a woman with orange hair sitting on the beach a few houses down. Her knees are up and her head is hidden in her arms, her shoulders convulsing with obvious sobs. As much as you'd like to leave her alone with her grief, you're guilty enough as it is. Before you know it, you've got a box of tissues in your hand and you're making your way barefoot along the cool sand.

  "Ophelia?"

  Her head pops up, and when she recognizes you she immediately starts wiping her face and trying to compose herself.

  "Thanks," she says when you offer her the tissues.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" The rock she's sitting on is big enough for you to fit beside her, but you stay standing, about a foot from its edge.

  Your question makes her break down again, and it's a few minutes before she's able to get out more than a word or two.

  "It's been a difficult few months," she says. "I don't know if Gustave -- oh, sorry, Gus." She chuckles weakly. "Did you know he wants to be called that now?"

  You shake your head.

  "For years he's only wanted to be called his full name, then yesterday he came home from school and said to call him Gus from now on." She wipes her nose and gives you a small smile. "He really likes you."

  Something tells you she's not just talking about Gus.

  "He's a funny little kid," you say, taking a tiny step away from her.

  Sadness wracks her expr
ession, and she shifts her gaze to the water. "His father was funny too."

  Was?

  You don't want to know. For so many reasons. But she clearly needs a shoulder, and yours is the closest. "Are his parents...?"

  Ophelia's lips tremble as she tries to hold it together. She nods, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Four months ago. They were driving --" Her voice catches. She takes a few pained breaths, trying to speak, but unable to.

  A small crack opens up inside of you -- a room you sealed shut years ago. Childhood memories begin to slip through... your mother sobbing... a door closing in your face...

  I'm not that child anymore.

  Stuffing the pain back where it came from, you step into the ocean water, the shock of cold bringing you back to the present.

  "I'm so sorry," you say. "You're doing a good thing here though, stepping up and looking after Gus. It takes a brave person to do something like that. He's lucky to have you."

  "It's not something I ever pictured for myself -- having children, I mean, and especially not..." Sniffling, she casts a sideways glance in your direction. "...alone."

  Alone.

  The word triggers a fresh wave of anger, pain, confusion. The child behind the door strains against it, trying to pry open the gap you're struggling to keep closed.

  "Don't underestimate yourself," you manage to say. "You're stronger than you think, and Gus is too. You'll get through this."

  "Thanks," she says with a tearful smile.

  You start to go, knowing you should leave on a positive note, but the child inside won't let you.

  "One thing, though," you say, turning back to her. "You're not alone in this, and whatever you're dealing with, that kid in there has it a hundred times worse. If he thinks for a second that you two aren't a team, he might never get through it. So don't say you're alone. Don't even think it."

  Ophelia nods, her smile gone. She holds out the tissue box to you, but you tell her to keep it and head back to your house, exhausted. You try to go to bed, but the silence invites too many unwanted memories. Lying down on the couch, you turn the TV on and fall asleep to the first sci-fi show you can find.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Your mother wakes you up with a phone call, telling you she's flying home tomorrow and wants to spend the day together. Sleep has helped pave over the weedy memories from your conversation with Ophelia, so the two of you have a pleasant day at the spa and a delicious dinner by the water. When she asks about last night, you artfully dodge the question through innuendo, letting her jump to her own sordid assumptions.