by Carla Ryan
"I didn't --"
His furious glare cuts you off.
"Okay, okay. I wasn't completely truthful," you say, quickly cutting off his objection by adding, "but this is a good opportunity for Spare, and I think it's the right move."
He laughs humorlessly and sits at his desk. "You are unbelievable."
"I told you Daly City is in. I think we're going to make real --"
"Is she the reason you went out there in the first place?" he asks. "Have you been planning this trip and keeping me in the dark until the last minute?"
"No, it wasn't planned."
"But you went there for her. She's some old flame of yours, or one that got away?"
The accuracy of his assessment startles you, and your hesitation confirms his suspicion.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asks, disappointment seeping into his anger.
You drop down into the chair, miserable for having caused your closest friend this much pain. The only way to make things right is to come clean, no matter how humiliating. So you tell him everything, starting with the first night you met Marigold, to breaking up with Anne, all the way through this afternoon.
"I swear, I wasn't fulfilling some fantasy," you conclude. "You know how I feel about mixing work and sex. She just... I couldn't... I didn't know what else to do."
Jabir hasn't said a word. About halfway through your story he started slowly pacing the room again, and now that you're done he still doesn't stop. Although you're impatient -- and afraid -- to hear what he has to say, you give him the time he needs, letting his analytical mind process everything you've told him. Finally he takes the chair beside you, faces it towards you, and sits down.
"So how do you feel now?" he asks.
"Umm... I feel nervous, because I don't know if you're still mad at --"
"About Marigold," he says. "You slept with her. Task accomplished. Do you feel better?"
Huh. That's true.
You had sex with Marigold.
The reality of it hasn't really hit home until now. A flare of vindication, of triumph, swells within you, but it only lasts for an instant. By the next breath, you're hollow again.
But you did what you set out to do. Are you done?
"No," you say, both to yourself and Jabir.
"Why not?" He asks like he knows the answer, which is annoying, but you try to get there on your own.
What else do you need? Why aren't you happy?
"It's because I'm in Boston," you say. "I'm sick of this city, with all the noise and people. I'm happy in San Francisco."
He frowns, searching your face for an answer to an equation only he can see. When he finds it, he stands up abruptly and says, "Then you should go back."
"What about --"
"You know I love you like a sister, and I always will," he says, walking over to the office door, "but if being in San Francisco is all it takes for you to be happy, then I won't keep you here any longer."
"Jabir, wait."
He ignores you, opening the door. "I know you're not supposed to leave until Saturday, but maybe Wade can work his magic and get you bumped up. Safe travels." He disappears out the door, leaving you alone.
What the hell was that about?
You wait a few minutes, then peek out at Loretta.
"When is Jay coming back?" you ask.
"Oh, umm..." Loretta chews her lip. She's always nervous around you. "He... left for the day?"
"Are you telling me or asking me?"
Her face goes dark red.
"Never mind," you snap. "I'm leaving too."
You gather your things from your office and see a missed call from your mother. You're in no mood to deal with her. On your way down to the lobby you call Jabir twice, but it goes straight to voicemail both times. You try Marigold, but she doesn't answer either.
Apparently, they're in no mood to deal with you.
* * *
When you and Wade were organizing this trip, you intentionally left Friday open with the intention of allowing Marigold and Irma some time to sight-see. The only scheduled activity is lunch downtown, but when you arrive, only Marigold is waiting outside for you.
"Where's Irma?" you ask.
"She's meeting up with her cousin," Marigold answers. "Where's Jabir?"
"I don't know. He's not answering my calls." You notice her wrapping her fingers around her empty wrist. "I haven't heard anything from the warehouse."
"Yeah, Irma and I called a car and went down there this morning to look." She shakes her head, confirming what you already know.
"I am so sorry."
"It's my fault," she says, her eyes tearing up. "When I went to the jeweler's to return the chain, they said they could fix it. It seemed like it was working fine, but I should have just gotten a new one."
It's a beautiful day, and the city is brimming with people enjoying the sunshine. The noise of cars and pedestrians is all around you, and yet somehow the silence between you and Marigold is deafening.
"How about we --" you begin, but Marigold starts talking at the same time.
"Can we talk --"
You each give a half-hearted laugh that does nothing to ease the tension. Talking about what happened yesterday is the last thing you want to do. You were up most of the night thinking about it, wishing it had gone differently and yet unable to regret it. Between that and trying to get Jabir's "Why aren't you happy?" question out of your head, it's no wonder you didn't get out of bed until a little over an hour ago.
"Lunch?" you ask. It's not just a delay tactic. You haven't eaten yet today.
She eyes the restaurant, but shakes her head. "I think we should --" A car sitting at a light lays on its horn for a few seconds until traffic starts moving. Marigold tries again. "We should talk first. We're less likely to be overheard out here anyway."
Stomach tied up in knots, you gesture to Marigold to lead the way.
"I guess I'll start," she says, strolling slowly past cafes and shops. "I really like you." She casts a sideways glance in your direction. "Yesterday was totally crazy, and I'm not saying I didn't like it -- obviously I liked it -- but what I was talking about before that happened hasn't changed."
You turn the corner off Mass Ave, but the traffic is just as busy. Despite the sensitive subject matter, Marigold has to shout a little to be heard.
"You've been telling me since day one that you want this relationship to work," she says, "but if that's going to happen you need to be more honest with me. I'm not saying I need to go to your house right now to prove that you're not living some double life..." Another glance. "...but I feel like you're keeping something big from me, and no relationship can survive that kind of mistrust."
After a few silent strides, she continues. "I get that we've only been together for a couple months. I'm not saying you have to tell me all your secrets," she stops walking and looks at you, "but can you look me in the eye and say you've been completely honest with me?"
You do as she asks, meeting her beautiful gray eyes with your own.
What can you say? Just like with Jabir, you can't think of a time you ever outright lied to her, but -- also like Jabir -- there's no way she'll be cool with the whole "Technically..." angle. How can you come out of this without losing her?
Someone on a bicycle, riding on the sidewalk, rings his bell. "On your left!" he calls. You step forward, closer to Marigold, to make room for him. Standing in front of her like this, staring into her eyes, reminds you of yesterday, and your brain begins to descend into the same spiral of thrill and regret you've been struggling with all night. You can't deny it was a pretty hot few minutes. You never imagined Marigold would give in to temptation like that, which only made her that much sexier. But it was over so fast. Other than the satisfaction of rocking her world, you didn't really get to enjoy any of it.
The grinding in your brain comes to a screeching halt.
Of course! What happened yesterday didn't make you happy because it was too fast, too one-
sided. If you're going to turn Marigold's rejection into a full-on victory, you need a full-on epic night of bliss.
But that's not going to happen if she dumps you. Which she might. Which brings you back to your original question: What can you say?
Time to come clean. Somewhat.
You start walking again, and she stays close beside you. Bracing for the worst and hoping for the best, you begin. "When I saw you that night at the club and I told you it was pure coincidence running into you, that wasn't... entirely accurate."
She keeps her gaze on the sidewalk, her expression unchanging.
"I really was feeling like crap though, and I honestly had no idea you were going to be at that club. But the reason I went to San Francisco was to find you."
Marigold casts a surprised -- and slightly worried -- look at you. You keep talking. Quickly.
"I've always wondered what might have been if you'd said yes that night. Even though I've been with other women since then, the thought of you always stayed with me. When my last relationship ended, I realized that I could never be happy if I didn't at least try to find you and make something happen. I didn't know your name, so I went to the bar but no one could help me."
You stop walking and turn to her, needing her to see the truth in your eyes. "I thought that was it. I thought I'd never find you." You take her hands in yours. She doesn't pull them away, but there's still plenty of hesitation in her eyes.
"I went into that bar to drown my sorrows, and instead I found you. Of course, I had to listen to some terrible music first..."
A flash of humor brightens her eyes, and the corners of her mouth twitch with a stifled smirk.
"...but it turned out not to be so bad. And now I kind of even like jazz a little."
"No you don't," she says, half-smiling.
"No," you say with a chuckle, "I don't. But," you bring one of her hands to your lips, "I would listen to nothing but jazz if it meant we could stay together."
Her face goes serious again, her gaze fixed on her fingers. You kiss them again, steam slowly building in your center. Rubbing her other hand with your thumb, you start calculating the fastest way back to her hotel.
Suddenly she pulls her hands free and runs them through her hair. "You drive me crazy, you know," she says with a frustrated laugh. "When I'm with you, it's like..." She starts playing piano on the back of her hand.
You don't want to know.
But you do.
You have to know.
"Like what?" you ask.
Pressing her palms to her temples, she lets out a defeated sigh. Her hands drop to her sides. "Like I could lose myself if I'm not careful."
Chapter Eighteen
Whoa.
This is getting too heavy. Maybe you should just call it a win. You got what you came for, even if it wasn't perfect. Time to move on.
But you don't want to move on.
The realization kicks you in the gut, leaving you breathless.
You don't want to go anywhere. You want to stay right here, next to Marigold.
Oh no. No no no no no.
You blew it. You're in too deep. No wonder you went into panic mode when she said it wasn't working out. You're hooked.
The sidewalk starts to tip sideways. You make your way to the nearest stoop and sit down with your head between your knees.
Marigold hurries to your side. "What's the matter?"
Oh, nothing, just, ya know, losing my mind because I like you way, way too much.
"I haven't eaten yet today," you mumble, trying to calm your breathing. "I guess it's catching up with me."
"Why didn't you say something?" she asks, rubbing your back. "It's almost two, and it's got to be over eighty degrees out here. You're probably dehydrated."
That feels nice. Everything about Marigold feels nice. You lean against her, letting her firm yet tender touch lift you out of your dizzy spell.
Don't get too close, a voice whispers in your head.
Why not? If being with Marigold feels so good, then why shouldn't you just go with it? She's so sweet and sincere, there's no way she would ever lie to you. And she just admitted that she's head over heels for you, so she's not going anywhere. Maybe it's not simply sex with Marigold that you need to fill the gaping hole in your happiness, but a real honest-to-goodness relationship.
Slowly the world rights itself, the sidewalk resettling securely under your feet. You meet Marigold's worried eyes.
"Better?" she asks.
"Yeah, thanks."
"We should get you some lunch then," she says, standing up.
You grab her hand and gently pull her back down beside you.
"Don't you want to eat?"
"I need to tell you something first," you say, lacing your fingers through hers.
Her forehead creases with concern.
"I don't want you to lose yourself," you say. "I like yourself."
She lets out a relieved chuckle, her cheeks darkening as she looks down at your intertwined hands.
"I also don't want you to feel like you have to be careful with me," you continue. "I'm sorry I wasn't totally honest with you," -- and that I'm still not going to be, because that would definitely drive you away -- "but I didn't want to freak you out."
You bump your shoulder against hers. "It's your fault for being so gorgeous and unforgettable."
She arches an eyebrow at you, then smiles, shaking her head. "I knew you were trouble the first moment I saw you. Behind the bar -- who goes behind the bar? Troublemakers, that's who."
"If anything," you say, running a finger up and down the inside of her arm, "that should have proved to you what a good doobie I am. I could have walked out without even trying to pay."
"Mm-hmm," she says skeptically, although goosebumps are breaking out on her arm from your touch. "And what kind of doobie solicits sex from a total stranger?"
"Oh you loved it," you tease.
"Now I know you're delirious." She stands up, keeping hold of your hand to pull you up also. "Come on, it's time for you to buy me lunch."
"Isn't it your turn to pay?" you ask with a smirk.
She doesn't reply, her smile starting to fade as she looks at you.
Did you go too far? She's always so edgy about money. Maybe --
Your anxious inner monologue is hushed when she slides her arms around your neck and kisses you, a deep, passionate kiss that threatens to spin the world off its axis again. Thousands of tiny explosions go off everywhere her body touches yours. You wrap your arms around her, the outline of her bra pressing against your hands through her thin sun dress, stirring memories of yesterday
Marigold pulls back, mischief in her eyes. "I'm sure I can figure out a way to pay you back."
Oh yeah. This relationship stuff rules.
* * *
Unfortunately, sex in public establishments is frowned upon, and Irma ends up roping Marigold into having dinner with her cousin that night, so she doesn't get to follow through on her innuendo while in Boston. And even though she's not in school anymore, almost overnight your schedule fills up bringing Daly City on board, so after saying goodbye to her and Irma at the airport, almost an entire week passes before you see Marigold again.
Getting ready for the swanky fundraiser she's playing at, you pull out all the stops, wearing your sexiest dress and smokiest eyes. Tonight is the night. You can feel it. Both of you are going to be dressed to the nines, you'll dine, you'll dance, and at the end of the night you'll go to her place, let your fancy clothes fall to the floor, and have your way with each other.
And that will only be the beginning. For months you've been imagining this night as the end of your time with Marigold. How stupid was that? Now that you're in a full-fledged relationship, you can hang out with her all the time, and still have as much sex as you want.
Seriously -- you can't believe you were so afraid of this before. Relationships are great!
Now for the big question... underwear, or no underwear?
/> * * *
The fundraiser is for a local science museum. You've never been to it, but when you mentioned that you were attending the fundraiser to one of the Daly City school board members, he just about lost his mind, saying it's one of the coolest places in the city. When you pull up in front of the white two-story brick building, you're not sure what all the fuss is about. The location is nice, right on the water, but the tall glass facade and welcome banners all look pretty standard for a museum. You give the valet your keys and head in.
Oh. Okay. Now you get it.
The place is enormous, for starters. More like an aircraft hangar than a museum, the space is one gigantic room, running farther back than you ever would have guessed based on the view from the street. In the low light you can barely see the other end. There are exhibits all over the place, some housed in their own colorfully decorated enclosed rooms, while others are out in the common area and delineated by different flooring, like fake grass or big swirls of orange paint. Nestled among all of this enchanting chaos are giant inflatable sculptures, featureless figures as tall as the room in an array of colors and illuminated from within. A yellow one crouches near the museum entrance about to sprint, while a black one peeks out from behind a support beam.
While you'd love to explore this incredible place, the ticket attendant directs you to follow the narrow red carpet that's clearly been installed for the occasion. Making a note to take Marigold here sometime, you let the carpet lead you up a set of wide stairs and into a crowded event room. Jazz is being piped through speakers somewhere, but even though the walls and ceiling are made entirely of glass paneling, you can't see Marigold's group anywhere. You do see the bar, however, so you head over to get yourself a glass of wine before starting your search in earnest.
As you make your way through the packed room, someone grabs your ass.
"Hey!" you cry, but by the time your head whips around, all you catch of the culprit is a glimpse of his back disappearing into the crowd. Something about him feels familiar, and you're about to follow when a voice stops you.