What a Girl Wants

by Angie Coleman

  “There’s nothing more than a simple work relationship between me and Zach,” she replies, looking away. There’s something fishy going on.

  “But you wish there were something more,” I try guessing.

  “Why would I? He has his life and I have mine,” she insists. I know her too well not to notice something’s up.

  “What are you hiding from me?”

  Lillian stares at a random spot on the ceiling, then she looks at me for a moment and finally she returns her gaze to the floor, almost dejectedly, and sighs.

  “We kissed,” she confesses dispiritedly. Wow, she shouldn’t be depressed – that’s not usually what kissing does to her…

  “And…” I prod her to spit it out.

  “And nothing. That’s the point. We kissed one Friday evening and the next day he behaved as if nothing had happened.” Now I’m beginning to understand.

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “What was I supposed to say?” she bursts out, irritated – her typical reaction when she feels cornered.

  “You’re asking me? You’re the expert.”

  She seems to think it over for a few seconds, then looks at me with greater conviction. “You know? You’re right, I’m the expert. Tomorrow at work I’ll talk to him,” she concludes. Good, she’s back in ‘professional heart troubles consultant’ mode.

  “Imagine that Grandma thought Zach was married,” I let drop to see what happens. Lillian turns towards me with eyes that couldn’t be any wider.

  “Married?” the question comes out a few decibels too loud, so much so that Father turns in our direction with a curious expression.

  “He isn’t, is he?” If he were, we’d know about it, right?

  Lillian regains some composure. “I don’t think so, he doesn’t wear a ring, but why did Grandma Natalie think so?”

  “I have no idea, she just asked me to tell you to be careful, I guess because she thinks he’s married. I told her that if he were, everyone in Rochester would know about it, isn’t that so, Father?” better to seek confirmation from a more authoritative voice.

  “We buy meat from the Lorenzes every week; if their son were married, they would have told us. When he got his university degree, Magda told us every day for an entire week,” Father remarks ironically as he joins us after completing his round of the shop and after having scrutinized every corner.

  “Well, in any case, if Grandma says to be careful, you had better listen to her. As for the rest, if you want my opinion, Zach is a wonderful man,” I try to reassure her. Lillian smiles at me, carefree once again, or at least that’s what she wants us to think, and she begins to look around with interest.

  “So this is the location of the fanciest hand-made hat shop in the world?”

  “It seems so,” I confirm enthusiastically. “Do you like it?”

  “Absolutely!” She exclaims happily. “It has windows and lots of space, it’s only missing your hats.”

  “And a few pieces of furniture,” Father adds, ever practical.

  “Actually, some furniture wouldn’t be bad,” Lillian happily agrees.

  “We’ll take care of the furniture as soon as we’ve finished fixing up the rest,” I remind both of them, in case they’ve forgotten the walls still need finishing.

  “Sure, of course, one thing at a time,” Father finally agrees. Good, and with this the time has come to set to work if we don’t want to waste the entire morning. I give Lillian the brush and keep the roller for myself, while Father busies himself with the wiring and the ceiling. While we work, I can’t help but hope that sooner or later Jared will come down, too. It hasn’t even been a day and I already miss our routine bickering. Maybe I should have gone up to his place today, but it’s Sunday and I didn’t want to pester him after I took advantage of his help until late in the evening yesterday.

  We spend the entire morning working, though I continue to feel this odd sensation of expectation that makes me jump like a spring every time I think I hear the door. The only time the creak of the handle isn’t a figment of my imagination, I am disappointed to see it is just Jane, accompanied by Ernest, coming to pay us a visit.

  “Good morning, Wendell, you started early this morning,” Jane smiles when she sees us all covered in paint, especially as Lillian started waving without first putting down the brush.

  “The early bird catches the worm, as they say.”

  “Ah, old sayings! They always preserve a kernel of truth; don’t you think so too Erny?”

  “It sounds like the typical statement of a person who’s getting on in years, so I’d rather not answer that, Jane.”

  “You never change – as if you were young!” Jane fires back at him. I would never have thought Ernest was touchy on the subject.

  “I’m well preserved,” he retorts, making her snicker.

  “Wendell, pardon me, I haven’t introduced Erny, the third floor tenant,” Jane immediately changes her tone, earning herself a disapproving glare from the man standing beside her. Father doesn’t seem to notice, so much that he holds out a hand to Ernest with a polite smile.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You must be the owner of ‘Same as it Never Was Antiques’, the good man who sent my daughter here.”

  “I’m just an ordinary gentleman, Wendell, who saw in your daughter a lemon capable of turning into a grapefruit.” That’s a typical Ernest expression and I’d challenge anyone to guess what it means. In fact, Father looks at him with a slight frown, while Ernest’s firm grip nearly crushes his hand.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Father apologizes, seeking out Jane’s help with his eyes while she chuckles, increasingly amused.

  “Don’t mind what Erny here says, sometimes he’s a little crazy.”

  “Don’t underestimate my intelligence, Jane, it’s not craziness,” Ernest retorts, his inquisitive gaze alighting on Lillian. “And who is this pretty young lady?”

  “Lillian, nice to meet you, I’m Gil’s older sister, the one who is less naïve,” she introduces herself, not at all fazed by the manners of the oddest guy in history.

  “Nice to meet you, my name is Ernest, despite what Jane says. Ernest, not Ern, nor Ernie, just Ernest,” he remarks with a touch of hauteur, which on him manages to preserve a respectful tone that makes it impossible to find him obnoxious. One day I’ll have to get him to tell me his secret.

  “It’s almost noon,” Jane breaks in, putting herself between the man who can do anything and the less naïve sister. “Why don’t you all come to my place for lunch? I’ve made sausages and mashed potatoes. I’ve finally managed to find Cumberland sausages, so you really can’t say no.” Now, there’s something Jane doesn’t know, but it won’t be long before she finds out. She’ll just need to glimpse my father, Wendell Bennett’s expression to realize there is a single weak spot one can use as leverage to win him over: meat, especially if it’s a special variety or cooked following a traditional recipe. So how could he say no to such a savory invitation? Before Lillian and I can stop him, he’s holding his phone and dialing Grandma Natalie’s number to let her know we won’t be back for lunch.

  “He never changes,” Lillian mutters.

  “It’s true,” I find myself agreeing in spite of myself.

  “I guess that’s a yes,” Jane’s wrinkly smile appears on her face as if by magic.

  “Your deductive skills are impressive, Jane – as usual,” Ernest mocks her, but Jane doesn’t respond; she simply turns and goes for the door.

  “Well then, it’s almost ready, I’ll be expecting you upstairs and… Wendell, you did remember the hats, didn’t you? I’m looking forward to seeing one of our Gil’s masterpieces,” she adds before she heads up the stairs.

  When we sit down at the table, there are six of us: Lillian, Father, the lady of the house, Ernest, Margherita, and myself. Needless to say, I’m disappointed. When I saw Margherita enter, I hoped for a moment that Jared would be joining us. Instead, he is once again notably
absent.

  Of course, my disappointment does not escape Jane’s keen eye. She takes me aside, with the excuse of helping her bring the food to the table.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” she asks, putting a bowl full of peas in my hands.

  “No, Jane, there’s nothing wrong.”

  “It looked like you were expecting someone,” her tone is even, but she still can’t spare me the embarrassment of having been so easily exposed.

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” I try to save myself without much success.

  “If this anyone you aren’t expecting is called Jared, I think your expectation might end in the early afternoon,” she reveals with a complicit look as she grasps the pan with the sausages and gestures me towards the table.

  “What do you mean?” in an instant I foil any attempt to conceal my interest, but I can’t refrain.

  “I stopped by to invite him to lunch and I found him buried in his usual papers. The odd thing is that he looked much better rested than usual. It seems like he has urgent work he needs to get done this morning because later he probably has to help a certain girl with the renovation of the shop she’s rented here on the ground floor,” she explains as if she were talking about someone she doesn’t know. I light up and an exceedingly evident smile blooms unbidden on my face. So I was right: he does care about me. “I really think your company is good for him, dear, I’ve never seen him so relaxed. I’m really glad, Jared is a young man and he should live a more carefree life, without always bearing his burden so heavily.”

  Euphoric, I set the bowl on the table and sit next to Jane who gives me a wink. I can’t wait for this meal to be over and the early afternoon to come, as Jane calls it. I would have preferred a more accurate indication, but I’ll make do.

  It’s past three when Lillian, Father, and I return to the shop and resume work. We should have got back sooner, but the show-and-tell of the two hats Father brought from Rochester (including the one I won the County Prize with) took longer than I thought. I have to admit that Jane and Margherita’s admiration touched me. I can’t wait for the opening. Father is taking care of the ceiling, the hardest part of this refurbishing, while Lillian and I resume painting the walls. Rather, Lillian is painting, while I alternate a glance to my watch and one to the door, trying not to be caught doing so. Luckily, Lillian is deep in one of those monologues that you know when they begin, but never when they’re going to end, about what happened with her and Zach. I missed the third time she told me how magical the kiss was, after all she isn’t very creative and I got the idea the first time round. I’m afraid Zach won’t survive the chat she intends to have with him tomorrow… but I’m sure we’re missing something here. I hope Lillian takes it easy; if Grandma Natalie doesn’t trust him, there must be a reason – and she’s usually right.

  I’m beginning to lose hope, when I hear the creak of the door handle and I see Jared appear in the entrance. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, which means he’s come to help me, right?

  I rush over to him.

  “Finally! I was beginning to think you’d been sucked into your computer screen,” I greet him happily.

  “Why? Where you expecting me?” he feigns ignorance.

  “No, why should I?”

  “Because without me you’re as slow as a snail?”

  “That’s not at all true, at worst I’m a tortoise, which is a lot cuter than a snail,” I retort. Snails are slimy.

  Jared laughs and I can’t help but think that he really looks much more relaxed than usual – and the smile suits him a lot. The idea that it may be my doing makes me feel special like never before. I don’t have time to gloat, because Lillian comes over with a shrewd expression and a raised eyebrow.

  “So he’s your we,” she observes, as if I could miss the innuendo.

  “Jared, this is my sister Lillian,” best make the introductions before the situation gets too embarrassing. Jared holds his hand out to my sister, who clasps it with pleasure and gives me a knowing smile.

  “You didn’t tell me he was so handsome,” she muses, not at all satisfied. At least Jared looks as embarrassed as I am.

  “Cut it out,” I scold her under my breath, hoping to silence her before it is too late.

  “What? I just made an objective observation, what’s wrong with that?”

  “Your observation is what’s wrong.” If only she knew how hard I worked to obtain Jared’s trust, she would avoid frightening him off with her stupid insinuations. Whether they contain a grain of truth – because in fact Jared is somewhat more than handsome – is beside the point. Right now I don’t want to think about it, it would complicate matters which are already complicated enough as it is.

  “What brings you to this not so homey place?” my sister ignores me, devoting all her attention to the man standing before her. Jared looks first at me, then at her, and then at me again. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, but he is saved by a timely intervention on the part of my father, who has descended from the ladder and joined us.

  “Lillian, stop interfering in your sister’s life,” he scolds her. Thanks, Father.

  “Jared, this is my father, Wendell Bennett. Father, this is Jared. He lives upstairs and yesterday he gave me a hand with the painting,” I introduce them.

  Father smiles and holds his hand out to Jared, who however, does not reciprocate. I look at him and notice he is paralyzed. His eyes are wide open and he is wearing an expression of amazement, as if he can’t believe what he is seeing.

  “Hey, are you ok?” I try to rouse him, setting a hand on his arm. It takes him a few seconds to react, he shifts his gaze from my father to me and whispers, “Bennett?”

  “Yes, it’s my last name,” I reply, trying to figure out what’s wrong. He blinks a couple times, as if he were trying to wake up from a bad dream, then he begins to back up until he reaches the door.

  “Sorry, Gil, I just remembered I have an important errand to run. Next time, maybe,” he dismisses me, leaving in a hurry and nearly running up the stairs.

  “What came over him?” Lillian asks, more amazed than I am.

  “I have no idea,” I grudgingly confess.

  I was hoping I had started to figure him out, instead I’m still at square one, like on the first day.

  8

  I should have forgiven him this new episode of oddness, but I couldn’t. I turned it over in my head all night, and finally I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up early, I gobbled down a few cookies and a generous helping of coffee, and I ran over here, to the second floor and now I am in front of Jared’s apartment.

  I have a feeling I care about him more than I expected, and I strongly feel the need to understand what is going on. I am trying to convince myself that all this concern is merely caused by the friendship that is budding between us, but I can’t seem to manage it for some reason.

  It’s not even seven, and it is the time that drains me of the courage to immediately ring the bell; however, it makes no sense to spend the entire morning staring at the door. I put a furtive ear to the wood hoping to hear something, but there is no sound. Finally I give in, I take a deep breath, and I knock. I am expecting to have to wait at least ten minutes before Jared comes to the door, instead one attempt is sufficient for him to appear. Odd.

  “Hi,” I say simply, looking into those eyes I am slowly coming to know too well. There’s something tormenting him, I know. What I don’t know is how to get him to open up to me.

  “Hi,” he replies dispiritedly, his gaze roaming uncertainly across the floor near my feet.

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  “If I said no, would you leave?”

  “No,” I reply resolutely, and it seems he was expecting it, because he sighs and moves aside to let me through. I step in and find myself ensconced in his dark living room, lit only by the light coming from the screen of the computer on the coffee table. It’s enough for me to reach the window by and open the curtains. It
’s a bit cloudy today, but at least some natural light seeps in. Jared stands still, near the open door, watching me until he understands there is no hope of my leaving without an explanation. I move the fleece blanket, sit on the couch, and look at him, waiting for him to join me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I try the delicate approach. If there’s something I’ve understood about him is that it’s pointless to attack him, especially when it looks like he’s been up all night.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I wouldn’t say so. Yesterday you were a whole different person, and now you look like you haven’t slept in a week. What happened? Come on, spit it out,” I order authoritatively. He snorts and lets himself sink against the back of the couch, covering his face with both hands.

  “Nothing special happened, just the usual routine,” he insists without looking me in the eye.

  “It may well be the usual routine, but it’s time you talked to someone about it.”

  “I’m ok, I’m fine,” he replies more vehemently than necessary, suddenly sitting up straight and looking at me crossly. Typical reaction caused by lack of sleep – it’s evident.

  “You can deny it as much as you want, just know that I have no intention of leaving until you tell me what’s going on.” I may well be obstinate, but I can’t ignore it. I had the impression I had managed to at least partially tear down the wall he mulishly raises around himself, and instead, yesterday afternoon I found myself facing an even taller one.

  “You…” he seems torn, “you wouldn’t understand,” he bursts out in one breath.

  “Try me,” I insist, unyielding. He looks at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m in earnest. Then he lowers his head and passes his hand through his hair. When his eyes meet mine again, I have the feeling he’s made a decision, or that’s what I hope.

  “It’s about my job,” he begins, searching for words. I imagine it’s difficult for him to open up to people, but if he doesn’t want to implode, he needs a friend to confide in, and I would like to be that friend.

  He’s about to resume talking when the doorbell stops him. I turn, glancing at my watch. It’s only ten past seven. Who could it be at this hour? Jared sits still by my side until the bell rings again. Only then does he stand and go to the door.