Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series)

by Moondi, Romi

  And I had a plan.

  The first part of my plan was a visit to the museum. This membership has to pay for itself somehow.

  The second part of my plan was a phone call...with Erik.

  Every time I thought about Erik, I reminded myself that whatever next piece of contact we had, it should safely stay as “just friends.” That part was easy, but making sure it didn’t mean anything to me? This part was getting more difficult.

  I climbed the museum’s big swirling staircase, stopping at the renovated exhibit on Ancient Greece. I followed the row of busts all the way to a headless statue of Aphrodite. She was naked from the waist up, with ripples and ripples of marble cloth forming a flowing skirt. The lack of head made me instantly stare at her chest for a while. This was a great excuse for males to constantly look at a woman’s breasts, although a headless corpse was less than ideal as a girlfriend.

  I wondered what Aphrodite would say about meeting an interesting guy at the totally wrong time. She would probably tell me to go meet Dionysus, get drunk on all his wine, then go have sex with my brother.

  Thanks for nothing, Ancient Greeks.

  I found myself as I always did, unwittingly getting closer and closer to Ancient Egypt. It was all so unassuming; a few clay pots for a start, some hand tools to mark the earlier civilization, the primitive mummification in dirt ditches…and then, before I knew it, I was in a sarcophagi heaven.

  After my morbid tour of the dead, I made it to the very end where Ancient Egypt met Greece, and like always...the epic Cleopatra awaited me.

  Making certain that no one was around, I began my latest discourse with the bust.

  “A lot’s happened since we last spoke.”

  She nodded.

  No she didn’t.

  “I’m just wondering what I should do now, and you’re a pretty good person to ask. I mean...you seduced emperors with your wit, not your looks.”

  She seemed insulted.

  “So tell me, what do you do when you enjoy talking to someone, but you don’t want to break any rules?”

  Silence.

  “And what if it already feels like a rule or two’s been broken?”

  Nothing.

  “I’m basically asking you if I’m a whore.”

  Her being an inanimate bust was a definite obstacle in our friendship.

  “Oh whatever, one phone call isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

  I scurried back down the staircase for the chance to hear Erik’s voice.

  ***

  The little park beside the museum had turned into a favourite spot. After my phone calls with James had faded out, I’d often sit here doing final edits for my book, or making the roughest outlines for my second. I had to make the most of this nice autumn breeze while I could, as this place would be a frozen wasteland in a matter of weeks.

  I was getting free Wi-Fi from the museum, which would work out perfect for this Internet call. I found his name and placed the call, but I wasn’t terribly nervous. Of course I wasn’t, we were only the slightest of friends.

  “Hello there,” he said.

  That’s weird. “Why do you sound Scottish? Has your accent changed since May?”

  He laughed. “Not at all. I actually got home a little early from work---after working until eleven last night, Christ---and I was watching this documentary on the Scottish Highlands...”

  “Which turned you into a Scotsman all of a sudden? Also, you’re a dork. Like watching a documentary on the Highlands when you get home from work? Wow...”

  “What were you just doing again?” he asked.

  “Well...”I whispered. “I was at the museum.”

  “What’s that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “I was at the museum, OKAY?”

  He laughed. “Then who’s the biggest dork?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Anyway I was watching this show, and when I hear different accents I automatically pick up on them. I’m like a parrot.”

  My eyes widened. “I don’t know if I should be disturbed or send you crackers in the mail.”

  We both laughed.

  “You just reminded me,” he said. “I have a surprise for you.”

  I immediately blushed. “Huh?”

  “And here it is…sas-ri a kal.”

  I was dumbfounded. “Huh?”

  “Oh no, maybe I’m saying it wrong. I’ll say it faster: sasriakal.”

  My jaw dropped. “You just said ‘hello’ in Punjabi!”

  “Yes! Thank god you got it. Otherwise this would’ve been embarrassing.”

  I sat up straighter on the bench. “But where did you learn that?”

  He cleared his throat. “Every month I have to file my expenses. We always do it over the phone, and well...all the agents are in India.”

  “Ah, good old outsourcing. I see capitalism is alive and well!”

  He laughed. “It sure is. So yesterday I was talking to Jasmeet, and I asked her if she could help me with the language. So here is another: ki hal a?”

  I gasped. “Oh my god…you just asked me how I’m doing.”

  I really couldn’t understand what was happening in this moment.

  “Come on then, how are you doing?”

  My tone became a little more serious. “Erik, why did you learn all of this?”

  “Because I want to learn about you.”

  “But why? Usually that’s the last thing people learn; most people would rather see if I’m normal enough DESPITE all that cultural stuff.” I remembered James and his minimal interest in my culture. He would actually change the subject if I talked about it too long. Or maybe it was because the subject had always involved my frantic fear of arranged marriage. Who would want to talk about that? Fair enough.

  “Well I’m not one of those people who push culture out of the way,” he said. “When I meet new friends I like to learn everything about them. I’m curious like that.”

  Hearing him use the word “friends” was a calming moment, and from there we went on to discussing any highlights from work, including my high-heeled boss. We didn’t end our call until it was dark and my hands were freezing. Where did the time go?

  Talking to Erik was an effortless and addictive experience. I just had to make sure it stayed at only “talking”…

  Chapter Eleven

  October 1st. Steadily selling one or two books a day, blog tour was a relative success, and sold twenty extra copies to my friends and co-workers.

  I’d promised myself to ignore what my friends and co-workers said about the book. And why wouldn’t I? I had to see them on a regular basis, so of course they would lie to me if they didn’t really like it.

  Instead I focused on the blog reviewer feedback, which was both interesting and enlightening. Some of the bloggers said they laughed their asses off reading the book, calling it a fun rollercoaster. Others thought the book was well-written, but found it difficult to root for the main character, given that she was whiny and self-involved. I couldn’t really disagree, because I knew an Internet and love-obsessed character would be unappealing to many. Meanwhile I thought of how closely this character mirrored the real me...then I started to wonder how I had any friends.

  This awkward moment of self-examination didn’t last long, but I made a mental note about character development for the sequel.

  In the moment I had two friends at least, and their names were Amy and Eleanor. I waited for them in this classy bar, as I updated my book sales chart like a nerd. This new bar and steakhouse was now the local watering hole for almost everyone at work, with its convenient location across the street from our office. It was also the perfect place to hit on strangers without realizing they were ugly, since the lights were extremely dim at all times.

  I sat at a table near the back, while my computer screen lit up my face in what was surely an ugly bluish glow. As I finished colour-coding my spreadsheet, Eleanor and Amy huddled their way inside.

  The girls took off their coats and
sat across from me, immediately reaching for the wine lists.

  “You know you’re having the usual,” I said.

  Eleanor nodded. “Yeah.”

  It seemed like the girls and I were growing up, because unless it was a night at the club with cheap cocktails, white wine was now our regular drink.

  “So El,” I started, “How’s poker-face?”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “Just wait ‘til you hear about her date last night!” Poker-face was the artist formerly known as “supermodel-face,” the guy we’d spotted at the bar that night for Eleanor. It was the first time in my life I’d ever vicariously known a professional poker player. It immediately made me feel like he was the mayor of Douche-Bag City, so I was curious to hear about her date.

  I closed my laptop as she started.

  “Okay…so he’s totally rich.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t tell me if he’s a jerk or not. Go on.”

  “No I don’t think he is,” she said. “But I’m just not sure if I’m ‘feeling’ it.” It would take a special kind of guy to make Eleanor “feel it.” She had everything a guy could want: great looks, great body, smart-ass personality, an actual awesome ass, a sense of humour...I could’ve gone on but I was bordering on jealousy. Her special qualities meant a guy needed to bring a lot to the table for her. So far, all had failed.

  “So what’d you do on your date?” I asked.

  She gazed up at the ceiling like it had all the answers, then came back down to face me. “Well he took me to a really fancy wine bar…we talked…I made fun of him…”

  I nodded. “Sounds pretty standard.”

  “Then he brought me back to his place.”

  “Oooooh,” said Amy, in-between her sips of wine.

  “Why are you ‘ooohing’?” said Eleanor. “You already know the story.”

  Amy kept drinking and shrugged her shoulders.

  “So you were at his place...” I said.

  “Yes, and he has this amazing loft. He told me he once hosted a party for like forty people.”

  “Gahh…douche bag!” I cried.

  “Well I don’t know…”

  “You don’t? What kind of guy brags about the capacity level of his loft?”

  Amy laughed.

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “ANYWAY, we played poker, I beat him, he kissed me and then he drove me home…in his BMW convertible.”

  “Wow…” I said. “He totally let you win by the way.”

  Eleanor took a long sip of wine. “I know.”

  “So now what?” I asked.

  She pulled out her phone. “Well he’s messaging me all the time and he asked me if I’m free this weekend.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course I said no.”

  “Why? What are you doing this weekend?”

  “She isn’t doing anything!” cried Amy, her voice a few decibels louder after one glass of wine.

  Eleanor glared at Amy before continuing. “I just don’t have that, ’desire’ to see him right away.”

  This whole “not being obsessed with seeing someone” was a feeling I had a hard time connecting with. “Maybe you just don’t like him, El.”

  “But I had a good time!”

  “Fine. Then why don’t you give it another date to make sure?” I suggested. “Maybe he’ll offer you a ride in his private jet.” I smirked and took a sip of wine.

  She laughed. “Whatever.”

  “What about you Romes?” said Amy with a sly expression. “Any new guys on the front? Any old guys back in the picture? Hmm? Hmm?”

  This was a complicated question to answer, but with the help of a slight buzz I tried my best. “Well…James and I occasionally e-mail, but nowhere near as frantically as before. There’s the occasional phone call too, but there’s really no expectation attached. I just enjoy hearing his voice and talking about writing. “ I smiled for a moment but it quickly disappeared. “Then there’s Erik...”

  “I think Erik’s in love with you,” stated Amy.

  I shook my head “That’s impossible. We only met once, remember? It feels like that trip was a lifetime ago.” I sighed. “And don’t get me wrong, it was great to meet someone in person instead of on the stupid Internet, but it was ONE time. His e-mails and that phone call are screwing with my head a bit though.” I frowned. “He was the totally wrong person to meet.”

  “So you’re never going to speak to him again...right?” Eleanor had her eyebrow raised high like whenever she was making a point.

  “I really shouldn’t...”

  “How do you feel when you talk to him?” said Eleanor.

  I sighed. “I feel like I’ve known him in a bunch of different lifetimes. That’s how familiar he seems. I mean I love talking to James, but he’s so much more mysterious, which is a good thing but also a bad thing. With Erik I don’t have to wonder, it’s just a stream of connected thoughts.”

  “But…” started Amy.

  “BUT that’s all it will ever be,” I quickly said. “Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, he won’t be as close as New York City forever. And since he does have a serious girlfriend…danger zone.”

  “We’ll help you find another guy then!” said Amy.

  More guys?

  “Actually…it’s easy to forget about them both when I focus on my writing. It’s not the same as a guy, but it’s better than having to constantly pursue some idea of what love’s supposed to be.” I rolled my eyes. “So I’ll focus on writing instead.”

  Amy looked at me like there were tentacles growing out of my face. “Who are you?”

  I took the last sip of my wine. “I’m the spinster who needs another drink.”

  ***

  The cold of October was fully upon us, and my large assortment of scarves was back in the rotation. It was casual Friday at the office, which meant my once-a-week obsession with dressing like a writer was afoot: layered shirts, tights, funky boots and a multi-coloured scarf. I was living out my “mismatched fashion” writer dream.

  I told my parents I’d be skipping dinner for a work meeting, and given that I was making more money these days (which meant contributing more money to their mortgage payments), they didn’t really seem to mind. Maybe I could have told them I was meeting a friend (which was the truth), but any mention of friend would spiral into if there were men involved, at which point they’d assume that a gang rape was imminent.

  Ignorance is their bliss.

  Tonight I was meeting my best friend Laura for drinks, since I never got to see her as often as I liked, with my new focus on publishing and her continued focus on her boyfriend.

  She made her way to our usual table at our favourite haunt, with its inviting yellow walls and shiny black décor. This restaurant happened to be where all the artsy people and movie directors hung out, not just during the Toronto Film Festival but year-round. I didn’t know why that was relevant for me---the little writer selling two books a day---but somehow it felt important.

  We ordered our wine and she stared at me warmly. “Are you still talking to Erik?”

  “Actually…no.” I’d been distracting myself with my writing for the last two weeks, to fill in the void where my conversations with Erik used to be. I honestly wasn’t sure what had happened to him, I just knew he’d stopped coming online everyday for our usual mobile chatting. Knowing I had no place in his life, I hadn’t even tried to fight it.

  “You know what I think it was?” she said.

  I played with my scarf and eyed her curiously.

  “I think he was homesick. I think that’s how it was when he met you, which is why it was so easy to flirt…and I think that’s how it was when you talked on the phone.”

  “But how was I helping him with his homesickness in our phone calls? It’s not like he could reach out and grab me.”

  “Because you’re in the same time zone!” she said. “Think about it, by the time five o’ clock roll around, the love of his life falls asleep, and from there he’s alone in New York. I
’m sure he has friends, but you’re this awesome chick he can talk to when his girlfriend’s not around.”

  I felt like someone had slapped me awake from a spell, and luckily at that moment the wine arrived. “I never thought about it like that,” I said. “I’m like his ‘ho in a different area code.” I took the first sip and shook my head.

  She laughed. “You mean you WERE.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I WAS. Now I’m pretty sure we haven’t talked because of what you described. Like if he’d been using me to fill a conversation void, maybe he started to realize it was wrong.”

  Laura looked around the restaurant nervously. “Well that and...his girlfriend came to New York for a visit last week.”

  My eyes widened. “What?!” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since he already saw her once a month for his conjugal visits (gross), but it was. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? Instead of trying to ‘guess’ at why he wasn’t around?”

  Laura started to blush. “Well I thought I wouldn’t have to tell you at all. But once I started to notice that you’re kind of hung up on the guy...I had to bring down the axe.”

  Now it was my turn to blush. “Right...and the axe would be him and his girlfriend running around Manhattan like a couple of love birds...”

  Why did I suddenly feel like throwing up? And why did I even care?

  Laura took a small sip of wine. “Listen I don’t know the gory details, I just know he told Dave she was visiting.”

  “Right…”

  I wanted to be just fine with all these updates I was hearing, but it was hard to sit here and realize I’d only been a “stand-in.” Just something to fill the void when his girlfriend isn’t around.

  All I knew for the moment was that I needed to change the subject and fast. “How’s Dave?”

  “He’s fine,” she quickly said, but her face was suddenly looking a little grim.

  “And you’re obviously not.”

  “That’s because he’s screwing up my work-back schedule!”

  “Huh?”