The Good Byline

by Jill Orr

  After he left for the day in the late afternoon, I called my mom to see if she’d heard any gossip that might make sense of Dr. H’s odd behavior. She hadn’t.

  “He’s probably telling you the truth, honey,” she said, her voice tinged with impatience at my inability to take anything at face value. “Don’t worry about Dr. H. He’s a grown man and can take care of himself. Now. Onto more important stuff. You never told me about your date the other day! Did you two make a luuuuuuuuv connection?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Is he not your type? He sounded so nice.”

  “He was—is—nice, but it just didn’t go well.”

  “What does that mean, Riley?” She sounded impatient again.

  “If you must know, Mother, I cried.”

  “You cried?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he took me on a roller coaster.”

  “But you hate roller coasters.”

  “Hence the crying.”

  “Why would this man take you on a roller coaster if you hate them?”

  “Because I told him I liked them.”

  “Why on earth would you do that?”

  I sighed, a sound I patented back in my sullen high school days. “Because I wanted him to think I was cool. You know, the kind of laid-back girl who does cool, fun things.” As soon as I heard myself say the words, I realized what I’d done. I was, without realizing it, trying to be more like the bizarro-me, the one Ryan was currently into as opposed to the boring version he left behind. My eyes started to well.

  My mom lowered her voice and spoke softly. “Riley, you are perfect just the way you are. You should never, ever, feel you need to be someone else to please a man.”

  Her words settled onto my shoulders like a warm blanket, but I wasn’t about to let her know that. One of the constants in my relationship with my mother was that she provided empathy when I needed it most, while I pretended not to need it at all. I cleared my throat and said loudly, “Anyway…I thought maybe I’d see if we could try again?”

  “That’s a great idea! Like a date do-over!”

  “Something like that.”

  “Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?” I could practically see her smile through the phone. “Seven months ago, I was afraid you’d never stop crying. And now look at you. You’re dating, you’re writing again. You’re really stepping up to the plate.”

  I wondered how much of her emotional reaction was pride and how much was relief. I know how worried my mom had been about me after Ryan left.

  “Honey, you have to get out of bed,” I remember her pleading with me as she stood in my dark room three days after he’d left, literally pulling me out by my arms. I hadn’t wanted to get up. I hadn’t wanted to eat or read or go outside. I hadn’t wanted to do anything. I missed a whole week of work. I can’t say that I ever thought about killing myself, especially after losing Granddaddy that way, but back then, I certainly didn’t feel like I had much to live for.

  “I’m trying, Mom,” I said. “I really am.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Ajay257 lived in West Bay, a small bedroom community about fifteen minutes west of Tuttle Corner, but said he had some business in Tuttle the next day, and so we planned to meet on our lunch breaks. I’d chosen the Rosalee Tavern as our meeting place partly because it was one of the only places in town without the word “hut” or “shack” in the title, but also out of spite. Rosalee’s had been my place with Ryan. It was where we’d celebrated all of our relationship milestones. I figured I’d casually let it slip to Ryan that I had a lunch date there, and then he could see how it felt to be replaced.

  A red-lipped Rosalee greeted me with a smile. And a single menu.

  “Um,” I said, tucking a strand of my dark hair behind my ear, “I’m actually meeting someone today.”

  “D’accord,” she said casually, with her exquisite French accent that I suspected was as much a reason for the restaurant’s popularity as the food. Tuttle Corner, not known for embracing outsiders, had made an exception for Rosalee when she moved here over a decade earlier. She’d come to America as an au pair for a prominent family up in Washington, DC. No one knows the exact story, but rumor has it she’d had an affair with the dad, and when his wife found out, she insisted Rosalee leave immediately. Instead of sending her back to France, the husband moved her down here (just three short hours away from DC) and set her up with this café. Whether it was her mysterious nature, her good looks, or her blind confidence, Rosalee was immediately adopted as Tuttle’s token exotic foreigner.

  She suppressed a slight smile as she plucked another menu from the hostess stand and led me to a table by the window. “Enjoy, mademoiselle.”

  The first time I came in without Ryan, Rosalee had given me a chocolate croissant on the house and said, “The best revenge is living well.” Then, in the perfectly offhanded way of French women, she added, “And it never hurts to take another lover.”

  I wondered what she’d think when Ajay walked in. One could argue that he was definitely a more impressive prospect than Ryan. He was handsome, smart, a productive member of society—and, most importantly, actually interested in me. It may have been vengeance that had gotten me there, but as I sat in the café that day, I caught a flickering glimpse of a future in Tuttle Corner that didn’t include Ryan Sanford. It was the closest thing I’d felt to excitement in a long while.

  There were still a few minutes until Ajay was due to arrive. I took out my phone and checked it. No new messages. I took a sip of lemon water and debated unrolling my silverware from the napkin, but then decided it would look too eager. The last thing I needed to do was look too eager. I checked the time on my phone again. Nine and a half minutes to go. Why did I get here so early? I hated sitting alone at restaurants. I felt like everyone was looking at me and thinking, “Poor Riley, all alone. Bless her heart.”

  Since I hadn’t thought to bring a book, I reached into my bag and pulled out Jordan’s planner. I flicked through the pages. Budget meetings, pitch sessions, story deadlines, interview appointments—Jordan had all the entries you’d expect a young journalist to have noted in her planner. June 21st staff meeting at 9 a.m. June 23rd parents’ anniversary dinner. On June 28th, in red pen she’d written “Walk the Moon in concert at the National” with a heart next to it. Was the heart because she loved the band…or the person she was going with? Next Monday, she had a vet appointment. And the weekend after next, she was co-hosting a wedding shower for someone named Andie. This didn’t look like the calendar of someone who was depressed, let alone suicidal. I made a mental note to call Andie and see if she had any clues as to what had been going on in Jordan’s life.

  “Riley Ellison!” An aging, honeyed voice broke through my thoughts. It was Eudora Winterthorne. If you looked up “steel magnolia” in the dictionary, you’d see Eudora’s picture. She had flawless makeup and perfectly coiffed silver hair swept up into a chic chignon, and she was wearing a fuschia silk shantung blouse and white linen wide-legged trousers. She smiled as Faye rolled her up to my table. “How lovely to see you again, darling.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Winterthrone.” I rose to kiss her cheek and gave Faye a hug while I was up.

  “Sit, sit.” She motioned at my chair and furrowed her perfectly penciled-in brows. “I can’t stand talking to people’s middles.”

  Obediently, I sat.

  “Now, Riley,” Mrs. Winterthorne began, “how are you holding up?” She’d always made it her business to know everyone else’s, so I wasn’t surprised by the question. Everyone in town said the only secret Eudora Winterthorne ever kept was her age.

  “I’m doing fine,” I said. “It’s just so sad.” I thought of all the things listed in Jordan’s planner that she would never get to do.

  “Sad?” She practically choked on the word. “Plain stupid is more like it!” Mrs. Winterthorne was known to be a little fiery, but this seemed harsh even for her.

  �
�Well, I mean—”

  “I can’t understand what that boy was thinking.”

  “Wait, what boy?” I thought she was talking about Jordan.

  “Ryan, of course!” She looked at me like I was insane.

  Ryan? No one had asked me about him in months. Maybe Mrs. Winterthorne’s mind was finally beginning to slip?

  “Oh, I’m fine about him.”

  “Really?” Her eyes narrowed. “I would have thought it would have been quite a shock?”

  “Well, it was at first,” I said, eyeing the door for Ajay. “But, you know, life goes on!” I forced a hearty chuckle.

  “Hmpf,” she said, “I mean, to think he just—”

  Rosalee appeared out of nowhere and interrupted her thought. “Your table, mesdames.”

  “C’mon now, Eudora.” Faye smiled at me as she tipped Mrs. Winterthorne back on her wheels to turn her round. “See you later, Riley.”

  “Give my best to your mother,” Mrs. Winterthorne said as she was being rolled away.

  As I slid Jordan’s planner back into my back, I was startled to see Ajay standing in front of our table.

  “Oh, hi!” I said and stood up so quickly I knocked Jordan’s planner to the floor.

  He bent down to pick it up. “Here you go.” Our finger-tips brushed together as I took it back from him. I felt a current of attraction that took me by surprise.

  “What a cool place,” Ajay said as we both settled into our chairs. He gave me a toothpaste-commercial-quality smile. Had I been too nervous the other day to realize just how handsome he was? The smooth brown skin, the coffee-bean eyes, and the wavy black hair. His exotic good looks made him look slightly out of place in Tuttle Corner. But in the best possible way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rosalee give me an approving nod.

  I felt a nervous flutter in my belly, the kind I got in sixth grade gym class when it was time for the captains to choose teams for dodgeball. “Is this your first time here?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’ve heard good things, though. Been meaning to try it. By the way,” he said, looking up from his menu, “I’m really sorry about the roller coaster thing—”

  I held up a hand to stop him. “Not your fault. I was just having a rough day.”

  He smiled. “Fair enough.”

  Rosalee came to take our order, and we sat in a small lull of silence after she left. Having gotten most of the what-do-you-do/where-did-you-grow-up questions out of the way on the last date, we were free to talk about slightly more personal things. He asked me if I’d always wanted to be a librarian.

  “Well,” I said, blushing, “I’m not actually a librarian.”

  “Oh, I thought you said—”

  “I did, I mean, I do work at the library,” I said quickly. “But I’m not a proper librarian. Librarians have degrees in library science, and there’s no undergraduate program for that. I was an English major, so technically, I can’t call myself a librarian.” I looked down and fiddled with my knife, seeing Tabitha’s sneering face in my mind.

  “Who knew?” he said with a half-smile. “You know, you could have just called yourself a librarian, and I’d never have known the difference.”

  “But then our relationship would have been built on lies.” It was out of my mouth before I could think about how it sounded. Our relationship? We’d had one failed date and were fifteen minutes into a second, and I called what we had a relationship? What the hell was wrong with me? I laughed to try to cover it up. With any luck, he’d think I was kidding.

  It was hard to tell Ajay’s reaction, mostly because I was too embarrassed to look at him, but I could feel his dark eyes on me. After a beat he said, “Well, I say if you work in a library, you’re a librarian. At least in my book.” Then he made the rim-shot noise.

  I laughed, this time for real. “What about you? You said you moved here from New Jersey?”

  “Yeah, I was looking to make a change and a job opened up teaching at Cardwell College.”

  “And you teach criminology?”

  “Sort of.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m teaching a class on explosives in the criminal justice program. I did some work for the NJPD Bomb Squad, so I was a natural fit for the position.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. It isn’t like in the movies,” he said. “People think it’s all sweating over whether to cut the blue or the red wire. But it’s mostly a lot of boring lab work. Teaching is much scarier.”

  We talked through our salads, the conversation pleasant and easy. I found, to my surprise, that I was able to relax around Ajay, despite my tendency to get nervous around guys I find attractive. When Rosalee placed the bill on the table, she made eye contact with Ajay first. “It was a pleasure, monsieur.” Then she winked and nodded at me. “Mademoiselle.”

  “A friend of yours?” he asked.

  I smiled, my cheeks heating up again. I reached for the check. It had been me who suggested the date, after all.

  “Not a chance.” He swiped the check out from under my grasp. “What would your friend think of me if I let you pay?”

  Okay. I hate admitting this, because it was a little old-fashioned and probably not very feminist of me, but I liked that he did that. It made me feel special. With Ryan, I had paid for nearly everything, because he almost always forgot his wallet.

  Once we were outside on the sidewalk, Ajay said, “I’m really glad we did this again.”

  Standing there together directly in front of Rosalee’s window, the nervous feeling in my stomach was back. In a few seconds we would say goodbye, and I wasn’t sure how that was supposed to go. Do I lean in for a kiss? Stick my hand out for a cordial handshake? Neither option seemed quite right. I had been out of the dating loop for so long I wasn’t sure of the etiquette. I cursed myself for not springing for the extra $12.95 for the DPS.

  “Me too,” I said, too nervous to look him in the eye. “And I’m sorry again about the other day. That was,” a tight laugh escaped my throat, “really embarrassing.”

  “No worries. Everyone has off days.” Then he reached out and touched my forearm. It wasn’t an intimate gesture, but it wasn’t wholly un-intimate either. Somewhere between Mazel tov on your bat mitzvah and I like you.

  What happened next, I’ll blame on the sheer terror I felt over the prospect of a goodbye kiss. There can really be no other explanation for what I said other than just needing to say something—anything—to stall for time. “Yeah, actually I’d just heard that my friend from high school had passed away, so I wasn’t at my best.”

  As soon as I said it I was horrified. I couldn’t believe I used Jordan’s death like that. First, I used it to shame Tabitha, and now I was using it as an excuse for being a roller-coaster wimp. Jordan’s death had nothing to do with how I behaved on our date and I knew it. I was going to hell. It was that simple.

  “I’m so sorry, Riley.”

  “Thanks.” I looked at my shoes, guilt bearing down on me. Beads of sweat gathered at my hairline—and it wasn’t just because it was ninety-eight degrees outside. “It wasn’t—I mean, we hadn’t actually been close for a while. It was just…you know, um, sad.”

  “I do know.” Ajay was looking at me when I finally raised my eyes off the pavement. His look was so filled with kindness and understanding, I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “I’m lying!” I blurted out.

  Ajay’s face changed from empathy to confusion in a split second.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, not completely or anything. I mean, I am completely sorry—but I didn’t completely lie. My friend really did pass away, that’s true, but it wasn’t the reason I cried on the Hurler.” The words were falling out of my mouth faster than I could catch them. “I lied to you about liking roller coasters. The truth is I hate them. In fact, I hope I never, ever, ever have to go on one ever again. And just so you know, I hate beer too. And hot dogs. Well, I don’t really hate hot dogs, but I don’t usually eat them. My parents are vegans,
and even though I’m not, a little of their craziness has rubbed off on me, and hot dogs just kind of cross the line, you know?”

  Ajay’s mouth hung open. He didn’t know. But I kept talking, my words like a runaway train. “So the thing is, you seem really nice, and despite what it seems like, I mostly am an honest person, so I just couldn’t let you leave here thinking that I cried on our date because my friend died. Or that I liked roller coasters…or beer…or hot dogs.…”

  His handsome face had contorted into a mixture of shock and something else. Was it embarrassment? Confusion? Disgust? He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again.

  I was mortified. Why couldn’t I have just said “Thanks for lunch” like a normal person? I had to come clean. I had to tell him the absolute truth. I could see myself reflected in his sunglasses—two small tufts of hair above each of my ears had come loose and they looked like two tiny question marks. I looked like a crazy person. I sounded like a crazy person. The hot sting of tears began to collect behind my eyes. Oh God no. No. No. No. No. I could not cry in front of this man again! I had to get out of there fast.

  “So anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Thanks for lunch!” I leaned up on my toes, kissed his cheek, and raced off like a cockroach at first light. I didn’t look back to see how long Ajay stood there trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened.

  Dear Miss Ellison:

  I am sorry about your emotionally turbulent lunch date with Ajay257. While I’m not sure I can agree with your assessment that you are a “total loser” or a “complete spaz,” please note that we all find ourselves feeling blue from time to time, and I do not think this makes you an “undatable trainwreck.” #cheerupbuttercup

  But since you do seem to be having a hard time right now, I wanted to make you aware of an additional service available through Click.com that might be able to help! Our Mental Readiness Service, or MRS division, specializes in helping love-seekers reign in their unruly emotions and get their heads back in the game! Being overly emotional during the beginning of a relationship can make you seem needy. And we all know the stink of desperation kills a budding romance faster than bad breath! Our MRS division can provide you with options to help soothe your insecurities through personalized daily affirmations, guided meditations, and special yoga retreats for the romantically challenged! For a mere $14.95/month, our MRS division will put your emotions through a boot camp and whip you into shape! If you are interested in adding the MRS to your current plan, please let me know! #loveisntforsissies