Wanderlove - Rachel Blaufeld

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “What’s up?” I asked when I called her back from the break room.

  “What’s up with you?”

  “Working. You know, living the great American dream.”

  “Yeah, I feel you. Anyway, I was hanging with my mom during one of her treatments, and I told her how much you love Paula’s painting. She has another one in the back of her closet. You want it?”

  “Um, how much does she want for it?” I tried to temper the buzz of excitement jolting through my veins.

  “It’s for you. Nothing, if you want it.”

  “I can’t take it. Your mom probably wants to keep it anyway.”

  “Emerson, I said you could have it. Hey, why don’t you come up to the bakery later in the week, and we can go for happy hour?”

  “Oh, okay. Thursday?”

  “Good. Okay, gotta run and get my mom some broth.”

  “Tell her I’m thinking of her. I mean, even though I don’t know her.”

  “I know what you mean. See you Thursday.”

  She disconnected the call, and before I could put my phone away, it buzzed with a text.

  I’m coming up to meet with my adviser next Tuesday. See you then?

  Robby. Shit. I’d forgotten all about him in the last twenty-four hours. Obviously, he wasn’t that important. Or as important as I’d made him out to be. Whatever.

  With no clue how to respond, I shoved the phone back in my pocket.

  Later that evening, on the brink of early in the morning, my phone went off again. Back in bed, I was tempted to ignore it and close my eyes.

  Anger swelled in me at Robby. How could he demand my attention next week when he’d basically sided with my dad?

  Setting my anger aside, I checked the phone and found a text from Price.

  Thinking of me?

  Actually, I was, but I wasn’t about to admit it to Price. Instead, I set my phone to DO NOT DISTURB and went to sleep.

  I was sure there must have been some dating rules as to when and where and how and what I should reply to Price. With zero patience for looking them up or googling what I should do, when I woke up the next morning, I fired off:

  Just counting the water marks on my ceiling & waiting for the coffee to finish.

  He responded right away.

  You sure make a guy work for it.

  For what?

  A second date. What did you think?

  Coffee’s ready. Gtg. Text next time you’re on my side of the water.

  After flicking my screen off, I buried myself under the covers and wished what I’d said about the coffee was true. I should go home was floating through my mind, but I was too stubborn.

  Finally, I pulled myself out of the sheets and made coffee and went about my daily routine, trying to forget it all—Price kissing me, Robby coming to town, and missing my dad.

  “Michelob,” was shouted at me from across the bar.

  “We don’t have it. Try an IPA or something from the draft board,” I hollered back without looking up, continuing to make the drink in front of me.

  “What’s that?” the familiar voice asked, still pestering me.

  “Gin fizz.”

  I knew who it was, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with how Price made me feel.

  “I’ll take one of them. Make your life easy.”

  “A gin fizz? That’s what you’re gonna drink? You?” I finally looked up, catching his messy hair, sneaking out from the hood of his sweatshirt. It was old, and probably just the right amount of worn-in soft.

  “Sure, why not?”

  I held up a finger, signaling for him to wait a sec, and delivered the gin concoction down the bar. When I came back, I said, “Because it’s a craft cocktail, and you consider yourself a small-town dude.”

  “Surprise me. Make me whatever you want. How’s that?”

  “What are you doing here?” I leaned on the bar, eyeing him up, my attitude covered in a fresh coat of badass. In reality, I wanted to crawl into his sweatshirt and go somewhere quiet with him.

  “Me?” He pointed at himself with his thumb. “Getting an adult beverage.”

  “Aren’t there like twelve-point-two bars and restaurants per block up where you live?”

  “Twelve point four, but who’s counting?”

  I grabbed a shaker and mixed a surprise for Price, sticking a cherry in the finished concoction.

  “Mmm.” After taking a sip, he licked his lips, raising an eyebrow in question.

  “Sex on the Beach.”

  “Perfect. Not my kind of drink, but definitely would be my kind of sex . . . I’m guessing on that, by the way.”

  “Guessing?”

  He blinked, his eyelids closing over his blue eyes for a second. “Never been to the beach.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. Nope.”

  “The other night when I was telling you how I’m from a beach town, you didn’t say a thing,” I said.

  “I didn’t want to spoil your story. You looked so happy talking about home.”

  Christ, he was right. I was so happy thinking about home.

  “Hey, want to take care of some other customers,” some prick yelled.

  “Wanna take me to the beach?” Price asked before he knocked back the remainder of his drink.

  “I have to go help them.” I tilted my head down the bar.

  Waving his empty glass at me, he said, “Then come back, because I don’t have a drink anymore.”

  I poured a couple of brews, mixed a margarita for some girl with a permanent scowl and a bad nose job, before snagging a bottle of beer and placing it in front of Price.

  “Heineken. I’ll make do.” He took a sip with me watching the liquid roll down his throat. “Eyes up here,” he said, and my cheeks burned.

  “So, tell me, what are you doing back here tonight?” I shoved a flyway hair behind my ear and grabbed my water.

  “Wanted to see you.”

  “No funny pickup line or made-up excuse?”

  He shook his head. “Not my style. At the risk of you laughing, I’m still going to ask. Want to come over my way this weekend? Eat, and then walk through the park?”

  Of course, he didn’t work two jobs to make ends meet, but his life circumstances weren’t his fault. “Um, I work Saturday lunch.”

  “No prob. Sunday?”

  I nodded, tongue-twisted, words lost to me. Was he for real?

  “Great, it’s a date,” he said, smacking the bar. He threw down a fifty and tossed me a peace sign.

  “I can’t—” I tried to protest, but he was already out the door.

  Price

  My feet hit the pavement in even strides. Heavy, humid air hung around me, and I ran a hand over my face, swiping the sweat out of my eyes. A horn blared in the background, less abrupt than the pounding in my heart. Not from exertion, but from the thought of kissing Emerson the other night.

  Fuck. I didn’t know why I was so caught up about it. I’d had plenty of women since leaving Moira and home. We had an arrangement. Then I’d gone and visited Em at work . . . and it became clear that anything with her would be above and beyond the arrangement Moira had in mind.

  The sound of horse hooves rang off to my left as I made my way down Central Park South. My first mistake: I’d abandoned my earbuds for my own thoughts. They plagued me all the way back to my building.

  “Hey there, Mr. Price. How was your run?”

  “Better now that you got my damn name right, Rudy. Now if you’d just drop the mister, we’ll be right as rain.” The last part came out with a hint of twang, and it made me hungry for a plate of farm-fresh eggs and thick-cut bacon.

  “Management’s rules.” He held a hand up as if taking a vow. “If I could, I would.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said, taking the chilled bottle of water he offered me. “Whose life is this?”

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Sorry. It was a rhetorical question. At home, I’d be drinking from the garden hose.”
/>   This got me a chuckle from Rudy. “I’d love to see you do that here. You’d be getting a lot of strange looks, even from the dogs.”

  I chugged the water, then crushed the plastic bottle.

  “Haven’t seen you around much when I’ve been on evenings.”

  Leaning on the desk, I said, “Been going out a little bit.”

  “Well, that’s good. Means you’re adjusting to your new life.”

  “Not sure that’ll ever happen.” Lifting my arm, I swished the crinkled-up bottle into the garbage can. “Three points!”

  “Ready for the Knicks, Mr. Price!”

  “Knock it off,” I said with a smile.

  “Okay, ready for your new life here in the city.”

  “Still not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

  On my way toward the elevator, Rudy called after me, “We’ll see.”

  And I was right back to thinking about Moira.

  Unable to shake her from my thoughts, I decided to call her. It wasn’t bacon and eggs, but her voice was the next best thing to being home.

  “Hey, what’s up, Price?” Somewhat breathless, she answered on the second ring.

  “Nothing’s up, just checking in.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is everything okay? You sound winded.” Setting the iPhone on speaker, I took off my wet T-shirt and plopped down on the couch. I probably wasn’t supposed to sit on the expensive leather all sweaty, but I didn’t really give a fuck.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m working in the farm store today, and I was in the back dealing with inventory.”

  “It’s been a while,” I said, not knowing what I wanted her to say back.

  “We haven’t talked in a while, and I . . . I think it’s good. You’re doing your thing, and I’m doing mine. Well, mine is the same thing I always did. Which, don’t get me wrong, I want to do. I like it here. I’m happy here.”

  “What’s really happening?” I ran my hand through my messy hair, mentally berating myself. It’s not like we’d decided to stay together.

  “I just think you should really move on. You know, move on, move on. Sorry, that was a lot of move-ons . . . this is harder than I thought. Look, you got out. You’re getting a fancy education. It’s not like you’re coming back here.”

  “Moira, I plan to come back. I want to come back. This is good for me, though, to get a degree, make my mom proud. But this isn’t forever.”

  Despite what Rudy said.

  “I know, and I want you to do it. It’s just, you’re experiencing life in a way I may never, and I don’t know how we could ever make it work after that. Do you understand?”

  “No, I don’t. We have history, planned a future together. What the fuck . . . heck . . . is this?”

  But did we have a future? Emotions tugged in my belly, and I didn’t like it. I liked feeling self-assured. That’s what being back home felt like—confident. New York felt like a punch to the gut. So did this phone call.

  “Look, Price. I know you’re as loyal as they come. If we’d decided to be faithful while you were away, you would’ve been. I didn’t ask that of you, nor would I. We’re young, and we both deserve to experience life wherever we may be. But it’s time for you to cut the cord and really live there. In New York. Not calling to catch up or any of that. Got it?”

  “This is crazy. What would you have done if I didn’t call?”

  “You woulda called. That’s you. And I still love you, Price.”

  “Um, it sure doesn’t look that way from my vantage point,” I said, realizing what a hypocrite I was. Who the fuck was I to feel that way? I’d been walking around dazed over Emerson.

  “I do. I care for you more than anything, but we—all of us here—we know you’re not coming back. Your mom too. And we had an arrangement. I told you to go off and experience the city, and I’m sure you have.”

  “What is this? An intervention?” I balled my fists and blew out a breath rather than punching a wall. “And my mom? Jesus, she’s in on this too? How about this . . . we’ll see,” I said, echoing the same words Rudy had said to me ten minutes earlier.

  For once, I wasn’t absolutely sure if I’d go back home. I wasn’t sure who I was or wanted to be when this was all over. I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

  Other than see Emerson again.

  Yes, it made me a dick, but I wasn’t the only bad guy here. Moira had fucking ended a lifelong friendship over the phone, making me wonder.

  Who the hell was she fucking?

  I knew Emerson wouldn’t be happy, but it wasn’t in me to give any fucks. Which is why I smirked at eleven on Sunday when I got a text rant from her.

  There’s some dude at my door saying he’s your driver and he’s here to take me to your place? I’m capable of making my own way there. And who is this guy anyway?

  He’s safe. Go with him.

  I didn’t text any more information or details. She’d go with Johnny. I knew it.

  After a shower, I tossed on clean athletic shorts, and then changed into khaki shorts. Sifting through my clean laundry bag, I found a faded blue T-shirt and pulled it over my head, leaving my hair rumpled.

  The buzzer rang as soon as I finished pulling the blanket over the bed, making it look halfway decent, and I grabbed the phone.

  “Hey, Rudy.”

  “You have a visitor, Mr. Price.”

  Certain Emerson was laughing, I cringed at his name for me. “Yep, one sec. I’m going to come down and get her, ’kay?”

  “Certainly. I will entertain Miss Bender for a few minutes.”

  That’s exactly what I was worried about. I tossed the phone aside and hurried downstairs to get Emerson.

  “Hey there, Mr. Price,” I heard as soon as I stepped off the elevator.

  “Funny,” I said to Emerson before whispering to Rudy, “You can’t help a dude out?”

  “Here to serve,” Rudy whispered back.

  “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and get this over with,” I said as I stole Em’s hand.

  “Nice meeting you, Miss Bender,” Rudy called after us.

  “Over with?” she asked me when we got into the elevator.

  “I’m sure you’ll have some comments regarding where I live. So let’s get it out of the way, and then we can go on with our day.”

  She turned to face me, her long legs going on for days below her denim cutoffs. The strap of her sheer white tank fell off her shoulder, and her hair was down and wavy.

  “Touchy?” she asked, smiling.

  “You smell good.” I pulled her close, breathed in the top of her hair, and conveniently changed the subject. “Like sunscreen and coconut.”

  “It’s from home, a beach body spray.”

  The door opened, and we stepped off in sync.

  “Now I can say that I know what the beach smells like with authority.”

  “And I can say I know how the rich live with authority.”

  “Here we go . . .”

  I pushed the door open; I hadn’t bothered to lock it. Who was going to get by Rudy without an inquisition?

  “Home sweet home,” I muttered as Emerson made her way into the apartment.

  “Wow.” She approached the floor-to-ceiling windows and placed her palms on the glass. “This is so insane. You can see the whole island.”

  “I like to look out over the park and map my runs.” I came up behind her, placing my hands lightly over hers.

  “Look at all the horses.” She took in the smelly parade of carriages carting tourists around the park.

  “Only thing that makes me feel like I’m home.”

  “Oh, right. Do you ride?” She turned around, leaning back against the glass.

  “Yes. I don’t love it. Not my thing. Back home, I ride an ATV a lot of the time.”

  She sneaked under my arm and explored my apartment, picking up trinkets I didn’t buy or had no use for. “So, what’s the deal? You live here rent-free? Do you ever see your dad?”

  I s
ettled my back against the window and closed my eyes. “Pretty much. I live here. I own it. My dad put it in my name, which is . . . gah, so fucking emasculating.” Which summed up how my life had been going.

  “Why? He obviously cares for you. That can’t be such a bad thing.”

  “Look, I don’t want to be rude. You can ask me anything. But this just isn’t my favorite subject. My mom worked hard to raise me, and I always thought I’d be some hardworking provider. Now I live like a douche and don’t do a thing.”

  She set down whatever knickknack she was studying and approached, leaning into me. “Got it. But think about it. You’re in school, and you will do something, so maybe that will take some of the pressure off. I wish my mom would’ve come back for me.”

  Her forehead found my chest, and we stayed liked that, my heart pounding into her ear. It embarrassed the hell out of me, but she didn’t say a word about it.

  “My dad doesn’t come around much. Said he had to deal with an emergency, but I would be well taken care of. Must’ve been one hell of an emergency, because I haven’t seen him since he left me here.”

  “Well, it’s a cool place, but I think I got one up on you with my toilet-slash-shelf for my coffeemaker.”

  With one little quip, the serious mood was broken, and we were laughing in each other’s arms. It was the first time I’d felt relaxed in this city full of concrete and hardened people.

  “Want to go eat?” I asked Emerson, mesmerized by her complete lack of . . . I don’t even know what to call it. Lack of being impressed with any of this shit?

  “Yes. Where to?” she asked while I grabbed my keys.

  “Want to go down to Chelsea Market?”

  “Oh yeah. I haven’t been over there yet. Is this okay?” She waved a hand in front of her outfit.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “It’s not designer or anything, Mr. Price,” she said with a wink. “Can I go like this?”

  “Shut it,” I said, texting Johnny. “Let’s hitch a ride there and then make our own way back, later?”