Stronger

by Janet Nissenson

  After another period of time spent visiting her father in New York, traveling between Japan, Florida, and Paris with her mother, and generally goofing off, Mirai had declared herself ready to get serious about school again. Attending design school had seemed a natural for a fashionista like herself. Mirai loved clothes and accessories, had stacks of fashion magazines piled high around the apartment, and had an uncanny knack for being able to identify what sort of designer label someone was wearing with just a glance. What she did not posses, however, was any sort of artistic ability whatsoever, and could barely draw a stick figure.

  She’d quickly switched her focus over to fashion merchandising from design, and had actually come within a semester of earning her Associate of Arts degree. But then, as was typical of the flighty, easily bored Mirai, she had dropped out again, declaring that she’d lost her passion and needed to re-think her career goals.

  That had been almost a year ago, and she’d been drifting ever since - spending time with both of her parents, working for a few months at an art gallery owned by family friends (even though she’d confessed to Cara that she didn’t know the slightest thing about art), and wasting a lot of time watching TV, shopping, going to the gym and the spa, and dating a string of guys that she seemed to get bored with after the first date. Cara had more or less given up on trying to counsel her friend, or suggest a possible career path, having realized months ago that this was something Mirai was going to have to figure out for herself one of these days.

  But it was hard not to worry about her BFF, or to try and offer her advice now and then. After all, Mirai had done so much for Cara, and would have done a great deal more if she’d been able to swallow her pride and accept the many favors that had been offered to her. Mirai would have literally given Cara the clothes off her back if they had actually worn the same size. Unfortunately for Cara, her ultra-slim friend with the killer wardrobe was at least four sizes smaller than she was. Otherwise, Cara’s closet would have been bulging at the seams with castoffs, since Mirai had a serious shopping addiction.

  At least Mirai had been able to pass along some accessories, like a couple of really fabulous handbags, scarves, costume jewelry, and belts. She also bought large quantities of cosmetics on a frequent basis - if she liked a particular brand of lip gloss, for example, she typically bought it in eight different shades, only to find that at least two of the colors didn’t suit her at all. Which meant Cara had a fairly good sized stash of her friend’s discards, even though she didn’t wear much makeup most of the time.

  Mirai gave Cara’s freshly painted toenails the touch test. “Okay, these are dry enough. But leave your shoes off for a little while longer. And - oh, good. Dinner’s here. I’m starving.”

  Cara glared at Mirai as she dashed off to open the door for the delivery driver who’d brought their dinner. As wand slim as Mirai always was, she had the appetite of a football player and could put away an astonishing amount of food at times. She claimed it was either due to good genes on her Japanese mother’s side of the family, or just a speedy metabolism. Either way, Cara thought it grossly unfair that she had to watch every calorie she consumed for fear of packing on another pound, while her ultra thin BFF could eat whatever she pleased and never gain an ounce.

  Cara only took modest amounts of the pad Thai, chicken satay, rice, and butterfly prawns, even though she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The thought of the admittedly greasy tri-tip sandwich she’d eaten two nights ago made her shudder a bit when she mentally calculated how many calories it had contained. And she’d been too busy studying and doing chores this weekend to fit in any sort of workout. Summer classes were far more demanding than the rest of the year, since the same curriculum had to be squeezed into a much shorter amount of time, and thus the level of homework and studying was heavier than normal.

  She was also conscious that - once again - Mirai had insisted on paying for dinner. Cara tried her best to reciprocate, but Mirai was as fussy and particular about the restaurants she ate at as she was about the clothes she wore. And Cara simply couldn’t afford the sort of trendy, upscale places Mirai favored, so she would cook for the two of them occasionally to return the favor.

  Mirai ignored Cara’s protests about not wanting more wine and refilled both of their glasses. “Oh, just drink it, for God’s sake! You can go back to counting calories tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll be tempted to finish the bottle and I still have to drive you home later. And I’m not the greatest driver even when I’m sober.”

  “I’ll just take the bus, Mir. I hate to bother you all the time.”

  Mirai snorted. “Seriously, Cara? Like I have to get up early in the morning or something? And how are you bothering me if I’m the one who makes the offer?”

  Cara sighed in resignation and took a sip of the excellent Pinot Grigio. Mirai also had expensive tastes in wine - just like Dante did - and wouldn’t have dreamed of drinking Two Buck Chuck, or even using it to cook with.

  “What time should Rene be home?” asked Cara.

  Mirai rolled her eyes. “Who knows? Between her classes and rounds at the hospital she’s hardly ever here. I haven’t actually seen her for about three days.”

  Rene was Mirai’s older sister, her roommate, and a third year medical student at the University of California in San Francisco. Rene was everything her younger sister wasn’t - serious, studious, and dedicated - and had known since middle school that she wanted to be a doctor. Their father frequently pointed out Rene as an example to Mirai, asking why she couldn’t be more like her sister, or at least stick with something for more than a few months at a time. It had caused some friction between the sisters at times, resulting in screaming matches followed by days-long uncomfortable silences. The occasional tension between them was one of several reasons Cara had never taken Mirai up on her offer to move in with them here.

  The other reasons were varied, some valid, others not so much. For one, she would have had to sleep in the living room on a plush leather chair that converted to a single bed. Admittedly, the sleeper chair was far more expensive and comfortable than her own futon, but the lack of privacy she would have endured by not having a room of her own hadn’t been appealing.

  Neither had the fact that both Mirai and Rene were unrepentant slobs. Cara couldn’t remember a single time when she’d visited their posh apartment when it had actually been tidy, even though their father paid for weekly maid service. There were always used dishes and empty takeout containers piled high in the kitchen, dirty and discarded clothing strewn about the bedrooms and the single bathroom, and an assortment of mail, magazines, and Rene’s textbooks piled on the tables in the living and dining rooms.

  After sharing first a dorm room and then a house with multiple roommates during her two years at Berkeley, Cara had cherished having her own place, tiny and old as it was. She liked the quiet, liked having her few possessions neatly in their place, and even though it had been oh so tempting to take Mirai up on her multiple offers to move into this upscale apartment in one of the city’s best neighborhoods, Cara valued her privacy more.

  And, of course, it always came back to her reluctance to accept yet another favor from Mirai. Cara knew that her friend’s heart was in the right place, but there was no way she could allow Mirai to keep on doing these things for her. It didn’t matter that Mirai had a rich father who spoiled her rotten, and that she could easily afford to treat Cara to dinner or buy her little gifts or even invite her to move in with her. Cara was both proud and stubborn, and felt strongly that it was her father’s responsibility - and not someone else’s parent’s - to provide for her. And since Mark had stopped supporting her a long time ago, she wasn’t going to depend on someone else to take up the reins.

  It was later that evening, after she’d reluctantly let Mirai drive her home, when Cara thought back to the conversation they’d had about Dante - more specifically, when she had assured her friend that it didn’t matter to her in the least where he took
her on their dates, that she was happy just to spend time with him no matter where it happened to be.

  The truth of the matter was that it did bother her - a lot - to acknowledge the fact that Dante probably took her to all of those small, neighborhood places for dinner because he didn’t want to run into anyone he knew. When Cara had learned the name of his ex-girlfriend, she’d looked up Katie Carlisle online, and known immediately that there was no possible way Dante would have dreamed of taking the gorgeous blonde actress to eat pizza at Pasquale’s. Or fish and chips at the Black Horse Pub. And most assuredly not tri-tip sandwiches at Tommy’s. No, someone like Katie Carlisle would have insisted on dining at only the most popular, upscale places in town - somewhere where she could order miniscule portions so that she could maintain her slender, perfect figure.

  But it was all too obvious that Cara wasn’t Katie - not even close. She wasn’t Dante’s actual girlfriend, someone he had deemed worthy of bringing home to meet the beloved family he talked about from time to time. Or to double date with one of his friends whom he’d mentioned on occasion. Cara was merely someone for him to pass the time with until another woman like Katie caught his attention. Or, worse, she was just his fuck buddy, an easy, convenient, and uncomplicated lay who made no demands on him, never asked for anything, and acted like she was perfectly content with their current arrangement.

  Except that she wasn’t. She wanted more - a whole lot more. She wanted him to spend the night with her, wanted to be invited over to see his place. She longed for the freedom to call or text or email him whenever she liked, rather than contact him only when it was absolutely necessary so that he didn’t think she was needy or a pest. She wanted a commitment of some sort from him, a promise that this relationship was important enough to him to put some serious work into. She desperately wanted to meet his family, to hopefully be welcomed into their fold with open arms, and to finally feel that she belonged somewhere for the first time since her mother’s passing. She thought how much fun it would be to double date with Angela and Nick, or any of Dante’s other friends.

  Most of all, though, she wished with all her might that he might one day return her feelings, might whisper that he loved her as much as she loved him, that she was the one he’d been waiting for all his life. And while she might have told Mirai a little white lie that she didn’t care where Dante took her out to dinner, Cara had definitely been telling the truth when she’d confessed to being in love with him - as well as being willing to do most anything to keep him with her. And if that required keeping her real feelings for him hidden away, she figured it would be well worth the effort to keep her relationship with Dante going.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hey, Dante! I’m not used to seeing you here at this time of the day. Don’t tell me the Italian Stallion is losing his touch with the ladies and doesn’t have a hot date tonight, ‘cause I won’t believe it.”

  Dante grinned at the approach of Finn Cassidy, one of the regulars here at the gym he’d belonged to for several years now. Finn was a friendly, talkative guy, and had always been eager to hear details about Dante’s latest conquest. Though during the months he’d dated Katie, it had been rare for him to share any specifics. Their relationship had been private, special. At least, he’d thought of it that way even if Katie apparently hadn’t.

  “Hey, Finn. How’s it going?” greeted Dante, setting aside the dumbbell he’d been using to do bicep curls. He vastly preferred using free weights and barbells to the wide array of machines that the gym offered. “And believe it, man, because the only date I have tonight is with the leftover manicotti I brought home from my grandmother’s last night.”

  Finn, who was on the short side, with dark auburn hair and the build of a marathon runner, shook his head. “Nah. I don’t believe you for a minute. You must have some gorgeous babe waiting back at your place to share that manicotti with you.”

  “Nope. No one waiting for me, I swear. I don’t have a date until Friday night, actually.”

  Finn arched a brow in disbelief. “Four whole nights without a date? Is that some sort of record for you?”

  Dante chuckled. “Not even close. After Katie and I - well, split up - I didn’t see anyone for over two months, took the breakup pretty hard.”

  “Yeah, she was something special, that’s for sure. I can understand how it would be tough to get over a woman like Katie,” commiserated Finn.

  “The one that got away,” mused Dante, as though talking to himself.

  Finn, who was perpetually cheerful, clapped Dante on the shoulder. “Well, sounds like you found yourself someone new. And I’d be willing to bet that she’s gorgeous, just like every other woman you’ve ever dated was. Is she another hot blonde like Katie?”

  “No.” Dante’s denial was emphatic. “She’s nothing like Katie in any way. And it’s completely casual, nothing serious at all. Just hanging out, having some fun together, that sort of thing. I’m not ready to have an actual relationship right now, maybe not for a long time yet.”

  “I don’t blame you, man. Hey, if I had the sort of luck with the ladies that you seem to have, I don’t think I’d ever want to settle down. You’ve got the right attitude, Dante - have fun, keep it casual, and don’t get emotionally attached. That’s probably the sort of arrangement most single guys dream of, you know?”

  Finn chattered on for a few more minutes, until Dante began a set of military presses and could only grunt in response to his questions. Finn took the hint after that and headed off, leaving Dante in peace to finish his workout.

  But their conversation caused Dante to reflect on what his daily routine was like these days, and he realized with something of a surprise that he liked his life right now - liked it a lot, in fact. Not having to be accountable to a steady girlfriend on a regular basis meant that he could pretty much do whatever he wanted. He could work as late as he needed to without having to worry about dashing off to meet a date; he could hit the gym for an hour or two, much like he was doing now, and not have to explain himself; if a friend or client called at the last minute saying they had tickets to that evening’s baseball game or a concert, he was free to accompany them. And if he had no plans at all, no place to be, he could look forward to an evening of blissful solitude at his condo where he could eat whatever he wanted for dinner, watch his choice of sporting event, movie, or other program on the TV, or simply read a book or listen to music.

  When Friday night rolled around, he would meet up with Cara, usually in the lobby of his office building, and take her out to dinner. She was always good company, always cheerful and upbeat, and never, ever complained about how her day had gone, or whether or not she liked her food, or whined that he hadn’t called her all week. She was easy to be around, never made demands, and it was definitely the most uncomplicated relationship he’d ever had.

  And the sex, of course, had proven to be something really spectacular with her, a fact that continued to surprise him. Cara was both eager and passionate, a quick learner and an avid pupil. She was affectionate, tender, and responsive, and Dante couldn’t recall a time when a lover had ever made him feel quite so much like a man.

  Cara had also fully complied with his initial directives about what he wanted from whatever sort of relationship this had evolved into. She made no demands of him, never threw out hints that she wanted more than he was willing to give, and didn’t play silly emotional games with him. What you saw with Cara was definitely what you got, he thought with a smile. She was so honest and natural and maybe even a little bit goofy that he didn’t think she had it in her to engage in the sort of coy little games that most women of his acquaintance were so fond of playing.

  She rarely contacted him, unless it was to send him a quick text apologizing for running five minutes late, or an email to ask if there was anything special he wanted for dinner on Saturday. That in itself was a rarity for Dante, for he was used to the women he’d dated in the past wanting to be in daily contac
t with him, either via text, phone call, email, or sometimes all three. He appreciated the fact that Cara respected the boundaries they had set, that she was neither needy nor clingy, and seemed - at least outwardly - to be content with what to him was a very satisfactory arrangement.

  And despite his protests to the contrary, she still insisted on cooking him dinner on Saturday nights. He continued to be amazed at what a good cook she was, and the variety of dishes she was able to concoct using just a cooktop, electric frying pan, and a microwave. He found that he liked the way she fussed over him, that she didn’t take it for granted that he should always be the one to provide dinner.

  But what did bother him, very much so, was how hard she pushed herself, as well as the rather obvious near-poverty she lived in. By Friday evening, after a full week of working long hours, attending summer school classes four nights a week, and studying, Cara’s exhaustion was visible. He found himself hating the fact that she had to work so hard to support herself, and continued to curse out her piece of shit father for basically abandoning her.

  Dante wanted more than anything to help her out, to make her life easier, but he had learned early on that she was very stubbornly opposed to accepting what in her mind was charity or a handout. He had tentatively offered to loan her money once, and she had been so adamant in her refusal that he hadn’t dared to broach the subject again. It had probably been the only time, in fact, since he’d known Cara that she had exhibited a flare of temper.

  And he couldn’t help but be aware that she had a very limited wardrobe, particularly since she seemed to wear the same few dresses each time he took her out to dinner. The Saturdays he spent at her place were casual, laidback affairs, where neither of them dressed up, but he was pretty sure that she only owned one pair of jeans that she paired with a scant handful of different tops.