Depths

by Liz Reinhardt

“I think we should get back to business,” I say, hating how icy my voice is. I shake my head, disgusted at the fact that I’m so cold to Cohen when he’s nothing but good to me.

  It makes no sense at all. How you tiptoe so carefully around the people who use you like an emotional punching bag, but the people who want to help? It’s nothing to throw their kindness right back at them. I drag the breath into my lungs in deep gasps, because I’m so close to crying, I’m not going to be able to hold back soon.

  “Okay.” Cohen speaks carefully. “If that’s what you want, I’ll drop it. But let me say this,” he rushes. “If you need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

  A nice, normal person would say ‘okay’ back. Or, better yet, ‘thank you.’

  But I’m not a nice, normal person. I’m a thoughtless asshole running scared, so I talk about spreadsheets and sales. Like a coward.

  “I emailed you a spreadsheet. Can you check the next two weeks against your sales’ dates? Last month we got our wires crossed and I had fountains coming in when you guys were having your rug sale. I know how crazy that must have been, and I don’t want anything like that happening again.”

  I hold my breath and bat back the words that threaten to spill out.

  Words like, Help me, Cohen.

  Words like, Forgive me for being a bitch. If I didn’t have your voice some days, I know I’d sink under the pressure of it all and drown.

  Words like, I imagine running away with you, and I’ve never even seen your face. Because, even though we’ve never met, we know each other. And I’ll never say that out loud, because it makes me sound like a lunatic.

  His chuckle is low and deliciously rough, and my entire body relaxes. Cohen, awesome Cohen, just let it go like he always does, ready to make me happy, even if what I’m asking him is so stupid and cowardly.

  “It was pretty crazy, but we actually wound up making a great profit on those fountains. I think we did better with them than with the rugs, so, you know, as usual, even when you make a mistake you’re brilliant.”

  I feel a hot flush spread over my chest and neck, and I button and unbutton the top button of my crisp, professional white dress shirt, which is feeling very constricting all of a sudden.

  No one compliments like Cohen Rodriguez. No one.

  “You’re just trying to butter me up, because you know damn well it was still a mess-up, and I hate making them. I’m afraid I’ll lose my spot as your dad’s favorite shipping coordinator.”

  If my voice sounds a little high and breathy, I don’t think he notices. I can hear him tapping on the keyboard, and I imagine him squinting at the screen.

  With gorgeous blue eyes, framed by eyebrows that are always pressed a little low. I also imagine that he has shiny brown hair and a strong jawline.

  That’s what I daydream he looks like…but he could be a troll with a wart on his nose and a constant lip-licking habit for all I know. Our relationship is strictly phone-only.

  “No worries there. You have my dad wrapped around your little finger. I’ve only ever seen him act the way he acts with you when he’s with my sisters. He actually says you’re as smart as my sister Lydia, who my parents think is the world’s smartest person just because she’s a lawyer, so, trust me, he loves you.”

  It’s silly, but I feel proud about that. My dad loves me fiercely, but I feel like he hasn’t noticed me for years, no matter what I do or how much I achieve. Feeling like I have a place in the Rodriguez family, even a totally unimportant place, is a little lifeline I can grab onto during the hurricane that currently defines my life.

  “Well, I don’t want to take any chances,” I insist. “Look it all over, Rodriguez, and tell me if I screwed up.”

  “Everything looks great. I can’t even imagine how you manage to coordinate all of this. You know we know how lucky we are to have you, Maren. My dad would throw a tantrum if you ever left. Priscilla was sweet and all, but she could never pull everything together like you can.”

  How can such simple words pack such a punch? Maybe because there’s just the clean, sweet honesty of his words and my realization that he’s saying them because he absolutely means them.

  And that means everything to me.

  “Well, I’m glad to help.”

  Glad to help, loving the compliments, but cursing my own efficiency. If I hadn’t done such a thorough job, I’d get a few more minutes on the phone with him to break up this dreary, boring day before my lonely, depressing night.

  There’s a long pause, and Cohen clears his throat. “Yeah, so I guess I better get going. This morning has been insane-”

  “Of course. You had all those customers when I first called and Genevieve is probably talking them into crazy art deco pieces we’ll just have to return later.” I pretend for his sake and mine that I’m just as eager to get off the phone now that the business is all handled.

  “Actually, I wish it was just customers.” His words come to a dead stop, and I realize that this can go one of two ways. I either get him off the phone and keep everything simple.

  Or…

  I roll my desk chair to the door of my office, which is partially ajar, and swing it shut.

  “It must have been pretty bad if you’re wishing for customers, Cohen. What’s our mantra again? ‘If it wasn’t for the customers, this job would be amazing?’”

  His laugh is grainy and not totally happy. “Sad but true, right? Look, I don’t want to dump on you, but, uh…this is weird. Um, Kensley broke up with me this morning and I was pretty much blindsided by it, so if I’m a little out of it. Yeah.” He sucks a long breath in. “Shit. That’s the first time I said it out loud. I know it’s so damn cliché, but it made it feel more real, you know?”

  I feel an instant, righteous anger, which is ridiculous.

  Maybe stupid, asshole Kensley had excellent reasons for breaking up with Cohen. Like I said before, I know him from business calls and our phone friendship, which means that I actually know nothing at all about what he’s like as a real life friend or a boyfriend. She could be unequivocally justified in letting him go.

  But I doubt that with every cell in my body.

  “Oh, Cohen. That sucks. And don’t even talk to me about anyone dumping on anyone. You’ve listened to me whine and cry so many times. I’m just…I’m so sorry.”

  I’m sorry for his idiot ex. She’s going to regret what she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called him back by tonight. They’d been an item for years, and guys like Cohen just don’t come along every day.

  I could say all these things, but…

  A teeny, tiny part of me is hoping that I’m wrong. A tiny part of me hopes that she’s way too stupid to realize what she lost, because he deserves better than someone who’d let him go like that. So much better.

  “I guess I just feel…I don’t know. Kind of pissed. I mean, I think I’m more pissed than I am hurt or sad or whatever.” He laughs a little at this confession. “She said I wasn’t exciting enough. Seriously?”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I seethe on his behalf, though, again, honestly, I have no clue if she’s dead-on in that regard. He’s an amazing conversationalist, and I’m not even bored when we’re talking straight business. But we’ve always had a natural ease with each other, so maybe I’m biased.

  “And the worst thing is, now that she said it, I can’t shake the idea that maybe…maybe she’s right, you know? I mean, I know you get it. What it means to work hard, to put yourself out there every day because you have a job to do, because other people depend on you. She never got that. To tell you the truth, she had the luxury of doing whatever the hell she wanted because her parents totally spoiled her and gave her everything. It’s not like that for me. I’ve always had to work hard for what I have.” He lets out a long, frustrated breath.

  “Well, I may be overstepping but—”

  His laugh cuts me off. “You’re not. Trust me. I’m the one using up your time whining about my pathetic love life. And I really respect y
ou, Maren, so if you have any advice for me, I’m all ears.”

  A tiny coil of warmth unfurls low in my stomach and knots my tongue. “Oh. Cohen, it’s just, um…thank you. I, um, don’t claim to know much about, you know. Love. And all that. But, I think that this was a good thing. If you think you are maybe…taking things too seriously…with your life, what better time than now to put yourself out there? Make a bucket list and start crossing things off. You’re always telling me to do things for myself. Well, take you own advice. Get out there!”

  For a minute there’s nothing but silence on the other end, and I’m scared I really did overstep. I should have just stuck with sympathy; I suck at advice.

  Then his voice rings out, excited. “Maren, you’re a damn genius! This is great. You know what? This is perfect.” He’s getting louder and more energized with every word. “I love this. You’re right! Maybe this whole thing was a blessing in disguise.”

  “That’s right,” I rally him. “And, look, Cohen, if that was the only problem, I think it was crazy that her solution wasn’t just to do more exciting things with you. You are freaking amazing. Trust me, good guys like you are few and far between.”

  He’s quiet, I assume thinking over what I’ve said. I chew on my bottom lip, hoping I haven’t crossed any lines.

  “Hey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re making me blush,” he says, and I laugh with pure relief. “I really…it means a lot. To me. What you think of me. But Mare?”

  “Mmm?” I don’t manage an actual word, because my heart is in my throat.

  “Right back atcha. You’re…There’s no one quite like you, cheeseball as that sounds. And you deserve the best. You know that, right?”

  “Thank. You,” I say slowly, because I want to say so much more that I’m chicken shit to even think. So I hide behind a stupid cop out.

  Basically my MO.

  And I guess my general lameness snaps Cohen out of talking about how cool he thinks I am.

  “Listen, Maren, I seriously can’t thank you enough. I really needed to hear that this morning. I’m going to get off so I can do some work and let you get some done, but I plan to make that list. You can hold me to it. And I’m gonna cross things off. All because of you. So thank you.”

  His voice is so sincerely grateful, it flattens my lungs free of any spare oxygen. I manage to gasp out some fumbling, awkward words. “You’re so welcome. I’m really… I’m glad I could help. You deserve to be happy. And if you ever need to just talk, you don’t have to wait for a shipment to come in or anything. I’m here. Whenever you need. If you do. Not that you will!”

  I shake my head and clamp a hand over my own stupid running mouth. What the hell am I saying?

  “That means a lot. Really. And it goes both ways, okay?” The rumble of his voice sets my heart racing and tripping over itself.

  Before the stretch of silence after his words gets too long and awkward, I rush to fill it in. “Okay. Well, we should get back to work, I guess. I hope your day gets better, Cohen.”

  “It already did. It did the minute I heard your voice, Maren. I hope your day is great.”

  I squeak out a goodbye just as Jacinda, the accounts payable girl, knocks on the glass of my door. I slam the phone down, feeling guilty even though there’s no reason at all for me to feel that way.

  “You look like you’re up to no good,” Jacinda says as she breezes in and collapses on the chair across from my desk. “Are you secretly a phone sex operator moonlighting as a nice, organized secretary?”

  Just to irritate me, she peels off three post-it notes and sticks them on the edge of my desk.

  My fingers twitch with the urge to rip them off, but I control my anal retentive leanings. I hate it when people touch my office supplies.

  Hate it.

  I’m going to jack her parking spot tomorrow to retaliate.

  I also blush hot imagining what phone sex with Cohen would be like. He is newly single after all, so it’s not like it’s imposs—

  Ugh! Jacinda is always the worst interrupter of my day.

  Well, after Cohen. But I actually enjoy being interrupted by him. It’s different.

  “I am getting work done, unlike you, and, no, my work does not involve moaning and panting into the phone. Unlike your work, as far as I can tell. By the way, it’s great you have a new boyfriend, but you should really close your office door when you, um, entertain him on his breaks.” Her smile is completely smug, not even remotely embarrassed to know the entire office overheard her amorous conversation. I raise my eyebrows at her. “Why are you bothering me already?”

  She snaps out a new business card, and I try to suppress a groan.

  “No. Not again. I had to give scented candles as gifts to every single person I knew for an entire year. And the Tupperware? It’s still in the packages. And the freaking muffin mixes and salsas and dips…okay, those were delicious, but I had to get a gym membership because I gained fifteen pounds. Stop. This. Madness. These get-rich-quick schemes don’t work for you.” I push her hand back, but she’s unfazed and keeps pressing it in my face.

  “The other things didn’t work because I had no personal investment in them. I don’t really like candles, and I hate cooking, so it should have been obvious that those were going to be duds. But this is something I can totally get behind.” She lays the card down on my desk, and I gasp and shove it under my appointment book.

  “Jacinda,” I hiss. “I thought you were joking when you asked about the phone sex. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Don’t be such a prude,” she whines, sitting up straight, her bleach-blond bob swinging back as she raises that pointy chin of hers. “It’s business.”

  “It’s smut,” I object, flipping the card back at her. “Where did you even find someone to print these cards up? They’re…they’re porn!”

  She laughs, her slight frame shaking. “They get your attention, right? Don’t get all uptight. It’s not only sex toys. Look, I bet you have fourteen pairs of white undies and a couple of nude bras in your drawers. I’m selling lingerie, too, and you could use some.”

  I clutch at the top of my shirt. My underwear are not all white. They have colors and designs. I mean, they’re also cotton, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. They’re comfortable, and when I put them on, I immediately forget about them. Which is kind of the point of underwear as far as I’m concerned.

  “I don’t need new underwear, especially from whatever trashy catalog you’re ordering from now,” I gripe.

  Jacinda raises one dark, over-plucked eyebrow. “Can I interest you in a vibrator, then? It’s been two months since you went on that date. And I assume from your stories about his rancid garlic breath and clammy hands that it didn’t end with a hot, body-shaking orgasm?”

  I point at the door. “Get out.”

  “Oh! Is it back on with Jason?” Her eyes go wide. “I know he’s a jerk, but, good Lord, he is hot sex on a stick! And there’s a sweet little set on page forty-three, one of those thongs with a bow that makes your ass look like a present. I bet Jason would unwrap you the minute he saw it, if I you know what I mean.”

  “Out!” I point a finger to the door.

  “Think about it.” She gets up and straightens her too short skirt with a quick tug. “It might be fun. Fun…hmmm. Do you know what that word means anymore? Because you used to be fun. Lots of fun. Remember? And then you got…so adult.”

  “We are adults, Jacinda,” I sigh.

  Has it really been two months since my disastrous date with that idiot whose name I can’t remember? Maybe that’s why I’m thinking about seeing Jason again. I’m turning into a cobwebby old spinster.

  Cohen’s voice spins in my head.

  You deserve the best. You know that, right?

  I think about another night with my dad passed out drunk in his recliner, some tasteless dinner and boring TV show all I had to distract me from the pile of bills I don’t know how to pay.<
br />
  I deserve…something else. Something fun. Just for the night.

  Jacinda senses the fact that I’m considering her stupid idea, and she bounces on the balls of her feet, anticipating my cave-in. I slide the card out from its hiding place, and the image of the entwined bodies makes me blush. And feel a little…horny. What business do I have advising Cohen to seize the day when I’m spiraling into such a sad, boring state of loserdom?

  Maybe this office isn’t the present I can barely endure: maybe it’s the future I’m barreling towards without even realizing it. That clinches it for me.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine? You’ll come?” She claps her hands a little. “Can you bring someone? I can get you a discount if you bring someone!”

  “Get out,” I groan. “I have work to do. Work that doesn’t involve selling flavored lube.” I glare at her, but Jacinda is unruffled by my disapproval.

  “Bring a friend! My place, eight sharp on Friday. I’m glad you’re finally dusting off your lady parts and getting back in the game.” She trills this lovely observation at the top of her lungs as she exits into the main office hallway.

  I sprint to the door and slam it shut, contemplating coworker murder. I cram the scandalous card in my purse and put it and all things sexy out of my mind so I can get some work done without X-rated thoughts gyrating through my head.

  3 COHEN

  “What are you doing here, man?” my best friend Deo stands in the open doorway. I lean against the doorframe and close one eye to steady myself and to help focus on him, since the earth spun the entire walk over here.

  “I couldn’t make it all the way to my place,” I say. I can hear myself slurring, but I’m powerless to correct it.

  “Do you want me to drive you home?” Deo asks.

  I shake my head. Then realize that was a bad idea. More spinning.

  “No cars. Too much movement. Can I just crash here?”

  “Oh, let him in for fucks sake, Deo!” Whit, his hot-as-hell girlfriend calls from behind him. Deo smirks at me before stepping aside to let me pass. I take the four longest steps of my life, then collapse onto his sofa, face first.