Strangely Amazing

by Amiee Smith

  Thursday, 2:16 p.m.

  Jen Manning: [To group] Yo! Her dissertation is excellent. She will get a job in no time. Shop away, Brit. Lilly, so pumped to meet you. Look cute. I take lots of pics.

  Thursday, 2:17 p.m.

  Claire White: [To group] Brit, you really should save your money until you get another gig. Jen… Are you doing a test kitchen on the slumber party cocktail in the middle of the day?

  Thursday, 2:17 p.m.

  Jen Manning: [To group] Possibly. [smiley emoji]

  Thursday, 2:18 p.m.

  Lynn Scott: [To group] I so should not be responding to this chain. I need to edit like 20 more pages, shower and do my hair. BUT I totally agree with Dana and Claire. Save your money, Brit. Lilly, see you out front in like… shoot! I have less than 2 hours left. My phone will be on DND.

  Thursday, 2:18 p.m.

  Brit Palmer: [To group] Thanks everyone for embarrassing me in front of Lilly.

  Thursday, 2:19 p.m.

  Lilly Shepard: [To group] I’m elated to meet all of you! Claire, I appreciate all the information. Fried chicken and booze sounds fantastic. Dana, I would love a ride out to Claremont (it’s where all the colleges are, right?). I don’t know Michael’s address, but I’ll drop a text tomorrow. Brit, don’t be embarrassed. Lynn, see you soon. Jen, I wish I could help you test kitchen. [winking emoji]

  Thursday, 2:19 p.m.

  Lilly Shepard: [To group] Ah…I agree. Brit, save your money. We can shop another time. (You are right. My purse is from the 1960s. Bought it at an estate sale in Denver for next to nothing.)

  Thursday, 2:20 p.m.

  Dana Sandoval: [To group] We love you already, Lilly.

  Thursday, 2:21 p.m.

  Claire White: [To group] The vote is 4-2. NO SHOPPING, Brit. Yes, the Claremont Colleges are here. Have a great trip!

  ◆◆◆

  “This is how the rich live,” I say to Lynn, sipping a glass of sparkling wine.

  We are twenty minutes into our hour-long flight into Los Angeles. Lynn reclines the extra-large soft leather cream-colored seat.

  “No. This is how Michael lives.”

  The interior of this plane looks like Michael. Immaculate. Luxurious. And trimmed in gold.

  Chuckling, “He is definitely not a regular guy.”

  “Not in the cash department, otherwise he’s like the rest of us. He wants to be in love,” Lynn says, flipping through her Kindle.

  “Do you think my relationship with him is moving too fast?”

  “I’m the wrong person to ask. Nick and I have been together for like, two weeks.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize. You two seem like you’ve been together forever.”

  “Yeah. We’ve been friends for the last three years. It’s a little insta-love, so I must be mindful. I don’t want to lose myself in him. But the clock is ticking.”

  “You said the same thing on Sunday. What did you mean?”

  “Nick and Michael are alphas. They will do whatever it takes to get what they want. They want us. And once they get us, we will have to reconfigure our lives to make room for them,” Lynn says.

  “Now I understand why Michael wants to know my plans after I finish my dissertation. I keep telling him I want to stay open, so I can follow the science. I didn’t consider how my work may affect a relationship.”

  “No, Lilly. Not a relationship… your marriage.”

  “Oh, that’s where this is going. I sensed it on some level, but it all seems so…”

  “Dreamlike?”

  “Yes. As if it’s not supposed to be this good.”

  “The fact our relationships are this good is a sign from the Universe. We’ve found something special.”

  Meeting her gaze, “Lynn, you seem to know Michael. Is he really a good guy?”

  “He truly means well. But he’s privileged and used to getting his way. My advice? Only say yes to what you really want. And don’t compromise your dreams for the relationship. As long as you feel free, then you’re all good.”

  Her wise words permeate the air, causing my breath to catch. My chirpy landlord turned friend is now my relationship guru. Jack did me a favor when he abruptly disappeared and sold the building. His actions set me up to get what I’ve always wanted.

  “How do you know all of this?” I ask.

  “Research. You follow the science and I follow the happily-ever-after,” she says with a wink.

  ◆◆◆

  “Check out our Rockefellers.”

  Lynn points out the window of the plane as it taxis down the runway. In the distance, the setting sun paints the sky a stunning array of pink and purple. Michael and Nick are leaning against the front of their cars like models from an issue of Esquire Magazine. Michael— a silver Maserati Quattroporte GTS. Nick— a silver Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV. I’m from Detroit. I know cars.

  Both of our men are tall, with big, dark, styled-up hair. Both are impeccably dressed. Michael— deep blue dress slacks, brown loafers with no socks, and a light blue dress shirt. Nick— more casual in slim-fitting dark gray pants, black boots, and a navy long sleeve shirt hugging his muscular arms and shoulders; the visual both spectacular and a call to action. Lynn and I reach for our purses to touch up our makeup and hair.

  Anticipation, compounded by the glass of sparkling, causes my hands to tremble as I finger pick my spiral-curled hair and dab on nude lipstick. My thick black cat-eye liner appears both fierce and glamorous. I run my hands over my thighs, covered by a black Gucci above-the-knee silk wool dress with lace and velvet detail. I paired my new dress with red low-heeled Mary Janes.

  Lynn fluffs her hair and applies pink lip gloss. She’s wearing black ankle boots, dark slim fitting jeans, an ivory short sleeve top and a black leather jacket that cups her full breasts. A rose quartz crystal hangs around her neck.

  We’re just two smart women primping for our larger-than-life men.

  The captain announces we can remove our seat belts. Lynn and I rise and gather our luggage.

  “So, friend, I hustled to get my work done so I can play with Nick tonight without thinking about my manuscript. Can we touch and agree, if they want to be all bromancy and do a dinner double date it’s a no?” Lynn asks, holding her hand in the air.

  “Works for me,” I say with my high-five. “I literally counted the minutes until I got to see Michael. So, you want to be dirty flirty with your man?”

  I quote what she said on Sunday when she politely kicked us all out of her place.

  “Not dirty flirty. I want to be kinky with Nick. He goes to bed like, ridiculously early, so dinner out would cut into our playtime.”

  “Got it. How kinky? You don’t have to answer that.”

  “I don’t mind. We change it up each time, but it usually involves bondage. What about you guys?”

  “Honestly, we are pretty kinky too. We like pleasure with a side of pain.”

  Lynn’s face lights up like I gave her the keys to Disneyland.

  “Oh! Why did we wait so long to be friends?!” Lynn says as the door opens and we descend the steps of the plane.

  Our guys meet us half way.

  “How was your flight?” Michael asks, his arm circling my waist.

  He smells so good, I can’t help but kiss (and discreetly nip) at his neck.

  “It was great. Thank you again.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Michael,” Lynn says before rising to her tiptoes to kiss her man.

  “Ladies, Michael and I would like to take you to dinner. There is a highly-rated Italian restaurant in Larchmont Village. I checked OpenTable. They have a reservation for eight o’clock. Lynn, their chef does three different vegan entrées. What do you think?” Nick asks, taking Lynn’s bag from her.

  We stroll in the direction of the cars and the setting sun.

  “Rain check? I need to do some reading in the morning,” I say, winking at Lynn.

  “Yeah, totally. I want to run in the morning and do some editing before the sleepover. We shoul
d go home,” she says, winking back.

  “Sounds good. Good to see you, Lilly. Michael, I will see you tomorrow,” Nick says before placing Lynn’s bag in the back of his car and opening the passenger seat door for her.

  Michael does the same.

  “See you tomorrow. Good night, Nick and Lynn,” Michael says.

  CHAPTER 14:

  MICHAEL AHMED

  “Chef prepared everything today. There are instructions on the iPad next to the refrigerator,” I say, sitting on the built-in bench at the dark wood and granite table in the eat-in kitchen area.

  “He labels and color codes everything. This will be very easy,” Lilly says, retrieving containers from the refrigerator and placing them on the beige granite island.

  She looks incredible in Gucci. Moving throughout my cream and gold baroque-inspired kitchen, her willowy frame, brown skin, and curly hair seems like a familiar sight. Her presence feels right. Comfortable. Regular. The only thing that would be better is a gold wedding ring with a large diamond on her finger.

  “Yes. It makes cooking easy for me.”

  She chuckles. “Michael, this is not cooking. Reheating is a better description.”

  Out of habit, I open the email app on my phone and scroll, clicking on the official budget for the Piano Loft Project from Willingham Contractors (Nick’s company).

  “Dammit.”

  “What?” Lilly asks, retrieving pots and pans from the cabinet.

  “A project is coming in at a higher budget than originally discussed.”

  I need to talk to Jordan before our meeting with the project team tomorrow. Racing to my office, I return to the kitchen with my iPad.

  “If you need to make a call, I’m good here. However, if we don’t eat together, tonight does not count as date #5,” Lilly says.

  I’m so ready for date #5. Tuesday morning, I convinced Lilly to count playing GTA online the night we started texting as date #1. She was reluctant because it was the same day I sent flowers and donuts to Lynn.

  My interest in Lynn seems like a lifetime ago. Tonight, when she exited my plane, I saw my friend. I saw Nick’s girlfriend. I didn’t experience what I feel when I look at Lilly. My chest didn’t constrict. My heart didn’t pound. My mind didn’t fill with thoughts of slow sex, babies being born, and domestic delight.

  I stare at the budget and glance over at Lilly. It’s a ping-pong match between who I’ve been (business first) and the guy I want to be (Lilly’s everything).

  My dad’s heavy accented words play through my head, “You only get Gucci if I work.” I heard him say this phrase every day of my childhood to my mom. A maniacal workaholic, he was only around at the High Holy Days. Even before I got sick, it always seemed like my parents’ marriage was three degrees below happiness.

  Growing up, my family was always wealthy. My dad made much of his fortune before he, my mom, and my two older siblings immigrated to the US during the Iranian Revolution in the late 1970s. I’ve lapped my family’s wealth ten times or more. Yet, here I am, torn between calling my business partner and spending the night with my girlfriend.

  Lilly decides for me. After scrolling the iPad mounted on the wall, she turns to me.

  “You have a ‘Michael’s Romance Playlist’? Do you use it on dates? Does it work?” she asks, trying to maintain a straight face.

  “Hey. Hey. You can’t go through someone’s playlists.”

  I leave my iPad and phone on the table. Retrieving two highball glasses from the cabinet, I pour bourbon over square ice cubes.

  “You ran a background check on me. I’m going through your playlists and your sock drawer. I plan to skim this entire house for pertinent data. I can’t wait to hear what romance sounds like to you,” she says with a smile.

  I extend the glass, her thin brown fingers brushing against my knuckle. She sips, and presses play on the iPad.

  R. Kelly’s “Bump N’ Grind” sounds throughout my kitchen and living area. Holding my glass in one hand, I give Lilly a front row view to my best dance move— a single leg, then double leg, butterfly. I turn my knees in and out and rock my pelvis in time with the song. It’s my signature move.

  Lilly admires my groove from the other side of the island.

  “Hello, Magic Mike. You can dance.”

  “Six semesters of ballroom and hip hop dance at SC, babe.”

  My woman gives me her best dance move. A bizarre, off-beat combination of a hip roll and robot hands. She’s got her determined face on, so I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

  She’s really a dream come true.

  The track changes to Color Me Badd’s “I Adore Mi Amore” and Lilly returns to warming up dinner. Retrieving silverware, gold round placemats, and black cloth napkins, I set the expansive dining room table for two in the room adjacent to the kitchen.

  Jodeci coos “Forever My Lady” on the speakers.

  “I love this song,” Lilly says, stirring a pot.

  I remove the wood spoon from her hand and pull her into my embrace. Lilly wraps her arms around my neck and we do the ninth-grade slow dance, rocking back and forth right there in front of my BlueStar copper chef-grade range.

  It’s the best dance of my life.

  The song ends. Lilly plates dinner per the photo instructions of Chef. Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Do Me!” streams from the speakers. Breaking concentration, she gawks at me.

  “Michael! You really put this song on your romance playlist?”

  “It works. You’re getting wet right now.”

  She pauses, her head bouncing two beats behind the music. I take over plating dinner. I may not cook, but I know how to follow instructions.

  “I totally am,” Lilly says, a slow wide grin forming all over her face.

  Together, we carry our plates to the dining room.

  ◆◆◆

  We’ve just finished having tea and a Chef-prepped platter of fruit. Lounging on the cream-colored leather sofa in the living room, Sade’s “By Your Side” plays in the background.

  On my back, Lilly’s slight body is spread out on top of me. Her cheek rests on my shoulder as her left hand caresses the exposed hairs on my chest. My hand is snaked under her dress, squeezing her exposed ass. The fabric of her thong teases my fingers.

  Right here, right now, with Lilly, makes every struggle worth it. I fought to live so I could experience this moment.

  “Move in,” I say.

  “Move in where?”

  “Both houses.”

  “No, Michael.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve been here before.”

  “With Jack?”

  “You want to talk about him with your hand up my dress?”

  “I’m not letting you go, so explain what you mean.”

  “The gray hardwood floors in Lynn’s flat, the white cabinets in the kitchen, the Carrera marble in the bathroom… I picked them all out. I was supposed to live in her unit with him once the renovation was completed, but he disappeared and sold the building.”

  “Babe, if you want to redecorate both of my properties, you can do so.”

  “Both your homes, Michael. They wouldn’t be mine. I would be the woman who gives her time, energy, and effort to building a life with you and then you could bounce without a second thought. I know you’re nothing like Jack. But there is enough oxytocin running through my system right now that I would agree to anything you ask of me. Even if I’m falling head over feet for you, I need to be smart.”

  I quote the chorus of Alanis Morrissette’s “Head Over Feet.”

  Lilly chuckles, “I’m impressed. You know Alanis. But, honestly, those words explain how I feel for you.”

  “Tell me what you want. Let’s make a deal.”

  Lilly sits up, straddling my thighs. In her dramatic eye makeup, her gaze is more fierce than usual.

  “Are we negotiating?”

  “Yes,” I reply, adjusting so my hands are holding her hips in place.

  When in this pos
ition, she gets floppy and awkward. No matter how our talk turns out, I’ve got her.

  “30 more dates. Then we get married and you put me on title for both the properties,” Lilly says, firmly.

  “My counter… promise to marry me tonight. 20 more dates. Then we have a Persian-Jewish wedding. I want you pregnant soon thereafter. You’ll move into both properties, effective immediately. You will be the sole owner of the San Francisco property, effective immediately. My attorney will transfer the deed to you tomorrow. When the time comes, our prenup will ensure the property taxes on the house will be covered. Any job you accept after you finish your dissertation must be in California.”

  “Michael, Zillow estimates the Pacific Heights property at 12.5 million dollars.”

  “You did your homework. It’s probably worth more. Do we have a deal?”

  “They are doing some fascinating pharmacology research at the University of Washington. Any job I accept longer than three months will be on the West Coast.”

  “Any job you accept will be in California. I don’t want to be away from you. All my doctors are here. I want to believe my Crohn’s will stay in remission, but I need to be realistic.”

  “I truly understand, Michael. My Fulbright allowed me to do research abroad last summer, so I know how beneficial the experience can be to my work. I need to be able to travel.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “It’s difficult to say. Six weeks at a time, maybe. At the very least, a few times a year. Many scientists travel with their families when they work abroad.”

  “Like an extended holiday?” I ask, glancing up at her with a big smile.

  Lilly laughs and presses her palm against my chest.

  “God, you’re handsome. Yes, you and our kids can consider it an extended holiday where mom is really working.”

  The image of our kids causes my chest to expand and my shoulders lift. I want our family more than anything. More than money or success. I want to build a life with this woman.