“Pick your poison.” Gavin leaned against the counter on the other side of the table.
He might as well have been wearing a Halloween costume. Gavin bearing get-well supplies? It didn’t compute. “And who are you?” Her voice was hoarse, she hadn’t used it in days.
“Just a friend,” he reached for his cup of coffee, “who heard through the incestuous downtown grapevine that a certain beautiful girl hasn’t been at work.”
Zoe stepped towards the table and picked up a cardboard cup. She took her time pouring sugar into her coffee. “Maybe I quit,” she finally said. “What business is it of yours?”
“Let’s figure this out together,” he said quietly.
“How do you know I’m not going to figure this out with Bob?” She lowered herself gingerly onto a chair, as if she was in pain.
Gavin took one step towards the table and stopped. “The other night you said you hadn’t told him yet. I may be wrong, but it seemed like you weren’t too excited about telling him.” Gavin held her eyes. “You told me. I want to help.”
“I don’t need your help. Or anyone else’s.”
“No, you don’t. Of all the people I know, you just might be the most capable, or maybe the most stubborn.” He took another step and eased himself into a chair across from her. “But I’d like to help, to at least be a friend.” He paused. “Can I help you, Zoe?”
This was so disorienting. Zoe dropped her head into her hands. This wasn’t the Gavin she was used to. She had fantasized about just such concern and tenderness from him once she had told him that the baby was his. But somehow the worry and compassion he was offering now felt very different from what she yearned for, and she understood that now, mixed into his sincerity was the implicit knowledge that it was very much over between them. The banter was gone, the electricity was out. They were on uncommon terrain.
“Gavin, what are you doing here?” She looked at him for the first time with no guardrail, no defense, no strategy in mind. Her mascara-less eyes were bruised with exhaustion.
He took a sip of coffee. “The other night, I hurt you. I saw that, I felt that. I’m not sure what kind of reaction you wanted from me, but whatever it was, I didn’t give it to you. After I got home, at first all I could think was ‘Thank God it’s not mine.’ I thought about how it would’ve been to tell Tess that you and I were pregnant, and I couldn’t even imagine the conversation, let alone the aftermath.” He cleared his throat. “Honestly, it scared the shit out of me. I could have easily been the father here.”
Zoe raised her coffee cup to her lips. You have no idea.
Gavin continued, “And then, after a while of thinking about myself and how my life might have changed, I finally,” he sighed, “got around to thinking about you and how you can’t say ‘Thank God’ right now. And that even if I’m not the father, I have a responsibility here. We’ve been together a long time. I want to help you, I want to do the right thing.” He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers.
Tears welled up in Zoe’s eyes. It was partly from his sweet earnestness, his sincerity, but mostly, she just wanted to cry. The whole thing was so overwhelming and her head hurt and she just wanted someone to make it all go away. And the tears that were erupting from the bottom of her heart were also because it was all so clear: he didn’t love her, he loved Tess.
And because what wasn’t being discussed, what wasn’t even being mentioned, was that she had finally told Gavin she loved him. Did he even remember it? Or had her confession been lost in all the confusion that followed? She might never know. But what she did know was that she meant it then, and she meant it now. She loved him. Her heart ached for him, and although she knew now that she had to, she wasn’t sure she would ever get over him.
She looked up at his face, at the caring that was emanating from his green eyes. She dropped her eyes to the table where his big hand covered hers. Her instinct was to pull it away. She wasn’t sure she wanted help from him; she didn’t think she could handle being pals with him.
Her head throbbed. She left her hand where it was, and took a ragged breath. “Oh, Gavin. I don’t know what to do.”
And he was on his knees next to her chair, hugging her before she even finished her sentence.
————
A week later, after a leisurely Saturday morning latte, Megan and Tess were browsing their favorite SoHo shop, a tiny store filled with eclectic jewelry and vintage clothes. Although it was only September, the people out the window had their lightweight jackets zipped against the biting wind, and they scurried by, their eyes on the concrete in front of them. Inside the vanilla-infused store it was warm, and as the two friends chatted, they floated down the aisles, eyes on the merchandise, hands sliding over fabric, their attention partially on the dialogue, partially on the fabulousness of the garment in hand.
“So how’s Gavin?” Megan peeked at the price tag on an ivory lace blouse.
“A little intense lately, if intense is the right word.” She shook her head as she ran her hand over a lavender cashmere sweater. “I don’t know, something’s different. At first I thought something had happened, like he’d been fired, but now I think… it’s like he’s had some kind of epiphany.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had this big presentation last week, and he was a little nervous about it, although the only way I knew that was from the hours he spent glued to his computer.” She guffawed over a ruffle of irritation. “I assumed that the night after the presentation we’d celebrate, but he called from a bar and said he was with the work crew and would see me later. Which was fine,” Tess said quickly, “I didn’t care. But when he did come over later that night, he was really, I don’t know, distracted.” She rolled her eyes. “More than usual I should say.”
Megan put down the dangly silver earrings she was holding and faced Tess.
Tess continued, “He said the presentation had gone well, but something was weird that night. And now he’s completely attentive, which as you know is a little out of character. Don’t get me wrong, I like it. But it’s weird.”
“Maybe the pressure’s off at work and he can concentrate more on you.”
“Maybe. I actually gave him a litmus test, asked if he wanted to go out to Fairfield and have dinner with my family. He said fine. That’s when I knew something was up. I mean, I don’t even like to go to my parents’ for dinner.” She paused, and said to the rack of clothes in front of her, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he cheated on me the other night.” She glanced at Megan out of the corner of her eye.
Megan didn’t think it was such a far-flung theory, Gavin being Gavin, and well, men being men. “No.” She tried to sound more definite than she felt. “Gavin wouldn’t cheat on you.”
“I know. Though I swear if he shows up with roses tonight, it’s all over.”
Megan thought, without malice, that if Gavin showed up with roses, Tess would be ecstatic. “What are you guys up to tonight?”
“Going to dinner; I’m not sure where yet. You know Gavin, he’s got a whole agenda. What about you?”
“I’m meeting Jared at Carmine’s.” Megan blushed and examined an ugly brown turtleneck like it was the most beautiful piece of clothing in the world.
“Oh?” Tess smirked.
Megan focused on the turtleneck to hide her own smirk. She was half-ashamed and half-amused. Ashamed because in the world of office etiquette, a woman falling for a younger assistant was a major faux pas; amused because she didn’t care. Which was surprising because she was passionate about her job. She wondered what her indifference said about her feelings for Jared and she put another check on the “pro” side of her mental list.
Jared was not the type of guy she was usually attracted to, but she knew that might be the best thing about him. He was smart and decisive; at 22 and only one year out of college, he was curiously co
mposed, with none of the gimmick-wrapped, pink-faced insecurity that defined the other assistants. In the looks department he was Everyman: medium height, medium build, brown hair, brown eyes. He would be a defense attorney’s dream—he so resembled any guy next to him that his inclusion in a criminal lineup would confuse a witness trying to make an ID. The only feature that gave him any distinction were the wire-rimmed glasses he wore over his observant and kind eyes.
In a very public job—the four group assistants for the team had desks, but shared space in a big, common area—Jared was most notable for what he wasn’t. He didn’t chatter incessantly about his social life like Sue; he didn’t have Jim’s rapid-fire, often inappropriate sense of humor; he didn’t have Nick’s GI Joe good looks. While Sue, Jim, and Nick yucked it up over the tops of their computers during the day, Jared smiled and laughed, but kept his focus on the grunt work in front of him.
It was understood by the rest of the group that if something needed to be done right, it went to Jared.
He and Megan, as part of a team, had slaved for hours on the advertising for their client’s new suntan lotion, a breakthrough product that would antiquate a beach bag full of different SPFs. This smart product sensed information about the skin, analyzed the sun’s rays, and then protected each specific body area appropriately. So by smoothing on one lotion, a person could have SPF 45 on their face, 15 on their shoulders, and 4 on their legs. The lotion was named SunSense, and Megan had been the one to suggest the tagline that stuck: “Don’t get mad, get even”. (She had later joked with Zoe, “That blast of genius came from spending so much time with you.”)
Megan was thrilled to be in on the campaign. It meant long days and even longer nights at her desk, but per her usual style, she dove right in, these days not so much as a healing mechanism, but simply because she loved it. If anyone from the team was chugging caffeine and grinding away late into the evening, Megan’s cubicle lamp was on too, glowing yellow over her disheveled piles of paper and open bag of dinner—extra salty pretzels.
Jared provided the team’s between-meal sustenance: gum. He chewed constantly; his desk drawer was stuffed with packs of every imaginable flavor from Bubble Yum to Teaberry, and he was more than happy to share his habit with anyone who passed by. The best part about his stash was that he had an open-drawer policy; when someone needed a fix, they didn’t have to create a conversation to approach him. Many an exec reached into his drawer for a stick of Juicy Fruit or a chunk of Bazooka after dropping a project on his desk, as if the gum was a reward for finishing a draft. Others with less hefty titles, Megan included, helped themselves more frequently, especially when they were in a creative funk. It became a standing joke that the gum was why the team was so prolific, and why Jared’s inbox was always so jammed. The three other GA’s blithely accepted the gum as the reason their inboxes were not as popular.
When Jared first joined the department, besides the gum drive-bys, he and Megan didn’t socialize. After work, although the whole team would often unwind at the same bar, Megan and Jared’s hierarchical allegiances assigned them to separate areas of the room. Anyone who had their own office, or cubicle even, gravitated to a big round table in the back, where relaxation was served in a glass; the group assistants gathered around the oblong bar for bottles and rapid-fire refills. Jared, by age and position, was delegated to the bar, where he would shed his suit coat, loosen his tie, and ease into a more denim version of his professional self. While Sue shrieked loudly at Jim’s manic commentary of Nick’s pickup lines, Jared drank his beers, chewed his gum, and enjoyed the show, the tortoise to their hares.
In the gray time between the office and the cocktails however, it wasn’t long before Megan and Jared discovered each other coming and going from the building in their after-hours Adidas attire, and brief conversations about running soon served as a courteous segue from “hi” to “here’s something I need done right away.”
One bleary-eyed morning, as Megan ordered her light coffee and everything bagel from her favorite deli, she heard “I’ll have the same” from behind her. She whipped around.
“So we’ve got another thing in common,” Jared said.
Megan inwardly groaned. She didn’t want to get caught up in a conversation; she hadn’t had her caffeine yet.
“Are you running today?” He nodded to the cumbersome gym bag slung over her shoulder.
“If I can sneak out for a while.” She gathered her covered cup and plain brown bag and began to maneuver through the throng of people; not an easy feat with her huge duffel bag.
“Do you knock down little old ladies with that thing?” he called after her.
She smiled. “Sometimes.”
“Maybe we could run together sometime.”
“Sure.” She escaped out onto the crowded sidewalk and picked up her pace.
At six o’clock that evening, as she emerged from the elevator into the lobby in her black Lycra tights and big baggy sweatshirt, there was Jared, stretching by the center fountain. Unbelievable. She glanced around for a way to sneak by. Of course, at that moment the plaza was empty. She walked towards him.
“This is weird.” She smiled neutrally at him.
He nodded. “Twice in one day. Which way are you going?”
She sighed. “If we go together, we could head over to the park.”
Running on the busy streets of Manhattan was an exercise in agility, and they started out in single file, weaving their way through briefcases, Bloomies bags, and the honking gridlock of the evening commute. Once they entered the park however, their pace synced up and heavy breathing and short gasps of office gossip filled the space between them. Megan exhaled a few tales of a monster exec, and Jared panted through interesting tidbits he had picked up from the other GAs. It wasn’t until the office building was back in sight that they tread on anything remotely personal.
“Thanks for the pace, you really pushed me,” Megan said as they slowed to a trot. “Have you been running for a while?”
“About a year. It’s part of a whole ‘get healthy’ kick I’m on.”
“Trying to impress the ladies with a makeover?”
“What I’m really trying to makeover is my lungs. I used to be a pack-a-day guy.”
“Really? I can’t imagine you with a cigarette.” They were walking now, their breath slowly settling.
“A year ago, you wouldn’t have been able to imagine me without one. I couldn’t imagine me without one. It was kind of a family hobby; my dad owned a garage and all the guys who worked there smoked.” Jared smiled. “I spent all my time there tinkering with engines, and of course, smoking. I was hooked before I picked up my first cigarette.”
“So how come you’re not on the Subaru account?”
“I go where I’m told.”
“But you know a lot about cars?”
“Yes ma’am, I’m a grease monkey.”
“So why advertising?”
Jared rubbed the fingers of his right hand together, signaling money. “Cleaner fingernails.” He smiled. “Actually, the best part of the garage for me wasn’t working on the cars, it was hanging out with my dad and my ‘uncles,’” Jared made air quotes, “listening to them talk. They talked about carburetors and old Corvettes, but also about life, telling old stories, throwing out bits of wisdom, sharing regrets and mistakes. And the way they told their stories, so passionately. They were like brothers—cutting each other off, finishing each other’s sentences, laughing before the punchline. For me, the cars weren’t the point, the comfort was. It was like our version of family dinner. Except our meal was a pack of Marlboros.”
Megan wiped sweat off her face with the bottom of her sweatshirt. “So why’d you quit?”
He looked straight at her. “My father died of lung cancer.”
Megan stopped walking. “Oh Jared. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” He shrugged.
After a moment they began to walk again, this time in silence; there was no pressure to fill it.
“Funny thing is,” Jared said after a minute, “it didn’t even occur to me to quit when he was diagnosed; I was a chimney all through that year. But after he died, at the reception, Oh my God I was so sad, so empty.” His voice wobbled; he cleared his throat. “So I grabbed my pack and my lighter and headed out onto the porch, desperate for a smoke, and for a connection, because that’s what smoking is, right? At least that’s what it was for me, a breaking of bread of sorts. And there were all my heroes from the garage—all of them, in their ill-fitting, scratchy suits—scattered around the porch, with their shoulders at odd angles to each other like they were trying to block each other out.” Jared shook his head. “They were all smoking—aggressively, desperately, like some people might chug a Jack Daniels and slam it down on the bar for a refill. As if, on a porch with all the people they loved, that cigarette was the only sustenance in the world.” They stopped walking and faced each other. Megan watched his eyes; Jared was focused on something above her head. His tone shifted, floated with disbelief. “It was so quiet. I stepped out there, and they all just turned their heads and looked right through me. No one said a word. All I heard was the tap-tap of flicking ash.” He looked at Megan. “Later that night when I was home, I lit up, and when I tapped my ash, I couldn’t stand it. It’s barely even a sound, but it made my skin crawl.” He took a deep breath. “I started running the next day.”
Megan didn’t know what to say. She reached out and put her hand on his arm.
————
“You’re blushing.” Tess put her hand on Megan’s arm and drew her mind back into the store, back into their conversation.
“I know, I’ve been like this all week. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You want me to fill you in?” Tess smirked again. “We’ve all known for months now.”
“It’s not like that. We’re just really good friends. Hell, he tells me all about his dates.”
The Truth Is a Theory Page 20