“Everett, I won’t lie and say that I had a nice time, but I had an educational time and that’s important, too.”
“What?” He wiped mustard sauce off his lips. “Aren’t you going to finish your beer? Bad manners not to finish a beer someone else is paying for.”
“Well, then, we’re both lucky that you finished your beers, because I’ve already paid the tab. You’re welcome to finish both my beer and my lettuce wraps. I’ve some nice frozen dinners at home. I think I’ll eat those.”
Everett’s faced screwed up, reminding Marsie of a baby about to cry. “You’ll never get a man with that attitude.”
“You might be right,” she agreed. “And I’m okay with that. Have a nice evening.”
Marsie walked out of that date with a smile on her face. Not only had she learned something, but she also had a good story to tell Jason the next time they grabbed coffee.
CHAPTER SIX
MARSIE WAS WAITING for Beck at the mall entrance to Nordstrom, purse in hand and credit card ready to be blown. “Shopping, huh,” her friend said as she approached. “We’re not usually shopping buddies.”
“I don’t have shopping buddies,” Marsie said, giving her friend a quick hug. She knew what brands of clothing looked good on her, what sizes she wore in those brands and usually just ordered online. No shopping or buddies needed. “But I’m in a desperate situation.”
She didn’t realize how rude those words could sound until they were out of her mouth, but her friend didn’t seem to notice.
As they walked into the department store, Marsie gave Beck a rundown of her first date, including the boring cream sheath dress and silly pink cardigan with sparkles. “I felt out of place. I need something more casual. Flirty. Maybe a couple different outfits. I want to look cute.”
Marsie put a lot of thought into what she wore to work. Nothing too feminine, but nothing that looked too masculine, either. She had to strike a balance.
It would be much easier to be a dude and wear a nice pair of slacks, button-down shirt and boring striped tie.
“This doesn’t have to do with the things that jerk said about you never finding anyone, did it? I mean, I think you generally look cute. Serious, but you are serious, so why shouldn’t you look it?”
“I need a man to give me a chance to be something other than serious. You think I’m funny and fun, right?”
“Yeah, but I’ve had years to get to know you.”
Marsie stopped short, right in front of the escalator and turned to face her friend. Hurt must have been evident on her face, because Beck’s face fell. “Marsie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Some people are easy to get to know. They’re fun and easy and you feel like you have a connection the first time you shake hands.”
Jason. She’d been charmed the first time she’d met him. And the second time, when she’d been moving in to her new office and he’d come to help her hang some pictures and put together a bookshelf. He’d told silly stories about his ancient dog the entire time. She still remembered the one about his dog getting into a plate of cookies that his mother had made him, including the detail about the dog getting caught, looking guilty with cookie crumbs on his lips, and—while being scolded—bending over to lick the last bit of cookie off the plate.
“You’re not one of those people,” her friend continued. “You’re still waters that run deep.”
Marsie turned away from Beck to get on the escalator, not feeling the least bit better, even though her friend was trying.
“Well, I’ll bet my date thought he was one of the charmers.” She tried to throw some lightness into her voice, but given how tightly she was holding the banister, she doubted she was fooling anyone.
“I’ll bet your date is one of those people he thinks you should be looking for.”
“Fun and charming?” Marsie stepped off the escalator and turned to the sea of blouses, not even sure what she was looking for. At least when she opened the dating site and flipped through the photos of men, she had her algorithm to give her some guidance.
“No.” Beck shook her head. “What about this top?”
Marsie shook her head. Her friend was holding up a pink blouse with dark pink flowers and lace and so much fabric it looked like her high school home economics teacher could take the thing apart and remake it into a dress.
“It’s fun and flirty,” Beck said as she shoved it back onto the rack. “And you like pink.”
“I’m too tall. I’d look like a giant wearing a flowered blanket. That’s not cute.”
She pulled a cream sweater off the rack. Sparkly threads ran through the neck of the top, getting denser near the hem so that the bottom of the sweater was more gold than cream. “This one looks nice.”
“Yeah. Are you going to try it on?”
“I guess I should.” She draped the top over her arm. Hangers clicked against each other and the metal rack as they flipped through more clothes.
“What did you mean when you said you think my date thought he was the type of person I should be looking for?”
Judging by the searching look Beck gave her, her friend knew her too well to believe the casual tone Marsie was trying for, but she didn’t comment on it. She turned back down to the clothes. “You’re looking for a specific education and a specific type of job and a man who not only has a couple books listed under ‘last read,’ but that they’re books you approve of. You’re looking for you.”
They wove through the next set of racks to a new location that looked promising. Marsie still only had the one sweater over her arm.
“Are you telling me opposites attract? I don’t believe that at all.” Her parents were proof that opposites might attract, but they detracted just as fast.
“This is the top for you.” Beck held up her find and Marsie laughed. The shirt was a pretty metallic blue jacquard, but it couldn’t decide how it wanted to be a mix of both edgy and romantic.
“It should either be off the shoulder or have ruffles or have a high neck or an eye-catching collar. It can’t have all the above. Too bad, because it’s a pretty fabric.”
“It’s silk,” Beck said, putting the top back on the rack.
“So it’s probably more than I want to spend.”
Her friend checked the tags. “Three hundred and fifty dollars.”
“If I make it to the sex date with a man, I’ll consider spending that much on a top, but not when I’ve not even kissed a guy. And not on that top,” she said with a vigorous shake of her head.
“Wait? Which one’s the sex date?” Beck was still holding the top. She looked at it, shook her head and hung the blouse back on the rack. “Never mind. You have too many rules. I want to finish talking about opposites attract.”
“What’s there to talk about? Dating someone different from you seems very exciting. Then the sex wears off, and you’re left staring at someone you have nothing in common with while picking at your dinner. Which they made, so it’s nothing you like.”
“Your parents must really hate each other. Everything you’ve ever said about them makes me think that’s them talking.”
“Hate is a strong word.” And, if she were being honest with herself, was probably the right word for how her father felt about her mother. Her mom had always seemed a little sad about the whole thing, like she’d been reaching for an amazing dream, failed, and hadn’t yet managed to fully wake up. Even after more than thirty years.
Beck looked closely at Marsie, seeming to examine every line of her face. Then she went back to flipping through the tops like this was a casual conversation.
They both realized that this had stopped being a casual conversation a while ago. Beck had significant advice she wanted to give; she just needed to figure out how to say it. Finally, she stopped moving shirts around on the rack and put h
er hands on the metal rung. “It’s not that you’re not looking for someone who is the opposite of you, but that you’re looking for you. For someone with your education and your kind of job, who reads your kind of books and likes your kind of movies. Who’s your kind of introverted and wants to eat your kind of food. Like you’re a sock that got separated from its mate in the dryer.”
Beck suddenly looked sad, like she had a vision of Marsie’s future and it snapped her heart in two. “You’ll never grow. In fact, I think you’ll contract that way. You’ll shrink until you disappear. You need someone to challenge you.”
Her friend’s words hit a little too close to something that sounded true, and the smack stung. “My date wasn’t ever going to be a challenge.”
Jason would, but she was pretty sure he didn’t like the same kind of movies she did. And she wasn’t sure what she thought about his job. He was smart. Why was he doing maintenance in an office building?
You could ask him. Asking him would be inviting intimacy, which she wasn’t sure she wanted. Then she’d have to share parts of herself with him, and his smile might be more teasing than she was comfortable with.
Work was challenging enough.
“I’m not talking about your horrible date,” Beck snapped and Marsie stepped back, blinking in surprise.
“Sorry. That came out more harshly than I meant. That guy sounded like an ass. And there are asses out there. If anything, it should prove to you that a man who scores well on your algorithm has as much of a chance of being an ass as a man who only gets two points for being gorgeous. Date people who don’t pass your algorithm. Grow a little. Be willing to change your mind.”
Beck’s sadness wasn’t only about Marsie, she realized with a flash of insight. “How is marital counseling going?”
“Neil said he’s stopped growing in our marriage. I told him he would grow if he could ever change his mind about things. Like having a kid. The counselor told me that wasn’t a fair thing to say. That I wasn’t listening to what Neil was saying. That was where our last appointment stopped.”
“So you’re talking things out,” Marsie said, trying to sound hopeful.
Beck shrugged. They both stopped even pretending to look through clothes. Her friend’s marriage was more important than any number of cute tops.
“Is the counseling helpful?” Marsie asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t tell if knowing these feelings is good, or if I’d rather we pretended things are fine. Like I guess we were doing before.”
“Oh, Beck.” Marsie’s heart broke at that statement. “I’m sure it hurts. And is hard and scary. But you don’t want to be in a fake marriage. That sounds miserable.”
“I was happy. We were perfect for each other. God, when we met, we were even using the same shampoo and conditioner. I thought it was a sign.”
“You want a kid.”
“I could go back to saying that I don’t want a kid. We could pretend.” Beck’s voice was so flat that it was scary, like she didn’t have any emotions left.
Or maybe she didn’t want to feel them and so had shoved them deep enough that they gave her ulcers, but didn’t make her cry.
“What happens when you’re sixty-five, no children. You might regret not having children, but I think you’ll regret not going through the hard stuff to even try more.” As Marsie said the words, she realized they were directed at herself, as much as at her friend. The kid stuff, yes, but also that she could reach sixty-five and still be single and what would really piss her off was that she hadn’t truly tried. That she’d let her fear and a couple horrible dates trap her in that status quo.
No matter how pleasant the status quo was, if she didn’t want to be there, it was a prison. And her own fears could be as much of a jailer as any guy in jackboots holding a gun.
“I guess. Trying is so hard right now. We’re miserable. I’d rather be anywhere but my house.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Marsie reached over and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “It’ll be okay. Maybe not in the way you want, but it will be okay.”
When they pulled apart, Beck was blinking away tears. “Thanks. I have to believe that, or I’ll give up.”
“Yup.” Wasn’t that the truth of life. No matter what life looks like, you have to believe.
“Let’s go buy your top and look at more. There are always more fish in the sea.” Beck rubbed Marsie’s shoulder and they turned to the cashier, ready to continue their hard day of shopping.
Maybe, Marsie thought, if she looked like fun, dating would be fun and she’d be able to laugh about it with Jason, like he laughed about it with her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASON POPPED HIS head into Marsie’s office. The intense, focused look he found so fascinating was on her face as she manipulated her mouse and the charts on her screen moved. She looked so smart. She was smart, but when she was staring at her computer like that, her thumbnail resting between her teeth, her reddish blond hair falling in front of her face, and her serious button-down starting to get a wrinkle along her back, she looked like the kind of person who would be smart. Like the kind of person you could ask for advice and she would recite different historical ideas about your question before getting around to her own answers.
The kind of intelligence that wowed. And, if he were being honest, was a little scary.
But a little over a year ago, when the company was moving into the building they were in now, Marsie had come into work early and found him swearing in her office. She’d asked for a bookshelf that was supposed to have been in her office when she’d moved in—but the design company had messed that up, along with a million other things. He’d come in early to put together a temporary bookshelf for her until the one she was supposed to have was off back order. And he’d tried to come in early enough so he wouldn’t disturb her while she was working.
He’d heard she was unpleasant—brisk had been the nicest way someone had put it—and coming in early had not only seemed considerate, but it might also save him from having to deal with her complaints. So when she’d cleared her throat, he’d thought, Oh, shit.
“Thanks for the bookshelf. I don’t want to get in your way, so I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee. Would you like one?”
Her tone had been brisk, maybe even cold. But the offer had been nice, so he’d said yes while wondering where she was going to get it, since the cafeteria downstairs didn’t open for another hour. Amazingly, she’d returned with a cup of coffee for each of them and a sack of warm muffins.
“How’d you do that?” he’d asked as he accepted the paper cup, still a bit in shock.
“I’m a good tipper at the shop downstairs.” For a moment, she’d stuck to the same matter-of-fact tone, then her face had softened and she’d said, “And I was the alumni interviewer for one of the gal’s kids. Good kid. She’s got a full scholarship. Real smart.”
In that moment, Jason’s opinion of Marsie had shifted with the speed of a light switch and the power of a Fourth of July fireworks display. It was too easy to confuse curt with lack of caring. Marsie had plenty of the former, but also an overabundance the latter.
His new opinion had been confirmed over and over. While people who knew Marsie as an acquaintance thought she was brusque, people who worked with her closely loved her. And since that morning, they’d gone from strangers to occasionally sharing a cup of coffee together. The lunch a couple days ago was unusual, but he stopped in her office to see if she wanted coffee whenever he was over this way and, if she passed him working, she’d offer to get him one, too.
“Hey,” he said.
She started, then smiled a little as she turned her chair around. “Hey.”
“I’m getting a cup of coffee. Want one?”
“God, yes. I feel like I’ve been here forever.” She grabbed her phon
e and looked at the time. “It’s ten. I guess I have been here forever.”
“What time did you get in?”
“Six. I’ve got another date tonight, and I have a pile of things to do before then.”
“What are you going to do when you’ve got someone in your life? Work late? Bring work home?”
Confusion and then something that looked like it might be sadness crossed her face. “I don’t know, honestly. Maybe the joy of having someone to go home to will make me work more efficiently, but I think any man I end up with is going to understand why I work long hours. He’ll probably work long hours, too.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a relationship.” He looked forward to the days when he could curl up on the couch with someone and watch Bob’s Burgers after dinner. Being shunted aside for a computer and spreadsheets didn’t sound like much of a life.
“No.” She sighed. “My ex and I had a relationship like that. It wasn’t great. But—and this is embarrassing to admit—I don’t know how you do anything differently.”
“Sure, you do. You’re the smartest person I know.”
To his surprise, saying that embarrassed her. Given the red in her hair, he expected her to blush more, but the tips of her cheeks reddened and her forehead flushed. “Thanks,” she said with a shrug. “This is an office of smart people.”
“Yeah, but you know you’re special.”
She pressed her lips together and seemed at a loss for words.
“If I said too much, let me know. I can ask something mundane like if you’ve seen any movies lately.”
“No. It just makes a me a little self-conscious to hear you say that, but it’s worse that I think about how much I’ve not done. Or who’s more successful than I am. Or who got a grant I wanted.” She laughed. “It’s a curse, right. This constant feeling that you’re not good enough. Dating only makes it worse.”
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