Elements of Chemistry: Capture

by Penny Reid

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

  I wasn’t fine.

  I was the opposite of fine.

  But I would be fine…eventually.

  Either he said yes, he still had feelings for me. In which case we would hammer out the details of our reconciliation and move forward.

  Or he said no, that he’d moved on. In which case I would tell him I could not continue to be friends with him, but would wish him well.

  At least I would know for certain. At least I would be moving forward one way or the other.

  “I’m not fine, in case you were wondering,” Sam announced, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’m not fine at all. Who is she? Is she smart? Pretty?”

  “If the girl is who I think she is, his business partner Emma, then yes. She is very smart and pretty.” I’d decided the hypothetical girl was either Emma or Rose, both of whom were most definitely beautiful.

  And that was fine.

  That was actually truthfully fine, not fake fine. I was completely at peace with being beautiful to myself rather than being pretty in comparison to someone else.

  “I hate her.”

  I laughed at my friend. “There’s no reason to hate her.”

  “Why are you being so okay about this? Martin was your first love. You loved him. You were in love with him. You cried for months after it was over in an uncharacteristic display of emotion.”

  “And why are you trying to make me not-okay with this?”

  “I’m not. I’m just…” Her face scrunched up with pensive dissatisfaction. “I’m just worried about you.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I can’t help it. I don’t want you hiding in closets again.”

  I tried to give Sam a reassuring smile, noting that this—her worry—was precisely why I hadn’t shared my plan with her. As far as she knew, Martin and I were platonic friends and I was over (or almost over) him. After what I’d put her through during the summer there was no reason to give her cause for anxiety now.

  I turned my attention back to the mirror and frowned at my reflection.

  “I can’t wear this dress.”

  I liked the dress a lot in the store. It was a complicated dress. A beige silk sheath was beneath. Layered above was black, open-work lace crochet. The dress clung to my body—over my breasts, torso, and thighs—highlighting the smallness of my waist in comparison to my generous hips and bustline.

  At the time, I also liked that it had a square cut neckline, and the fact it ended just below my knees. In my opinion, there weren’t enough square cut necklines. Large boobs always looked nice in a square cut and it showed my collarbone and neck to best advantage.

  In truth, I’d bought it just for this dinner with Martin. I felt good in it, confident. But now I was questioning the choice. I worried it was too sexy. I didn’t want to come across as desperate or manipulative, not when I was planning to have a serious conversation with him about whether or not our future relationship was in the cards.

  “Why? You look hot. It’s sexy. I’d do you.”

  “Because it might be too sexy. And it’s always catching on things.” I moved my arm back and forth over the openwork lace and my bracelet caught. I stilled my movements so I wouldn’t pull the thread and ruin the dress.

  “See. My bracelet is caught.”

  “Of course, when you try to get your bracelet caught it’s going to get caught.” Sam rolled her eyes then crossed to me, helped me disentangle my arm, and removed the bracelet. “Just wear a different bracelet. Or no bracelet at all…” Then she added under her breath, “Less for him to take off when you both succumb to passion.”

  I flattened my lips into an unhappy line and affixed a scowl to my face. “I want him to be sensible, not succumb to passion.”

  Sam glanced up at me, her face said, bitch, please.

  Then she said, “Bitch, please.”

  “It’s true. I…I need to talk to him, get some things straight. And besides, like I said, he wants someone else.”

  “Wanted someone else, past tense, after he sees you in this dress.”

  I grew frustrated because Sam’s sentiment was the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted Martin to want me, want me. Not want me because of the dress. I wanted him to think of me as The One because despite everything, he was still my One.

  Gah! This is so confusing.

  “That’s it, I’m changing.”

  “No! There isn’t time. He’ll be here any minute. It’s almost seven.”

  Oh. Shoot.

  I stiffened, glanced at the clock next to my bed. “Oh shoot!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll be right back.” I scoured the room for my black shoes. “I’m going to run down to the cleaners and get my tuxedo before they close.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I have that show tomorrow and I forgot to pick it up today. Shoot! They close in ten minutes and they’re closed all day tomorrow.”

  I slipped on one of my flats, deciding the dress was just going to have to be okay.

  “No! You can’t wear those shoes!” Sam lunged for me, ripping the second shoe out of my hand. “It’s a crime against fashion. I won’t let you do it.”

  “Sam, I don’t have time for this.”

  She turned hastily and marched out of the room—holding my shoe hostage—and returned seconds later carrying sexy, black silk stilettos. I was stuffing my black clutch with my wallet, Chapstick, and cell phone.

  “Here. Wear these.” She held them out to me.

  “I can’t wear those. They’re too…too—”

  “It’s fine.” She knelt down and picked up one foot, then the other, elevating me by three inches as she slipped the shoes on. “See, they fit. They’re perfect.”

  I didn’t check in the mirror. If I didn’t hurry, the cleaners would be closed and I would have to wear my dirty tux instead. It smelled like sweat and barbeque sauce. I tucked my clutch under my arm and spun for the door.

  “You want me to go? He’ll be here any minute,” she asked.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll just run across the street and do it really fast. I doubt he’s taking me someplace that requires reservations or anything.”

  “I don’t mind,” she called after me as I sprinted down the hall to the front closet.

  “I got it,” I called back.

  “Okay, fine. I have to go drop a load anyway,” she announced, and I heard the bathroom door shut.

  I smirked as I stepped into the closet and felt for my formal coat. Of course mine was at the back. The last time I saw it was when I unpacked it two days after we moved into the apartment. I wasn’t even sure it was in the closet.

  I pulled the chord to turn on the hanging bulb above because the door had creaked shut behind me, cutting off my light source.

  I shifted through the coats—all twenty plus of them—and reminded myself to ask Sam why she needed so many coats. There was one in each color of the rainbow plus four or five black ones that looked exactly the same.

  “Weirdo,” I said to the coats, shaking my head.

  Then a knock sounded at the door and I stiffened, my brain shouting, Oh barnacles! He’s here! I turned to abandon my coat search, my hands shaking a little, but found I couldn’t move. I twisted, frowning down at myself, searching for the source of my immobilization.

  The crochet dress was caught in at least three places on three different coats, by the buttons at the cuffs.

  Blast!

  “Coming!” I heard Sam call, the bathroom door opening and the sound of flushing toilet following her.

  “Wait, Sam!” I whispered, reaching for the door, then realized my mistake too late. She couldn’t hear me if I whispered behind a mostly closed door.

  It was too late, because two seconds later I heard her open the front door and say, “Who the hell are you?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, glad it wasn’t Martin after all, then turned to untangle myself from Sam’s army of coats.

  My
relief was short-lived because, after a beat, Martin’s voice responded, “I’m Martin. And you are?”

  Ooooohhhh mmmmmyyyyy Ggggoooooodddd!!!!

  I froze.

  “Ha-ha, come in. Parker just left to run an errand, she’ll be right back.”

  “An errand?”

  “Yeah, she had to grab her dry cleaning from across the street. It should take her, like, literally less than ten minutes. They close in ten minutes, they’re closed all day tomorrow, and she has a gig tomorrow night, so…you see how it is,” Sam explained as she shut the door.

  “Where’s she playing tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know, some really fancy to-do. She has that tuxedo uniform for all the shows.”

  “Does Kaitlyn work every day? Does she ever get a day off?”

  “Starving artist has to make a living somehow, you know?”

  “Hmm…” His answer sounded non-committal, but also rang with frustration, like he was irritated I had to work every day. But I wanted to work, to prove I could support myself as a musician. It was important to me.

  And I didn’t know why I was obsessing about this since I was stuck in the closet and there was no way to exit gracefully. I glanced back at the coats holding me in place, deciding I was just going to call out and ask for help when Sam spoke again.

  “Martin, are you still in love with Kaitlyn? Or are you just here to break her heart into a million tiny pieces again?”

  I froze. My call for help stuck in my throat.

  “Again?” His tone was dry. “I didn’t know that happened. When did that happen?”

  “Don’t fuck around with me, hot stuff. I’m not impressed by your GQ good looks, your Scrooge McDuck money vault, or your genius brain.”

  “Then what impresses you?” I knew he was smiling…with his sharp teeth.

  “Honesty,” she said.

  I could picture her face as she said it. Her eyebrows would be raised in challenge, like she didn’t expect him to be honest, like she was daring him.

  I opened my mouth again, but then stopped, squeezed my eyes shut, then turned to the coats. I couldn’t call for help. It was too late. The only thing I could do was disentangle myself and try to sneak out undetected, praying Sam would lead him into the living room.

  Instead I heard her press, “Why did you drop out of school? You didn’t even try to contact her. That was kind of an asshole thing to do.”

  Then I heard Martin, who was by now, very close to the door, ask, “You want the truth?”

  “No, Martin. Lie to me. I love it when boys do that.” Sam’s tone was flat and would have made me laugh if I hadn’t been caught in the closet by her coats.

  He did laugh, but it sounded forced. “Sure, fine, here’s the truth. I left because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her.”

  “So you dropped out of school, out of college, abandoned your teammates, because you couldn’t stay away from Kaitlyn?”

  “Sure.”

  “And now? What are you really doing here?”

  He didn’t answer immediately and, stupid me, I was holding my breath, eavesdropping like a freak.

  At last he said, “That’s not really any of your business.”

  “But she is my business. If you have malicious intentions then that’s my business. She’s my BFF, do you know what that means? It means: Boy I will fuck up your face if you mess with my girl.”

  “Wouldn’t that be BIWFUYFIYM…WMG?”

  “No, nothing counts toward the BFF acronym except Boy, Fuck, and Face. It’s a TLA.”

  “TLA?”

  “A three letter acronym.”

  “Of course.”

  “Back to my original question, what are your intentions?”

  “Sam…”

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  Silence.

  “You are!” She sounded excited, like he’d answered, but I knew he hadn’t. “You’re in love with her! Of course you are. But is this some kind of revenge plot?”

  Silence.

  “It’s not!” It sounded like she was jumping up and down. “Oh my God, you’re in love with her and you…want her back?”

  Silence.

  “Hmm…you don’t want her back. That’s odd.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Ah ha!”

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You don’t have to. I can read it all over your love-sick face.”

  “Shouldn’t she be back by now?” His voice was tight, impatient.

  “So, you’re still in love with her, you want her back, but…what? Why haven’t you just told her?”

  Silence.

  “Hmm…you’re afraid.”

  Silence.

  “No, no. That’s not it. You’re not afraid.”

  He sighed.

  “You’re with someone else. You’ve got another girl and—I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud—you’re too honorable to call things off with Emma.”

  “Emma? Did Kaitlyn mention Emma?”

  I clenched my hands into fists, my heart jumping around my chest. I was going to kill Sam. She was going to die.

  “Yes. She told me about adorable Emma. Kaitlyn thinks she’s pretty and you two make a pretty couple.”

  “I’m not interested in Emma.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand to keep my gasp from being audible. I wasn’t going to kill Sam. I was going to buy her a car.

  “So you broke up?” Sam asked.

  “No. We were never together.”

  “But you let Kaitlyn think you were together.”

  “No.” He paused, then I heard his footsteps move away. When he spoke next he sounded frustrated. “I’m not discussing this with you, Sam. I need to make a phone call.”

  “Sure, sure. You can use Kaitlyn’s room to make your call, it’s at the end of the hall.”

  I heard his footsteps move farther away followed by the sound of my door closing. I stood, again frozen, for several seconds, making sure the coast was clear. I was about to turn back to the two coats still holding me hostage when Sam flung open the door to the closet.

  “Oh my God!” she whispered, with feeling. “Did you get all that? He loves you! He’s not with Emma!”

  “Sam,” I whispered back, scowling fiercely. “You knew I was in here the whole time.”

  “Yes. Of course, I didn’t hear you leave so I figured you were hiding.”

  “No. I’m caught in the web of your superfluous coats and I was trapped.”

  She grinned, glancing down at where I was tangled in the cuff buttons of her garments.

  “Ha-ha, that’s funny. Here, let me help.” She slipped in and quickly untangled me, then pushed me out of the closet.

  Like a clothes ninja, she immediately found my formal black coat and yanked it off the hanger. She tossed it to me then pulled the string to turn off the light. As I frantically tugged on my jacket, she tiptoed to the front door.

  She opened it.

  She closed it.

  She said loudly, “Oh. You’re back.”

  I gave her a panicked look, untucking my hair from my collar, and whispered, “What are you doing?!”

  “Were they already closed? You don’t have your dry cleaning.”

  “Stop it,” I whispered frantically. All my hope for bravado and planned bravery was scattered.

  Meanwhile Sam smiled like a harpy.

  The door to my room opened and I stiffened, my eyes closing briefly. I inhaled a steadying breath, repeating to myself, Even though you don’t feel calm, doesn’t mean you can’t be calm.

  Feeling only slightly more centered, I turned toward the hall and affixed a welcoming smile to my face. Martin’s eyes collided with mine as he stalked toward me, making me take an instinctive half step back. It was the force of it, the force of him.

  He was devastating, dressed in a black tailored suit, a slim black tie, a slate-blue shirt that hardened his eyes into steely blades. His
heavy coat was folded over his arm. He must’ve just taken it off. I tried to get my heart to stop jumping on the bed of my lungs before I fell down and broke my head, but it wouldn’t. It took a kamikaze leap in his direction, sending spreading warmth from my toes to my temples, making my knees weak.

  Stupid kamikaze heart.

  “Hey.” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat as he approached. “Sorry about that,” I said, sounding a little more steady. I tossed my thumb over my shoulder. “My, uh, uniform is at the cleaners and I need it for tomorrow.”

  He didn’t stop walking until he was almost on top of me, then he bent down and placed a soft kiss on my cheek, one of his hands coming to my upper arm to hold me in place. It was an echo of the kiss he’d given me earlier in the week, and again I was assaulted by his smell and closeness and warmth.

  I thought I might swoon.

  Once again, it was over before I completely comprehended what had happened. He took a step back, but didn’t release my arm for two more seconds.

  Once his hand fell to his side his gaze swept over my face then down to my closed coat. Then it traveled back to my eyes. They pierced me. “No problem, I just got here. You ready to go?”

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.” Even though I wasn’t ready, because all my courage was still in the closet with Sam’s jackets.

  His mouth tugged slowly to the side as he looked at me and pulled on his coat.

  Sam chimed in, “Well, have fun, you crazy kids. She has no curfew, Martin. But it would be nice if you bring her back all in one piece, if you catch my meaning.”

  His eyes slid to Sam and his expression darkened. “Goodbye, Sam,” he said as he reached for the front door and held it open for me.

  “Goodbye, Martin.” She smiled at him, like a harpy.

  ***

  I was wrong.

  The place he took me for dinner definitely needed reservations.

  Despite my shaky start to the evening, once we got to his car things felt a bit more natural, easy. He asked me about work. Instead of talking about the band or The Bluesy Bean, I told him I’d abandoned my twenty or so venture capitalist projects in favor of investing heavily in science cabinet futures.

  He laughed and the tension was mostly cut.

  We talked on the way over about his Spotify playlist and what books we were reading. His handsomeness and brilliance felt less like a death ray aimed at my heart and more like Oh…look, it’s Martin. I half convinced myself I could still move forward with my plan to settle things between us.