“No,” Marty said, her dark eyes attentive and full of questions. “What?”
“Well”—she shifted from one foot to the other before finally saying—“now you can see the quilt Joey’s mom made, and the tables we built with her dad in high school. I guess in some ways getting rid of the extra stuff let the things that really matter show through.”
Marty lifted her hand as if she intended to touch Lisa’s face before letting it fall to her forearm, but the less intimate touch was no less powerful as it sent a tingle through her. “That’s such a beautiful sentiment.”
Lisa shrugged again, unintentionally causing Marty’s hand to fall away. She regretted the move immediately. She hadn’t intended to get all heavy in the first place, much less enjoy Marty’s reaction to her introspection, but she did, and she had, and then as quickly as she’d sparked that connection, she’d broken it. Maybe it was for the best. Neither one of them should get too comfortable with those kinds of conversations, or they might start to expect them.
She backed out the door before pointing to the next one. “This room is my office, and my bedroom’s across the hall. We don’t have to go in those. They’re boring.”
The humor returned to Marty’s smile. “I think I should be the judge of that. You can tell a lot about a person by the spaces they choose to occupy.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” she muttered, but she swung open the door anyway. Maybe that would end the little flirtations that didn’t actually feel so little anymore.
Marty paused in the doorway to the office, her smile polite, restrained, hard to read.
Lisa looked from the antique desk to the black ergonomic chair to the bookshelves housing as many tech gadgets and toys as they did books on everything from local history to computer coding. It was a hodgepodge, but it was clean and neat.
“You don’t actually work here, do you?”
Lisa looked again. What had she seen to make that completely accurate assumption?
“It’s got your touches,” Marty said, nodding toward a Lego replica of the Death Star. “But it’s not lived in. I can’t picture you sitting at a desk like that for very long.”
“No.” Lisa wasn’t sure if the tightness in her chest stemmed from fear at being such an easy read, or pride that Marty had paid enough attention to her over their short time together to make such accurate assumptions. “You’re right. I mostly work at the coffee house where Joey works, or worked, but also in bed.”
Marty arched her eyebrows. “Bed?”
Lisa didn’t know whether to be happy Marty skipped over the part about Joey leaving the coffee house or embarrassed she’d honed in on the bed thing.
Marty seemed oblivious to her conflict, or maybe she just pretended to be as she backed out of the office and reached for the door across the hall. “May I?”
“Sure.” She tried to play cool, but a rush of cold sweat pricked her neck. If Marty could tell so many things about her office, what would she learn from her bedroom?
Marty opened the door, and even in profile her smile appeared immediate and genuine. She felt dizzy with relief, like such a kid, showing off her room to a prospective bed friend, but Marty simultaneously meant more and less than that. She didn’t know what to say, so she fell back on what she knew and went for the quick joke. “That’s where the magic happens. It’s okay to stand in awe.”
“Thanks,” Marty said wryly. “I wouldn’t want to disturb the computer-genius mojo.”
Lisa peeked over her shoulder to see what she saw. Certainly nothing that bespoke of genius. Rumpled sheets topped with a small mountain of pillows. Pieces of her tuxedo on the floor. An iPad and MacBook both open on the bed. All in all, a mess. And the few things that were in their rightful place, a photo of her and Joey sledding together as kids, an old pond-hockey trophy, an autographed Bills football, were hardly high-end. If anything, looking at the room through Marty’s eyes, she would’ve thought the décor hinted at college dorm meets frat house.
“This is much more you.”
“Thanks?”
What if she didn’t want it to be her? No, jeez, where did that come from?
Marty laughed her light, easy laugh. “I mean it. This space is lived-in. You’re not showing off for anyone. You’re not putting up a front. You like sports and comfort and being connected.”
“You see all those things from looking at my mess?”
“I see those things from looking at you.”
Lisa had no quick comeback, no smart retort. Part of her still wanted to be careful, to avoid getting too close, too fast, but damn it, another part of her, the bigger part right now, liked the way Marty saw her.
So instead of second-guessing, she chose to try something new and just accept a genuine compliment without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Thank you,” she said. And it felt nice.
*
Something had changed in Lisa upstairs, just a little thing, but Marty was highly aware of the shift as they headed back downstairs. There’d been no smart remark, no sassy retort, and while Lisa’s quick wit had never been anything less than enjoyable, she found her sincerity pretty compelling too. Lisa’s insight about Elaine’s presence in Joey’s space had been surprising, and her pleasure at having her own haphazard style affirmed hinted at deeper insecurity. Still, she offered no sign of insecurity as she swung open a big set of pocket doors, revealing a gorgeous living room.
“This is the showpiece of the house, unless you like kitchens.”
“I do love kitchens, but I see something I like even more.”
“It’s me, isn’t it?”
Marty shook her head and chuckled. There was the old Lisa again. “That too, but I meant the fireplace.”
Lisa turned toward the beautiful cast-iron fireplace. “Yeah, that’s pretty nice too. I guess.”
Marty heard the pride she tried to keep in check. The cast-iron insert flared toward a deep blue tile surround, which rippled out to a stunningly finished dark wood mantel.
“Did it come like this?”
“No. It was a mess when we moved in, but I saw the potential, and by potential I mean Joey’s potential. She did the restoration and built the mantel, while I kept her fully stocked in supplies and beer.”
“Sounds like a good team.”
“We were.”
“Were?”
“Are.” Lisa stiffened. “I said are.”
Marty stared at her for a moment. Lisa had been crass and sarcastic, with a flair for embellishment, but that was the first outright lie of their short relationship. She should call her on it. Lying was a nonstarter. They couldn’t go anywhere authentic from there, and authenticity mattered more than virtually anything else in a relationship.
“You want to see the kitchen now?”
“Sure.”
“It’s really Joey’s domain,” Lisa said, walking quickly ahead. “She likes to cook. I mostly just use the microwave. Do you cook?”
“I do.” Marty eased back in as best she could while still pondering Lisa’s fib and her own willingness to let it pass. “But I only have a small place in the city, so I don’t entertain much, and it’s not as much fun cooking for one.”
“I know, right?”
“On the other hand,” Marty said, looking from the six-burner stove to the ample granite counter space, “it does seem a shame to let a kitchen like this go unused. I think I’d learn to cook for one.”
“Yeah.” Lisa sighed. “Maybe I’ll have to.”
Marty eyed her seriously. Something had shifted again. This see-sawing between confidence and resignation confused her. Lisa seemed smart, funny, and successful, with a beautiful home and people who loved her. Most of the time she behaved like a woman highly aware of all her blessings to the point of bordering on cocky, but every now and then Marty saw a flash of something beneath her smooth surface. Last night she’d been drawn to the depth, believing it hinted at a powerful reserve of compassion, but the more she glimpse
d she also recognized a melancholy, a conflict—hidden hurt or fear, or maybe both.
“So that’s the tour of Chateau KnappLangRaitt.” Lisa also worked to bounce back quickly. “Unless you want to see the tool shed.”
“Actually, I’d like to go back to the highlight reel.”
Lisa’s smile was slow and mischievous once again. “My bedroom?”
“I was thinking about the fireplace.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” She pretend pouted. “Go make yourself comfortable, and I’ll go grab some firewood, and we’ll see if we can heat the place up a bit.”
“That,” Marty said, “is the best double entendre you’ve made today.”
Lisa once again looked full of herself as she ambled with contrived casualness out the door. God, what about this woman pulled her in so much? Marty pondered the question as she grabbed a few oversized pillows from the couch and spread a large maroon blanket across the wood floor.
Lisa had so many sides battling to reveal or not reveal themselves, and yet everything Marty saw only made her want more. She liked her confident side, her sarcastic side, her humorous side, her irreverent side, but she also felt a connection to the flashes of insecurity, the brief releases of introspection, her sincere desire to please, and even the subtle sadness that surfaced between her quick, easy jokes.
Lisa tromped back into the house and kicked off her boots at the door while carrying a stack of seasoned logs. Marty admitted to herself that their connection wasn’t a purely emotional one either. She’d never been one to swoon for unexpected bouts of butchness any more than she did for displays of high femme, but her heart rate accelerated noticeably as Lisa shed her hoodie, revealing a simple gray waffle-weave long sleeve with two of the four buttons at her throat open. There was something alluring about those buttons, though she wasn’t sure what she liked more, the open ones or the ones she realized might be hers to undo.
Lisa rolled up her sleeves and set to work stacking the wood just so. There was a comfort in the way she occupied this space, an assuredness about going about the task, so simple, so natural, so competent. No performance.
Striking a single match, she set the kindling ablaze and monitored it intently, until the flames licked the larger pieces, curling their edges orange before coaxing them into the fire as well. There was something hypnotic about the slow spread, the steady crawling consumption, and she felt it slowly tug at her own core.
When it became clear everything was progressing as it should, Lisa turned to her once more. “You warming up?”
“Very much so.”
She smiled.
Marty smiled in return. Suddenly they were fully back in the moment, like they’d been on the terrace the night before, only not there. Here, now, together.
“I like the little nest you made,” Lisa finally said.
“It’s big enough for two.” The boldness of the comment no longer surprised her.
Lisa didn’t hesitate as she crawled across the blanket, up to the pillow. She relaxed into the cushion, stretching her long legs and resting one hand behind her head. God, she looked so damn languid. Marty couldn’t help snuggling down a little closer beside her. The warmth of the fire radiating across her toes wasn’t much compared to the heat spreading through her chest.
How had she gone from doubting Lisa’s honesty to wanting nothing more than to trace her fingers lightly up the line of buttons along her shirt? And in the space of only a few minutes? Maybe Lisa wasn’t the only one doing a dance of two steps forward and one step back. Or was it two steps back and one step forward? She couldn’t quite feel sure of anything with the light rise and fall of Lisa’s chest so close, so soothing. She could quickly lose all ability to think at all. It would be so easy to just surrender to the physical comfort of the space, and the woman currently sharing it with her.
No, there were too many unknowns, too much uncertainty. She didn’t have to pull away completely, but she had to regain some of the balance she always strove for. Rolling onto her side, she propped herself up on one elbow and asked the question she wouldn’t have wanted to answer in that moment. “What are you thinking?”
“I can’t remember the last time I had a little indoors campout,” Lisa said softly.
“No? But you do remember having had them in the past?”
“Joey’s house had a woodstove when we were growing up. The living room was always so much warmer than the bedroom. I didn’t really realize then, but her parents were probably making some tough decisions about food or heat. I didn’t really understand how poor they were.” She rolled over to face Marty, the depth of emotion in her eyes holding her as spellbound as the wistfulness in her words. “I thought lying on the floor while her mom played the piano or her dad listened to football games on the radio was the best treat ever.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“I think it was more than that. I think those moments did a lot to undo my ideas of what it meant to be rich or successful. True comfort goes a long way to combat hollow opulence, you know?”
“Wow. You just got all reflective on me.”
“Sorry.” Lisa blushed.
“No.” Marty put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be. You shared a beautiful sentiment. You don’t hear many shockingly rich thirtysomethings long for days when they were poor.”
“How many shockingly rich thirtysomethings who used to be poor do you know?”
“I guess not many.” Marty chuckled, then thought harder. “Actually, I guess just you.”
“Nope. Not even me. I come from money. I’m actually the failure of the family.”
Marty laughed outright. “Oh, I’m sure you’re a real disappointment.”
Lisa didn’t respond, at least not verbally, but the tightened set of her jaw as she stared at the ceiling said plenty.
“Seriously?” Marty asked, unsure whether to feel sad or outraged. “What kind of parents aren’t thrilled their kid graduated from MIT?”
“The kind who went to Harvard medical.”
Marty took a second to let that sink in, fighting her initial rush to assure Lisa her credentials were no less impressive. She understood the hurt she’d heard there wasn’t about acceptance rates or the prestige of an academic program.
In her silent reflection Lisa rushed to fill the void. “My mother’s a research biologist, and my dad is a surgical oncologist. My older brother is a pediatric radiation oncologist.”
“I know what all those words mean,” Marty said slowly, “but I’m parsing them out in my head because I’ve never heard so many of them strung together before.”
“They cure cancer,” Lisa said dryly. “Everyone in my family is a top physician or researcher in their respective fields of curing cancer. Everyone but me.”
“Okay,” Marty said calmly, letting the weight of that understanding settle into her gut and sag against her bones. That sort of legacy was not an unfamiliar burden to her mind or body. If anything, it felt too close to protect her neutrality.
“I help the rich get richer,” Lisa continued. “I’m a one percenter who works for other one percenters.”
“Do you like what you do?”
“It’s not curing cancer.”
“But do you enjoy it? Do you find it fulfilling?”
“Yeah, of course I do. I like doing things no one else has ever thought to do before. Coding is like this impossible puzzle. I try and try and try until I hit the right piece in the right spot, and suddenly everyone can see the picture.”
Marty lay back and smiled at the celling, glad to hear Lisa articulate some passion. “I’d never really thought about computer coding before.”
“And?”
“And it’s amazing.”
Lisa snorted.
“You don’t have to believe me, but I’ve always taken for granted how everything just appears when I turn on my computer. And my emails zip around the world. I communicate with clients all over the country with my voice and my writing and my video chats. I
’ve always thought I did those things on my own. I wrote the email, I made the calls, I took the classes, but it’s not really that simple is it?”
Lisa shook her head.
“Someone like you made all of that possible. Someone spent hours if not years typing in languages I can’t understand to make these things work the way I want them to. Why can’t you see that’s amazing?”
“I didn’t invent email or online education or Skype.”
“Okay, but you did invent something?”
Lisa shifted.
“Something people needed if it made you enough money to be shockingly rich.”
“I’m not shockingly rich, really,” Lisa backpedaled.
“Sorry, you give women tuxes on a whim, you owned a four-bedroom Victorian house as little more than an adolescent, you—” She started to say, You throw lavish parties for your friends’ wedding receptions, but she caught herself. “You’re rich by my standards, and I don’t know why you won’t tell me why, unless the computer business is an elaborate cover for your organized-crime connections.”
“Well there’s that, but drug kingpins don’t make as much as they used to.”
“Nice try on the deflection, clever and funny.”
“And yet ineffective?”
Marty waited while Lisa shifted her position again. This time she sat up and looked down at her. “I invented a program that links up businesses to investment banks and venture capitalists.”
“That sounds positively evil. Does it work like a phone book? ’Cause in my day, we used phone books to find a bank.”
“It’s not quite that simple.”
“So why don’t you skip to the sinister part?”
“It’s not sinister, really, not in the up-front sense. You know when you shop on a major website or look at movies on Netflix and they have the little suggestion box that says, If you like the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack you might also like the Little Mermaid soundtrack?”
“Yes.” Marty smiled at the Disney song allusions. “Thank you for speaking my language.”
“Well, instead of assessing singing animals, the program I wrote assesses businesses and gives reports saying things like, If you enjoyed your hostile takeover of this business, you might enjoy the hostile takeover of this one too. Or If you liked raping and pillaging this mom-and-pop operation, you might want to consider raping and pillaging this small company as well.”
Sweet Hearts Page 17