Knowing Savannah would be here, he’d taken a little extra care of his appearance. His shirt was tucked in, his hair presentably neatened, and his glasses swapped for contact lenses. I hugged him, trying to act normal, and hung up his jacket just to have something to do.
“Is she here?” he asked, looking around.
“In the kitchen.” He followed me through the dining room to find the chefs at work. A row of small pizzas, all a perfect golden brown, sat along my kitchen island—some plain, some covered in veggies, others piled high with various meats. “You remember Savannah,” I staged the introduction, as if it were my idea all along. Technically, it was.
She turned, a coy smile on her lips, and offered her hand. He shook it, his eyes locked on hers as though he were waiting for something to happen. I stood next to Grant, watching the romance unfold.
“Ouch,” Grant whispered in my ear. “Can you let go of my arm please? You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry,” I whispered back, wiping my hands on my jeans instead.
“Pizza’s okay, I hope,” Savannah said to Christian.
“I love pizza,” he replied.
“Me too. Isn’t it just the best food?” she sighed. It was an odd thing to say, but she did it with such sincerity and reverence that I wondered if I’d been taking our Americanized Italian food for granted these many years. “Especially with bacon. Do you like bacon on your pizza?”
“That’s my favorite kind!”
As Christian poured Savannah a drink and led her into the dining room, chattering all the way, Grant looked at me with a strange expression. One I’d only seen him use on Kendra when she insisted that disposable diapers would one day be the undoing of mankind. Incredulousness, that’s the word for it.
“What?”
“That was interesting,” he leaned back on the counter, sizing me up. He crossed one foot over the other, swirled his glass of scotch. “Didn’t expect that to happen this time.”
“What?” I said again, growing irritated. “You didn’t expect what, Grant?”
“Another setup.” He tipped back the end of his drink.
I scoffed. “I’m not setting him up, okay? She’s just a friend from work. I thought it might be nice to have some fresh opinions around here.”
“Or fresh meat.” He smirked, utterly pleased with his own wit. “So why are you so nervous, then?”
“I’m not nervous, okay? I just… want them to like each other.”
“So this was your idea?” He chuckled. “Fess up already.”
“Whatever you think is going on here, Peterson, it’s not. He asked me to bring her. Okay?”
“Fine. No problem.” He pushed off the counter, refilled his glass, and headed for the hallway. “I’m just saying you should think this through before something happens and you can’t fix it.”
Once he was gone, I poured a scotch for myself, lifted it to my lips, and spit a mouthful into the sink. Disgusting stuff, scotch. Christian’s laughter danced in from the dining room and I reconsidered my glass. I downed it in one gulp, wiped the back of my hand across my mouth—as any proper woman does—and fought off a cringe. Shake it off, Tessa. I took a deep breath and marched into the dining room.
****
Christian asked Savannah out to dinner after Friday’s re-re-meeting and I had to pat myself on the back for being so right about them. When you’re good, you’re good. They’d absolutely hit it off, finally discovering all the little wonderful things they had in common, from favorite bands to childhood ambitions. Actually, that was the first time I’d ever heard that five-year-old Christian wanted to be ‘Frogger’ when he grew up.
I sat across from them that night, gnawing mindlessly on slice after slice of Hawaiian pizza, and speculated on all the wonderful things life together would bring them. Marriage, a home, perfect children, a family dog. I was extremely satisfied knowing I’d orchestrated Christian’s happily-ever-after, if only a little. There was only one major downside to their pairing, as I learned the following Monday morning: Savannah was an over-sharer.
“Oh my God, Tess! I can’t even believe how amazing he is! Who knew all this time we were working together that you were best friends with my soul mate!”
Soul mate? “Well, Savannah, you only just met.”
“I know! That’s what makes this so amazing. You know, when he kissed me—”
“He kissed you?” That seemed awfully fast for my friend, no matter how close to thirty he was getting. “Already?”
“On the cheek,” Savannah said, failing to hide her disappointment. My shoulders relaxed. “Anyway, I just know this was meant to be. Did you know that he wants two girls and a boy?” I knew. “That’s what I want!”
I smiled as though to say, Oh great!
“And did you know that his favorite cereal is Honey Nut Cheerios, but he likes to eat them dry?” She waited until I nodded again. “So do I! This is just so creepy!”
Sensing that this could well go on for hours, I dodged her invitation to lunch and dove back into my increasing workload. Hearing about Christian from a love-drunk soon-to-be girlfriend was nauseating. Although I had to chuckle to myself, remembering how seriously Christian always took his search for true love. Cinematic romance had gotten into his brain and warped it a bit. I used to think he expected that a girl would walk into a room and he’d know right away she was the one. Kendra and I had always teased him about finding his soul mate.
Sure, it was abnormal for a guy to be the one pining for a happy marriage. Stereotypically speaking, women are often the ones chasing men for commitment and that mandatory piece of paper. To Christian, a marriage license was a goal, not a threat. He had always been the perfect boyfriend from start to finish, even when we dated for that weekend in fifth grade. Staring out my window at my perfect view of Boston’s skyline, I could remember every detail of that weekend together. He asked me out before school on Friday, just days after breaking it off with Kendra.
“It turns out she’s not the one,” he said, a bit disappointed. “But we’ve decided to stay friends. It was a mutual decision.”
I laughed. “Oh?”
“So I thought maybe you might like to be my girlfriend. You know, see how it goes?”
“You think I’m the one?”
“Well, I guess I don’t know, do I?” He shrugged. “I mean, we’re really good friends. We know everything about each other already, and we like each other.”
“Yeah, but friends don’t get married.” I frowned at him. He swatted a bug from his face, then looked at me very seriously.
“Sure they do, Tessie.”
So that night, Christian called me just like he always did, but differently this time. My mother answered, in a rare moment of domesticity, and yelled up the stairs to me.
“Tessa, there’s a boy on the phone who says he’s your boyfriend. But it sounds like Christian.”
Embarrassed, I sprinted down the stairs, scooped up the phone, and barked at him. “What are you doing? My mom’s going to tell everyone I have a boyfriend.”
“Tessa Monroe,” he said grandly, ignoring my fury. “Would you do me the honor of a date this weekend?” Always a gentleman, even at the awkward age of eleven.
I tried to argue, but learned quickly I couldn’t shake him of the foolish notion that we were a couple. “Okay, fine. But it better not get weird after this.”
We went to the movies together and he paid. We saw Jurassic Park that day—my choice, one I quickly regretted when T-rex was on the loose. Although he jumped right along with me, Christian held my hand during the scary parts and stuck his chin out bravely. He even offered the popcorn bag for me to hide behind.
On the following Monday at school, an unusual tension hovered around our lunch table. He’d spent every morning class sitting next to me, tried to share everything in his lunch box, and talked endlessly about our future. Christian wasn’t clingy, per se, but he sure had big plans for the two of us. Kendra rolled her eyes as he detailed
what kind of house we’d buy, what he’d be when he grew up, what I’d be when I grew up, and how many children we’d have. He said I could pick their names, though, and that’s when I finally had to put an end to it all.
“Things are weird,” I told him, matter-of-factly. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“But I think you might be the one.” His protest came quickly, but feebly. Even then he knew fifth-graders don’t typically fall in love for life.
“Let’s just go back to the way things were. Me and you and Kendra, best friends. That’s it, okay?”
He agreed and we found a happy balance in the following years. Christian dated selectively but often, trying to find the woman of his dreams. Many failed attempts later—including the tornado that was Marcy—and here we were, almost back where we began. Thank goodness for Savannah, or else it might’ve gotten weird again.
I hardly came up for air for the rest of the day. At some point, someone brought me a yogurt from the break room. It was the only thing I ate all day. Someone else, or possibly the same someone, kept topping off my coffee cup for me. Nothing compelled me to leave my office, the content I was editing, or the layout I was, well, laying out. Until my bladder suddenly threatened to burst.
I sprinted to the ladies’ room and into the first open stall to—ahem—take care of business. As I was re-buckling my belt, still inside the stall, I heard the door to the bathroom open and two pairs of feet walk in. Savannah gabbed away and a second girl interjected the occasional “Uh huh” to sound interested.
“He sounds great,” the second girl finally said. Possibly Rachel the admin. Or Claire from accounting. “I bet he’s unbelievable in the sack.”
Rachel. That was definitely Rachel. She thought the definition of “girl talk” was comparing how guys performed—or didn’t perform, as in the case of one of Rachel’s ex-boyfriends—in the sack. The sack? Like anyone actually called it that anymore.
I heard Savannah playfully slap Rachel’s arm, a reaction somewhat resembling what I wanted to do to her. The word ‘playful’ didn’t factor into my version at all. Her weird fixation on sex was really irritating and not at all work-appropriate, especially when concerning my best friend and his new almost-girlfriend.
“Anyway,” Savannah said loudly. “Back to what I was saying.” Here we go, more gushing. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found someone I like. When I first met him, I thought he was snob.” Christian, a snob? “But then I realized he was just shy. Like me. Once I saw through his hard outer layer, I could see how beautiful he was inside.”
Wait, what? She’s been reading too many romance novels. Still, an overly romantic nature was just one more thing they had in common. Savannah blabbered on and on for a few more moments, while I stood frozen in the bathroom stall, afraid to think too loudly. At this point, I’d been in there too long to casually walk out and say, “Oh hey, guys. Fancy meeting you here.” They’d know I heard every word. By the same token, every second I stayed put made this offense so much worse. I felt dirty violating Savannah’s privacy.
“He’s Tess’s friend, so I know he’s a good guy,” Savannah’s pining was palpable even through the metal stall door. At the mention of my name, it became my conversation to hear. “You’ve probably seen him around. I think he comes in to visit her, like, once a month.” He did, but it was weird Savannah knew that. Maybe she noticed him earlier than I realized.
“So what’s wrong with him?” Good old annoying Rachel asked this with a certain expectation in her voice. “Two kids already? Three ex-wives? A gambling habit? Syphilis?”
Savannah’s high pitched giggle echoed around the tiny bathroom. “No! Why does something have to be wrong with him?”
“Because,” said Rachel pointedly. I pressed my ear to the stall door, simultaneously ashamed and enthralled. “Girls don’t make friends with guys like Christian. Unless there’s something wrong with them. He’s hot. H-O-T. And if he’s really all these things that you describe, and not afraid of commitment, then there’s something else at play here.”
“They’ve been friends forever.” Savannah actually defended us.
“But there must’ve been something there at some point. Maybe they did it in the back seat of his car after prom or something. Or on spring break in college. They’ve done it, Savannah, and it didn’t work out. Or else, your perfect man is a leper.”
I wanted to leap from this stall and beat Rachel to a bloody pulp for making Savannah paranoid. She needed to stay with Christian, not to run away screaming like all the other girls intimidated by our relationship. Friends. We were just friends.
Savannah laughed. “Come on, Rachel. There’s nothing there. I’m pretty sure about that.” She laughed again, confidence ringing in every note. What, exactly, made her so sure? Shouldn’t she have at least a little bit of doubt? A nagging concern? An annoying inkling? Another euphemism for a suspicion?
“Okay, maybe Tess is a lesbo. I heard her sister is…Do you think that’s hereditary?” After a pause, during which I heard Savannah’s jewelry jingle a shaking of her head, Rachel continued. “Then how do you know they don’t have a history?”
“You really want to know?” She exhaled deeply. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but… okay. I asked him myself, all right? He said no. Actually he said ‘There’s not a chance in hell that’s ever going to happen. Not now.’ Just like that.”
I listened, horrified, as Savannah changed the subject to handbags. The two girls used the stalls themselves, washed their hands, and left together while Rachel told this weekend’s “in the sack” story. Long after the giggles faded down the hallway, I realized I was still pressed against the door, resting my head there for support, one hand over my heart
I should’ve been relieved that Savannah wasn’t going to buy into any bullshit claims that Christian and I “had a thing,” or were ever a truly serious item. She saw us the way we’d always portrayed ourselves: friends who love each other very much and have a special bond, but nothing more. Nothing kinky, no friends-with-benefits scenario. Just friends, like Kendra and I were friends, like Christian and Grant were friends. In that portrayal, I was either a lesbian or completely repulsive, according to other people. Good to know.
If Savannah was finally the one girl unaffected by us, I really should have exhaled a big sigh of relief and gone about the rest of my day. Instead, I was crying. Alone, in a bathroom stall, sitting on a dirty toilet seat in my nice pants. At work.
CHAPTER NINE
I have to admit that it took a little while to peel my butt off the bathroom floor and go about my business. From there, it took another couple of days to get my shit together. Pardon my French. I guess Savannah’s conversation struck a nerve, or something, but I had too many people counting on me to let a few words of gossip fry my chicken. So back to work I went, without stopping to reflect on whether I was happy about that or not.
Of course, going about my business was no small task, considering that Savannah dating Christian turned both my work life and my personal life upside-down. Most days, I was unaffected, but as the deadline for our publication came nearer and nearer, I kinda wanted to throttle her.
The trick was to learn how to keep Savannah from Work and Savannah, Christian’s Girlfriend separated in my head. A difficult task since she seemed to want to talk about work while hanging out with my friends and, conversely, talk about Christian when we were at work. I stayed quiet until she’d squashed my last ounce of patience. Then one day, in the middle of a lengthy discussion between Savannah and our intern Claudine about what celebrity most resembled Christian, I finally had enough.
“It’s like, if you took Brad Pitt—like, the hair and like, his general—I don’t know…” Savannah trailed off, mindlessly highlighting numbers on a spreadsheet.
“His maleness?” Claudine jumped in. I rolled my eyes, pretending not to hear them and, you know, actually do my work. “Swagger?”
“Swagger…hmmm, maybe. Tess, what d
o you think? Brad Pitt’s hair and swagger, Robert Downey, Jr.’s eyes?”
I looked up from my proof copy of Prime of Your Life and raised my eyebrows at her. I did not want to ream her out in front of the other staff members, so I just quietly shook my head at her.
“Christian’s eyes are blue,” I said, putting an effective punctuation mark on the topic. The conversation shifted back to more pressing, work-related issues and I waited until all the interns went to lunch before I spoke up.
“There has to be a line here, Savannah.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, head hung low. “I’m just so crazy about him, Tess.”
My stomach rolled. “That’s fine. And…I’m happy for you both. But here, in these walls, we’re working and Christian doesn’t exist unless he walks through that door—” I pointed to the exit with one long straight arm and made contact with a solid, male body.
“Ouch, Tessie!” Christian rubbed his left shoulder, where I’d poked him with my sharp, neglected fingernail. What woman has time to file when she’s big and important? “Ready for lunch, baby?”
Super. Having Christian on the premises—and not visiting me—only made the problem worse. I let her go to lunch early to spare myself further exposure to the happy duo. Of course, it didn’t stop there; it permeated every aspect of my life. Savannah was now included in nearly everything we did together, making us a five-some once more. Savannah & Christian, which sounded like a new brand of high-end cosmetics if you asked me, had become an inseparable entity. Kendra wanted to call them “Savistian” and Grant preferred “Christannah.” Anyway, whatever-you-want-to-call-them had already made appearances at an impromptu movie night at my house, a playground trip with Riley, and a small anniversary dinner for Kendra and Grant. Savannah had started quietly moving in on our events and traditions, very stealthily too. I almost didn’t realize she was there sometimes, until I’d say something to Christian and she’d laugh louder than everyone else. Suffocating in the sheer perfectness of it all, I needed to learn how to adjust.
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