A Girl Like You

by Maria Geraci

  Not everyone settles.

  Mom didn’t. And I don’t plan to either.

  I turn to our senior-class pictures and find Trip’s photo. Beneath his somber face is his full name, Thomas Alexander Monroe. I read his senior quote and smile. Trip quoted Dr. Seuss.

  Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.

  I look back and think about how much Trip and I had in common. We were both outsiders, both different, and both desperately trying to fit in. In some ways we still have a lot in common. Just like Trip, I’m still trying to be someone I’m not.

  The fact is I’m not Parisian. Strange things pop into my head at the weirdest times (and I’m okay with that). I’m an ordinary girl from Catfish Cove, Florida, who was raised by untraditional parents. Sometimes I speak with a twang. I’m twenty (okay, maybe twenty-five) pounds overweight, and to be honest, unless something really drastic happens, I don’t think I’ll be losing any of that extra poundage soon. My favorite author is Jane Austen and my favorite movie is Little Women (the version with Winona Ryder).

  Oh, and I suck at moderation.

  Yes, I am different.

  But then, isn’t everyone?

  chapter thirty-three

  Once again it’s Monday morning, and despite there being no editorial staff meeting and that it will just be me and Lisa and Jackie, I still bring in the Krispy Kremes. A dozen donuts split three ways. Lord help us.

  Ben is spending the day in Orlando with T.K. but he’s already texted me twice asking me where the article is and whether or not I’ve made up my mind to take the editor job.

  This particular Monday is unlike any other Monday in my career at Florida! magazine. For one thing, I circumvent my old cubicle and head straight to Ben’s office, or as I am now calling it, my office (at least while we still have a lease on the building). Yep. I’m taking the editor job. But I’m not moving to Orlando. I whip out an e-mail to Ben, copying it to T.K., accepting the job with the condition that I work from my home. I am willing to travel to Orlando for any necessary meetings, but I foresee that most of what I have to do I can do from the sanctity of my den (Jackie has volunteered to help me feng shui it for utmost productivity).

  The next thing I do is send Ben a copy of the Trip Monroe article. The new title is “Zero to Hero to Starting Over.” Richard was right. I was never going to turn in the previous version of my article on Trip. I think the new piece is a sympathetic story about a guy who basically started from nothing and became a huge superstar and gave away bundles of bucks, only to discover that same stardom has cost him plenty of personal angst. It doesn’t sugarcoat what’s going on in Trip’s life, but I left out all the embarrassing stuff. Let another magazine cover that. We have an exclusive from Trip himself and that will have to be good enough.

  Richard was right about something else too (I guess I should just say that Richard was right about a lot of stuff). I hate celebrity interviews. I prefer writing articles about marine life and beach erosion. If I ever go to law school, I don’t think I’d want to be a kick-ass prosecutor like the ones in Law & Order. I’d want to be a kick-ass environmental attorney who makes the corporate litterbugs of the world cringe.

  Ten minutes after I send the article, Ben calls. “Good work,” he says.

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Just relieved that’s it over.”

  “T.K.’s reading it now. We’re sending Ike Johnson up to Catfish Cove tomorrow for a photo shoot.”

  Ike Johnson is Florida!’s best photographer. He did the photos for my manatee article and I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

  Ben’s voice turns melancholy. “I’m glad you’re taking the job, but I think you’re making a mistake staying in Tampa. Are you sure you want to do all that driving?”

  “One hundred percent sure.”

  “It’s just, well, hell, I’m going to miss you, Frazier.”

  But you’ll have Abby now, I almost say. “It’s not like you aren’t going to see me fairly often.”

  “I know, but it won’t be the same.”

  Thank God for that.

  I e-mail a copy of the article to Richard (because I think he’ll get a kick out of the new version) then meet Kimberly for lunch. I hand her a printed copy of my article and sit back while she reads. I figure that as Trip’s new PR person, she should get an advance copy.

  “Emma, this is terrific. But are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Pause. “So how’s Torie?”

  “She’s still mad at you but I think deep down she knows she only has herself to blame. Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

  “I don’t get it. Does she want Jason back or not?”

  “I don’t think it matters anymore. Jason told to her bugger off. Not in those words. He used the American version.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, but totally deserved.”

  Sigh.

  “So tell me about your new job with Trip. What’s going on there?”

  “I’m temporarily moving in with my folks until I get my own place, but I’m going to be so busy I won’t have time to think. I have to get office space, hire staff. This whole thing is really going to be great for Catfish Cove.” Kimberly fidgets with the edge of her napkin. “Emma, I know this is kind of premature, but I wanted to run something by you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you think, in like, maybe a couple of months when things cool off and it wouldn’t be terribly weird, would you mind if I asked Nick out?”

  “Nick? My Nick?”

  “He’s not your Nick anymore. Unless…you’ve changed your mind about breaking up?” she asks anxiously.

  “No. Of course not. Kimberly! I think that would be great.”

  “The thing is, I ran into him while I was in town moving some of my stuff and we got a cup of coffee. At first all he wanted to talk about was you, but then…well, I think maybe there might be a spark there. But I’m only cool with it if you are.”

  “Of course I am!”

  We talk some more about the article but my mind keeps wandering back to Kimberly and Nick. The idea of them getting together actually makes me feel good, and if that isn’t a huge sign that I did the right thing, then I don’t know what is.

  I’m back in the office when I get Richard’s text.

  Great article. I knew you could make it work.

  I text back. Thanks! Hey, I read your first two Steve Danger novels. I am now officially a fan.

  I wait for Richard’s next text, but nothing comes. Not that my response required a response from him, but still, I guess I’m a little disappointed.

  I’m almost done for the day and am ready to shut off my computer when I decide to play around a bit. Jackie mentioned posting pictures of Richard’s going-away party on Facebook, so I log into my account. It’s been too long since I’ve been on Facebook. The first thing I do is take myself out of my “relationship” with Nick. I can’t help but smile as I remember the day of the “Facebook fiasco.” It still amazes me that Richard set that whole thing up.

  Jackie has a slew of pictures on her page. There are photos of her house in every stage of the building process, as well as pictures from her housewarming party and Richard’s going-away shindig at Captain Pete’s. There is a very nice photo of the five of us—Jackie, Lisa, Ben, Richard, and me. I’d really like a copy of it to frame and put on my desk. Sort of a reminder of days gone by. I ask Jackie where I can get a copy of the original.

  “I’ll send it to your e-mail,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I start to go back to my office, but something has been niggling at the back of my mind ever since I read that first Steve Danger novel, and I turn around. “You’ve read all of Richard’s spy novels, right?” I ask Jackie.

  “Of course I’ve read his novels. Why?”

  “Don’t you think Richard should concentrate on these spy novels instead of going off in the vampire direction? I mean,
vampires just seem so overdone these days.”

  “Vampires? What are you talking about?”

  “You know, Richard’s one-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-word vampire-werewolf novel? The one no one in the office wants to read?”

  “Emma, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Richard didn’t ask you to read his manuscript?”

  “If he had, I would have read it. So no, I can definitely say that he has never asked me to read anything of his. I offered to edit one of his Steve Danger novels once and he practically bit my head off.”

  “Oh…I guess I misunderstood.”

  Jackie and Lisa leave the office promptly at five. I leave a few minutes later and grab some takeout on the drive home. I can’t get Jackie’s words out of my head.

  I know what Richard said and I didn’t misunderstand anything.

  I go to my laptop and hook it into my printer and find the e-mail Richard sent me all those weeks ago. I download the attachment and start printing. I’m afraid I’m going to run out of paper, but after awhile the printer stops and I see that the entire document has printed out and it’s only about 250 pages. No way is this a 180,000-word manuscript. Obviously, Richard was playing with me and I fell for it. I glance at the first page. The novel is titled Curveball, which seems like a strange title for a paranormal novel, but, oh well. Richard has proven to be a terrific friend these past few weeks and I owe it to him to finally read this manuscript. I grab up the papers and a red felt-tip pen and start reading.

  The traffic on Kennedy is blissfully slow. Of course it’s not even seven a.m. yet, so that’s probably the reason. I grab a dozen Krispy Kremes and two large coffees and drive to Richard’s. I spot his red Ford Explorer parked in the driveway of his town house and park my little car behind it. I’m still wearing my pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt that I threw over my camisole top. I didn’t sleep a wink last night but I’m more awake than ever. I ring the doorbell, and for the first time since I came up with this harebrained idea, I begin to panic. What if Richard isn’t alone?

  I take a settling breath.

  If Richard isn’t alone, then that’s okay. This isn’t a romantic visit (if it was I would have primped just a tiny bit maybe). This is a professional call, colleague to colleague. Richard asked me to critique his manuscript and that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  After a couple of minutes I hear shuffling behind the door. Richard blinks the sleep from his eyes and looks down at me. He’s wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt. “What time is it?”

  “Six thirty-seven.” I offer up the donuts. “I brought Krispy Kremes. And coffee.”

  Richard snatches the coffee and ushers me inside. It appears he is alone and I’m relieved because I realize that it would not have been okay to find someone here with him. Which means…

  “I read your manuscript.”

  Richard sits on the sofa. I sit next to him. He takes a long swig of his coffee before he says, “And?”

  “And it took me about three pages to figure out this isn’t a vampire novel.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Just then an insanely large cat jumps onto my lap, startling me into almost dropping the box of donuts.

  “Whoa.” Richard saves the day by grabbing onto the box. “Watch where you’re going, Fat Boy.”

  “Fat Boy?” I get a better look at the cat. It’s the same cat Ben adopted from the shelter. The same one Richard called Animal Control to come take away. “Is this Ben’s Lucky? I thought Lisa had him.”

  “Turns out Tony is allergic to cats.”

  “Oh. But…what happened to him? Richard, he’s huge!”

  Richard pulls a donut from the box and shrugs. “Guess he doesn’t have my metabolism.”

  “Richard, please tell me you’re not feeding this cat human food.”

  “What am I supposed to feed him?”

  “Ever heard of Meow Mix? Friskies? Fancy Feast?”

  “Are those cat-food brands?” At the look on my face, Richard grins. “Relax. I’m feeding him cat food.”

  “How often?”

  “I dunno. Whenever the bowl is empty?”

  Sigh. “So about your novel. It’s really good. As a matter of fact, if I wasn’t afraid you’d get a big head over this, I’d tell you that it’s almost kind of brilliant.”

  “You really think it’s brilliant?”

  “I said almost.” I hand him the manuscript. “I made a few notes. On the sides. Not much really.”

  Richard’s manuscript is not normally the type of novel I would buy, based on the subject matter, but I totally loved it. It’s about a guy who dreams of being a professional baseball player (a pitcher) and his journey through baseball only to be denied his big chance to play because of an injury. There’s also a romantic interest, a woman who turns out to have his son, whom the main character then reconnects with later in life.

  “This isn’t autobiographical, is it?”

  “You mean is this guy me? Yes and no.” He sees the expression on my face and elaborates. “I don’t think I have any kids out there, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Okay, just checking.”

  Richard points to my pajama bottoms. “Instituting a new dress code on your first official day as boss?”

  I ignore his question. “I’ll have you know I stayed up all night reading your book. I’ve even started the third Steve Danger novel.” I stroke the back of Lucky—er, I mean Fat Boy’s neck. “Hey, is Steve ever going to get together with Bridget?”

  “Now, that would ruin everything, wouldn’t it?”

  “How so?”

  “Emma, the point of a sappy romance that never gets off the ground is to keep the reader anticipating that it will one day happen. Once Bridget and Steve get together, then the tension will be gone.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Are you trying to tell me how to write my novels?”

  “You’re the one who was practically panting for my opinion.”

  He goes to say something then clamps his mouth shut. We stare at each other for a few long seconds and my throat goes dry. Who am I trying to fool? Richard is more than just a colleague. More than just a friend. Ever since his going-away party I’ve thought of nothing else but our almost kiss. When did I start having romantic feelings for him? Maybe it began that day just a few short weeks ago when he rolled his chair next to mine and asked me how the Trip Monroe interview went. But I don’t think so. I think it was earlier than that and I just never wanted to acknowledge it. I’m not sure. The one thing I know is that I’m not going to overanalyze it.

  “So…that night of your going-away party. You said you liked me.”

  Richard slowly nods.

  “How so? I mean, do you like me as a friend? Or do you like me as a girlfriend? Or—”

  Richard then does something totally unexpected and yet totally natural. He knocks the Krispy Kreme box to the floor and pulls me onto his lap.

  “I like you like this.”

  And then he kisses me.

  And I kiss him back.

  epilogue

  It’s been a year now since I’ve officially been the editor at Florida! magazine. I still live in Tampa, and although I end up having to drive to Orlando at least twice a week, I really don’t mind. Ben has proven to be a fantastic publisher. He has raised our profit margin, instituted a bonus system, and, overall, improved office morale. He and Abby got engaged a few months ago, but then out of the blue, she called it off. Smart girl.

  Kimberly is still working for Trip. His nonprofit agency has really taken off. I had dinner with him a couple of weeks ago. He’s been dry since that day he and Kimberly and I ate pizza at my town house, and I’m incredibly proud of him.

  Kimberly and Nick dated a few months, broke up for about a week, and then got back together again. Their relationship resembles that roller-coaster ride from Universal Studios that Richard was so leery of. It’s constant fireworks but there’s also trust and respect. I thi
nk Nick is still a little skeptical of the whole thing but I have every confidence that Kimberly will prevail and get her man this time.

  Jason and Amy broke up when Amy was offered a big position in her firm’s Miami office. Torie didn’t speak to me for almost two months. But then she invited me to dinner, and over some wine, she began to cry and asked me to forgive her. Which of course I did. Torie is far from perfect but she’s still my friend. If I don’t forgive her her faults, then how can I expect to be forgiven when I screw up too? I’m still holding out that maybe one day she and Jason will end up together. I know it’s a long shot but the romantic in me won’t give up on them.

  A couple of months ago Frank Monroe married Julie Williams in a small ceremony in his backyard. The wedding took place just as the sun set over Otis Lake while a string quartet played “My Girl” in the background. The whole thing was horribly romantic.

  Trip was there, of course, along with a small handful of friends, including me, Richard, Mom and Mama J. I cried like a baby the whole time. So did Mom. I guess the drama gene can go dormant for a while, but once it’s been awakened, there is no telling when it will surface.

  As for Richard and me, well, we’ve been together ever since that crazy kiss on his couch. My moms adore him. I’ve met his family and I’m pretty sure they like me as well, which is good because things are getting awful serious between us and it really helps if you have family behind you.

  I guess it’s way past time I told you about Richard.

  Richard is the kind of guy who can sit ten feet away from you for six years and yet you know nothing about him. Not the stuff that counts, anyway, because he’s intensely private. But over time I’ve come to discover all the little things I love about him. He likes to play tough guy but he’s the biggest softy I know. Despite hating cats, he has given Lucky aka “Fat Boy” a home. He dislikes sushi and his favorite food is the good old American hamburger. Medium rare, onions and ketchup. No mustard, please. Most of his jokes border on the raunchy but I find them all incredibly funny (at least most of the time I do). His favorite movie is Casablanca (yes!) and his favorite writer is Stephen King.