Sometime Soon
Page 14
“Does Jonathan care about his Mustang?”
“Not a bit,” she replies. “I may not get him to come to another one of these.”
“If he can come up with a viable excuse, I will be in awe.” I plunge my hands into the warm soapy water and go to work on a charred pan.
“His name is David Rose by the way.”
I glanced at Laura, confused. “Who?”
She rubs the pot dry and avoids eyes. “The lawyer I told you about. That’s his name.”
I feel my shoulders tense. “What kind of a last name is Rose?”
“I think it was changed from Rosen or Rosenberg, maybe. He’s cute. He looks a little like Matthew Broderick.”
“Matthew Broderick isn’t cute.”
“Well, maybe not when compared to Channing Tatum or Brad Pitt. But compared to the average guy on the street, Matthew Broderick is pretty cute.”
She’s has a point. As she finishes the pot, I hand her the clean pan. “No,” I answer firmly.
“Come on Andy,” she whines, jutting her hip out. “What have you got to lose?”
“It isn’t about having anything to lose. I’m just not up for it, okay?”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I already gave him your number.” She bites her lip and then winces as I stare wide-eyed at her.
“You’re joking,” I exclaim in disbelief.
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. But I had no idea you’d say no and actually mean it.”
“You gave him my number before you even asked me?”
She nods, looking contrite.
“What if he’d called? I’d have no idea who he was.”
“He wouldn’t have called you yet because he was going to be away visiting his family in Montreal, and he isn’t going to be back until tomorrow.”
“He’s Canadian!”
“I guess. So what?”
“Nothing.” My shoulders slump in defeat. I can’t think of anything wrong with Canadians. I’m just upset in general.
“Come on,” she nudges me with her hip. “What’s the big deal? At worst, you’ll get a free dinner out of it.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” I mutter.
“How many times do I have to tell you,” she points the dishtowel at me. “You don’t offer to pay for dinner when you’re on a date.”
I hold my hands up in silent surrender. I’m not getting into that discussion again with her. “He probably won’t call anyway,” I say. Everyone is always trying to indiscriminately set me up with single men they know or barely know. I stopped protesting too vigorously because, generally, none of them ever actually called me.
The washing is finished, and I feel the need to soap the greasy water off my hands. I grab my purse and head for the bathroom, leaving Laura to finish up. I also want to check my cell phone to see if Katie has called. She’s been on my mind all day. Happy to see that I do indeed have a message, I dial into my voicemail. But no one ever calls when I expect them to.
“Hi, Andrea. It’s Ryan. I ended up having to go to New York last week, so I wasn’t around. But I hope you’re having a good holiday weekend. Give me a call when you get a chance. Talk to you soon.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Had I imagined him asking me out for Thursday last week and telling me that he would call me? He left a message as though he hadn’t completely blown me off. Maybe it’s me. I shake my head at my phone incredulously.
If I were to look for an example of a long, happy marriage, I wouldn’t have to look any further than my parents. They have their issues, and they certainly do their fair share of fighting, but they love each other and they are able to weather all issues that arise--not necessary easily or even gracefully--but eventually. Their caring is evidenced in everything they say and do. They are an entity unto themselves and have been for over thirty years, Jack and Karen. When you say one name, you automatically say the other.
We leave the barbecue just after the dessert, homemade strawberry shortcake, was served. It’s the earliest we could make our exit without seeming rude. Laura and I finished the main meal cleanup, leaving my parents with only the dessert dishes to handle.
“So you think I should call him back?” I ask. I told them about the message from Ryan once we were back in the car.
“He could have forgotten about your date,” Jonathan suggests. “It happens.”
“Compared to not walking you to your car, this isn’t quite as bad,” Laura adds from the front seat.
I shake my head. “Why are we always measuring how bad, on a general scale of badness, something a guy did was? Why can’t anyone just be nice and normal? Act courteous and kind? I don’t get it.”
This is a rhetorical question as we all know, but Laura scowls in commiseration with me. “Because guys are idiots!” she proclaims.
“Hey.” Jonathan protests on behalf of his gender.
“You know what I mean,” she chides, reaching out to turn on the radio. Suddenly Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ bout Love” is blasting at us. She smiles ruefully at me as she turns down the volume.
But I’m not sure Jonathan does know what she means. He looks a little put out.
I receive a call from Katie later that evening. She finally sat Mike down and told him.
“He was shell-shocked at first,” she tells me. Her voice holds an undercurrent of excitement. Mike is at a Red Sox game with some friends, allowing Katie to relate the story to me without having to whisper. “He just stared at me and didn’t say anything for a long time.”
“Uh-huh,” I comment, anticipating the rest.
“But then this kind of slow smile crept across his face. He was so adorable, Andy. He gave me a huge hug. He’s happy about the baby. He really is.”
“That’s great.”
“I feel so relieved. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell him.”
“What did he say exactly?”
“He asked me how I was feeling and if everything was okay. He couldn’t believe he was going to be a dad again. And don’t go reading anything into this, but he thinks we should postpone the wedding plans until after the baby is born. I can’t be planning for a wedding and a baby at the same time, and I definitely can’t be walking down the aisle with a belly out to here.”
“I’m not going to read anything into that, Katie.”
“Yes, you are. I know how you think.”
Her comment rubs me the wrong way--even though she’s mostly right. My impression of Mike hasn’t spontaneously generated itself. I take a deep breath. This is none of my business. “I’m glad you’re both happy about the baby. And I’m here if you need anything. You can talk to me about anything, and I promise not to make any judgments. Okay?”
“Okay,” she repeats.
“Besides, celebrities are having babies out of wedlock all the time. It’s totally trendy right now.”
“That’s me. Always following the latest trends. I bought the new iPhone and soon I’ll have a baby bump.”
sixteen
I finally get around to leaving my car at the shop to have the bumper repaired, and I rent a car from the conveniently located rental agency next door. I depart the repair shop in a blue Hyundai Sonata that rattles and smells of mold.
“Rob wants to see you,” Joan states. I nearly stroll right by, ignoring whatever greeting Joan has offered this morning. But then my caffeine deprived brain realizes she’s said something else.
“What?” I ask stopping several paces past the reception desk, my full coffee sloshing in its cup.
“Rob said he wanted to see you as soon as you got in.”
Rob never asks to see me through a third party. He always just stops by my cubicle or relates information to me when he runs into me in the hallway. I stare at Joan as though her uninterested expression holds the answer.
Her eyes focus on a spot behind me. “Good morning,” she chimes.
A new sales guy, whose name I don’t know, nods and walks by.
I turn and hurry to my desk, dropping my bags on the floor of my cubicle, and taking my coffee with me to Rob’s office. If I were being laid-off, I didn’t think it would happen this way, although the nervous butterflies in my stomach obviously know it’s a possibility. More likely, it’s about the white papers again, and the fact that features are being pulled. But why would he have Joan instruct me to go to his office for that?
I find Rob in his usual position, behind his desk, banging on his keyboard, the top of his head reflecting the fluorescent lights.
“Hey Andrea,” he says when he notices me in his office doorway. “Why don’t you shut the door and have a seat.” He taps a few more keys, finishing whatever he’s working on, as I sit down in one of the two chairs across from him. Then he turns and focuses his attention on me.
“Did you see my email about the features being pulled?” I ask. “I’ll have the rewrites for you this week.”
He thinks for a second, seeming to scan his brain for information. “Oh, right. Thanks.”
I begin to tap my foot nervously on the carpet. Obviously, that’s not the topic he has in mind.
“Andrea,” he begins, folding his hands on the desk in front of him, “as you’ve heard, we’ve been doing a lot of talking with Napa out in California.” He pauses for a reaction.
I nod for him and stop breathing in anticipation of his next sentence.
“Based on those discussions, it looks like we’re going to be combining our marketing groups. Starting immediately, two of their people are going to join our team.”
“Oh,” I say taking a breath, the butterflies slowly dispersing.
“They are going to work remotely from the California office,” he continues, “but they’ll report to me and get all their project work from us.”
I nod again, wondering why this warrants a private meeting with me.
“They also want to move their wireless security group into our group. Again, reporting to me.”
I grin at him, trying to look impressed. Rob must be pleased to be growing his empire.
“But with our group doubling this way, it’s going to be hard for me to keep tabs on all the project work. So what I’d like to do is appoint project leaders. I’d like you to be the wireless project lead.”
“Oh,” I respond, blinking with surprise.
“What do you think?” He watches me for my reaction.
“Um, well, thanks for thinking of me, but what exactly does being a project lead mean?”
“It means that you would be my point of contact on projects, and you would manage the others and their contributions. You would give them their assignments and review their work before passing it on to me. And you would continue to have your own project work to do. It’s a very good opportunity, Andrea. I know you’re up to it.”
I plaster on a grateful expression as I wonder exactly how to word my next question. I am flattered to be asked, but I’ve seen too many promotions around here that equal lots more work with no more pay and no real upside. I also think of the awkwardness of having to manage Nate, who has been here longer than me and in my opinion has seniority. “Is this a promotion?” I finally ask.
Rob runs a hand over his smooth head. “It could be a promotion,” he says carefully. “Tom and I discussed it, and we’d like you to take the project lead position for a trial period. If it goes well, then we can make the title official. At that point, it could include a jump in salary and maybe some stock options.”
He is still watching me, and I feel my heart rate speed up. Just like I thought, he wants to give me more work with no more pay, at least not in the short term, and his wording has the left the possibility of no official promotion ever occurring. But other than time, I suppose I have nothing to lose by accepting the project lead position and continuing to interview for other positions. The title of project lead would look good on my resumé.
“This sounds like an interesting opportunity,” I finally say. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
His patient expression transforms into a pleased grin. “Of course we thought of you. You’ll do a great job.”
And just like that, I’m project lead.
“I’ll send out an announcement to the group later in the week, along with information about the department changes,” Rob continues. “Until then, let’s keep this to ourselves. We’ll talk more about what you’ll be doing as project lead later in the week after the announcement is made. Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” I answer, standing up to leave.
“Oh, Andrea, don’t miss The Bachelor tonight.” Rob starts to turn back to his laptop, but stops midway to impart this important piece of information to me. “They’re getting down to the wire. Who do you think he’ll pick? I bet it will be the blonde,” he says.
I can’t help but give the reappearance of his good humor an answering grin. “I know it’s a stereotype, but the blonde seems like an airhead to me. I think he’ll choose someone more on his level, like maybe the red head,” I answer.
The right side of Rob’s mouth hitches up sardonically. “You’ve got a lot to learn about men, Andrea.”
I review my answer and realize that I can’t argue my point with much conviction.
Nate is at his desk when I return. Immediately, I feel guilty. I’m not supposed to say anything, but do I owe Nate a heads up, I wonder? What will he think? Maybe he’ll be pleased to know that our group remains a part of the overall company plan. Then again, maybe he’ll just resent me. I greet him and boot up my laptop, feeling too keyed up to concentrate on work.
I could email Bryn and request an impromptu Starbucks meeting, I think, watching my laptop screen come to life. That’s what I would have done before the whole Bryn confession upset, and I do want to speak to her about Katie and Mike, but maybe not today.
I still have a phone call to return to Ryan. Lauren and Jonathan have convinced me to give him another chance. But it didn’t take much convincing. Also, I figure if he’s really thoughtless and unreliable those qualities will show up again soon enough. I also have a less than exciting job interview this week that I need to prepare for. There are so many pending items in my life, none of which I can make any progress on right now. Suddenly, sitting within my cubicle walls makes me feel claustrophobic. I grab my purse and decide to go for a walk. I feel Nate eyeing me as I leave without a word.
Out on the sidewalk, standing in the warm morning sunshine, I feel my heartbeat slow to normal. I pull out my cell phone and call Mom to give her the news of my new title and the bad news of my stagnant paycheck. She’s thrilled as she always is when anyone recognizes how wonderful her progeny is. The fact that the world does not do so on a daily basis always surprises her. Her advice to me is to see the new job through and to not jump so fast to a new company. Since I hate change, I’m inclined to agree.
Next, I dial Ryan’s number. I’m nervous to speak to him, and I suddenly want to get it over with. I know that I won’t be able to simply pretend that he hadn’t blown me off last week, but I’m not sure how to bring it up without sounding pathetic.
He answers on the third ring sounding very business-like.
“Hi. It’s Andrea,” I begin casually.
“Hey, Andrea. How’s it going?” He sounds pleased to hear from me.
“Good. You?”
“Good,” he answers. “How was your weekend?”
“It was a pretty busy weekend actually. I saw some friends and went to a family barbecue.” The subtext here being that my life is busy, and I’m not waiting around for you to call me. “How about you?”
“I drove Wes home. He starts school this week.”
“You’ve lost your slave labor then?”
He laughs. “I’m afraid so.”
“Did you tell your dad about his, um, continued problems?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t easy though. Now it’s up to him to handle things. I gave him my opinion ab
out Wes seeing a therapist. I think he may finally be coming around on that point.”
“That’s good. Wes seems like a nice kid. I hope it turns out okay.”
“Yeah. Me, too. So, do you think you’re up for grabbing some dinner with me one night this week?”
“Well,” I hesitate. Then I take a breath and plunge forward. “You gave me the impression we had plans for last Thursday. When Thursday came and went and I never heard from you, I was a little confused.”
I hear a noise from the other end, like a breath being exhaled into the receiver. “I remember mentioning the possibility of getting together last week, but we never planned anything definite, did we?”
“I was under the impression that Thursday was fairly definite. The exact plans weren’t ironed out yet. You said you’d call about those. But the day was set.”
“Well, I really don’t remember that. I got called away on business at the last minute and the whole week got pretty hectic. If I forgot a date with you, I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter. It was an apology without a confirmation of guilt.
“You’re pissed, huh?” he asks, but he sounds amused rather than bothered.
“Pissed might be a little extreme.” There is no way I’m going to let him know he matters enough to illicit an emotion as strong as pissed. “More like, skeptical of any future plans we may attempt to make.”
“Ah, I see. I have to earn your trust back. I can do that. Will I get the chance?”
I find myself smiling at the phone. “Yes. I guess you can have another shot.”
“I appreciate that. How about Wednesday night?”
“I can do Wednesday.”
“How about if I pick you up around seven and take you to an Italian place that I know?”
“That sounds good.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
“I hope so,” I reply and press the End key as a tremor of excitement runs through me. Maybe forgetting our date was an honest mistake. Maybe Ryan isn’t a bad guy, just a busy, slightly forgetful one.