by Kate Stewart
“The gentlemen wanted me to ask about not having coffee on Saturday?”
“Did he?” Bree mused slyly before she turned back to Cameron. “She’ll be there at eleven. The girl is a night owl and is fond of her sleep.”
Cameron’s lips twitched in amusement at Bree’s candor. “Noted, and thank you . . .”
“I’m Bree,” she said, tipping her cup his way.
“Thank you, Bree.”
He stood, shaking hands with his tablemate, just as a tall brunette approached him. I continued to stare as she took Cameron’s hand in greeting and then let out another breath of relief when she made herself comfortable in his newly abandoned seat.
Not with her. He’s not with her.
And neither was his attention. He made it a point to catch my eyes before he disappeared behind the curtain.
“That was some serious eye fucking,” Bree said. “He’s huge, like . . . damn. I bet he played football or something sexier. Ooohhh, rugby.” She waggled her brows as I sank into my chair. “Bree,” I hissed. “Why, woman? Why would you do that? I just told you I turned him down.”
“Now listen here, heifer,” she said, as I rubbed my temples in an attempt to keep my hands from circling her neck. Bree loved calling me a cow when she had a point to make. She claimed it was a southern thing. “That horse there is the one you are going to climb on to get back into the big parade. Call it what you will, ‘Abbie got her groove back’ or ‘Abbie got her back broke.’ I don’t care. But you will be at the coffee shop this Saturday, and you will be receptive to that fine-ass man. Do you hear me?”
A collective “yes” was hissed in all directions at us. I had no choice but to brush it off because it was the norm. Bree had been told to quiet down at a concert. Who in the hell gets told to quiet down at a concert? Bree, that was who. She sat back, satisfied with her spectacle, as she pitched her voice toward the chairs around us. “Good, then you can each buy me a drink to celebrate my upcoming nuptials.”
“Hey, Abbie, how was your weekend?” Kat called out as I walked past her office door and set down my soaked tote next to my desk. I went to greet her and found her thumbing through a folder. I looked like a wet mutt, but she didn’t have a hair out of place. I studied her carefully to test the waters. Kat was beautiful, very Snow White in appearance with dark hair, pale skin, and red lips, but at times she had an odd temperament. She was one of those women whose mood you had to gauge to decide if she was having one of those days.
When I began consulting at the firm she worked for a month ago, I was met with expected and underlying hostility at our introduction. It had been tumultuous for a time, but since then we’d become chummy.
Kat and I were always the first two to arrive at the silver tower at Preston Corp. On the twenty-second floor, Preston was losing money, and that’s where I came in. Kat headed up the Finance division and her job was the one on the line. We worked closely together and each day, I gave her assurances that the redlining of the department wasn’t due to any mismanagement on her part.
She looked up now and gave me a sincere smile, which was a green flag.
I exhaled and smiled back.
“Well, my weekend started out great and then it got a little weird,” I answered. “I had a flirtation with a gorgeous man, but for some godforsaken reason I rejected him, and then I bumped into him again the next day. I don’t really believe in fate or kismet but it was as if we were being pushed together. I’m supposed to meet him for coffee and I’m pretty sure if I don’t—I’ll end up adopting cats. I’m the last of my friends to pair off.”
“Ha!” She scoffed harshly, making me jump in my seat. “Run the other way. Trust me, marriage isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” She slipped her purse into her desk drawer, while the two-carat evidence of her marital status glistened on her finger. “Seriously, it’s no picnic.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” I chuckled as she joined me at her door before we made our way to the breakroom for a much-needed caffeine jolt.
Kat’s face contorted in disgust as she grabbed two mugs and set them on the counter, her lithe figure wrapped in a new designer dress. She’d been a gymnast when she was younger and a bit of a celebrity. She’d revealed that to me over stale sushi when we had one of many late nights.
Though she did show concern for her position, I had a feeling through our conversations that money wasn’t one of her worries. I often wondered if her main concern had to do with the husband she was always ranting about.
“Lately, he’s worthless,” she fumed as she tapped the artificial sweetener into her cup with perfectly manicured nails. Her phone buzzed on the counter as she stirred in her sugar. “Speak of the devil,” she said before she picked up the call. “Hi, Jefferson. It’s not a good time.” A short pause. “Can we discuss this later? I’m at work.”
I stood by the machine as she listened then her eyes went cold as she spewed venom.
“I told you I didn’t want it. No, no, it’s not all up to you. Why are we talking about this again? Seriously, why? The hell you are! Jesus Christ, I’m at work,” she whisper-yelled. “I don’t have time to talk about this. Go play with your toys.” She looked up at me and rolled her eyes. “No, no, no. NO! Listen to me. Listen. To. The. Words. Coming. Out. Of. My. Mouth. I’m done with this. It’s not up for discussion and it’s ridiculous.” She sighed as she ended the call. “See? So much fun.”
I didn’t ask any questions. I’d heard more than one of those conversations and felt bad for the poor man. She was horrible to him. And though I hated to admit it, I felt better about myself at that moment. I wouldn’t talk to my worst enemy the way she talked to him, let alone the man I promised forever to. In fact, I’d been on the receiving end of similar insults. I knew all too well how it felt.
Maybe I really was better off alone.
Kat picked up her cup and sighed. “I’m hard on him, I know. But I can’t handle when he gets all needy.”
“Hey, I’m not judging,” I lied.
She shrugged, and I could see little to no remorse in her eyes for the way she just spoke to her husband. “I’m just over it lately. Maybe I’ll just go home and screw his brains out to keep the peace for a while.”
“Now, this is coffee talk.” We both turned to see Avery—a newly hired temp—in the doorway wearing a Cheshire smile.
“What did you hear?” Kat said with a giggle unfit for a woman in her late thirties.
“Something about screwing brains. And if it weren’t against company policy to have this conversation, I would correct you. That’s not how the anatomy part of it works.”
Kat giggled again, smitten, while I rolled my eyes. She fell for his ass-kissing antics daily. I was over it after the first ten minutes I’d spent with him, but it wasn’t my ass he kept kissing. Java in hand, Kat and I set out on our day, working through lunch, and purging the majority of our to-do list.
After hours of tireless number crunching, I sat kicked back at her desk and spoke through a mouthful of Shrimp Lo Mein. My mind drifted back to Cameron. I’d been thinking about his smile for the past two days. Although I was mentally kicking myself in the ass, I didn’t know if I was ready for anything more than flirtation. But it had been some time since I daydreamed about anyone.
Kat was absently typing up a list of notes. She always preferred working to eating. I envied her for her figure, though she was a little too thin.
I set my noodles down and pushed the day away from underneath my exhausted eyes. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
“Six-thirty?!”
I couldn’t believe we’d been at it for so long. I was wiped, but Kat looked like she’d gotten her second wind. I hated riding the train from the city at night. I made quick work of packing up, but Kat hadn’t moved.
“Don’t you want to get home?”
Kat glanced away. “Not really. But I guess I’ll go have sex.” She sighed tiredly, standing up to stretch, and I grinned.
“You’re a real jerk, you know that? Some of us don’t have the luxury of convenient sex,” I reminded her as we threw out the trash and grabbed our purses. “Maybe you should just try and enjoy it.”
“You don’t know him,” she rolled her eyes.
“Do you love him?” I asked.
She looked at me pensively as we stepped into the elevator.
“I’ve been married four years but in love only a few of them. That’s the most honest answer I can give you. My marriage is a shitty example. Don’t let my stance on it sway you. And by the way, I was your age when I got married. He’s younger.”
“Cougar, huh?” I chimed happily, waggling my brows.
She shook her head with a wry smile. “I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Oh, you definitely should have,” I disagreed with a laugh. She rolled her eyes as we walked through the double doors of the lobby.
“Just be careful. You never really know someone unless they want you to,” she said absently. “See you tomorrow.”
She’d unknowingly struck a nerve.
My hidden fear.
That no man could be trusted.
That every man might hurt me.
I managed to muster a “goodnight” as I grabbed the rattling phone in my pocket and saw the incoming text.
Rhonda: What are your plans for June of next year?
Soon after, she sent a wedding bell emoji. I looked heavenward and shook my head. My guardian angel must have taken the year off or decided I was equally pathetic and resigned. Probably after I passed on coffee with Cameron.
I stared down at the text. Rhonda knew I’d seen the message. If I didn’t respond I’d look jealous, guilty or both.
Me: Congratulations! June is all yours! I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you after!
I hit send just before my phone buzzed in my hand with an incoming call. Thankful it wasn’t Rhonda calling me on my bullshit, I sighed and slid to answer.
“Hi, Mom. I can’t talk now.” I watched Kat disappear into the parking garage and started making my way toward the train.
“What a way to greet the woman who grew you in her body for nine months. I have stretch marks, you can give me five minutes.”
I sighed.
“Am I really that bad?” she asked playfully, though I knew I’d hurt her feelings.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m just distracted. This insanely handsome man asked me to join him for coffee on Saturday, and I’m not sure I want to show.”
“Why in the hell not? It’s been long enough. Go have some fun.”
I was being consoled by my mother and could feel the blood of an old maid start to circulate through my veins. “Yeah, well, here’s the truth. I’m sick of this whole shit show. I’m seriously over it. And working all the time. I mean I don’t want to be alone forever, but I’m not sure now is the time, either. I’m at some weird crossroads. They say it happens when you least expect it, right? I’m trying really hard not to expect anything.”
“Speaking of expecting, any idea where your brother is? He promised me dinner this week.”
“He’s such a shit. He ditched me yesterday for lunch.”
“He’s probably out at his fort,” she said, referring to his cabin in the woods. A place I wouldn’t dare visit.
“He’s an idiot.”
“You watch too much crap,” she scorned.
“Mom, Ted Kaczynski lived in the woods. Okay? The Unabomber. People only go to the woods to make moonshine, cook meth, inbreed, plot murder, execute it, and bury the bodies.”
“Or hunt, fish, relax, and enjoy nature.”
“Or in Oliver’s case, hide from the newly-jaded wench of last week.” My brother was a playboy who often created his own drama. Growing up, he was a handful and caused enough trouble for both of us. And so, my mother decided to place all her lofty expectations on me. She loved him unconditionally because she had no choice.
“He’s probably impregnating,” I added.
“I hope so. I’m honestly to the point I don’t care as long as he gets a baby momma, so I get a baby.”
“Mom!” I admonished with a laugh. “You don’t really want him to reproduce, do you? I mean, the ego on that punk.”
“You two are taking forever,” she scolded. “I thought you and—”
“Did you call for any other reason?” I interrupted. She was going to go on about my ex, Xavier, like she always did. We broke up years ago. And I think her heart broke more than mine had. I didn’t have the patience to relive that conversation.
“Yes,” she piped happily. “Come over, I’m making you lasagna.”
“No. Mom, I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but I just want to chill at home.”
“Okay, baby, but the invitation is always open.” I could hear the disappointment in her tone. I was being a shit to my own mother.
I pulled out my card and tapped it for entrance before I headed toward the train. “Am I mean?”
“Mean?” She laughed. “No, honey, you have a heart of gold and a mouth like no other. You are no bullshit and refuse to give false compliments. A lot of people love the bullshit, but they especially love the false compliments.”
“So, I’m bitter?”
“A little, but who isn’t? That comes with living, and you aren’t fresh-faced anymore. You’re no spring chicken.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said as I walked the long corridor glancing around to see I was alone.
“I just mean that you’re no dummy. We raised you to be picky, Abigail. We didn’t want you settling. And aside from that idiot you almost handed yourself to last year—what was his name?”
“Exactly, let’s not,” I said as my spine pricked in awareness. All she knew was that I was dating Luke. And the scary part was she wouldn’t have remembered his name. But Bree would have.
“Enjoy the lull, baby girl. I promise it will pick up, and when it does, it might not set you back down. Listen to your elders.”
“I listen to you. I always listen to you,” I said proudly. My mother was a Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist and humanitarian. Her pictures had earned numerous awards across the globe and had changed countless lives. She was healthy at sixty-three, was still married to the love of her life—my father—and still fulfilling every dream she could fit into her enormous life. And though it was full, she refused to stop stuffing it with more of whatever her heart desired. I had one hell of an example set for me.
“You are something else, you know that? You’re probably researching your next trip while you stir the sauce. Only my mother would try to save the world while making me a lasagna.”
“You put too much faith in me. My lasagna isn’t that good.”
“Yes, it is, and so are you.”
“Flattery, huh?” She laughed over the line.
“I’m trying to be more personable. How does it sound on me?”
“Like you’re trying too hard. And you are nice. You’re a bleeding heart, you know that? Listen, honey, I know you want everything now. It’s been that way since you were little, but you need to want what you have now.”
“This is becoming a little lecture-ish. And I’m trying, finally trying to stick my neck out there.” If she only knew what an understatement that was.
“Abbie, you’re beautiful, successful, and totally independent. I’d say my work is done, but I hope you never really stop needing me.”
My heart broke a little with her words. Maybe I was those things before I met Luke, but I was still struggling to get that girl back. So many times, I’d wanted to tell her what happened, and at every single opportunity, I choked. It was no different as I stood mute with the phone in my hand waiting on the subway. She took that silence as confirmation I needed more encouragement.
“Abbie, you worked hard for all that success, and you need to remember that when you get invited to watch another wedding.”
She knew. Of course, she knew. “How did you know?”
“I can hear
it in your bitter voice.” She laughed. “Who is it this time?”
“Rhonda Ziglar, and she’s thirty-two, so it gives me hope. Another bridesmaid dress. Another partner in crime gone. Mom, all my rowdy friends are settling down.”
“Abbie, look at it this way, if you were a shitty person, no one would want you in their wedding.”
“I’m going to give a terrible toast. Maybe it will scare the others away,” I said with a sigh. “I’ll have a closet full of dresses like that chick in that movie.”
“I don’t watch movies and you know it. Come over. We’ll eat lasagna, plot your speech, and drink too much of your father’s expensive scotch.”
Shoulders slumped, I nodded though she couldn’t see. I didn’t know how it was possible, but my mother was cooler than me. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”
The following Saturday—deciding to postpone slob day for Sunday—I sat at my favorite table at Sunny Side wearing a cream sweater dress, skin-tight jeans, and comfortable slip-on Uggs. I’d powdered my freckles and used my favorite shimmering lip gloss. With my tresses stacked neatly and tied up, I sipped my caramel latte—extra foam—and powered up my Mac, just in case. I hadn’t seen Cameron waiting when I walked in and ignored the slight sting of disappointment. Maybe he’d found someone in that suit he wore who’d said yes to a drink and seemed less complicated than me. I had to brush it off. If it wasn’t Cameron, maybe it was someone else.
Abigail, today you will be open to possibilities. You’ll leave your cynical and bitter bitch face at the door. You will visualize what you want and go for it with eyes wide open and a clear mind. You are crazy. You’ve lost your damn mind and you sound like a self-help book. Help yourself by realizing you are crazy.
I buried my face in my hands and sighed before I killed the pessimist for the moment. Two cups into my workload, it happened.
Cameron’s Mac: Hi. Sorry I’m late.
I peeked over my screen to see a waiting smirk. The man looked like a cologne ad. I wanted to rip him open, scratch, and sniff, but not in that order. My belly dropped as the soft buzz of his presence drifted over my skin. He was wearing a thin sweater over a button-down, dark jeans cuffed at the bottom—which I found sexy—and brown leather boots.