by Ruby Lang
But she obviously didn’t remember or care, otherwise, she would have mentioned it.
There was a lot they hadn’t said to each other.
She was still smiling at him. But he didn’t ask for her number. He didn’t ask if he could see her again.
So, when she paused, almost expectantly, he said, “I’ll walk you down to your platform.”
And he watched her get on her train.
* * *
Fay was still smiling that evening as she pulled a pot out of the moving boxes in order to make dinner.
On the way home, she’d bought the fancy instant ramen, a bunch of green onions, and a single grilled chicken breast. She shredded some of the chicken and the scallions with her hands and dumped them in with the noodles. Then she found a pair of disposable chopsticks from a takeout bag she’d left on her counter and sat down on the floor cross-legged to eat from the pot. Her mother wouldn’t quite approve of her methods, but at least Ma Liu would be happy that Fay used only half the seasoning packet.
She should have taken that Saturday afternoon to unpack, but she just couldn’t stomach it. She’d moved twice in the last year: once into a sublet when she’d asked her husband for a divorce (he could keep the apartment and its expensive lease), and then into this old, pre-war one bedroom with worn floors and tall windows that rattled when it stormed. But it was hers. She’d bought it with her own money.
It was probably a mistake.
She hadn’t had time to brood about it, though. Her marriage unraveled at the same time that the firm that she’d started with two college classmates had been going through growing pains. But while the extra work had been a welcome distraction, she and her partners were clearly shorthanded and needed desperately to hire someone. She’d thrown herself into putting out fires at work and her partners had been left to hire HR consultants, go through CVs, and interview people.
This was the first weekend she’d taken off in a long time. And now that she had a chance to glance around, the apartment was in rougher shape than she remembered. She had a lot of furniture to buy—she didn’t even have a bed. Her mattress sat on the floor. It seemed too difficult to summon the depth of will she needed to start a new project, to whip it into shape. She wanted something polished, finished. She wanted just one thing—one thing—in her life to be ready for her.
But this was no time to wallow. She was going to hold on to the good mood that Oliver had helped her earn for as long as she could. She tapped on FaceTime and propped her phone up on a box.
“Not wallowing for a change,” Renata said approvingly. “What happened to you today?”
Renata was on the patio of her house in Seattle, sipping something from a tall glass while her kids screamed in the background.
“I had a good time. But I see you’ve started drinking.”
“It’s four in the afternoon on a Saturday, and I’ve already shuttled to and from two kid birthday parties, and my wife’s been on a business trip for the last week. The drinking started hours ago.”
Fay held up her ramen bowl. “Cin-cin.”
She slurped her soup, which earned her an outraged squeal all the way from Seattle.
“You’re as gross as my children.”
“I’m sitting on the floor eating ramen and scraps of chicken and onion that I’ve rended with my own hands, Renata. You don’t know the half of it.”
“And you still haven’t made any progress with the unpacking, I see. You’re usually right on top of projects.”
Well, this conversation was not helping Fay maintain her buoyant mood. “Stop mom-ing me, Renata. I already have one, and she’s enough. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf, trying to be more relaxed about everything. Maybe I’m tired. Besides, you’ll be happy to know that the reason I was happy was because I went out—and not to the office.”
“Good! Where?”
“The Mount Morris Park house tour!”
“That sounds like planner work.”
“It was fun! The houses are beautiful. I love looking at real estate, and I wanted to learn more about how Central Harlem has changed in the space of ten years—”
Renata made a warning noise.
“—And Renata, you yourself were telling me that I should look around for ideas for my apartment.”
“I meant in magazines or on, like, Pinterest. God, did I just recommend Pinterest? Maybe I am mom-ing you. Not that there’s anything wrong with moms.”
“Well, this was a really great self-guided tour, and I got to see some beautiful things...except there was a guy who got way too aggressive about asking me out. Like, following me around and talking to me for a while, especially when there was no one else around—” Renata opened her mouth to say something, and Fay cut her off quickly. “But that turned out okay, too.”
“What, did you give him a right hook and send him backward off the porch? You did, didn’t you? That’s why you look happy. Is he dead? I knew this day would come, I have just the person to represent you. Let me get—”
From seemingly out of nowhere Renata hauled up her briefcase and set it next to her wineglass.
“No. No. No one’s dead—or hurt.”
“There’s a story here.”
“Not much.”
Renata lowered the briefcase out of sight again. Fay didn’t know why she was suddenly reluctant to share. Nothing had really happened, after all. “Oliver Huang showed up. I pretended he was my boyfriend and the dude backed off.”
“Oliver Huang?”
She cleared her throat. “Yep.”
“The one with the cheekbones.” Her friend was now peering hard at the phone, trying to read Fay’s face. Luckily the light was bad enough in her apartment that Renata probably couldn’t see Fay’s blush.
Renata said slowly, “Oh yes, I do remember him. He went to grad school with that colleague of yours when you worked at the city—what’s her name.”
“I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of it.”
“Funny you know him but you can’t recall her.”
“Hilarious. I’m sure I’m friends with her on Facebook or something. I should check.”
Not to be diverted, Renata said, “He’s a very good-looking man.”
“Yeah.”
“And nice. Remember Sofia’s wedding? Good dancer.”
“I get the idea—”
“He’s the one who rescued you from the bugs that other time.”
Fay shuddered. “Aided, not rescued. I don’t want to talk about that.”
“But you’ve reconnected.”
“It wasn’t a date.” And apparently it never would be. Fay turned red again. “He helped me out of a jam—that I could’ve gotten out of myself. But I was glad he was there.”
“Did you ask him out?”
Reluctantly Fay said, “No-o.”
“Well then, did he ask you out?”
There it was. “No.”
Fay had been sure he would. And she’d been prepared to say—what? Yes. She had been prepared to hesitate and then say yes. But now she was only embarrassed. “It’s not like that between us. We’re casual acquaintances. Friends,” she amended, “now that we’ve spent an afternoon together.”
“An afternoon in which you pretended to be boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Just for a few minutes.”
Well, it was longer than that if she counted the other times through the rest of the tour when they hadn’t contradicted other people who had assumed they were a couple—when she’d managed to fool herself that they were a couple. It felt good to be with Oliver. It felt easy to just let the mistakes pass without correction, to stand a little too close, to brush up against his solid, warm arm, and to pretend that it was all real.
Renata smirked at Fay’s silence and Fay found her irritation growing.
“I’m not interested in starting anything with Oliver Huang anyway. It would be awkward. I know too many people that he knows, and we’re in the same small professional circle. We have the same urban planner friends, and the same urban planner jokes and interests. People introduce and reintroduce us to one another all the time. To change that, that’s the definition of awkward.”
“You said that word awkward a lot.”
“I repeated it because I was afraid you weren’t understanding my important point. He isn’t what I need. I need someone who isn’t playing around, like Jeremy was—”
Renata snorted. “Jeremy was lazy. All talk, no action.”
Lazy wasn’t exactly correct. It wasn’t that she had been more ambitious than her ex. If anything, judging by all the high-flown ideas he’d had, his imaginings for what he could do and how much money he’d make, or what ideals he’d uphold, his aspirations went wide and far. Jeremy was the one who was sure of himself. He was the one who thought he could make things happen. He was the one who’d tried a handful of different careers, always putting in minimal effort and expecting success to fall into his lap, and when it didn’t, heading off in search of greener pastures.
But Fay was the one who had focused on one thing that she wanted to do and was doing it.
She continued as if she’d been uninterrupted. “I need someone who understands my perspective. Someone driven, who doesn’t just let me talk the whole time, or have me lead him around from house to house showing him things.” Although, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? She’d liked that Oliver let her take the lead, and she’d told him so. Maybe he’d been waiting for her to take the next step, too? “Besides, the moment is gone.”
“You could easily get his number from any one of your many mutual acquaintances in your small professional circle. You need to go out with someone.”
“I’ve gone out on dates.” She had dated since the split with Jeremy was finalized nine months ago. She’d been very diligent about fitting it in, going out on at least twelve coffee dates with twelve people, all in accordance with the protocols of getting over a divorce.
“Not in months. And I know you. You only did it because you felt like you had to prove something. You need to go out with someone you like, on a date with real stakes. Otherwise you’re going to stay in this holding pattern.”
“A date is not the answer. And I’m not in a holding pattern. I’m keeping it together just fine. My job’s busier than ever. We’re supposed to hire someone soon, if Teddy can get it sorted. I’m even—” she waved her empty noodle pot at the screen “—feeding myself.”
“Isn’t keeping it together the very definition of a holding pattern?”
She set the pot down with a clang. “Why have you been pushing me this entire call?”
“Because it always works on you.” More quietly. “Because I’m worried about you, and I’m not there.”
Fay’s shoulders relaxed a little but her pride still felt bruised, and her words were pricklier than she intended. “Well, you’re the last person I’d expect to send me toward a man just to solve my problems.”
“But he’s the first person—first anything—to give you any sort of spark in months. Look around you at all these boxes on the floor, all the unfinished projects, your low energy. Is this normal for you?”
Fay closed her eyes. “Nothing this year has been normal for me, all right, Renata?”
A pause.
“Fay, I want—”
“I have to go.”
Fay pushed End.
Then after a couple of moments, she sent a text with a kissy face—and received a blue heart back.
It was possible that she and Renata were better friends now that they lived on opposite coasts. Now that she could just hang up when Renata became too much—or was it too insightful? Fay could take a break and retreat to her corner—like now. They were a lot alike and their intensity had worked for them when they were both young, professional women in their late twenties. Fay missed her friend, of course, and sometimes Fay wished that she could go over and flop on Renata’s couch—she always had the most comfortable couches—and yell and eat Renata’s mom’s conconetes. But mostly, it was better now.
Fay was at peace with her bigger choices; she knew that she shouldn’t be married to Jeremy, and she was very glad she didn’t have kids with him—but it was still hard to take it when Renata mothered her, especially when her friend acted like she had more experience, more knowledge about life.
Fay had her own kind of knowledge.
For instance, the truth was that this afternoon, she hadn’t had to take the subway to get home. Her new apartment was only about fifteen blocks from the last house she and Oliver had toured.
She could’ve asked him to walk home with her, maybe invited him up, messy and unfurnished as the place was. He was a planner. He’d love the neighborhood. He would see the possibilities of the place that she’d seen—and needed to be reminded of. She’d read up on the history and architecture of this part of Manhattan. Maybe she would have taken pleasure in showing him the slot in the bathroom for razor blades, the old penny tile, a stove that came straight from the seventies, an ugly slab of a fridge from the early 2000s. The apartment was like an old Gothic cathedral that had changed styles midway through building because the construction had outlasted the lives of the people putting it together. But instead of a place of spiritual worship, it was a place of common living, every decade of its existence evidenced by an outdated appliance, or a piece of cabinetry or wallpaper.
And maybe, while she and Oliver were exploring the apartment together, she would have gotten him to sleep with her. Peeled off his jeans, pushed him down on the mattress, and watched him watch her lower herself onto him. But she hadn’t done any of that because, well, she was scared.
She sighed. The truth was, she did want to be with someone again. She wanted sex and kissing and a pair of solid, warm arms to hold on to. She did want to find a person she was compatible with—and the only way to do it was to date more. As Renata had pointed out, Fay liked Oliver. He wasn’t a complete stranger from the internet like her other dozen post-divorce dates had been. But because she liked him and knew him and he knew her, he could reject her and it wouldn’t just be awkward, as she kept repeating. It would hurt.
That was damn scary.
She picked herself up off the floor and rinsed her pot out in the sink. She could do this. She could call him—but later. She didn’t have to always be that woman who did everything now. Later was fine.
Don’t miss Playing House by Ruby Lang, available August 2019 wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.
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Copyright © 2019 by Mindy Hung
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ISBN-13: 9781488055126
Open House
Copyright © 2019 by Mindy Hung
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