Loving Rosenfeld

by Leighann Hart

  It was all hers.

  Her mother stirred something in the slow cooker, aka whatever Ryleigh and her father would be eating for dinner. Charlotte sported loungewear, savoring each minute of tranquility before reporting to the hospital later that evening. The alternating series of three days on and three days off either left her anxious to get back to the emergency room after idling at home, or exhausted when returning from a string of night shifts.

  “How was school?”

  “Barely made it out alive.” Ryleigh snagged a bottle of water from the refrigerator. It was comical how health conscious her parents were, but no matter how hard she tried, there was no convincing them to become environmentally conscious. She hopped onto one of the stools lining the island.

  “Believe it or not, I'm going to miss that sarcasm when you move out.” Charlotte propped an elbow on the counter and adopted a speculative stare, marking the distinct transition into snooping parent mode. “Is Andrea still seeing that new guy?"

  "Colin? Yeah, they’re attached at the hip, hence why I’m cooped up in the house lately.” She eased her phone out of her jean pocket to peek at the screen. A new message from Peter had arrived seven minutes earlier.

  P: Kendall is 100% done with my beverage remaking shenanigans. Why is it that my coffee tastes exponentially better when you make it? I’m convinced there’s some extra step or secret ingredient you’re keeping from me. At any rate, I think it would be beneficial for the three of us if you sent me your schedule.

  R: i’ll send a screenshot for your convenience. as far as your conspiracy theory goes, i guess you’ll never know.

  "When are you going to bring around a Colin?"

  "Trust me, mom, whenever I finally do bring a guy home he won’t resemble Colin in the slightest." Ryleigh scrolled through her photo album until she located the picture of her schedule. “Speaking of, how would you feel if I went out with someone older?”

  R: here you go, grumpy pants. plan your trips accordingly.

  Charlotte perked up. “Dad and I would have to meet him, see how he behaves around you. But we’re talking a few years older, right? College aged?”

  "Of course."

  P: Text me when you’re on your 15 tomorrow.

  R: hold on a second … did the emotionally unavailable Peter Rosenfeld just admit to missing me?

  P: I may miss you, but my walls are up. Solitude is bliss.

  “Thank god you found someone close to your age. And here I thought you’d never come off your affinity for wrinkles.” Ryleigh wanted to slam her face against the granite at that remark, but then Charlotte would have spent 10 minutes examining her for possible injuries. “So, who’s this mystery guy that has you rapt? Would I know of him?”

  "No, I’ve never mentioned him." At least it’s not a lie. She sensed her mother’s calculating mind darting from place to place. Ryleigh shimmied off the stool before Charlotte could unload any more questions. "I'm going to head upstairs and do some homework. Calculus is endangering my GPA."

  Peter’s jarring sunny disposition frightened his coworkers. The random acts of kindness he initiated around the office turned heads, which extended to taking on unwanted photo assignments—never mind the fact that he was the worst photographer on staff. Ryleigh’s virtual company cushioned whatever transpired in real time. Her frequent communications had him so high, he might have volunteered to cover an entire weekend of football.

  Felicity shot down to his marrow whenever the brewing coffee text tone played. He could not recall a time he was this caught up with a woman, because he had never been this caught up with anyone.

  His last relationship had not incited this visceral reaction. Heather Barnes had waltzed across the quad of their college campus, hair blowing in the breeze like a model, and asked him out. This bold action should have told Peter all he needed to know about her, and all of his assumptions rang true throughout their relationship. Heather was bossy and quick to make decisions for both of them, whether he agreed or disagreed with the outcome.

  While he had not quite fallen in love, it was his first and only serious relationship. The pairing meant something to him; it bore significance, even if he could not define it.

  Ryleigh had him under the influence of something akin to inspiration. Peter poured more effort into his stories than he thought possible, even the god awful county fair piece. He grimaced while writing a line describing a pie in the face game that forced him to ponder the value of his existence.

  "No errors tonight. Are you trying to run me out of my job?" Levi, the senior copy editor, said as he passed Peter's office.

  "On cloud nine over here.”

  It was inconceivable how one small change could bestow upon him this renewed vigor for everything in his life. The next message that came through dampened his upbeat attitude and brought back the familiar, neurotic personality he had developed during adulthood.

  R: even solitary guys need dates. are you free saturday?

  P: How’s your night going?

  Not acknowledging her previous text was a dick move. He did not have the heart to outright deny the request, but he could not go along with her invitation without experiencing a tsunami of guilt and self-doubt.

  It was better this way.

  Peter understood with great anguish that it was too late to implement the tried and true barrier of distance, for each day he found himself more drawn to her companionship. Ryleigh had latched onto him like a parasite. If only she knew of the tortuous grip she had on his pitiful heart.

  Every fiber of his being wanted to tell her yes. Physically, he would not allow himself to type that single, damaging word and press 'send' with a clear conscience. She kissed him. She gave him her phone number. And yet. He felt sick to his stomach staring at Ryleigh’s text.

  In the following seconds, the universe offered guidance in the form of a cruel twist of fate.

  “Karma is a beautiful thing, don’t you think, Pete?” Mike swept into the room, unannounced. He gripped a rolled-up newspaper. “You didn’t proof last night, did you?”

  “Whatever innocuous thing you barged in here to present me with can wait. It’s not the best time. And what did I say about calling me Pete?”

  “There’s nothing innocuous about this. It’s wholly relevant to you and your predicament.” A hard smile ironed itself onto his face as he slapped the paper onto Peter’s keyboard. “Flip to Asher’s piece.”

  He thumbed through the pages in search of the scholarship section. “You’re infuriating, Corso, you know that? I’m slammed tonight, and if you think—“

  Heat rose behind Peter’s eyelids, each letter of the headline branding itself into his skull. Star Student: 2018 Recipient of Beckwith Poetry Scholarship.

  Below the title was a picture of none other than Mr. Beckwith, shaking hands with a certain charcoal-haired barista. His stomach lurched at the implication the article brought forth, but dysphoria soon weighed down that unease. The bold cutline stated, ‘William Beckwith congratulates Victory Hills senior Ryleigh Branson.’

  She had braces in the photo. Braces.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Ryleigh perched on the curb outside the shop, ass frozen to the asphalt. The tights she had chosen for the day were much too thin. Bumps prickled her skin beneath the icy caress of the November afternoon. Looking nice for Peter had trumped any consideration for the weather.

  She would have waited an eternity like that, freezing and miserable, for a chance to catch a glimpse at one of his lop-sided smiles. One which bared his wonderfully semi-misaligned teeth. Peter’s smile was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, the unofficial eighth wonder of the world.

  R: i’m on break.

  Uncertainty weighted her fingers as she composed the brief message. He had ignored her invitation for a date, and that stung more than she cared to admit.

  “I’ve noticed you and Peter are getting on well. He’s been uncharacteristically cheery.” Kendall slou
ched against the street sign, pulling a heavy drag from her cigarette. She turned her head toward the street and exhaled the smoke. A slow smile built in her profile. “Did you fuck him?”

  Ryleigh could have disappeared into the sewer at her feet. The connotation of the word ‘fuck’ and its linkage to Peter made her insides flip flop. “What?”

  “Point blank. Did you fuck him?”

  “Jesus. No. We text. That’s it.”

  “What I’m getting at is, I know you like him, and I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before something happens between the two of you. In the name of full disclosure, we kind of had a one-night-stand.”

  Her mind involuntarily wandered to Kendall and Peter in such a scenario. Ryleigh’s muscles tightened as the hot current of jealousy flowed through her veins. “How do you kind of have a one-night-stand?”

  Kendall flicked the cigarette into the gutter. She pulled the shop’s door ajar. “Let me know when you’ve been in bed with the guy, and then we’ll talk.”

  Ryleigh brimmed with the urge to press for details, but a towering man advancing toward the cafe caught her off guard. Peter’s long, slender legs carried him at an unthinkable pace in her direction. She could not decipher if his face strained as a result of the uncompromising sunlight, or if it came from a place of indignation. Sticking around to find out seemed like an ill-inspired idea. She stood and brushed off her tights, retreating inside The Roast.

  "Ryleigh," she heard him shouting as he proceeded to trail her into the shop.

  Hurrying behind the counter, she slid on her apron and pretended to settle back into work.

  Peter appeared frowzier than usual. His curls were askew in every direction, a byproduct of the unforgiving wind, and his clothes needed a good ironing. Even in this disheveled state, she found him criminally attractive.

  "Can I help you, sir?" Ryleigh asked as he reached the register. She knew he would not be amused by the feigned cluelessness, but was encouraged by her love of agitating him.

  "Did you not hear me calling you outside?"

  "Of course I did." She spoke a notch above a whisper.

  "You could’ve acknowledged me."

  “I could say the same.” Ryleigh blamed residual envy for her onslaught of pettiness.

  “Why do you think I’m here, standing in front of you?” Peter gestured around the shop. His shouting lacerated the hushed bubble guarding their conversation and gathered every patron’s interest. He lowered his voice, lids raised at half-mast over his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, alright? But we need to talk. Now.”

  "Can you two break up after I order my caramel latte?" The woman crossed her arms and adjusted her handbag, tapping the polished concrete floor with a flat-clad foot.

  Peter oozed faux cordiality. “What’s your name?”

  “Suzanne.”

  “Well, you know what, Suzanne? You can fuck off.” He pointed to the exit like he expected the poor woman to obey the command. Planting a hand on his paper-thin waist, he continued, “I have some business to attend to, and I’m not leaving until it’s straightened out. Take a hike, lady.”

  “I’ll take her order,” Kendall whispered to Ryleigh, replacing her station at the register. “Why don’t you and hothead step outside? Talk things through.”

  Suzanne shot Peter a scathing scowl as Ryleigh yanked the cuff of his dress shirt, tugging him along like a misbehaved child. Her thoughts soon matched the tempo of her erratic heartbeat. Though their contact was minimal, she felt the vibrations of his fury as if they had been bonded on a molecular level.

  Saliva pooled in her mouth as she guided him through the storage room where they emerged in the alleyway. The hold she had on Peter’s lithe wrist should have sent her stomach into a frenzy of flutters.

  But Ryleigh was too pissed to feel butterflies.

  “Are you crazy? Are you trying to get me fired? What’s your deal, anyway? I should be the one who’s angry. I asked you to hang out and you ignored me.”

  The flash flood of accusations rushed from her mouth, but they hardly registered with Peter. A deep berry was smeared across her lips, and, having never seen her in lipstick, he selfishly wondered if she had worn it for him.

  He stood against the black brick wall to put some space between them. Because, in spite of the truth stowed away in his pocket, his adoration of Ryleigh had not waned. His heart and mind waged a nasty custody battle. Winner takes all. On the surface, he decided it was best to play defense.

  Nails biting into his palms, he snapped, “We’re not hanging out this weekend, or next weekend, or any weekend. Forget it.”

  “I don’t understand.” The sentence came out stilted, broken. Those desperate syllables fought to be heard through her breathiness.

  He rummaged in his khaki pocket for the folded piece of newspaper, thrusting it into her hands. “Would you mind telling me what the fuck this is?”

  She unfurled the paper. Realization flickered across her features before reverting to their guarded neutrality. If she confessed now, it would not make a difference.

  Honesty did not count as an afterthought.

  Ryleigh toyed with her fishtail braid. “I did that interview before we met. I didn’t think they would run it this late. I completely forgot about it.”

  “We must be running low on material because there it is.” Peter fired a finger at the article in her trembling hands. “You must have seen this yesterday. I’m sure your parents have it taped to the fridge.”

  “They don’t … nevermind, it doesn’t matter.” Her pale complexion lost its radiance. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

  He snatched the page from her. “Are you? Were you, at any point, planning to tell me that you’re in high school? Did it occur to you, even once, that crucial detail may be of interest to me? You don’t realize how much pushback I could get for this.”

  “When were you going to tell me about Kendall?”

  Peter’s breathing abated at the name drop. Humiliation reared its ugly head whenever he thought of that night. Hopefully she had spared Ryleigh the specifics.

  “What happened between us is irrelevant. I don’t owe you an explanation.” Tongue in cheek, he gratuitously inhaled. “You, on the other hand, have a lot of explaining to do.”

  Shuffling forward in her combat boots, she halted an inch from his worn loafers. Ryleigh bore no indication that his height or flinty stare intimidated her. “If anything, you encouraged me to lie with your assumption.”

  “Just because I saw your textbook and asked a question thinking you were in college doesn’t give you an out to lie about it.”

  “Okay, your good looks and adorably cynical remarks may have swayed my judgment. When you thought I was in college, I went with it.”

  Peter crouched to the ground, blurting, “We kissed, dammit. If I had known—for God’s sake, I have a reputation to uphold.”

  “Your reputation is safe from scandal. I’m 18. It’s not like I’m underage. Wouldn’t that be worse?”

  “Wouldn’t that be worse? Listen to yourself.”

  Ryleigh stared down at his hunched form. Adoration shone in her eyes, but that unabashed sweetness twisted itself like a knife in his gut, eviscerating everything that comprised his 160 pound being.

  She could never know the depth of that hurt.

  Wanting her in the way he did may not have been criminal, though in regard to morality it yielded a red octagonal sign.

  “You’re a nice girl, and you’re one hell of a barista.” A painful tightness apprehended his throat, as if choked by the finality of the speech. “But I don’t think it’s the best idea for us to explore beyond our usual roles. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Her powerless voice concurred, “Loud and clear.”

  Peter perched at the espresso bar, looking on as Kendall flew to the different coffee apparatuses, hustling alongside Oscar to curb the after-school crowd.

  It was not yet time to head into the office, but he h
ad come to favor the shop over the numbing silence of his condo. The stillness that usually brought him comfort wreaked havoc on his frenetic psyche.

  At least the buzzing customers and whirring appliances succeeded in keeping thoughts of Ryleigh at bay.

  He had obtained her schedule from Kendall so as to avoid unnecessary run-ins. The mere memory of her face made Peter’s chest ache; who knows what physiological horrors would plague him if he were to see her again, in the flesh.

  A dark blue mug on a matching saucer inched toward him across the counter. His eyes flitted up to where Kendall stood on the other side of the bar. She nodded at the cappuccino, donning her ‘are you alright?’ look which pinched her brows together and tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “Drink up, sourpuss.”

  And then she swept off to deal with the squadron of prep-school regulars.

  One sip of the beverage turned his stomach, taste buds set off by an unmistakable, though decidedly slight, discrepancy between Ryleigh’s and Kendall’s cappuccinos that had bugged him for weeks.

  He spoke a notch above the noise, loud enough for Kendall to hear despite the sputtering steaming wand. “Did you know? About her being in high school?”

  Swapping the to-go cup for a glass of water, she cleaned the frother, lashes fluttering his way. “I swear, man, I had no idea. She doesn’t seem like a high school kid though, does she?”

  “I see what you’re trying to do Ken, and while I appreciate it, I’ve already played the justification game.”

  “But you’re into her, right?” Kendall dispensed a swirl of whipped cream onto a frozen drink, snapped a lid on it, and placed it on the pick-up counter, calling out, “Medium pumpkin pie freezer, almond milk.”

  Peter reclined in the barstool, fists in his pockets. He snorted, “Oh, sure, I was, before I found out that she’s basically a child. I feel like a real creep. I’m no better than Corso.”