by Abbi Waxman
Suddenly: “Hey, I have to go. Thanks for reaching out.”
And just like that, he was gone. In the bar miles away, Tom stood up to greet the woman who’d said yes to his invitation, while wishing he could be continuing to text Nina instead. He put his phone away, so he wouldn’t look at every notification and be rude. It was tough, but he was a grown-up, so he managed.
After a moment or two of waiting in case he came back, Nina shoved her phone down the side of the chair cushion and picked up her book again.
Three hours later, the book finished, her cheeks a little pink because it was so sad and lovely and sad again, Nina stood up and stretched. Coming out of a book was always painful. She was surprised to see things had remained in place while she herself had been roaming other towns, other times. Phil had been asleep the whole time on the end of her bed, and now he raised his head and blinked at her.
“Coming to bed?” he asked silently, yawning until the tips of his whiskers touched.
Nina nodded, and padded around for a moment, turning off lights, checking her door, going to brush her teeth and deciding she couldn’t be bothered, that kind of thing. Finally, she climbed into bed and then had to get out again because she felt bad about not brushing her teeth and because she needed to find her phone so she could set her alarm. For once remembering where she’d put her phone, she slid it up from under the chair cushion and saw she’d missed a message from Tom.
“Good night, tiny bookworm,” it said.
Smiling, she set her alarm and went to sleep.
Seventeen
In which Nina eats dinner with a new friend.
One time,” said Liz, around a chocolate croissant, “I had to push a guy out of a moving taxi cab. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, the cab driver was listening to the radio rather than me, and, in my defense, we weren’t going very fast. It was Greenwich Village at eleven on a Friday night. We were crawling along. The guy barely even bounced.”
“Was he upset?” asked Nina. It was Saturday afternoon, during one of those 4 P.M. lulls that sometimes happen. Polly and Nina were sitting on the floor behind the counter, sorting books and listening to Liz’s stories about Dates That Went Wrong.
“Well, he called the next day and asked if I wanted to go out again, so apparently not very.” Liz turned and looked out of the store window, thinking of her twenties and not missing them at all.
“And did you?”
“No, I asked if he was out of his mind and hung up the phone.” Liz smiled. “That was back when you called someone on the phone and had to physically lift a receiver to talk to them.”
“Weird,” said Polly.
“Yeah,” said Liz, “you couldn’t hide behind a veil of casual, the way you guys all do. But you could slam the phone very loudly, which was satisfying.” You could also have a private life, she thought to herself, and not get haunted forever by poor decisions, but decided not to rub it in. It wasn’t as though millennials didn’t know what they’d lost; they simply weighed it up against everything they’d gained and decided it was probably a wash.
Unaware of her boss’s philosophizing, Polly shuddered. “One time I ended up in bed with this guy who was trying to decide whether or not to enter a Catholic seminary, or whatever you call Priest School. I thought I’d provided a pretty convincing four-hour case against celibacy, but the next day he called and said he would pray for me.”
“Wow. You tipped someone over into the priesthood?”
Polly shrugged. “Maybe he thought after me it was all downhill, and he might as well devote himself to giving back to the world, after the world had given him one incredible night with me.” There was no hint of sarcasm in her voice, no self-deprecation at all.
Liz and Nina stared at her.
Polly was shameless. “Or maybe the whole thing was an elaborate ruse to get me into bed. He didn’t realize he could have simply asked. I was in one of my ‘say yes to everything’ phases.” Polly wasn’t overconfident; she was simply one of those women who tore up the societal memo about being underconfident. Nina had never envied her more.
“I remember the last one of those,” said Nina. “You broke your big toe trying out for Roller Derby.”
“Yes. It turns out tiny wheels are not my friends.”
“And got food poisoning after eating a grasshopper.”
“Yes, although in the grasshopper’s defense, I did also have sushi that weekend.”
“And slept with a mime.”
“Yes,” said Polly. “It was great. Quiet, but great.” She looked thoughtful. “Once he got out of that imaginary box, he really blew my doors off.”
Again, Liz and Nina stared at her, and then Nina said, “Look, as far as I’m concerned, this whole conversation is a firm reminder that I’m better off alone. I’m totally happy, I like my own company, and I already have to integrate a load of new relatives. I’m going back to quiet evenings at home and eating healthy and getting to the gym and cutting out sugar.”
“Well that’s unfortunate,” said Polly, sticking her chin out defiantly, “because I was going to tell you about the fantastic new waffle house I found and now I won’t.”
Liz laughed. “Tell me instead,” she said. “I love waffles.”
“Ah, Ms. Quinn.”
They all froze, then Polly and Nina got to their feet. Mr. Meffo had somehow crept up on them, and the landlord was now standing there twirling his mustache and getting ready to tie one of them to the railroad tracks.
Actually, he was just standing there, smiling politely. He wasn’t a tall man, or imposing in any way, but apparently he had a stealth mode.
Liz gathered herself and smiled back at him. “Ah, how lovely to see you, Mr. Meffo. I’m so sorry I missed you the other day. I was meeting with representatives for J. K. Rowling, who is thinking of launching her next book here.” She paused, then doubled down. “It’s a surprise new installment of the Harry Potter series, so I think it might be good for business.”
“Really?” Mr. Meffo was not a big reader, but he wasn’t an idiot. “I find that challenging to believe.” He paused. “I’m here to collect the rent. I noticed it still hasn’t arrived in my checking account.”
“But I sent it! I sent it last week, after you visited.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” Liz said, firmly. “I instructed the bank to make the transfer. I’m so sorry there’s been a problem. I’ll contact them right away.”
Mr. Meffo smiled broadly. “No problem, you can write me a check here and now, and I’ll return the transfer if and when it arrives.”
Liz looked apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m all out of checks. I’ve ordered more, but they haven’t arrived yet.” She paused. “I requested the Hello Kitty ones; maybe they take longer.”
Mr. Meffo was still smiling, though it was clearly taking an effort. “We could walk to the bank and get a cashier’s check.”
“It’s our policy not to use cashier’s checks. Haven’t you read about all the scams?”
He looked puzzled. “That applies to sending money to people you don’t know, or have only met online. Not to paying your rent to the landlord you’ve had for over a decade.”
“Really?” Liz looked worried. “Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?” She turned to Polly, who nodded enthusiastically and leaned closer to Mr. Meffo.
“My aunt lost a fortune sending a cashier’s check to cover the bail for an Ethiopian prince who said he’d known her father at college,” she said, with an impressive level of commitment. “You can never be too careful these days. If you can’t trust an Ethiopian prince, who can you trust?” She smiled at the landlord. “Mr. Meffo, have you read any good books lately?”
Mr. Meffo had a bit of a soft spot for Polly, who he had once seen on a Tide commercial where she went—fully clothed—through a car wash. It had left a favorable impression.
“No, Polly, I haven’t.” He turned to Liz again, but she had disappeared.
He s
ighed and looked back at Polly. “Tell your boss she has one week to pay the rent or I’m looking for a new tenant. I’m getting tired of chasing her every month.”
Polly smiled at him sweetly, Nina made sympathetic noises, and Liz, who had dropped to the ground behind the counter, made a mental note to install a bell on the front door.
That evening Nina went to see Aliens with Leah, Lauren, and Carter. Occasionally, the trivia team went on field trips like this, and did their best not to talk trivia. They usually failed.
“You know, Ripley was nearly played by Meryl Streep,” Lauren said, as the lights went down.
“And the alien’s saliva is actually K-Y Jelly,” replied Carter.
“And the shots where the aliens are scrambling through the air ducts were actually filmed with the actors lowered on cables down a vertical shaft and the camera was at the bottom,” added Leah.
“Stop!” said Nina. “I want to actually enjoy the movie.” Then, a minute later, “Look, you can see the spear gun Ripley used in the first movie inside the escape pod door, there, on the floor,” to which the other three responded with thrown popcorn.
The thing about watching a classic like Aliens at the ArcLight in Hollywood is that every single movie fanatic there has seen the movie many, many times already. When Hicks said, “Game over, man!” so did everyone else, and when Newt said, “They come at night …” eight hundred people added, “mostly.” It was so much fun, and when the four friends came out of the theater after the movie, they were all giddy and giggling.
Despite that, when Nina saw Tom standing there, chatting with his friend Lisa, her first impulse was to panic and consider various avenues of escape. Then her frontal cortex resumed control and she smiled and went over to speak to him. Not a Xenomorph with acid for blood, just an attractive guy she’d already kissed and texted with. You can do this Nina, she told herself.
For his part, Tom had spotted her as soon as she came through the theater doors, and couldn’t take his eyes off her now as she approached. He spoke first. “Hi there. You mentioned this was playing, and it’s one of my favorites, so, you know.”
“It’s one of my favorites, too,” she replied, and grinned at Lisa. “Hi there.”
“Hi, Nina,” the other woman replied. “Does your trivia team often socialize together?” The rest of Book ’Em had arrived, and Leah answered for them.
“Whenever none of us can find someone better to hang out with,” she said, not realizing this might be a sore spot for Nina and Tom. “We’re one another’s last resort.”
“Yeah, if we’re all still single at forty, we’re going to set up a commune,” Lauren said. “And draw straws to see who has to sleep with Carter.”
“Wow, that’s flattering,” said Carter, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, short straw takes the honors,” added Leah.
Nina smiled but excused herself to run to the bathroom, and when she returned, Tom was standing there on his own.
“What happened?” she asked. “Zombie outbreak?”
Tom grinned and shrugged. “They all suddenly had appointments. It was weirdly coordinated.”
“Huh,” said Nina.
“Are you hungry?” Tom asked. “Or do you need to go home and read?”
She looked up him and smiled. “I’m hungry. Besides, I can always read the menu.”
“Great,” he said, and turned to lead the way outside.
“Did she go for it?” asked Lisa, hiding behind a nearby cardboard cutout of Jabba the Hutt, which was fortunately big enough to conceal them all, although Lauren had to crouch behind the tail.
“Yes,” replied Carter, turning and high-fiving the others. “Yahtzee.”
Luckily for Nina’s anxiety, they found themselves in one of those restaurants where the menu gave the full provenance of every ingredient. Plentiful reading material is so helpful on a first date.
“It says here,” said Nina, “that the fresh mint used in the lamb burger was grown in a hand-thrown but unattractive pot on the kitchen windowsill.”
“Really?” said Tom. “Did they include a photo?”
Nina shook her head. “Not even a witty little pencil sketch.”
“Disappointing.” Tom looked at his menu. “Well, it says here that the pomegranate extract used in the salad dressing was hand squeezed by the middle daughter of the farmer who grew it.”
“Really?” said Nina, hiding a smile. “Well, if one of us orders the steak frites, a young boy named Harold will catch a bus to the the nearest community garden and dig up the potatoes for the frites himself.”
“Well,” said Tom, gravely, “it’s getting a little late for Harold to be out alone. Maybe we should choose something else.”
“I appreciate your consideration for Harold’s welfare,” said Nina. “I’ll have the burger instead. The lettuce and tomato were picked an hour ago by a willing volunteer, so, you know.”
Tom nodded and closed his menu. “I wish more restaurants had backstories for everything.”
“We’re doing fine on our own,” replied Nina. She ran an exploratory systems check and was pleasantly surprised to discover she didn’t feel anxious. Maybe she was still a little hyped from the movie.
“Ripley might be my favorite movie heroine,” she said. “I love the way she’s clearly scared out of her mind and would pretty much give anything not to be there, but she sucks it up and powers through. That’s real heroism.”
“Yeah,” agreed Tom, “my mom always used to say, ‘If you’re not scared, you’re not brave.’” He took a sip of water. “Mind you, she was usually saying it to get me to try something dangerous.”
“Isn’t that unusual, for a mother?”
“She’s unusual,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. The waitress came over and they placed their orders, falling silent for a moment once they’d cleared that hurdle.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” Tom said.
“Me too,” replied Nina. “I’m sorry about the other day.”
“No big deal,” he said, looking down at the table. Nina noticed a tiny scar by the side of his eye, and suddenly wanted to touch it. He continued, “Not everyone has as open a calendar as I do.”
Nina was interested. “Why is your time so free?”
He laughed. “Because I don’t schedule anything. I pretty much work, then take the rest of it as it comes. Not a big planner.”
“I like planning.”
“I saw that.”
“It makes me feel better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than chaos. Better than unpredictability.”
“But doesn’t that mean you also lose out on serendipity? If everything is planned, nothing is surprising.” He regarded her thoughtfully, genuinely interested. While he waited for her answer, he found himself wondering if she were wearing lipstick, wondering what color her cheeks would turn when she was aroused, wondering why he couldn’t stop wanting to go to bed with this woman he barely knew. He wasn’t a teenager, but she made him feel that way.
Nina sighed. “I still get surprised all the time. You can make whatever plans you want, but life still happens, right?” She looked at his face, the angles and planes growing familiar, his gaze intent but his eyes so, so warm. What was he thinking? “For example, I recently discovered I had a father.” She clarified, “Or rather, I knew I must have a father, but I found out he was dead already.” That didn’t really come out right, but she didn’t think she could make it better, so she left it. Bad things sometimes happen to good sentences. What can you do?
Tom took another sip of water. “You thought maybe you were an immaculate conception?”
Nina made a face at him. “Yes. My mother told me I came out of her forehead fully formed.” Tom looked at her, his curly mouth turned up in a smile. He waited, and Nina continued. “No, I just never knew who he was. I asked, of course, when I was little, but my mom shrugged and said she didn’t know.”
“Party girl, your
mom?”
“I guess. And apparently also a liar.” Nina waited while the waiter poured them both some wine and then raised her glass. “To surprises, hopefully pleasant ones.”
“Yes,” said Tom, clinking his glass against hers. “And to trying new things.”
A pause. Then Nina said, “But you do have some scheduled activities, right? The trivia team, for example.”
Tom grinned. “It’s hardly a full-time occupation. I do it mostly because Lisa needed someone who knew sports.”
Nina crowed, “I knew it! You’re a jock.”
“Nope, an armchair quarterback with a good memory.” He raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me more about the whole dad thing, or are you going to move on to something else? That’s kind of a big deal, right?”
“I guess so,” said Nina. “I’m still not really sure what to think about it. I’m not a little girl anymore, right? And it’s not like he’s even around to get to know.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
Nina nodded. “Several. And nieces and nephews, and great-nieces and great-nephews, even.”
“How is that?” Tom asked, so Nina explained. Archie and Peter had been right; it got easier.
Tom smiled. “Well, it sounds like you got at least one good brother and a fabulous nephew out of it, and that’s more than most people.”
Their food arrived, and Nina continued the conversation around a bite of cheeseburger.
“Do you have a big family?”
“Not like yours. I have a brother and sister.”
“Older or younger?”
“One of each. Older brother, younger sister. My brother’s getting married soon.”
“Are you going to be a bridesmaid?” Nina looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Will you have a pretty frock?”
“Yeah,” he said, “if they can find one to fit me. I’m not built like the other girls.” He copied her glance-through-the-eyelashes move, pulling it off surprisingly well.
“I can see that,” replied Nina, then blushed. She wasn’t anxious around Tom, which was unexpected and pleasant, but she was definitely … aware. It was there in the air between them, an unspoken expectation of more to come. A whole other conversation was going on, wordless but clear.