Mostly MyBoss

by Doyle, S.

“What?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You have a face,” he said.

  “I’m one hundred percent certain that I do.”

  “No, I mean, it’s like that face you make when you’re shutting down. Like when Dara asked you where you’re from the other day.”

  Dara had been among the three other girls and one guy we’d had coffee with a few days ago. We’d gotten a large table at this cool coffee place that wasn’t a chain. Everyone had ordered something crazy. I’d stuck with black coffee, which was so plain as to be almost cool. Like I was totally above things that actually tasted good.

  “I said Iowa.”

  “Yeah, then you shut it down. Hard. Okay, so I told you my story, now you tell me yours. What’s the deal?”

  “You told me your story?”

  “Hello? Exclusive Manhattan pediatrician. Prescribing his son drugs to keep him calm and focused. That screams Upper East Side, only child with wealthy parents—the overly controlling father and the smothering mother. What else is there to tell?”

  I wasn’t sure I exactly understood what the Upper East Side meant. “Like, how far is that in relation to the Friends apartment? I used to watch the reruns all the time.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “I’m not. Iowa. Farm. Three brothers. Dead father. Stressed-out mother. Freakishly smart daughter. Big grant and an even bigger loan. What else is there to tell?” I fired back, stabbing my fork into the romaine lettuce with shaved Parmesan.

  Any Parmesan cheese I’d ever had before came out of a green plastic bottle.

  “I didn’t…I couldn’t have guessed.”

  I shrugged. He was talking about my dad. “Nope. It was a couple of years ago. My mom’s been…lost ever since.”

  “Don’t think you can out-sad me. I’m fairly certain if my mother could be here wiping my face with a napkin, she would be.”

  I laughed because it helped cover up the grief. I missed my dad. Like crazy, every single day. But I also missed who my mom was before my dad died.

  “Well, I imagine it’s only because you’re so loveable.”

  “My point is, we can’t let our families be an excuse for not pushing forward with our plans for the future. I mean, everyone thinks they have a sob story. That’s just the way it is.”

  I glanced around at the well-groomed, well-dressed, properly mannered people in the room. “Uh, I don’t think campus is crawling with sob stories.”

  “No, it’s true. Watch.” Ethan turned away from me and looked at someone who happened to be passing our table with a tray of food in his hands. The guy was tall, black, good-looking, wearing jeans and an untucked button-down shirt that was the perfect length for his torso. A guy Ethan could learn from.

  “Hey, excuse me, could you settle a bet?”

  They guy stopped but didn’t say anything.

  “Your family is messed up, right?”

  I shook my head in disbelief. He seriously just asked that of a total stranger.

  “Why, because I’m black?” the stranger asked defensively. “Because I’m black I don’t have a father and my mother is a crack whore and I’m only here because of Affirmative Action and scholarships for the poor?”

  Watching Ethan’s eyes grow three times their normal size was hysterical. But of course, racial profiling was no joke. I bit my tongue and did not help him at all.

  “Nnnoo…nooo, that’s not it at all. You were just…my point is everyone’s family is fucked up…to them. Not because you’re black…because you’re a…person.”

  He sat next to me and dropped his tray on the table. “My father is a US Attorney. My mother is the representative from the 6th district in North Carolina. I have a sister who is in med school—Yale, so of course, we don’t talk about her. Is that what you meant?”

  Ethan still hadn’t recovered.

  “I’m Julia. That’s Ethan…I don’t think he’s a racist,” I said as an introduction.

  “Daniel,” he offered. “What kind of fucking question is that? You don’t even know me.”

  “He thinks everyone is fucked up because of their family. And oh, I am poor and only here on scholarship. Just FYI.”

  “Sorry if I offended.”

  I shrugged. “Not so much.”

  He also had the soup and started to eat. “What?” he asked as we looked at him. “There’s nowhere else to sit right now. I’m stuck with you two.”

  “Yep. Right,” Ethan said, attempting to downplay his awkward introduction. “Anyway, Julia. My point is I’m not buying your sad story as an excuse for slumping.”

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t start slouching when my dad died. It was more of a learned style.”

  “Sorry about your dad,” Daniel said around a mouthful of soup.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Ethan said. “I didn’t mean to be callous. I should have said that first. Shit, did I fuck that up again?”

  Daniel gave an exaggerated nod around his spoon.

  “Dude, you weren’t even here,” Ethan objected.

  “You are not smooth, my brother. Just putting that out there.”

  “So you’re an alum kid?” I asked Daniel, trying to change the conversation.

  “Yeah. Both Mom and Pop. Had no choice, really. Ask me what I want to be, though.”

  “A rap star?” Ethan asked.

  I rolled my eyes and could see Daniel shaking his head in disbelief.

  “What? I was going for the most opposite thing of a congressman or lawyer I could think of. That’s not racist!”

  “You’re lucky I don’t expect much out of white dudes,” Daniel said. “No, I want to race cars. Like stock cars. Daytona and shit. Got into it back home with my girlfriend’s family. Yes, Ethan, they’re Caucasian.” Daniel said that last part with an exaggerated white-boy accent.

  I chuckled and enjoyed the flare of red that lit Ethan’s upper cheeks. Since I’d met him, it felt like he’d been in control of everything, but now, with Daniel, he was clearly flummoxed.

  “Anyway, my parents laughed when I told them what I wanted to do and handed me the application to Harvard. So here I am. For how long remains to be seen.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed.

  “What does that mean?” Ethan asked me. “Why would you leave?”

  “Hello?” I said as if it was obvious, although I imagined it wasn’t to them. They didn’t live with the kind of insecurity I did. “Scholarships get pulled. If I don’t make grades, if I have any kind of criminal offense...”

  “You looking to commit felonies, baby?” Daniel asked.

  “Don’t call her baby,” Ethan asserted. “If I can’t assume you like rap, you can’t use misogynist vocabulary with Julia. And what crimes are we talking about?”

  “Drinking underage. Possession of marijuana. Because no one in college ever did or was around anyone who did those things. I’m walking a tightrope. That’s all.”

  Ethan frowned. “I’m going to get dessert. They’ve got hot apple pie. Does anyone want anything?”

  “Yeah, hook me up. With ice cream, too. Chocolate though. None of that vanilla shit.” Daniel laughed at his own joke.

  I shook my head, thinking I needed to be careful. I only had one medium T-shirt and I didn’t want to stretch it.

  Ethan left to fetch pie and ice cream, and I looked at Daniel. I’m not sure why I had this sense I had to defend Ethan, but it was there.

  “He’s a little awkward sometimes. Socially. But he’s a good guy.”

  “Please. I was just messing with him.” Daniel laughed. “That’s a fucker you got to keep on his toes. I could tell that just by looking at him.”

  That much was true. When Ethan came back, he had pie and ice cream. And he’d snagged a few Hersey’s Kisses he pushed in my direction.

  Kisses were my favorite. Had I told him that?

  “Everyone needs something sweet,” he said.

  Yeah, I tho
ught. And getting me my favorite chocolates was just that, whether he knew it or not.

  * * *

  A mall in Boston

  Julia

  “Tell me why I’m here when I can’t afford anything.”

  This was another Ethan brainstorm. With a new start came new looks for both of us. It was a Sunday in late September, and he’d showed up at my dorm room with the idea that we should go shopping. An cab later we were in the Burlington Mall in downtown Boston staring at Nordstrom—a store I knew of peripherally, but had never put my toe inside.

  A Nordstrom Rack had recently opened in Cedar Rapids. Beyond that, all Iowa had were Nordstrom distribution centers. Places that held the fancy clothes that were sent out to other places in the country for people to wear. Not for Iowans.

  “You seem to know what looks good on guys,” he said.

  “Three brothers,” I reminded him.

  “And I know what looks good on women. So I find your best look and you find mine.”

  “Except you can afford your best look and I have to leave mine on the rack.”

  “Not true. As part of you agreeing to do this with me, I’ll front you one full look. We’ll break your Nordstrom cherry. But it’s not about a couple of pieces of clothes. It’s about knowing what works for you. You find that here with quality merchandise, then you can extrapolate that all the way to Target. Trust me.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t need your charity.”

  “I’m a visionary entrepreneur. I don’t believe in charity. I believe in investments in the future.”

  Well, if he was going to say it like that.

  “Okay. Let’s shop.” I headed toward the men’s department and thought about Ethan’s body. That is to say, I didn’t think too hard about his body. Just how clothes would look on it.

  Because we clearly weren’t doing anything like that. Thinking about each other’s bodies. In fact, Ethan liked to spend a lot of time discussing the girls he was interested in sexually. Could he get them? How would he approach them on campus?

  Based on what I knew, if I believed him, he’d already hooked up with two different girls, much to Nicki’s dismay because she was clearly developing a crush on him.

  Thankfully, I wasn’t.

  Ethan was simply…Ethan.

  When he asked me why I wasn’t spending time worrying about who I might hook up with, I had an easy answer. School trumped everything. Parties, guys, fun.

  The truth was, I wouldn’t know how to pick up a guy if I fell over him. I reached around my head and checked that my ponytail was still intact. It was getting cooler, so I’d switched to long-sleeved T-shirts and short ankle socks under my Keds.

  I found the casual men’s section and started pulling out things I liked. Colors that would work with his russet coloring. He wasn’t a full-on ginger, but there were dark reddish-brown highlights throughout his hair. Something girls would pay a fortune to add to their own hair but that obviously came naturally to him.

  His eyes. Green sometimes, but mostly hazel. Which meant if he wanted to highlight that, he might do well with some jewel tones. I pulled out some emerald-green shirts. Another one that was basically eggplant. He’d probably hate it.

  I tried to emphasize his shoulders, which were pretty wide, and hide his lower torso, which was really narrow.

  The Adderall. I’d looked it up online after he’d told me he’d been on it for years. One of the side effects was weight loss. Lack of appetite. Sometimes nausea. I’d asked him if he’d had any of those symptoms and he’d waved me off like he couldn’t be bothered.

  Almost like he was pretending they didn’t matter when, I was guessing, the reality was those symptoms had shaped his life in high school. Which was why he was trying to ditch the pills for a new start in college.

  The other thing I’d researched: Adderall withdrawal. I hadn’t seen any obvious signs of depression, but his inability to focus happened frequently. And he mentioned being an insomniac like it was just another condition he had, but that was another potential symptom of withdrawal.

  Which, I suppose, wasn’t my problem. Or shouldn’t have been. I’d just gotten to the point of acknowledging that, so far, he was my best friend in college.

  So far.

  While Nicki and I were trying to do more things together, it wasn’t as easy as it was with Ethan. Mostly because I had this sense of superiority when it came to our relationship.

  He needed me. Not just with class but with people, how he interacted with them. When we were in a group, he would look to me for cues. A small shake of my head or a raised eyebrow was all it took for him to understand what I was telling him.

  That helped to define exactly what we were to each other.

  He came up with the crazy ideas, like finding our looks in Nordstrom. And I reeled him in when those ideas were a little too farfetched.

  Like finding somewhere we could go skydiving, which was supposed to help us conquer our inner fears.

  Ways I was not going to die: willingly jumping out of a plane.

  I had six different shirts and two different styles of jeans. He’d given me his waist and length measurements but, looking at him, I felt his length was off. Like he’d gotten taller but hadn’t realized that about himself yet, so all his pants were too short.

  Making my way to where he was still searching through the racks, I noticed he’d found nothing yet.

  “I’m that hard to dress?”

  He grunted even as he kept flipping through tops.

  “Well, let’s do you, then.”

  His head popped up and I held up what was in my hands.

  “You found all that?”

  I shrugged. Dark reddish-brown hair, green-hazel eyes. Wide shoulders, longer-than-he-thought legs. It hadn’t been that hard.

  On a hunch I closed my eyes. “What color are my eyes?” I asked him.

  “What?”

  “Color? You can obviously see my hair is a dark blond, but what’s my eye color?”

  “Is this a test?”

  “If you’re going to pick out clothes for me, I would think it’s something you would need to know.”

  “Guys don’t care about that shit. We care about what’s hot.”

  “Yes, but in order for a girl to be hot, she has to wear clothes that showcase her best features. Makeup that highlights her coloring. It’s a freaking science. So if you’re going to attempt to help me find my new look, you should at least know the basics. We’ve been hanging out together almost every day for, like, three weeks. So…what color are my eyes?”

  I couldn’t see his expression obviously, but I imagined he was annoyed.

  And his nonanswer pretty much told me what I’d already guessed. I wasn’t angry or annoyed that he didn’t know.

  I was hurt.

  Shit. That was not cool. Ethan Moss was someone, I immediately sensed, I should not give the power to hurt me.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Blue!”

  “Wow, you really are a genius. Now go try these on.”

  He took what I’d picked out for him, seeing the different styles and colors. “You were better at this than me,” he admitted.

  Another way we could be equals. “Just remind yourself of that when you’re all like, I’m a genius.”

  “Visionary,” he corrected me. “I prefer visionary.”

  I pushed him toward the dressing room. “Go envision yourself in some style for a change. Dressing room is over there. They have a fancy mirror in the staging area and a couch. I’m going to read while you do your thing, but you have to come out and show me each outfit.”

  “But what about you?”

  My chest got a little tight. It was something my mother always used to say. At least, after Dad died. When I would force Robby and Devon to do their homework. When I would yell at John for not being around enough when we needed him. When I would make dinner, clean up, and get Mom to bed with the sleeping pill she needed to cope with her anxi
ety.

  She would always ask, “But what about you, Julia?”

  And I would answer the same way every time.

  “I’m fine. I’m good. I really don’t want new clothes.”

  His eyebrow lifted.

  “Seriously. Wouldn’t want to mess with the poor vibe I’ve got going,” I told Ethan with a smile I hoped he believed. Because someone had to be fine.

  In the end, he bought three of the shirts and both styles of jeans, which made his legs look even longer. Along with a belt, a pair of brown ankle boots, and a sweater I found because I’d gotten bored reading.

  I almost vomited when the bill came to over six hundred dollars, but he just laughed and said he’d treat me to lunch. A burger, fries, and a milkshake because I decided, after all those salads, I deserved something for myself.

  5

  Therapy

  Ethan

  “I’d like to answer your first question,” I said boldly to the therapist. “What you asked us first. What we were too afraid to tell you. The truth is, I’ve loved Jules since the day I met her, I think.”

  “Oh come on, Ethan. Don’t be dense. You know what she’s asking,” Julia snapped at me. Then she turned to the therapist. “We’ve been friends since college. We decided early on…well, he decided early on that’s all we would be to each other. So that’s it. That’s what we are to each other. Friends—and then I went to work for him after school.”

  “Hmm, I don’t think so,” Carol said. “For one, I’m not sure you would be here talking to me if you were just friends and business associates. For another, it doesn’t sound like you’re just trying to quit your job, Julia. It sounds like you’re trying to quit your friendship, too.”

  “Because we’re not just friends,” I said, trying not to feel the sting of pain at how quickly Jules had rejected my declaration of love. I’d never told a woman I’d loved her. Ever.

  First time and I got snapped at like a child who’d overstepped his bounds. This was why I didn’t do complicated relationships. Except Jules had never been complicated. Not really. She’d been incredibly easy, right from the start, and had made everything so much simpler for me.