The Date, Part Two

After an entire dinner of Boss staring at me like I was the food instead of the plate in front of him, Boss paid for the meal.

“I asked you, so I should pay,” I said as he gave the server his card.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “That doesn’t make much sense. I know exactly how much you make.”

“I…” I sat in my seat and immediately thought about Ian. I thought about how we split our checks and how unromantic I always thought it was. But was this romantic? I stared back at Boss through the thick fog of attraction that was zipping between us and decided it was hot and sexy, but not exactly romantic. I quirked my mouth a little bit thinking about my hypocrisy.

“What?” Boss asked across the table as the server returned with his card and a pen.

“Nothing,” I shook my head.

“Are you sure?” he asked as he grabbed my hand again. He’d been holding it throughout dinner, and just the touch of our fingers was enough to make me speechless and drooling throughout large portions of the evening.

As we got up to leave, the server opened the door for us and said, “You lovebirds enjoy the evening!” I felt my face grow hot, but Boss didn’t flinch or correct him. He just nodded politely and waited for me to go through.

It wasn’t until I got to my bicycle that Boss said, “What are you doing?”

“Um, unlocking my bike?” I don’t know why I asked it as a question, except that Boss totally unnerved me with his proximity and his utter sexiness.

He rubbed his cheek stubble and I wanted very much to put my hand up to his face and touch it, but I kept my hands on my bike. ”You’re not seriously going to ride that right now, are you? I’ll drive you,” he said with a gruffness in his voice that wasn’t there before.

I looked at him a minute and exhaled. I’d had this same argument with Ian, but he wasn’t quite so…well…bossy. Boss-y. I closed my eyes for a second and opened them with new resolve. “Yes, I ride it everywhere, Boss. And besides, if you drop me off, then how will I get to work in the morning?”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “Well, I thought we could go over to my place for a drink.”

I stared at him letting what “a drink” meant to him, about how he’d been sexing me up all evening, and then I felt immediately cheap and easy and slutty and heartbroken for Ian all over again. So this is what this was. This is why he agreed to go out with me. Maybe he thought Ian was just another guy in a string of guys for me? Maybe he didn’t think anything about me at all. Any guy who was serious about Dominique would of course think nothing of someone like me.

I looked at him a last time and said, “No, it’s fine. Thank you for dinner. It was lovely,” with my mouth a tight line. I strapped on my helmet and turned away from him. When I was on my bike, making sure I didn’t flash anyone with my skirt, I said curtly, “Goodnight. See you tomorrow,” and I rode off.

I heard him call my name once, and when I was far enough away, I ventured a small glance back. He was leaning against his car and I could swear he was smiling at me. But why?

 

The Date, Part One

I was fidgeting in my seat waiting for Boss to show up. I biked to a vegetarian restaurant in Phinney Ridge and sat near the window, the better to see how Boss was going to stand me up for our date. I couldn’t remember being so nervous about a date with Ian, or James, or any of the guys from OK Cupid.

All the confidence Molly instilled in me about being a strong, empowered woman in both my career and love life was left somewhere behind me, perhaps at the office, or maybe it fell away when I was biking up the hill. That confident woman was nowhere to be seen, because I was a nervous mess.

Just when I was about to throw up or cry because Boss was late (three minutes late), I saw him walk up the sidewalk and smile at me through the glass.

He strode in to the restaurant, past the hostess, and sat across from me. He was wearing the same light blue shirt and black slacks from today, but his top button was unbuttoned, and his tie was nowhere to be seen. He looked amazing, so amazing I felt myself melting into a puddle across from him when he smiled at me and said, “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright,” I squeaked. I couldn’t believe my voice worked at all.

All day at the office was uncomfortable. He kept walking by me and giving me this secret smile, and every time my mouth went dry and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I didn’t know if he was teasing me or if he was excited about our date. He didn’t say a word to me all day, not until he was sitting across from me, only some silverware and a candle in between us.

He reached across the table and grabbed my hand, and I’m sure my eyes dilated to twelve times their size. He rubbed my knuckles with his thumb and said, “Thank you for asking me out. You’re braver than me.”

“Oh?” I said, unable to take my eyes off our hands interlocked.

“Do you have any idea how long I wanted to ask you out?” he said, his voice low.

I shook my head and looked up at him in total shock. “Two years. Ever since that day in the elevator.”

“Oh,” I said again, like an idiot, and just then the server appeared with two glasses of water, breaking both the desire I was feeling right that second, and the guilt I had over having Ian’s brother sitting across from me and not caring at all that it was Ian’s brother.

After the server left, Boss leaned across the table, picked up my hand and kissed my palm. My mouth dropped open in surprise at his forwardness. I had no idea. None. And right then I really, really didn’t want to be in a restaurant with thirty other people.

 

About Molly

Last night summoned the courage to call Molly while I was making some homemade mac and cheese with Gruyere and bacon.

“Hi,” I squeaked into my phone.

“Hey,” she said.

I tried to think of what to say next, but somehow talking to her was more difficult than talking to Boss or Ian. “I heard about, um, stuff,” I said finally.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Sarah told me she told you. So that’s why you’re calling?”

I shrugged even though I knew she couldn’t see me. I couldn’t think of the words to say. “I guess,” I managed. Then I added, “It’s more that I feel like you were just really mean to me and I don’t know about how you treated me.”

“I know,” she said to my surprise. “I’m sorry.” Then she added, “Chris and I broke up.”

“But-but-but you’re pregnant,” I whispered. I was horrified.

“I realize that,” she said.

“And you’re OK with that situation?”

“There’s not much I can do. I was unhappy. I knew he was just staying with me and asking me to marry him because of the pregnancy,” she said with a little shakiness in her voice.

Huh. That’s not the impression I got around Chris. I always thought he was completely taken with her, and that she could see that. But the Molly on the phone didn’t sound like the completely confident Molly I knew. I wonder what happened.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“OK,” I said, not knowing what else to say. It was silent for a bit, and when I was about to say goodbye, she said, “Aust3n, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I could blame it on hormones, but it was probably more jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” Jealousy of what? Ian? Boss? None of it made any sense.

“You seem like you’re just–I don’t know. In college it was like, you ran to me with every decision. And then I found out you were going out with this guy that I didn’t even know and you were happy and you just didn’t need my help anymore,” she said, her voice very small.

“Oh.” I thought about how mean she’d been to me while I was dating Ian, how insistent she was that Ian was a bad influence, and it started to make sense. “I guess I don’t know what to say about that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry you broke up with him. I don’t know that I understand why, but I hope it wasn’t because of something I said.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It was complicated.”

“Maybe I could come over and you could tell me?”

“OK,” I said. “As long as I can feed you some of the mac and cheese I’m making and tell me more about Chris and er, other stuff?”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed your cooking, Aust3n. Which reminds me, have you thought about taking a cooking class?”

I switched the phone to my other ear and thought about telling her about my life list, about how when I really thought about what I wanted to do, cooking was one of them. “Yeah,” I said. “I have.”

“Because I’ve always seen you running your own restaurant.”

“Wow, really?”

“Of course, Aust3n. You’re a great cook. And you could totally run a restaurant.”

“I don’t know about that.” The idea of me being someone else’s boss, or doing all the work to get a restaurant started was a little daunting. More than a little daunting. My stomach clenched in fear at the thought of all of it, and I felt a little sick.

I could hear her earring clanking against the receiver, and I knew she was shaking her head at me. “There are things you need to learn, Aust3n. I’m coming over,” and the phone line went dead.

And for the first time in a few months, I was really excited to see my friend.

 

And Then I Remembered Him

I was still giggling and drunk when Boss pulled up to my apartment building. He opened my door, unbuckled my seat belt, and put his arm around my waist to help me up. I could barely walk. All of the touching felt really, really good, so I whispered to him, “Do you want to come upstairs?” Then I giggled again.

He straightened up and took his arm off my waist as I fumbled with my keys. “Um,” he said quietly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” I said. “Because you’ll regret it in the morning?” I smirked.

He shook his head at me and said, “I don’t know, Aust3n. But can you make it up the stairs yourself?”

I raised my eyebrow at him. Did I mention that I realized right then that drinking makes me feel a little…loose? A lot loose, actually. “I don’t know if I can, Boss,” I said in my best seductive voice, and then I kissed him gently on the lips.

And right when I did, he pulled in to kiss me more and I pulled away. Because right then I remembered Ian. I remembered exactly how it would have felt to kiss Ian. Kissing Boss felt really good, almost primal, but kissing Ian never felt like that. Kissing him always felt like something…more. I stared at Boss’s lips thinking about his brother and quickly sobered up.

“Yes, I can make it up the steps myself,” I said, and muttered, “Goodnight, thanks,” as I shut the door in his face while I felt my heart breaking again, the same way it had been doing for the past week.

I locked my apartment door, slumped down on the ground, pulled out my phone and texted Boss. “Sorry,” I wrote.

My phone buzzed immediately. “For what? You did the right thing.”

I did? And if I did, why was he being so nice about it? The right thing was rarely the fun thing.

“OK. Thanks,” I texted back, and my phone almost immediately buzzed again.

“I’m glad you stopped,” he wrote. Then another text followed, “Because I want you to want to kiss me one of these days when you’re not drunk.”

Oh? Something inside me fluttered and I took a deep breath.

I thought of something to write back, but could think of nothing. Honestly, I wanted to text Ian and ask him about it, which is ridiculous. I’m never going to see Ian again, much less talk to him about dating. I missed him in that moment, but I know I did the right thing.

So instead, I sat down and started on my therapy assignment. My life list. I numbered the paper to ten and right next to the number one, while still thinking about Ian, I wrote, “Eat a meal at the French Laundry with my favorite person.”

I almost crumpled the paper and started over, but Mary told me that my items didn’t have to be things I thought I could do, just things I wanted to do. Maybe my favorite person would change.

So I kept the paper and kept writing.

And it wasn’t until I was done with them that I looked at my phone again and texted Boss. “Let’s go on a real date,” I wrote. Because I’d never asked anyone out on a date before, and it was number seven on my list.

 

Dinner with Boss, Part Two

We were seated at an entirely-too-fancy-for-me restaurant. I had helmet hair and was still sweaty from my ride up Wallingford Avenue. I really hate Seattle hills some days.

I felt a little awkward when I saw the menu items. I didn’t even know what half of that stuff was, and I’m a foodie. Oh, and we were seated on the back patio with twinkle lights and tiny tables, surrounded by couples in love. I fidgeted with the strap to my bike helmet while I read the menu.

“What’s agnolotti?” I whispered across the table to Boss.

He whispered back, “I have no clue. Ask the server.” But when she suddenly appeared, I felt too shy, but Boss ordered it anyway and winked at me. My stomach flipped involuntarily. Stupid hormones. I ordered the risotto, because at least I could pronounce that.

Boss added on, “And two mojitos, too,” to his order and the server left. I couldn’t believe he would order something for me. Ian would never have done that. He wasn’t exactly a take-charge guy.

“I don’t drink,” I told him.

“Mojitos are delicious,” he said. “And I’ve seen you drink!”

“You don’t understand,” I started, but he waved his hand at me and said, “My treat.” I slumped down a little, too tired to explain myself. “So, where is Dominique tonight?” I asked.

Boss looked right at me and said, “You don’t know?”

“Why would I know?”

“Because Dominique said you saw her–”

“Getting ice cream? With Ian?”

“Yes,” he said, not explaining further. He raised his eyebrows as if to impart crucial information, but I wasn’t going to bite.

“So?” I asked. “So you and her broke up?”

He nodded.

“And, what, Dominique and Ian are a couple?”

At this, Boss started laughing. He actually laughed so loud that a few of the couples turned around and glared at us, and I mouthed a sorry to them. “What?” I said, annoyed.

“How could you possibly–why would you–I mean,” he said through his laugh-wheezes. “Could anyone be less Ian’s type than Dom?” he said, finally.

“But…but…they dated! Before. You told me.”

Boss sat up straighter at this and said, “Did you and Ian ever talk? About anything? Or did you just do other things?” His eyebrows went up and it looked like he was trying not to laugh at me some more.

I felt my face grow hot. I didn’t want to be having this conversation. “We talked! We talked a lot!” I said, trying to cover up my embarrassment somewhat poorly.

“Dom and Ian are friends. That’s all. Really good friends. I just thought you would have guessed, since I wasn’t with her at the shop.”

“Oh,” I said, completely flustered. “But you said that they had a history.”

“You know, I don’t feel like I should tell you this. It’s not really my place. You should talk to Ian.”

“Right. That’s possible,” I said. The server arrived with our mojitos, and I took a long sip. The liquid burned the back of my throat, so I took another long sip, hoping to make my meal more tolerable. Pretty soon I was lightheaded enough that I started uncontrollably giggling at everything Boss said, not that I could remember a thing he said.

I do remember ordering myself another mojito, and leaning over and trying the agnolotti Boss ordered. It turned out to be a pretentious way to say pasta with cheese. But it was so delicious I ignored the pretentiousness and ate some more. I also remember putting my feet on Boss’s legs after I was well past tipsy, and then when he was paying for our ridiculously expensive meal, leaning on him to stand up straight.

“You’re a lightweight,” he said.

I nodded and let out a small, “Mmm,” as I put my head on his shoulder, wrapping my hands around his arm and smiling at the warm feeling zinging through me.

“How are you going to get home?” he asked.

“Bike,” I murmured into his jacket.

“No,” he said, somewhat tersely. “I’ll take you home.”

“OK,” I said, and he put his hand around my waist and led me out to his car.

Dinner with Boss

I biked over to the Chinese restaurant in Boss’s neighborhood to meet him, although it wasn’t so much Chinese food as a bar that happened to serve badly stir fried rice.

“I could have given you a lift, you know,” he said when I slid into the booth.

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have been able to go in to work tomorrow,” I said.

“You should get a car, Aust3n. Biking around isn’t safe.” He sounded a little like Ian when I first met him, except that Ian dropped the whole protective vibe pretty early on, thankfully. Boss finished off his drink and then signaled the nearby waitress for another.

“So I can be on the road with people who drink too much?”

“Aust3n.”

“Boss. What do you want to talk about? I can’t stay long,” I lied.

“Alright.” He took a deep breath and instead of looking into his glass like he had our entire conversation, he looked up at me. It startled me a little, because he’s just as good looking to me now as he was pre-Ian. I sucked in a breath. “Did you break up with Ian because of what happened between us?”

I pushed back into the fake leather of the booth. “What? WHAT? Oh God, no. Definitely not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Because he seems to think it’s because of me.”

“WHAT? He knows?” Now I was looking down at the table. My cheeks were getting hot and the burrito I had at lunch was uncomfortably sloshing around, deciding whether to make a reappearance.

“No, of course I didn’t tell him. I’m not a total asshole. But he said that he thought you had feelings for me.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I don’t.” Did I? Do I? I looked straight at him and tried not to hide my face.

He stared back at me, and I felt about five years old, and like I was about to get in trouble. He didn’t say anything. “OK,”  he said. “Good. I’ll talk to him. Get him to calm down.” He looked down again and clinked the ice in the glass, but I swear something about him changed.

I whispered, “How is he?”

“He’s better. He’s in Portland already,” he said.

“Oh.” I sank further into the booth. “I didn’t know that.”

“I know. He didn’t want you to.”

“OK,” I said. I pulled myself up and grabbed my bike helmet from under the table. “Well, thank you for talking to me, and not at work.”

“Aust3n, wait.” Boss stood up, and he took a hold of my hand and the familiar zing of electricity went through me. “Are you being completely honest about everything?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, and I pulled my hand back slowly.

He looked at me again, and I swear he almost smiled, which is unfair because I was about to lose my burrito. “OK,” he said.

“OK,” I said back. “See you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get dinner? We don’t have to stay here. There’s a place down the street that’s better.”

“Um.” I bit my lip. Somehow going out to dinner with Boss seemed like cheating on Ian. But I wasn’t with Ian. Ian had already moved. We were done. Over. No more. It was never, ever going to happen. He’d left and there was no way he wanted me.

“OK,” I said, and Boss stood up and led the way out.

 

 

So Now I Guess I’m Calling Molly

My therapist Mary was sitting across from me, staring me down. Mary is extremely intimidating. She’s got these short dreads and the smoothest skin I’ve ever seen. She wears clogs and pants made of hemp and she’s an unabashed hippie in her late fifties. She would remind me of a black Anne Lamott, if only Anne Lamott weren’t the whitest person alive.

“Are you going to show me your list?” she said, finally.

“I didn’t do it,” I said. I was supposed to make a list of things I wanted to do in my life. Ten things, she said, tops. It shouldn’t have been hard, but when I stared at the paper, I couldn’t think of anything.

“Why not?”

“Maybe I have no idea what to do with my life,” I told her.

“Why not?” she asked. Mary is extremely frustrating.

“Maybe I’m just a generic person who’s supposed to work in an office and just pass time. Maybe I’m just a cog without a purpose.”

“Who says cogs don’t have a purpose?” Mary asked.

“Uhh,” I said. “I’m confused. You know I came back to therapy to talk about Ian.”

“Did you?” she asked.

“I did,” I said, standing my ground.

“The interesting thing about therapy is that people come to me all the time trying to fix problems with other people, but I can’t help them with that at all.”

“What?” I asked, exasperated.

“I can’t control what Ian will do next, or how he thinks of you,” she said.

“I know that.” I was biting my fingernails out of rage, trying not to scream at my therapist. How professional would that be? “Honestly, all I wanted was some coping techniques on how I feel.”

Mary stared at me for a long while. Then she let out a breath and spoke. “Is that really all you want?”

“Yes!” I blurted out, unable to contain some of my anger.

“I’ll make you a deal, then. You make your list, and I’ll give you coping techniques next week.” Then she handed me an extra legal notepad and a pen, and told me to go home, even though our session wasn’t over.

Great, even my therapist thinks I’m inferior.

When I was leaving the little bungalow where Mary’s practice is, my phone buzzed. It was Sarah.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you ever going to talk to Molly?”

“Um, no,” I said. I didn’t want to hear Molly’s judgmental tone about my life, or plan Molly’s wedding, or be Molly’s handmaid.

“You need to talk to her. She’s going through some stuff,” Sarah said.

“Like?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you. You have to call her.”

“That’s not happening,” I said.

“Aaaah, Aust3n, you’re impossible.”

“OK,” I said. “I am. I’m still not calling her.”

“Aust3n, she’s pregnant,” Sarah said in a whisper.

“What?”

“You didn’t hear it from me. Call her. Today. OK?”

“OK,” I said, hanging up the phone.

When I got back to the office, I was still in a daze from the news about Molly, so when Boss came over to my cubicle, I barely registered his presence. Ever since he yelled at me, we’ve been ignoring each other, but now it was purposeful.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I need to tell you something non-work-related.”

Was this about Ian and Dominique? Were they back together? I didn’t really want to know, but I nodded at him.

He leaned in really close, closer than he’d ever been, except for that one time we kissed. I could feel his breath on my ear and he whispered in my ear, “Can I take you out to dinner to discuss things?”

Was Boss asking me out on a date? I looked at him for a second, but he didn’t look romantic or sexy or swoon-worthy. He looked tired and haggard and like a hot mess. His normally perfect hair was disheleved, his shirt was wrinkled, he wasn’t wearing a tie and his top button was undone. I’d never seen him like this. I felt a little sorry for him. If Dominique broke up with him, he probably felt like I did right now, like utter crap.

“OK,” I whispered back.

“Great,” he said, and got up. “6pm.” It wasn’t a question. Ian would have asked. Not Boss. But I guess he was used to being in charge.

“OK,” I said to his back.

What did I just agree to?

 

At Least We Were Already Getting Ice Cream

I took Eliot out for ice cream at Molly Moon’s, because nothing heals like salted caramel ice cream with hot fudge sauce on top. While we were waiting in the ridiculous Seattle-sunny-day-eat-while-the-temperature-is-above-60 line, the line that halfway down the block, I saw him.

I lifted my head from Eliot’s shoulder and whispered, “That’s Ian.” He was paying for two gigantic waffle cones, one of which he handed to a woman.

A woman that looked an awful lot like Dominique.

And when they walked past me, she looked right at me, nodded her head curtly and said, “Aust3n.” She glanced at Eliot for a minute and then walked out the door. Ian didn’t even look my way. He just put his hand on the small of Dominique’s back and pushed her out the door, past us.

What, so they’re dating now? Again? Is Ian cheating with her? What about Boss? Is that why he looked so angry? Does he know?

Ugh. UGH. There are too many questions, and I want to know NONE of the answers.

After they walked away, Eliot asked me if I wanted to leave.

“No,” I said. “I want a double scoop.”

 

Therapy

Eliot is sick of me moping around the apartment. He told me it was time for drastic measures. It was time for introspection. It was time for therapy.

So I went to my old therapist, who fit me in on a tight schedule mostly because I burst into tears when she picked up the phone. I don’t quite remember what happened through most of it, except that Mary (that’s my therapist–not Doctor, not Mary, PhD, just Mary) asked me the million dollar question in various ways.

“Why do you think Ian wouldn’t want you?” and also, “Why do you think you’re not worthy?” and also, “Why don’t you see yourself how I think Ian must see you?”

I sat there wringing my hands thinking of the right answer, because I was always a straight-A student. The brilliant answer I came up with? Nothing. I didn’t have an answer.

Mary turned the conversation around, and instead of talking about Ian, we talked about my English class, and why I was taking it, and what I was going to do with my life. I’m supposed to make a list of things I want to do, but I don’t even know how to begin that. It feels too huge, and also irrelevant to the Ian situation. But I’m not one to question authority, so I didn’t say anything.

When I was done with therapy, I decided to go in to work, since I haven’t been there in two days. But when I walked toward my cubicle, I saw Boss’s office light on. He came out immediately and saw me, and he looked angry. Not just angry, but like he would snap in half from all the pressure built up inside him.

“Wha–” I started, but before I could say finish, he whispered, “What did you do to him?” in the most fragile, soft voice. I thought he was going to yell, so his barely audible tone was somehow worse. But I could tell he was angry, really, really angry. I’ve never seen him angry before. Not once.

I didn’t stick around to find out what he was talking about. I ran out of there. But hey, now I have an answer to why I’m not worthy. The answer is that I mess everything up. Always and forever.

The Time for Melodrama is Now

The truth is I haven’t stopped feeling completely hollow inside since I last talked to Ian.

The truth is I miss him.

The truth is my little brother came to visit me and when I saw him at baggage claim, I burst into tears.

The truth is I’m taking a sick day because my face is puffy, my eyes sting and I haven’t changed or showered in over a day.

The truth is my brother is making me chicken noodle soup and we’re watching the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy today, because the only people I can handle right now are magical, fictional ones.

The truth is I feel like a lousy sister, and a lousy ex-girlfriend and a lousy human being.

The truth is Ian will be much better off without my secrets and my antics and me.

The truth is I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life.