“Are there plans to update the policy on interoffice dating as well as harassment? Because Little Miss HR is seeing Jason from Marketing.”
The news left a bitter taste on my tongue. “Aren’t you just a well of information,” I said sarcastically.
“My ability to discover this sort of information is one of the reasons you gave me a raise, Brent,” she said.
“Agreed. I do like to know what’s going on in my building. However, as it relates to Ms. Sherman, I don’t wish to be informed. Unless there is some harassment allegation; it is none of my concern at all,” I said decisively.
“I see. And if she comes here wanting to see you?”
“She’s off the list, Millie. I’m sure she knows how email works,” I said a little sharply.
“She must have made quite an impression on you,” Millie said.
“Sometimes you’re too observant for your own good,” I said ruefully.
She turned to leave.
“Millie—if she shows up, send her in,” I said, defeated.
“I thought so. Just making sure,” she said with her infuriating smile.
I was glad she was on my side. Because Millie would be a formidable enemy, I thought for probably the hundredth time. She was observant and that was very valuable to me. It was just irritating when she noticed things about me that I would rather think were discreet. Like the lingering feelings I harbored for Caitlin.
15
Cat
Steadying myself on a kitchen chair, I wondered if the tree pose counted when you had to hold on to something. The woman in the video seemed so relaxed while she stood on one foot. I moved through the poses in the routine and breathed when they told me to. I had been doing yoga classes every day at the gym, but I just didn’t want to see people for once.
So I did my YouTube yoga and took a shower. I shaved my legs as if I were hopeful. I wasn’t hopeful. First off, I had no intention of sleeping with anyone before date six at the earliest. Secondly, unless Jason turned out to be a lot more interesting than I initially found him, there would be no date six or even date three. I couldn’t even make myself imagine kissing him. Not holding his hand.
I felt vaguely sorry for Jason and anyone who happened to come after Brent, because with nothing more than a lunch and some flirting kisses, Brent had set the bar way too high for anyone to compare. Jason didn’t have much of a chance. But still, I curled my eyelashes and put on two coats of mascara. I figured the first step in getting over rejection was to act like I was fine. If I looked dressed up and excited, maybe I could fool myself. One of these days, I’d look in the mirror, and I wouldn’t have to pretend to smile anymore. One of these days, it would be real.
In the meantime, I looked around, wondering why I kept forgetting to bring those flowers home. They were still on my desk. Jason had been nice enough to send me a bouquet, and I had just left it at work. Looking in my mirror told the whole story because there, tucked right in the corner of the mirror, was Brent Waltham’s business card. He had pushed it across the lunch table toward me with one finger, and I’d taken it. I’d stowed it safely in my purse so I didn’t lose it, and I had brought it right home and stuck it on my mirror that way it wouldn’t get lost.
Maybe I had even traced the embossed letters of his name with my fingertip a few times while willing him to call me or text me or send a carrier pigeon with a message. I still kept it right there. His card. His name and personal number. Not that I would call it or text it again. I had learned my lesson. Or had I? Because his card was still on my mirror.
If I had so much as considered bringing Jason back to my apartment, wouldn’t I have taken that card down and put it in a drawer? Or better yet, in the trash can? Exactly. No intention of pursuing a serious relationship with Jason or anyone else, just me and my business card for life. I rolled my eyes, pinched the card between two fingers and plucked it from the mirror. I tossed it in a drawer. I couldn’t throw it away yet, but at least it would be out of sight.
In a fit of brokenhearted rage, I had ripped up my old copy of Forbes. It was gone. No more afternoon delight with Brent’s handsome face partly in shadow. I couldn’t sleep with it in my apartment. It should have been gone long ago, with my One Direction poster and my crush on Harry Styles, so the magazine was out of my life just like the man himself.
I put on more lipstick. I stepped into my kitten heels and answered the door when Jason rang the bell.
He brought flowers. Of course, he did. Because the only thing wrong with him was the incontrovertible fact that he wasn’t Brent. I thanked him for the flowers, put them in a vase and told him they were beautiful. The typical protocol.
“You’re spoiling me,” I said, trying a little bit to be coquettish.
“I’ve been looking for someone to spoil for a while now. I like making you happy,” he said.
Shit. Not only was he not Brent, but he was also too good for me. I felt bad for him. I wanted to clap him on the shoulder and say, dude, there’s someone out there for you, but it isn’t me. Don’t waste your flowers on a woman who’s in love with someone else. Instead, I grabbed a coat and thanked him when he told me how nice I looked.
“You look great, too,” I said.
And he did look great. He had nice sandy blond hair and cute wire-rimmed glasses. His fingernails were clean, and he had good teeth. What else could a woman want in a man? He wasn’t crude or an obvious racist or anything that should be a turn off for me. And yet there we were, taking an Uber to the new Greek place he’d heard about, smiling blandly and commenting on the weather.
“It is getting colder,” I said encouragingly like I was his kindergarten teacher as if I was ensuring him that he did know what sound the letter ‘b’ makes.
“Pretty soon I’ll have to break out my winter climbing gear,” he said.
“Oh, you climb?”
“Yeah. I love it. I’ve been rock climbing since I was ten.”
“Great. Do you go to a gym or what?”
“I like to climb outside. I have a few favorite spots. I could show you one,” he offered.
“I’m more of a yoga girl myself,” I said. It wasn’t his fault that I didn’t like outdoor sports or heights or the idea of crime scene tape around my body after I was maybe pushed off a cliff for having a smart mouth.
“Really? I haven’t done yoga. Isn’t it just stretching?”
“Actually, it’s a martial art that combines breathing and concentration exercises with a series of poses to increase flexibility and strength,” I said, “It helps me de-stress so I don’t eat all the Hostess cupcakes ever made.”
“Right. So, climbing does that for me. Not the cupcakes thing, but the stress reduction. Just being out in nature and pushing my body to its limits. It relaxes me and puts me in the moment.”
“That’s great,” I said, wondering what to talk about as we lulled into an awkward silence.
The restaurant was good. He offered me a spanakopita, and I accepted it to be polite and ate it. It was crisp and tasty. After we discussed our travels (I hadn’t been out of the country, he had been to Mexico with friends), we talked a little about food. He thought black bean burgers were as good as the real thing. I nodded. I said I liked Eggs Benedict. He nodded. Then we stopped talking and ate. It wasn’t excruciating, but it wasn’t fun either. We didn’t have an easy rhythm or a rapport. There was nothing we could make into an inside joke that we had in common. When he suggested dessert, I lied and said I was stuffed just because I was tired of spending time with him, and bored of him trying to make it fun.