“What?” I ask, my attempt at an innocent stare lost on my closest friend.
“It’s been over six weeks. How many times have you seen each other?”
I shrug. “A few.”
Sally pushes on my shoulder. “A few. Damn, the nun has left the building.”
“I-I.” I shift my mouse, bringing my computer screen back to life and deciding if I should answer Cruella or Sally. Looking to my friend, I say, “I think I need to break it off.”
“Why?”
“It feels too real.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, unsure what I want. “It’s more than that. It’s Jase, too. I feel guilty. He’s having some issues with the new school, and I think it’s because of me. I’ve never left him this often before.”
“Nonsense,” Sally says. “It’s not like you leave him alone. When you leave, it’s either when Jase is spending the night or after he’s gone to bed. He doesn’t even know that it’s me or your parents with him at night. He’s in his bed. You tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. He’s never awakened, not once when I’ve been there. I mean, seriously, that little boy could sleep through an atomic blast.”
That makes me giggle. She’s right. “I know, but it’s not fair to you or Mom and Dad.”
“Then invite this mystery man to your place and no babysitters will be necessary.”
My lips come together. “No.”
Sally lifts her hand in mocked surrender. “Fine. How long do you have to date this guy until we all get to meet him?”
“We’re not dating. We’re just seeing each other.”
“Hmm,” she says suspiciously.
“What?”
“I can see how that’s so different.”
“It is!”
“I get your concern with Jase, but this is me…your best friend. Well,” Sally says, “at least you don’t have to worry about me hounding you anymore about meeting Pep. According to Brian, he’s met someone, someone who...” Her eyebrows wiggle. “...has confirmed that he can get it up.”
I scrunch my nose. “That’s too much information.”
“I don’t mean the woman has called Brian and told him that. It’s just that Pep is always busy with work or this chick. I’d say you missed out, ex-athlete and all. He didn’t get that nickname just because of hockey.” She leans back even farther as her hazel stare scans me up and down. “But looking at your satiated smile, I’ll bet that you don’t care.”
“I don’t. I’m glad to hear Brian’s friend is functional. So is Malcolm.”
Sally takes a staggered step away from my desk as her mouth falls open. “What? You’ve never told me his name before. Are you serious? Is it Malcolm?”
My heart thuds between my spine and ribs, thumping with an unexpected sense of panic. My best friend’s complexion has suddenly gone white as a sheet. It’s as if she’s seen a ghost. “What? Why is that significant?”
“I’m not sure yet. What’s his last name?”
“Peppernick. Malcolm Peppernick.”
“Fuck!” Sally’s hand flies to her lips. “It’s you. It’s him. You're her! Oh my God, wait until I tell Brian.”
“Wait! What? I'm who?”
“Malcolm Peppernick is Pep.”
I shake my head, certain she’s mistaken. “No. He’s not some cocky ex-jock. He’s sweet and knows Disney and reads…He can’t be...” It’s then I realize that Malcolm and I haven’t shared our pasts with each other. We’ve only recently started talking about the present. He knows I work for a financial company. I know he teaches, but I don’t even know the grade or subject. I know he agreed to take over as a soccer coach for someone who’s ill, but I know that only because he slipped and said something about a game last Saturday. But that’s soccer. “I-I…He's never said anything about hockey.”
“Amanda!” Cruella de Vil’s voice comes from a few cubicles away.
I reach for Sally’s hand and speak in a rushed whisper. “Don’t tell Brian.”
“Why?”
I’m not sure why. I’m just not ready.
“I don’t know yet. Just, please.” It’s the last thing I say before Sally dashes away in hopes of saving Dalmatian puppies or at least in hopes of avoiding the villain in the puppy coat.
Malcolm reaches for my hand as we enter the restaurant. The dim interior with the background music has become one of my favorite places. There may be another reason I like it. It’s where Malcolm and I met.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I take a deep breath and push down my concerns and worries about Jase. He’s having more problems with school and his teacher. I’ve already had one meeting and multiple telephone calls with Mrs. Williams. I wish I could talk to Malcolm about it, but doing that seems like I’m being unfair. I’m not sure to whom—Jase or Jackson or maybe Malcolm. I can’t burden him with my problems and still keep him and Jase separated. Instead of talking about that, I concentrate on the surprise Sally and I have planned for Malcolm and Brian. As a rule, I’m not a fan of surprises, but since I’m on the knowing end of this one, I’m excited.
“I told you. We’re meeting some friends of mine.”
“But you seem...distracted.”
As I scan the bar, I look for Brian and Sally. Of course, I don’t see them. “Shit. I swear, they’re always late.”
“I hate that,” Malcolm mutters.
My lips tip upward. “Me too.”
“Before I went back to college for teaching," Malcolm says, divulging a little bit of his past that he doesn't know I know, "I had a job that required being on time. Arrival times. Scheduled...” He seems to be searching for what is within our rules to say. “...things that needed to be done and places we needed to go. Anyway, you’d be surprised how many supposed adults had trouble with the simple concept of arriving promptly.”
“There’s a booth,” I say, tilting my head toward an open table.
We walk hand in hand. As I ease into the booth, Malcolm follows on the same side. The warmth of his thigh against mine is comforting. I’d say we’re sitting close and on the same side because we’re meeting Brian and Sally, but we find ourselves this way even when it’s only us. It’s as if after days apart, the distance across the table isn’t simply a few feet, but a chasm neither of us wants to bear.
“I think being late is rude,” I say.
Malcolm winks as he reaches again for my hand. “Being on time has been fortuitous in my recent past.” He looks around the bar. “At this very establishment, as a matter of fact.”
I look down at our entwined fingers and smile. Back up to his eyes, I ask, “Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, you see, I was supposed to meet a nice woman, and instead I met—”
“Are you saying I’m not nice?”
“No, beautiful, I’m saying you’re the whole fucking package. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”