We resume our meal in silence, and though she turns the conversation back to my “reputation rehab” and her suggested plan for the upcoming week, I have a hard time keeping my attention on the topic at hand.
All I can think about is Sabrina and her idea of marriage as a partnership of sorts. And how if and when she finds that partner, it’ll mean the end of meals like this one.
The end of us. Whatever we are.
11
MATT
Monday Afternoon, September 25
It’s been a day for distractions. Alarm didn’t go off. Spilled coffee on my shirt. Couldn’t get a cab. Lost another client. Worked through lunch.
It’s not even five o’clock yet, and the day’s not done with me. The distraction currently headed my way is perhaps the worst yet. Or at least the most annoying.
Unfortunately, it’s also unavoidable.
I pick up my phone. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, honey!”
My mom’s always pretty cheerful, but the borderline manic happiness in her tone confirms she’s calling for the reason I’d suspected.
She’s heard the news.
“How are you?” she asks, her voice too casual.
I sigh and lean back in my chair, rubbing my forehead. “Well, shitty, actually. The whole Vegas thing isn’t dying down as readily as I hoped it would.”
“Oh, it will,” she says breezily.
I clench my teeth against irritation. My parents had called, separately, the day the Wall Street Journal news broke last week. And though there’d been the token concern and sympathy, my mom hadn’t wanted to discuss the topic for longer than two minutes.
She’s a nice enough woman, but she tends to determinedly ignore anything she deems unpleasant that doesn’t impact her directly. So I know she’s not calling to check up on that bit of news. She’s calling about the other news.
“How was brunch yesterday?” she asks in a gleeful, teasing tone.
Yeah. There it is.
Besides getting the face time I’d hoped for with my bosses, Sabrina predicted our see-and-be-seen brunch date yesterday would result in plenty of press. Not quite Wall Street Journal–level press, but it had gotten picked up on enough society blogs that I figured my mom would have heard about it through her vast gossip circuit. My parents live in Connecticut, but my dad was a Wall Street guy, so they’re still pretty plugged into the scene. My scene. Lucky me.
“Brunch was fine.”
“Looked a bit better than fine. You were feeding her, Matthew.”
Only to shut her up.
“She’s gorgeous,” my mom gushes. “Sabrina, was it?”
I give a grim smile. “Like you haven’t already googled everything about her.”
“There’s not much,” my mom says with a touch of sulkiness. “Her social media accounts are private, and though she’s connected to plenty of powerful people, I couldn’t find any information about her.”
Exactly as Sabrina likes it.
“She’s private.”
“Well. Whatever. You looked happy.”
I grimace. “How many pictures were there?”
“Just a couple. But I could tell by the way you looked at her that you’re crazy about her.”
I roll my eyes.
“Is she the one?” my mom asks with the slightly desperate tone of a woman who, by her estimation, is long past due for grandchildren.
The fact that my mom thinks there’s ever going to be “the one” is laughable. Though I wouldn’t hurt her by telling her outright, she and my father are pretty much solely responsible for my skepticism on all things monogamy and happy relationships. A lifetime of seeing just how jacked up marriage is will cure a guy of any happily-ever-after delusions pretty quickly.
“We’re just dating, Mom.” And not even for real.
“How’d you meet?” she asks.
“She’s a friend of Ian’s. They grew up together.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
I grunt in response, and she sighs. “I can see I’m not going to learn any more from you than I did from the internet.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think grown men typically give their mothers details on their love life.”
“I know that,” she says pragmatically. “Which is why I need to get the details from her.”
I’ve just put my feet up on my desk, but they drop back to the floor. “What?”
“This woman. Sabrina. I want to meet her.”
“No,” I say automatically.
“Why not?” she says in a pouty voice.
“Because we’ve just started dating. I’m not going to freak her out by bringing her to my parents’ house.”
Not that I can ever imagine Sabrina freaking out about anything, but then, she doesn’t know the debacle that is my home life. A glittery, white-fence facade hiding a rotten core.
“Dinner. This weekend,” she pushes.
“I’ll come to dinner,” I agree, knowing I’m past due for a visit. “But I’m not bringing Sabrina.”
She huffs. “Matthew.”
“Mother.”
“Think about it?”
I hear a knock at the door, and I look up in relief when I see Ian standing there, eyebrows lifted in question. I gesture him in.
“Mom, I gotta go. I have a meeting.”
“Okay, honey. I’ll see you next week with Sabrina. I love you!”
“I’ll see you next week. No Sabrina. Love you, too.” I hang up to end the debate and toss the phone on my desk.
“No Sabrina where?” Ian asks.
“My mother heard we’re ‘dating’ and wants me to bring her to dinner.”
Ian snorts. “Now that, I’d love to see. Sabrina playing your doting girlfriend at your perfect parents’ house.”
I look away, a little stab of guilt kicking in that I hide the truth about my parents even from my best friends.
“How’s the Sabrina thing been going?” Ian asks.
I run a hand over my face. “I’m exhausted.”
“It’s only been two days.”
“Yeah, well . . . let’s just say if being her fake boyfriend is this exhausting, I pity the guy who will take on the role for real someday.”
Pity and hate.
“Not happening,” Ian says emphatically.
I drop my hand. “No?”
Ian shrugs. “Sabrina’s more relationship averse than you.”
Huh. Interesting. Interesting that Sabrina’s never mentioned her unique thoughts on marriage to her best friend.
Still, it’s not my place to spill her secrets. Plus, honestly? A tiny part of me is thrilled that I know something about her that Ian doesn’t. The two of them have always been thick as thieves.
“She is a bit cynical about romance,” I say evasively. “But she’s never said why.”
Ian gives me a look. “Yeah, I’m not walking into that one. If she wants you to know what makes her tick, she’ll tell you herself. And don’t scowl at me. You know I’d protect your privacy just as much if she asked me about you.”
“Does she?”
Ian laughs. “Really? Here. Distract yourself with this.” He shoves forward a fancily wrapped gift that’s just been placed on my desk.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A present.”
“I see that. Why is it on my desk?”
“What’s wrong with you? I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’”
“I’m not going to say thank you until I know what it is and what it’s for.”
I start to reach for it, but Ian shakes his head and drops into the chair opposite me. “Actually no, not yet. Have to wait for Kennedy.”
“Dude. Why are you being weird?” I ask, noticing he has another matching gift in his hand. Had I not been so distracted with my mother’s call about Sabrina, I’d have noticed them before. In my defense, the packages are small.
“For the record, none of this was my idea,” he mutters, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.
A moment later, Kennedy ambles in, most of his attention on his cell phone. He sets it aside as he sits next to Ian. “What’s up?”
“Ian brought us presents,” I say.
“It’s not my birthday,” Kennedy says. “Nor is it yours.”
“Thank God we waited for him,” I say to Ian. “How else would we ever keep track of everyone’s birthdays?”
Kennedy reaches out and pulls the gift from Ian’s hand. Sniffs it.
Ian rubs his forehead. “Oh my God, what are you doing?”
“I was just making sure it wasn’t incense,” Kennedy says.
Ian gives him an incredulous look. “Why would I be buying you incense?”
“Last gift I got was sandalwood incense.”
“You need new friends,” I tell him.
“It was a housewarming gift from my mother.”