“What? Why?”
But then Brook was sniping at someone on the other end of the line about mandatory minimums and hard-ass judges and then she said, “I’m due in court. See you at seven.”
I was still at work when she called, so I sent Ian an email asking if he was up for going out tonight. Sorry, babe, he wrote back, I’m in Philly today.
How hadn’t I known that he was out of town?
“Did you know Ian was in Philly today?” I asked Lavinia.
She just gave me a flat look and said, “Do I look like a calendar?”
Back at my place, I’m in my bra and underwear rifling through a pile of clothes.
“Green sweater. Maroon sweater. Gray sweater.” I toss clothes from the floor onto my bed. “Sweater, cardigan, shawl, sweater.” Okay, maybe Brook has a point. When I get to the bottom of the pile I see a flash of bright orange.
“Pumpkin dress,” I say. I pick it up and hold it out in front of me. It’s still as tiny and orange as ever. But my mom did have it dry-cleaned so at least it isn’t dirty.
“Pumpkin dress or ‘ugly sweater sack thingy.’ Pumpkin dress or…” I sigh and pull the dress over my head. One of these days I’m going to get a slew of new dresses and they’ll be perfect for all the ritzy restaurants I go to with Ian and for all the nights I spend at Carly’s.
The door buzzer to my apartment goes off. I squeak and pull the dress down my thighs. I run to the door intercom and press the button.
“Yes?”
I don’t know who it could be. The only time my buzzer rings is when I’m expecting a delivery of mandarin chicken and fried rice or a few (okay, a dozen) cookies from the bakery down the block.
The intercom crackles.
“Gemma? It’s Josh.”
I hit the button. “It’s unlocked.”
I hear the door to the street bang shut and then Josh takes the steps two at a time. I pull open the door. He stops halfway down the hall when he sees me. My hair is a staticky mess, I’m barefoot, and the dress is doing that ride up the butt ride down the boobs thing.
A slow grin spreads over his face.
“Whatcha doing?” he asks.
I humph and yank at the skirt. Then I turn around and head back to search for a pair of heels. I call over my shoulder, “I’m going to a party for the rich and famous. What’re you doing?”
He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him. “I was at my dad’s. Your mom stopped by and asked me to bring you this lime Jell-O mold on my way through the city. She thought you looked stressed last time you were home.”
I turn back to him and finally notice that he’s holding a crystal bowl full of delicious looking cloudy lime Jell-O and suspended fruit bits. My mouth starts to water at the sight of it.
“You are the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”
Josh grins. “Why thank you.”
“I’m talking to the Jell-O.”
He laughs, “I know.” Then, “What rich and famous?”
I slip on a pair of three-inch black heels then stalk over to him and peer into the bowl. There are carrots in there and tiny cubes of apple. I peel back the plastic wrap and the scent of nose-tickling lime rises up to me.
“Are you going to have any of this?” I ask him.
He shakes his head no. So I take that as permission to dip my fingers in and scoop out a jiggly glob. Then I stick it in my mouth before it can fall off. I roll my eyes in happiness at the tart flavor and the crunch of the carrot and apple.
When I look back at Josh he’s laughing at me.
“What? You know this about me,” I say. I take the bowl from him and walk across my apartment to my tiny fridge. I throw out a container of three-day-old fried rice to make room for the bowl. “Thank you for bringing it,” I call over my shoulder.
“Sure. No problem.” He looks around my apartment from the mess of clothes on my bed to the pile of fertility books to the quote on my wall. Then he rolls his shoulders and says, “Well, I should probably head out. Have fun tonight.”
He turns to go and then I remember that Brook told me to bring a date.
“Wait,” I call after him.
He turns, an eyebrow raised.
“Are you busy tonight?”
The Tribeca address is a towering glass building that glows like a blue roadside flare lit up at night. It’s an office building, not an apartment building or a townhome like I was expecting. Inside, the lobby is cold white marble and mirrors, and devoid of any furnishings except the sleek guard desk and a bank of mirrored elevators. The sound of my heels clicks on the marble and Josh’s shoes scuff softly on the stone.
The guard stares at us from the desk, and I decide he definitely isn’t the warm, friendly type.
“You sure this is the right place?” Josh murmurs to me.
I glance down at my phone and look at Brook’s text. The address is the same. “I think so.”
Josh smiles down at my phone and I flush at the memory I see on his face. He’s thinking of the park bench and the vibrating phone calls.
Geesh.
I clear my throat when we reach the guard desk and tell him my name. He runs his finger down a list attached to a clipboard, then asks for our IDs. We hand them over and the guard scans them into his computer.
Josh puts his thumbs in his pockets and stares at the thirty-foot-tall glass windows and the handblown glass chandelier. For a second I think he’s going to start whistling or calling “helloooo” to see if the empty lobby echoes. But then the guard hands us back our IDs. He takes our coats, puts them in a closet behind his desk, and hands us a coat check ticket.
“This way,” he says.
Josh raises his eyebrows at me and I shrug. The guard walks purposefully toward the back of the lobby, around the elevators, and then escorts us to a marble stairway leading down.
“Take them to the bottom,” he says gruffly. Then he turns back to his desk.
“Thank you,” I call after him.