Sometime Soon

eighteen



There is no greeting from Joan the next morning when I arrive at work. It appears that I’ve beaten her into the office. The reception desk is empty when I walk past it just after seven. I tossed and turned restlessly last night, finally giving up and jumping into the shower around five. Now back in the familiar environment of my office, a place where I like to believe I am successful and in control, I feel less out of sorts as I sip my coffee and get down to work.

Laura calls me at the office that afternoon. I start to tell her, in hushed tones, about Katie’s situation, and I relay cryptic details of my date with Ryan before she becomes frustrated with her inability to hear me and invites herself over to my place tonight for a chat. Jonathan is likely working late again, and she’s on her own anyway.



On my way home from the office, I exchange the Hyundai for my repaired Honda. My first encounter with Ryan has now been erased. I turn up the radio and open the windows to distract myself. The air has a chill to it tonight as it filters into the car. For the first time this season, the breeze smells of fall with a crisp, fresh feel to it, punctuated by a hint of musky wood smoke from a fireplace. Living in Massachusetts, each season has a distinct texture. Memories are often tangled up with white winter snow or brilliant fall foliage.

I recalled what I was doing this time last year. I’d been painting my living room and bedroom. Alex, the guy I was seeing at the time, had helped me, though he mostly just sat around, leaving the actual painting to me. But we had fun, dragging the project out far longer than required.

I tried to remember what happened to Alex. It was nothing monumental. I wasn’t really head over heels in love with him, despite wanting to be. Eventually, he told me that I was a hard person to feel close to, and the next I knew he was seeing someone else. I wonder if I truly am hard to feel close to or if he had simply found someone else he wanted to feel even closer to. I suspect it was a combination of the two.

Since neither Laura nor I inherited the cooking gene from my mother, I pick up Chinese food on the way home. Tiger and I go through our usual routine when I come through the door. He is even more starved for attention than usual because he was home alone for so much of yesterday. I discard my sweater, my only concession to fall so far, my shorts and flip-flops are still my wardrobe fixture, and I open the sliding door at the back of the living room to let in the fresh air and to occupy Tiger while I organize the plates and silverware for dinner. Tiger can sit for hours in front of the screen door, his eyes and ears focused like lasers on some object that is usually invisible to me.

Laura arrives straight from work, wearing the blouse and slacks that are her uniform. She has them in all kinds of mix and match colors. “Do I smell Chinese?” she asks coming through the door, dropping her briefcase in the entryway.

“Sesame chicken and Mongolian beef,”

After some bustling around, finding serving spoons and trading food cartons, we’re finally settled in with at least a few bites of food in our stomachs. Tiger chooses that moment to hop up on the table and sniff at my plate. He’s a very picky eater when it comes to human food, but he does like to stick his twitchy pink nose into everything first before he makes up his mind about it.

Laura points her fork at him. “He’d better not come over here and do that to my plate.”

“But he loves you,” I tell her innocently.

“He can love me from a distance.”

When Tiger makes a move toward Laura’s side of the table, I put down my silverware and lift him down to the ground, gently nudging him back toward the slider.

“Okay,” Laura begins, “Now what were we saying earlier about Katie and Mike? He told her he was in Chicago, but really he had packed a bag and gone to New York?”

I laugh, snort really. “No, you’re all mixed up.”

“That’s what you told me,” she complains.

As we finish our dinners, I untangle the story and relate the details of my previous evening to Laura.

“Wow, you had your first fight on your second date,” she says in awe. “That must be some kind of record.”

“It might have been our third date actually, but it was our first and last fight,” I reply, surveying the empty food cartons and the brown-colored remnants of sauce now congealing on our plates.

“Do you think he could have gotten confused, saying New York instead of Chicago?”

I shrug.

“You wouldn’t call him? To clear the air maybe?”

“How can I? I still don’t know if he was lying to me or not? Maybe Chicago is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe he’s lied about lots of things. Maybe he doesn’t even have his own startup business?”

Laura offers me a skeptical scowl. “How exactly did you ask him about the discrepancy?”

“I just asked him where he was last week when we were heading out to our cars.”

“Did you ask him in an accusing tone?

I replay the scene in my head trying hard not to visibly cringe. I’ve already played it over and over again, changing my tone, changing my words, changing his reaction, all for the purpose of a better outcome, to the point where I can barely recall what actually occurred anymore. “I don’t think I was accusing, just clarifying.”

“Explain clarifying.”

“Look Laura, I pointed out to him that in his message he said he was in New York, while at dinner he said he was in Chicago. I probably didn’t hide the fact that it occurred to me he might be lying. I don’t know why he would lie. What difference does it make to me where he was?”

“Unless his web of lies is so tangled, he gets confused himself,” she suggests, either playing along or mocking me now.

“Exactly,” I nod.

“Give me a break,” she laughs.

“The fact is, if he’d made an honest mistake, why did he get so mad at me? He should have realized it wasn’t unreasonable for me to question him. It doesn’t matter anyway. He knows I wasn’t happy when he forgot about our last date. Now I’ve accused him of lying, too. It’s done. There’s no point talking about it anymore.”

Laura nods at me. “He probably thinks you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

I frown at her as I stand up to clear the dishes.

“Just saying.”

We work together to finish clearing. Then Laura leans against the counter, watching me, while I load the dishwasher. “I think you let past experiences jade you. You expect every guy to be a jerk sooner or later.”

I don’t respond to this. It’s something I’ve thought of myself.

“Speaking of jerks, do you think Mike is gone for good?” she asks.

“I have no idea, but I hate him for putting Katie through this.”

“Some people make their beds.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say. I know what you and Jonathan think. Actually, she admitted to me that she was fooling herself about the state of things with him. I still don’t get it. She’s beautiful and smart. She could be with anyone.”

Laura catches my eye and stares pointedly.

“What?”

She just continues staring.

“You have Mongolian beef on your chin,” I tell her.

Her hand flies up to her face. “Where?” She spins around and goes to check in the bathroom mirror. “By the way, have you heard from David yet?” She asks this casually when she returns, wiping her chin with a tissue, as though she isn’t stepping into a minefield.

“No,” I reply flatly. Then, I remember.

“What?”

“I might have, actually. I got a message last night from a number I didn’t recognize. I forgot to listen to it.”

“Oh, that could be him. Why don’t you check?”

I turn impatient eyes on her. “I will. Later.”

“Fine. Anyway, I was thinking.”

I close the dishwasher and listen.

“Blind dates can be so awkward,” she continues, worrying the collar of her blouse as she speaks. “Maybe the four of us could go out together this weekend?”

I shake my head and laugh.

“What?”

“I don’t even get twenty-four hours notice?”

“For what? To mope and worry. David is a great guy, and someone is going to snap him up if you don’t.”

“Then why haven’t they already?”

This stumps her.

“I need a dating vacation,” I state, wiping at the counter with a dishcloth.

“You don’t need a dating vacation. You need to date better guys and stop finding fault with everyone.”

“I’m not finding faults that aren’t there. Would you overlook the things I’ve told you?”

“Not the way you describe them. You do seem to be having some seriously bad luck lately.”

I put the cloth down and move into the living room where I then pick up Tiger as a self-defense measure and cradle him in front of me.

“This isn’t a big deal, Andy.” Laura follows and stands before me now, but not as close as she might be if I wasn’t using Tiger as a feline shield. “You’re making too much of this. We’ll go out, have some drinks, eat some dinner, and you’ll see if you and David hit it off. He’s a nice guy. I can guarantee that if you go out with him we won’t be having discussions about how bad the bad thing he did was.”

My eyes dart from Tiger to Laura and back again. “Fine,” I say.

Laura blinks at me. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Her posture relaxes. “Geez Andy, you’re a lot of work.”

I could get mad about at that comment, but I decide to let it go. In fact, to prove that I can be less reticent, I go to my cell phone and listen to my message. It is from David Rose. He introduces himself and tells me he’s gotten my number from Laura. His voice sounds very young, almost pubescent in the message. I turn to Laura. “You can tell him that I got his message, and I’ll see him this weekend in accordance with your plans,” I instruct her. “That is, if he hasn’t been snapped up yet.”

“You’re not going to call him back?”

“What if the conversation doesn’t go well? Can I cancel?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Fine. I’ll call him.”

I smile with satisfaction, although I’m not sure why. If this isn’t a complete disaster, it’s likely to be at least somewhat unpleasant.