“You have this great new guy, and I just have a feeling that he’s the one.”
“You can’t know that,” I cried.
“Yes, I can.”
“We just kissed,” I said.
“And that’s where it all starts.”
I thought about what Marjorie said when I asked her what made her have sex so soon with Rob: “Three martinis and a kiss.” We didn’t have martinis, but we did share one hell of a kiss. Maybe that kiss was just the beginning of something extraordinary. Maybe I needed to start trusting what Erica told me. She was pretty smart, after all.
I knew I could count on her encouragement and good sense to squash my sour mood. My heart started to feel better. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and watched a huge palmetto bug scurry across my kitchen floor.
“Motherfucker!” I screamed into the phone. I jumped up, ripped off my shoe, and beat the shit out of it.
“You don’t have to be a bitch about it!” Erica shouted back.
“A bug, Erica! Gaw!”
“Did you just say ‘Gaw,’ like a hillbilly?”
“Leave me alone! It was really huge! I freaking hate living by the beach sometimes! I’m spraying my house every other day. Nothing can live in here, you know. Kids. Dogs. Cats.”
“Don’t say cats. Never say cats.”
“Stop stereotyping women with cats,” I replied, scraping up the butchered bug. I really went to town on that thing. Perhaps subconsciously I pretended it was my sister.
“Whatever. I’m just jealous of them anyway. Cats can take care of themselves,” Erica said.
I rolled my eyes. “You bitch about your kids all the time, but you couldn’t imagine your world without them.”
Brief pause.
“I know,” Erica sighed.
“I’m going now. Thanks for making me feel better. And no, I don’t believe you about the maid of honor OCD thing, but I’ll do it because she’s my sister. It’s totally screwed up that they’re taking advantage of me, but whatever.”
“Look at it this way,” Erica began. “If you ever want to change careers and be a wedding coordinator, you’ve already got one in your portfolio.”
“True.”
“Love ya, girly. Go to bed. And don’t think about Nicki. Think about Reece’s pieces.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a dork. I love you.”
That night I did dream about Reece’s pieces. I’m not really a candy girl, but he made me want to finish the entire bag.
My phone beeped some time around 6:30 A.M. the following morning.
Reece: We need to talk about that kiss. When can I call you?
I couldn’t read the tone. Who can ever read tones in text messages and emails anyway? My instinct, though, was to lean toward the negative. (Hey, I had a history to back it up.) I immediately thought the worst: He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t want whatever happened at the theater to go any further. I’m a bad kisser.
I glanced at the time: 6:31 A.M. Oh, what the hell? He was obviously awake.
“Reece?” I said hesitantly into the phone.
“Bailey!” he replied. “Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to wake you. That’s why I texted. I thought maybe you turn your sound alerts off at night. I’m sorry if I woke you. I’ve just been up all night. I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to call you yesterday, but I thought maybe I should leave you alone for a day or two. But then it just drove me crazy all day, and then I didn’t sleep last night. I think I mentioned I didn’t sleep. And I kept thinking about you and the theater and . . .”
I grinned from ear to ear as I listened to Reece prattle on about how he couldn’t get me out of his mind. Silly Bailey. And you thought you were a bad kisser!
“Reece?” I interrupted.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I talking too much? I have a problem with that. It’s something I’m working on. I talk more when I’m nervous—”
“Reece!”
He went silent.
“I wanted to call you yesterday, too,” I said.
He sighed into the phone. A happy sigh. “Really?”
“Yes. I nearly did, but then my sister called and wanted me over at our parents’ house last night. She needed to make an announcement and whatever. It’s not important,” I said.
“What announcement?” Reece asked.
“Oh, about how she’s getting married,” I said dismissively.
“That’s pretty cool.”
I grunted. We fell silent.
“I’ve been thinking about you nonstop,” Reece admitted.
“Really?” I asked. I wanted to confess the same thing, but I wasn’t sure it was wise for girls to be so transparent. I’d already initiated the first kiss. That was as far as I’d go.
“Oh, yes,” Reece replied. “I . . . I know we aren’t supposed to date.” Brief pause. “But I want to.”
I chewed my lower lip. I knew it was unwise—getting involved with a coworker. Soooo unwise. I also knew that no one had ever knocked my socks off with a kiss like Reece had. And that had to mean something.
Plus, it wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything that led up to the kiss. It was Reece buying me drinks from the vending machine just to be nice. Stopping by my cubicle to ask about my weekend—and really listening to me talk about it. Eating lunch with me. Telling me jokes. Walking me to my car during that storm when I’d forgotten my umbrella. Yeah, I’d forgotten my umbrella. He’d already sufficiently infiltrated my brain. I was relaxing, taking a step back. Hell, I was forgetting my steps altogether.
“Reece?” I said carefully.
“Oh no. You sound unsure,” he said.
“No no. Not unsure,” I replied. “I just have to tell you something.”
“You’re already dating someone,” he said.
“Ha! No. Not that.” The words were right there—right on the tip of my tongue—but I couldn’t say them. I had suddenly grown embarrassed—ashamed of myself for lacking. That’s how I constantly felt, that I lacked the abilities others had to function normally.
“Yes?” he encouraged.
“I have a condition!” I blurted.
Silence.
“Like an STD?” he asked.
“God no! No! Oh my God.” I blushed profusely and turned my face, burying it in my pillow.
“Okay. So, no STD,” Reece said. “By the way, it would have been okay if you had. We’d figure out how to work with it.”
“Oh. My. God. Stop talking about STDs,” I demanded.