Jacob approaches the counter. “Excuse me,” he calls to José Luis. “Can we get those coffees to go?”
No, Jacob doesn’t care one bit that I have to leave to meet Alex. But the real question is… why do I care? It must be because Jacob is familiar, and right now, I’m desperate for anyone who feels familiar. I peek up at him as José Luis hands over our paper cups. I know for a fact that Jacob wears blue flannel pajama pants and likes cold Thai noodles and tilts his head to the left when he kisses. While after all this time, my knowledge of Alex feels hazy. Dim. Like something from my past.
But the past is here, Alex is my boyfriend, and Jacob is… Jacob is Owen’s friend. Nothing more. He made that sugar-crystal clear on his couch last night.
When we’re back out on the street, I hold up my coffee in a little salute in Jacob’s direction. “Thanks for this.”
“Sure. It was—” He cocks his head like he’s trying to work something out. “It was good to see you, Sadie.”
“You too, Jacob.” Reluctantly, I turn and head down the sidewalk. My aching body protests, and my feet scream obscenities, but I keep walking until I’ve dragged myself back home.
Back home, and back to the life that I wished for.
Chapter 8
February
I’ve never seen so many men in gray vests in my life. I’m at a downtown bar, meeting Alex for drinks after work, and this place is positively swimming in performance fleece. I actually grew a little disoriented and approached two other tall, sandy-haired men with their backs to me before I found Alex. It’s casual Friday, and it seems that every Wall Street banker got the memo: pale button-up shirt, khaki trousers, and Patagonia vest. Oh, and since we’re at a bar, an old-fashioned in hand.
I finally identify my gray vest–wearing boyfriend in a sea of gray vest–wearing boyfriends, and he stands to give me a hug. The place is crowded, so he offers me his stool and gets the bartender’s attention to order a glass of my favorite sauvignon blanc. Alex has always been thoughtful like this, and it’s one of the first things I loved about him. Like Kasumi said, he’s a good guy. The dating scene in New York City can be a jungle, so finding someone who will buy you a drink without the expectation of getting your panties off is less common than you’d hope. Not that I can’t buy a drink for myself, of course.
When I slide on to the barstool, I come face-to-face with Zach Templeton. If dating in New York is a jungle, then Zach is the king of gorillas. I’d say I don’t know why Alex hangs out with him but they’re coworkers who both started at the firm the same week, so he doesn’t always have a choice. Apparently, it’s part of the Wall Street culture to network over drinks.
Lately, I’m really not one to criticize Alex for sucking it up for the sake of professional harmony. I’ve been metaphorically covering my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, and singing “la, la, la” in order to ignore Xavier’s bad behavior. I haven’t told him off or made any big speeches in weeks. And I’ve stayed off his radar, which is not something I could say the last time around.
This whole second chance thing is still an adjustment, but I’ve started to get used to it. There are moments when I have the most intense sense of déjà vu, and then I realize that no, I don’t have the feeling I’ve had this conversation before. I’ve actually had this conversation before. Which is how, as I take a sip of my wine, I know that Zach is about to say something to really irritate me.
He doesn’t disappoint. “Is your cute little Japanese friend meeting you here?”
I may be learning to let things go, but I can’t simply “la, la, la” my way through this conversation. “Please don’t call her that. She has a name, and you’ve hung out with her enough times to know what it is.” I pause, taking in his slicked-back hair and smirk. “Actually, never mind. Forget her name and forget she exists. Because you know what they say about not even if you were the last man on Earth—”
“Well,” Alex cuts in, his voice a little too loud and overly cheerful. “It sounds like Kasumi probably isn’t interested, so let’s talk about something else. What are you baking at work these days, Sadie?”
I spin my chair away from Zach and focus on Alex. “I have a new recipe for lavender lemon tarts. And actually”—I pull a small pastry box from my bag with a smile—“you can let me know what you think.”
Alex used to joke that our love story began over dessert. I met him on the subway when he was just starting out in the MBA program at Columbia, and I’d been at Xavier’s for about a year. Xavier had sent me on an errand to deliver a cake I’d made for one of his VIP friends at a downtown office building. I was standing on the crowded subway, balancing the giant pastry box, and trying desperately not to pitch sideways into the lap of the old woman to my left. Alex was in the next row and spotted me swaying. He lunged to his feet, grabbed the box just as it began to tip, and offered me his seat. When I got off the train, Alex did too, carrying the pastry box for eight blocks until it was safely deposited at the VIP’s office. I didn’t learn until our second date that Alex had been going uptown, and that hadn’t even been his stop.
In the early days, I showed my affection by dropping off treats when Alex was busy studying for finals or working on a big project. He’d text me selfies in return, photos of him biting into my desserts with silly notes like, I love you berry much. Or, You’re the icing on my cupcake, I’m muffin without you.
“Where’s mine?” Zach asks.
I give him an exaggerated shrug. “Sorry, I only brought one.”
“It’s cool,” Zach says. “Bring me one next time.”
I bite my tongue.
“Hey, Zach,” Alex cuts in, probably to steer the conversation to safer topics again. “How’s it going with the candidates for the financial consultant position? What do you think of that woman you interviewed yesterday?”
And then, I realize what’s coming next. I sat in this same bar on this same day during my Very Bad Year, and I had a version of this conversation before. And it did not go well. Because if memory serves, then Zach is about to reply with…
“Eh. I don’t know, man. She’s smart, I’ll give her that. Really qualified. But, based on her graduation date, I’d guess she’s about thirty-two, thirty-three, maybe. No wedding ring, but when she clicked on her phone to look at her calendar, I could see from her lock screen that she has a boyfriend.”
“So?” I ask, just like last time. “What does that have to do with her ability to do her job?”
And even though I know what to expect, I’m hoping that somehow the universe has shifted, and Zach isn’t about to say what I think he’s going to say.
Spoiler alert: He is about to say what I think he’s going to say.