I’m clueless as to what that means. He’s an odd bird, and I waste no time placing space between me and him.
I leave the liquor store for my loft, and the busy sidewalk is both comforting and intimidating. While there is safety in numbers, there is also shelter to hide, and not just for me. Though I’m not sure why I feel like anyone would be hiding from me, aside from, of course, my note writer. I will not call them a secret admirer, as Jess did this morning. Something about the term “secret admirer” is actually uncomfortable right about now.
Thankfully I arrive home without incident, and about an hour before my two Js plan to join me. Once I’m inside, I lock up and easily settle into my comfort zone, my shell. Home sweet home is always just that—sweet. And even better, I do all this without using my letter opener as a weapon.
Some things go my way.
First up, I unpack my bags and pull out an ice bucket, placing a bottle of champagne on ice, a bottle of wine in the fridge, another that requires no chill on the counter. Next up, I unpack my purse, my MacBook first. Next, I remove the Tiffany box and set it in the center of my counter next to the bucket of champagne on ice. I study it a moment, thrumming the counter, curious about Kara and her motivations where this gift is concerned. We aren’t friends, not really, but we have known each other for years. She’s always encouraged me in all ways.
Still, it feels extravagant and over the top.
But I’m out of time to contemplate what I cannot know. Shaking off the thought, I hurry upstairs and change into leggings and a sweater, all black, of course, my true comfort zone, before I head back downstairs. I exchange a couple of text messages with Jess as she arranges the food—she always arranges the food.
With a pour of Meiomi cabernet sauvignon in my glass, I key my laptop to life with one goal: having the ability to say I checked my messages on the dating site, so I won’t have to do it with my two Js.
Once I’m logged in, my inbox flashes before me. I now have twenty-one messages. I reach for my glass and sip deeply for courage. I then click on the icon. My eyes scan for the missing message from Kevin, but I still find nothing. We’re matched, though, which allows me to see that he’s online now. I double-check my phone and realize he never replied to my text. Hoping to solve the mystery of my little notes, I quickly type him a reply: I texted you the other day. Thank you for the compliment.
While I wait for his reply, I search members and look once again for Jack, but come up dry. I mean, of course I do. He deleted his profile to avoid me and/or Jess. That’s a nonissue. The very fact that I had to warn him that Jess would be here tonight says it all. I begin tabbing through my messages and delete half just by way of age. Jess obviously was thinking I need a sugar daddy or father figure—no thank you. I scan a few more messages, and there is nothing even remotely exciting about anyone here. There is Lance, who is a doctor who can’t spell. Jason, who is into gaming, and not much else. Been there, done that. I swear I attract men who will ignore me. At this point, Kevin hasn’t even replied. Maybe the message wasn’t even for me. Perhaps he was distracted gaming and sent it to the wrong person. I click delete on every new message I scan until I land on Adam, the guy with the cartoon photo:
I’m not afraid to show you my real photo. But isn’t it nice to be judged on character not looks?
I read our prior exchange all over again:
From him:
You looked beautiful and natural in the first photo. In the new photo you just put up, you look guarded and awkward. As if you’re afraid to be the woman in the first photo.
From me:
This from a person afraid to even post his real photo?
I press my lips together and reply with:
For someone who doesn’t want to be judged by looks, you certainly assumed many things about me based on my photos.
After which I sit there and stare at the screen, waiting for him to reply, for who knows why. He doesn’t even have a photo, which feels a bit like my note writer, hiding in the shadows. I sip my wine, and there’s a beep with his reply that reads: I simply showed you how many ways a photo can manipulate impressions. Which woman are you? The one in the first photo or the second?
Why can’t I be both? I challenge.
He doesn’t make me wait for a reply this time. You changed that photo for a reason. I think you’re afraid of one and not the other.
The word afraid bites. I don’t like it. It rings far too true. Like you’re afraid to show your face? I challenge.
I stare at the box where his words will appear, waiting. And waiting some more. I cackle at the idiocy of me sitting here, apparently on pins and needles, for this person’s reply—the guy with a cartoon photo who’s already criticizing me, of all people, and I don’t know why. Why indeed? Why am I going back and forth with an invisible man? I’m cackling all over again as I whisper, “Because I’m an invisible girl.”
My cellphone rings, and I grab it to find my father’s number on the caller ID. I quickly answer. “Hey, Dad. How’d it go today?”
“I talked with that attorney Jess referred me to, and he’s already in action. Thanks, honey, for making that happen.”
“Jess is the one we need to thank. She didn’t even hesitate to help.”
“Yes, we will have to thank her. When this is all over, maybe you can help me figure out how.”
“Of course, Dad. Is Mom home?”
“Her flight was delayed. I think she’ll be late.”
My jaw clenches. One last quickie before she left her boss behind? I wonder. It’s a horrible thought I wish I could scrub from my mind. “You okay?” I ask, guilt stabbing at me for making plans tonight now that he’s alone again.
“I’m wonderful, honey. I’m actually going to have another chat with the attorney after he calls one of the interested bidders. Good things are happening. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good. Really good. You sound good, too,” I add, noting his tone as warm and lifted.
“I feel good. What about you? Do you have a fun Friday-night date?”
My eyes go to the computer screen, where the box remains empty. “Jess and Jack are coming over. We’re doing a wine-and-pasta night.”
“That sounds wonderful. Don’t let me keep you. I’m going to eat some of that leftover pizza before your mother gets here and talks me out of it.”
Because he has to hide everything from her now. Because she is hiding things from him now, too, I think, but I keep my tone positive. “If you get news tonight, will you call me?”
“I’ll text, but I doubt there will be much to tell. The attorney, Nick, he’s setting boundaries for the bidding war.”
“Bidding war?” I say. “Okay, that sounds exciting.”
“Yes. Yes it does. Now go have fun. Love ya, hon.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
We disconnect, and I look down at the computer screen.
Adam logged off. He’s just gone. Without answering me.
There is a stab of disappointment in me I do not understand. The man has a cartoon emoji for a photo.
The buzzer for the door downstairs goes off, telling me at least one of my two Js is here.
I shut the computer and declare Adam out of mind.
He’s the invisible man. And he’s invisible to me.
As it should be.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The two Js manage to show up at the same time, and in a rush of conversation, they overtake my tiny little loft. Jess is in a velvet sweatshirt and Jack in jeans and a tee, a casual night of fun in the air. As for the food, it’s on its way, and while waiting, our little threesome gathers around the kitchen island, and soon our glasses are filled.
“What’s this?” Jess asks, sliding the Tiffany box in her direction.
“From Kara,” Jack supplies. “It’s to congratulate her on her first presentation.”
Jess tilts her head in my direction. “The disastrous presentation?”
“Yes,” I assure her. “It was disastrous. It’s a pity gift.”
Jess lifts the lid and looks inside. “Expensive pity gift.”