When I exit the library, I’m considering the idea that Jack is, or perhaps was, dating someone, and this shift in nicknames and behavior between us reflects this in some way. Maybe he didn’t want me to know about his new love interest, though I’m not sure why. We’ve always discussed our dating lives. Always. It was literally only a month after I started working with him that he had a date from hell and spilled the entire story.
That morning I’d watched him with a female patron, seen his interest in her, the light in his eyes, the body language that was all about her and only her. She’d forgotten his name twice, and I’d felt his frustration. We’d gone to lunch that day, something that had already become our habit, and often. His order had been wrong, and he’d struggled to gain the counter person’s attention with the same success—no success—which I generally believed was the kind of experience reserved for me and me alone. When he’d finally given up, defeat was written in his expression—scribbled frown lines and frustration.
“Happens to me all the time,” I told him.
We’d bonded that day on a new level, creating a friendship that swiftly became enduring, solid. A few days later we were at the same burger joint when he’d said, “My sister set me up with her friend.”
“And?” I’d asked eagerly, thrilled we were now at this level in our relationship, the place where we share things we might not tell others.
“She forgot my name,” he’d ground out through his teeth. “The woman could not remember ‘Jack’ if her life depended on it. I even told her ‘Jack, like Jack in the Box,’ because, of course, I’m an idiot. I mean, Jack in the Box, Mia? I really said that. And she still forgot my name.”
“Bitch,” I’d said, which was the first time I’d cursed around him.
He’d blinked at me, met my stare, and then barked out laughter. I’d grinned and joined him, giggles overtaking me. After that our friendship shifted, deepened. We were no longer just work friends who aren’t really friends at all but rather people we are forced to know and get along with. We were friends, with a growing bond that only grew stronger over time.
My thoughts shift back to present day. At this point, considering the invitation to the wedding, as his date, I’d assume anyone he was dating to be past tense, unless he intends to use me to shelter the new woman from his sister? Or use that time to tell me about the new girlfriend? These ideas burn in my belly in an uncomfortable way. Am I jealous? Maybe not as a woman, but as a friend who is fearful of a divide between us that I already feel present.
My cellphone rings, and I snake it from my purse to find Jess’s ID on my screen, probably calling about the message I sent earlier to decline lunch. Jess, who I’ve shared an enduring relationship with since college, a bond my conversation with Jack has reminded me is exceedingly rare. “Hey, you,” I greet. “Sorry about lunch. It’s just a madhouse at the library. We couldn’t even get delivery. The kids have them backed up. I’m having to run to Caroline’s to grab bagels.”
“I have a big story I’m working on anyway that’s heated up today.” She shifts away from lunch altogether. “Real quick. I wanted to talk about the dating-app story.” I’m about to defend my silence on this subject when she adds, “I’ve decided to put it on hold.”
About to enter Caroline’s, I halt just outside and step to the wall, allowing the busy foot traffic to hustle past me. “Don’t do that because of Kevin,” I argue. “This does not affect me and you, Jess. I’m not upset.”
“You call me every weekend, Mia. Not once this weekend. And I left you three messages.”
I cringe as it becomes crystal clear that I’ve allowed my new relationship, or whatever this is with Adam, to cause the neglect of my two Js, my ride or dies. “I didn’t check my messages,” I say. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was reading. The weather and a good book, you know? I’m sorry.”
The lie is bitter on my tongue, an acidic guilt washing up in words and bad behavior.
“I’m not doing the article,” she replies firmly. “And good Lord, these men on the app are not the caliber I want either of us dating, Mia.”
Except Adam, I think. Adam is different from all the others, but I’m still holding his existence close to my chest, my secret, and I don’t know why. I just am. “This is your Sex and the City story,” I remind her, refocusing on my friend, who remains forever important to me. “It’s a good story,” I add. “And the disaster that the experience is for me and you, including the Kevin situation, will make for a good read. Just don’t use my name or his. And do not let Kevin get in between me and you or you and your work.”
“I’m not letting him or this story get between us, Mia. We can talk about it this weekend. I’m afraid I’m so busy it’s going to be Friday night again before we can grab a minute of quality time.”
“It sounds like you’re onto a big story.”
“We’ll see,” she ponders cautiously. “I’ll tell you about it when we have more time. Friday? Just me and you this time.”
“Yes,” I say, but now with a pinch of yet more guilt, this time at shutting out Jack, but still I add, “Just me and you this time.”
“Later, beautiful,” she teases.
I roll my eyes at the reference to my secret admirer, or stalker, or whatever I have, or had, going on.
“Goodbye, Jess,” I murmur, and disconnect.
Hurrying inside Caroline’s, I am shocked to find a line ten deep just to claim my pickup order. Good Lord, I cannot escape the campus that has taken over our little library and surrounding neighborhood. Ridiculously, I’m forced to take a number, as if I haven’t already ordered. With the place bustling, and number three in hand, I claim one of the only open seats and shoot Jack a text: I literally had to take a number to even get our order. The kids are down here, too.
Snickers, here I come, he replies.
I thought you were cutting back on sugar? I ask, reminding him of the theme that was all last month.
His reply: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
My lips curve at the familiar banter of the exchange. Could I be imagining our divide? My phone buzzes with another text, this one from Adam: Headed into a meeting but wanted to tell you that despite a day imagining grand highways and concrete, which, by the way, is the love of my life, you are still on my mind.
I laugh at the cute text and reply back with: It’s nice to know I wiggled my way in between the highways and concrete bridges.
“Three!”
I slide my phone back into my purse and hurry toward the counter. A tall, thin kid with glasses, who seems to be new, greets me, accepting my ticket. “Order for Mia,” I say, reaching in my purse and removing my wallet.
He punches it into the cash register, and I pay by credit card. Jack and I take turns paying for each other and have for years. Technically it’s his turn to grab the bill, but I plan to refuse his money. The truth is, there is guilt driving this purchase as well.
“Your order is ready at the end of the counter,” I’m told once my receipt is printed.
Hurrying to the counter, I offer the woman attending customers my order number. She, in turn, hands me my bag, and I’m out of here. Okay, not quite yet. I walk to the counter by the wall and grab forks, napkins, and salt. That’s when I open the bag and toss the items inside and frown at the red writing on the back of what appears to be an extra receipt. Nerves flutter in my belly as I reach for it, straighten it, and read: I like color on you, Mia. New challenge . . . wear your hair down tomorrow.
My heart thunders in my chest. Whoever this is knows my name.
Chapter Forty-Two
Games.
It’s all I can do not to whirl around and search the dining room for whoever is leaving me notes, a mix of emotions punching at me—left, right, left, right. I can’t breathe with the impact. I can’t seem to flip through the pages of my mind and decide which emotion wins—the part where I’m flattered and intrigued or the part where I’m terrified of what is really going on here. Do I have a stalker?
Me?