Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)

The air felt suspended between us, as though even the molecules were holding still, and I likewise held my breath. A languid warmth spread through me, traveling the same path as his gaze, followed quickly by the piercing pain of realization.

His thoughts couldn’t have been any clearer than if he’d worn a shirt that read, “Marie, I want to fuck you.”

I didn’t flinch, though it hurt. It hurt horribly to want a whole person and be wanted in return for just a small piece of who I was. It hurt so badly I had to dig my fingernails into my palms to distract myself from the hurt.

Eventually, his eyes lifted, his stare scorching. He took a step forward. “Marie—”

I shook my head, feeling raw and exposed and fatally close to bursting into tears. “I think maybe . . .”

You should stay.

No.

He should leave.

We should have hot sex.

No!

That’s a terrible idea.

You should tell me what I need to do to make you love me.

Damn it! What the hell? Be quiet, heart! I shouldn’t have to do anything to be loved.

“I think you should go,” I blurted, my brain finally winning the standoff. Tearing my eyes from his, I lay down on the bed and turned away from him. “We have an early flight, so . . .”

I lay perfectly still, my lips rolled between my teeth to keep my chin from wobbling. I listened to him breathe. I listened to my own heart, sluggishly beating. I listened to the air conditioner finally click off.

And eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the door close as he left.





20





Atm

Automated Teller Machine-an electronic telecommunications device that enables the customers of a financial institution to perform financial transactions, particularly cash withdrawal, without the need for a human cashier, clerk, or bank teller.

Source: Wikipedia



I switched off my phone, completely off, and dialed the front desk for a wakeup call.

And then I cried and drank all the tequila in the minibar.

The next morning, when my scheduled wakeup call informed me that I was alive and had forty minutes to get ready, my eyes were puffy and my mouth tasted like a cactus. But it was also obvious what I must do.

The time had come to relinquish the crutch, to set the crutch free.

Now I just had to decide whether to do it fast, an abrupt and complete cessation, or to take a gentler, more gradual approach.

Powering up my phone, I left it on the bedside table and shuffled to the bathroom, turning on the shower.

Brushing my teeth, I debated both options. Ending things swiftly would be better in the long run, but I knew myself well enough to know I would never be able to summarily cut out him out, I cared about him too much.

As I took my shower, a plan of action began to solidify in my mind. I left the bathroom and marched to my bag, pulling out clothes for the day. By the time I was dressed, hair dry and styled, makeup applied, I was feeling much better. Stronger. More like myself. Empowered by my decision rather than terrified because of it.

Nearly finished packing my things, I picked up my phone, intent on checking in for my flight. And that’s when I noticed I had several unread text messages and about a dozen missed calls.

6:15 p.m. Greg: Fiona is in labor, we wanted you to know. Will text when our new imperial highness graces us with his or her presence.

7:13 p.m. Elizabeth: Quinn told me to text you to let you know they’re on their way to the hospital. Janie’s water broke. I’m meeting them in maternity.

8:35 p.m. Elizabeth: MARIE! They’re both here. OMG!!!!! Fiona is almost done. Please come help me with Quinn. He is completely loco.

9:01 p.m. Sandra: Where the hell are you? Are Dan and Kat with you?

9:17 p.m. Alex: I can’t trace your cell phone if you turn it off. You better not be dead.

10:51 p.m. Greg: Baby Archer #3 has arrived. Already screaming at the help and complaining about shoddy service. 7lbs 14oz of perfection.

11:07 p.m. Nico: Elizabeth could really use your help with Quinn . . . please.

11:11 p.m. Ashley (to Dan, Kat, and Marie): Drew is thinking about arranging a search party for y’all.

11:14 p.m. Dan (to Ashley, Kat, and Marie): On our way.

11:16 p.m. Dan (to Ashley, Kat, and Marie): Marie isn’t with us. I don’t know where she is.

11:18 p.m. Dan (to Ashley, Kat, and Marie): Alex says her phone is off.

11:21 p.m. Ashley (to Dan, Kat, and Marie): I’m giving Marie until 8 a.m., then I’m sending Drew after her.

11:31 p.m. Dan (to Ashley, Kat, and Marie): Agree. I’ll help.

4:13 a.m. Elizabeth (to Sandra, Ashley, Marie, Kat): Janie’s at 6cm. It’s been a long night. Marie is MIA. When you wake up, if someone could come hold Quinn’s hand, that’d be great.

4:16 a.m. Kat (to Elizabeth, Sandra, Ashley, Marie): I’m on my way

4:18 a.m. Elizabeth (to Sandra, Ashley, Marie, Kat): Thanks, Kat. And, Marie, when you read this—WE LOVE YOU!!!

I had missed calls from everyone. Quinn, Elizabeth, Nico, Sandra, Alex, Alex, Alex, Ashley, Kat, Dan, Dan, Dan, and Greg. I’d finally finished catching up with the saga from the night before, and was just about to respond to the plethora of texts, when my phone rang. Alex’s name flashed on my screen.

I fumbled to answer, bringing it to my ear in a rush. “Hello?”

“You had your phone off.”

“Yes. I did. Is everything okay? How’s Janie? And Fiona?”

“Janie is still in labor. Fiona had her baby last night. I haven’t seen her yet. We have Grace and Jack with us. Are you okay?”

I sat on the bed, rubbing my forehead with my fingertips. “Yes. Sorry. I—”

“You don’t need to apologize. Everyone was worried, so I checked the airlines. You’re in New York, right?”

“Yes. That’s right. I had a trip for work. I feel so badly about not being there. Is Quinn okay?” I began pacing, calculating the time it would take for me to make it back to Chicago.

“He’s . . . Quinn.” I thought I detected a hint of affection in Alex’s tone, but I couldn’t be sure. “I told him where you were. He’s sending his plane. Can you get to New Jersey in an hour? I already sent your information to Teterboro.”

“Teterboro?”

“Executive airport. Easier to fly in and out of than JFK or LaGuardia.”

“Uh, yes. I think so. Let me map it.” I glanced at the clock by the bed. My commercial flight didn’t leave for another three and a half hours. Matt and I had to—

Matt!

“Wait. I have someone with me. Matt Simmons.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Alex cleared his throat. “Okay. He can text me his passport number or driver’s license number—one or the other—or I can just look it up. We’ll add him. They’ll be expecting you both.”

“Okay. But you know, I could have taken my scheduled flight. It’s not a huge time difference.”

“It’s a three-hour difference in arrival time, Marie,” he said, like three hours might destroy or save the world. “See you soon.”

“See you.”

I hung up, needing a moment to catch my breath, then messaged Greg: