“I see,” I told him. “What about ladies? What are we supposed to do?”
“Nothing you’re not already doing,” he said, which made me smile again.
Then he cleared his throat. “You know, I was a tour guide at Penn and happen to be qualified to give tours of Prospect Heights as well.”
“Oh really?” I asked, not quite sure if he was joking.
He began talking in an upper-crust accent, like maybe he was someone who had donated a building to a university. I immediately started laughing. He sounded like I imagined the Schermerhorns or the Havermeyers or the Hartleys did, those families that had buildings named after them on campus. I always wondered about them when we were at school. I pictured them living in huge mansions in someplace like Armonk and summering on Martha’s Vineyard. Mr. Schermerhorn wore those red pants that everyone wears on Nantucket and had a perma-tan and an underbite. And Mrs. Havermeyer never left the house without three-carat diamonds in each ear. She had three children who were raised by three different nannies, who shaped each of their personalities quite differently. She was oddly obsessed with the number three. And the Hartleys had show dogs. Corgis, like the queen of England.
I guess I could probably find out about them online now, if I wanted, but that would ruin the stories I made up in my head. I haven’t thought about those stories in years.
So Darren turned to me and, in a voice like a Schermerhorn, said, “That large brownstone is the home of Ashton Cranston Wellington Leeds the Fourth, of the Kensington Leedses. The nobler side of the family. Everyone knows the Glasgow Leedses are gamblers and crooks. And horse thieves. They use teaspoons for their soup and dinner forks for dessert. Utter blasphemy. In fact, there’s been a movement to hyphenate the family name to Kensington-Leeds. You know, for the sake of disambiguation.”
I laughed so hard at that one I almost snorted, which made me laugh even more.
He kept going in his Schermerhorn voice. “I’ve heard that’s why Julia Louis-Dreyfus hyphenated. Those other Dreyfuses were terrible. Same with Wal-Mart. Those other Marts? Forget about it. Disambiguation is very important.”
Every time I tried to respond, my words were broken up with giggles. Then Darren and I rounded the corner toward my apartment. He stopped in front of my building. I stopped too. The laughter died in my throat when I saw the way he looked at me. He was going to kiss me. Panic constricted my lungs.
I hadn’t kissed anyone since you left.
I hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone since you left.
“I . . .” I started, but I didn’t quite know where to go with that.
Darren must’ve seen the look on my face, though, and instead of kissing my lips, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.
“Thanks for a really fun night,” he said. “I hope we can do it again.”
I nodded, and he smiled.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
I could breathe again.
“I’d like that,” I answered. Because I did have a fun night with him. And because it was better to spend time with him than to sit home, alone, or get trashed with Alexis.
And as he walked away, I realized I was disappointed that he was leaving. My world seemed a little brighter while he shared it with me, and I liked that. A lot.
Then I turned to walk into my apartment and thought again about you.
xxix
The next day I spoke to Alexis. “What did you tell Darren about me?” I asked her.
“Me?” she said. “Nothing.”
I sighed. I’d been going over the forehead kiss in my mind all morning, and I realized that someone must’ve said something. Someone must’ve told him not to move too fast.
“Okay, not you,” I said. “Sabrina? What did she tell him?”
Alexis took a deep breath. I could imagine her running her hand through her hair on the other side of the phone. I haven’t seen her in about a year, since my last work trip to LA. She was such a huge part of my world back then, and just . . . isn’t anymore. It’s kind of sad that I don’t really miss her. I guess people change, lives change. We know that better than anybody.
“She told him you just got out of something serious,” Alexis said over the phone. “She told him to be patient. Not to break you.”
I cringed, even though Sabrina was probably right in saying all those things.
“And what did he say?” I asked.
“He said not only would he not break you, that he’d help put you back together.”
I leaned my head against the back of my couch. “Well,” I said. “That’s bold. What’s his deal? Does he have some sort of savior complex? A need to be a hero?”
“He’s really a good guy,” Alexis told me. “His friends are pretty much asshats, but he’s really decent. Not that Gabe wasn’t, but . . . I guess I’m just saying . . . give him a shot, Lu.”
I felt tears welling up in my eyes again at the mention of your name. I needed to stop that from happening, but I had no idea how.
“I don’t know if I can,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
“It takes a guy to get over a guy,” Alexis said then. “And believe me, I should know.”
I let out a short burst of sound that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Seriously,” Alexis said, “give him a chance. If nothing else, he’ll show you that there are other good, smart people out there who think you’re pretty great.”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll give him a chance,” I told her.
“Nothing more I can ask for,” she said. “Except maybe plans for next Friday night? You know that hot guy I met on the L train? He’s in a piece of performance art on the Lower East Side. Can you go with me?”
“Is this the one with the green hair?” I asked.
“Ew, no,” Alexis said. “Did I not tell you? He picked his nose at dinner. Done. This is the one with the Buddy Holly glasses and the beard.”
“Got it,” I said. “Count me in.” Even though really the last thing I wanted to do was go to see performance art starring some wacko Alexis met on the subway. But it was better than missing you.
xxx