At one point, Adley holds her arms out for Bric, like she wants him to pick her up. And to my surprise, he obliges her, taking her from my lap and placing her in his, as he makes faces and talks about all the different kinds of untouched fruit on my plate.
Quin pushes his cereal away and places his hand on my leg. I look over at him, startled that he’s actually touching me. He slides his hand up my thigh and then presses his fingers against my pussy, stroking me through my jeans as he leans in and kisses me on the mouth.
His lips are cool and sweet and taste like milk. “Have a nice day,” he says, still kissing me. And then—again—just when I begin to kiss him back, he pulls away and slips out of the bench, opening his wallet and throwing down a twenty-dollar bill. “See you guys tonight.”
Bric and I both watch him walk away.
“Did you see that?” I ask, after we sit there in silence for a few seconds.
“Yeah. I think it went well.”
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
“What?”
“That didn’t go well,” I say. “That was a disaster. He didn’t sit across from me, he sat next to me. He kissed me, but pulled away the second I tried to kiss him back. And he’s not coming to dinner tonight, he’s coming at eight. All he wants is the threesome, Bric.”
“You’re reading way too much into this, Rochelle.”
“Am I?” I snort. “I know him, Bric. I know him very well. And that was a very bad start to this new relationship.”
Bric thinks about this for a second as I take the mushed-up tangerine slice from Adley’s hand, grab a wet nap from my diaper bag, and start cleaning her up. She fusses and balks, trying to bury herself into Bric’s suit coat.
“You’re going to regret holding her,” I say, “when you figure out you’ve got sticky juice on your lapels.”
He grins and looks down, where, yes—there is a dark spot on his lapel. “Might just be drool. But hey, there’s worse things than smelling like a tangerine baby all day.”
“Who are you?” I laugh. “And what have you done with Elias Bricman, hater of children and Christmas?”
He shrugs. “Like I said. I only hate other people’s kids. And I’m looking forward to Adley’s first Christmas. I’ve already started thinking about gifts.”
“She doesn’t need gifts,” I say. What she needs is two parents. And by that, I’m not referring to Bric and me.
But that’s definitely how this is starting out. And I’m beginning to think Elias Bricman has no idea who Quin is anymore. He’s changed. Something about him has changed.
I’m the reason he changed.
“This isn’t going to work,” I say.
“Just stop it, Rochelle. Give it more than one day, all right? He just needs a little time. And don’t worry. We both know he’s into the threesome stuff. So we’ll just enjoy that until he comes around.”
“I guess,” I say, to placate him. But I don’t think he’s right. I think we might be starting something very dangerous. Something that could rip Quin and I apart for good.
“Anyway.” Bric sighs. Like he knows what I’m thinking. Probably does. We’ve been friends for a long time. “What are you guys doing today?”
I shrug and take out a bottle of water from my diaper bag. “I dunno. It’s weird being back here after so much time away. Maybe I’ll drop by the gallery and see Chella?” I pick up a slice of tangerine and squeeze it into the water to flavor it.
“She doesn’t work there anymore,” Bric says.
“Oh,” I say. Of course she doesn’t. Why should anything stay the same?
“But I’m sure she’s probably next door.”
“Why would she be next door?” I ask, reaching for Adley, who is busy patting Bric’s cheeks with the flat of her hands. I cannot believe Elias Bricman is into babies. What were the chances of that happening? Adley fusses when I take her back, but she eagerly accepts the bottle of tangerine water and settles into her seat. I buckle her up and tuck a strand of hair away from her closing eyes.
“We’re opening up a tea room. Turns out, Chella’s dream was to be a pastry chef. And she came up with this tea room idea. You know,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “For the Club women. But open to the public.”
“Oh. Well, that’s sorta cool. I never pictured Chella as a baker.”
“It sorta makes sense to me,” Bric says. “In a weird way.”
“All that school. A PhD and everything. Just to make pastries.”
“Sometimes,” Bric says, sliding out of the booth. “Sometimes the road to satisfaction is long and twisted, Rochelle. Who cares what she does with her education? I’m sure whatever she got out of that degree is helping her now. Even if it’s in some small way not easily identified.”
I watch him as he gets out his wallet and pays for breakfast. It always intrigued me how he pays for things here. Even his drinks at the bar. He always pays his way. “What time are you coming over?” I ask. And then I wonder if I sound needy.
I sorta feel needy.
“Since Quin isn’t coming until later, you wanna to go out to dinner?”
I look down at Adley and shake my head. “I like to stay in, to be honest. She’s still on new baby schedule.”
“OK,” Bric says. “I’ll bring something with me then. Have fun with Chella.”
I watch him walk off, pointing at people sitting at other tables as he makes his way to the front. He stops five or six times before he finally makes his way to the front podium and whispers something to Margaret. They both look at me, then Margaret nods, as Bric disappears to start work.
Margaret comes towards me, pushing my stroller. “He said you were ready to go,” she says, stopping at the table. “And to bring you the stroller.”
“Thanks,” I say, scooting out of the booth with Adley’s car seat. Margaret holds the stroller as I snap it in, then adjust Adley’s blankets.
“Chella is next door,” she says. “Bric says you were looking for her.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks. Is it literally right next door?”
“We have a connecting door,” Margaret says. “Would you like to go through that way?”
“Sure.” I follow her as she leads me into a short hallway, then through a revolving door—a smaller twin of the one in front of Turning Point Club—until we finally come to the tea room. “Thanks, Margaret,” I say. She smiles and disappears.
I bet she is so confused about why I’m back.
Hell, I’m starting to be confused about why I’m back.
“Hey,” Chella calls from across the room. She breaks away from another woman and starts walking towards me. When she’s close enough, she takes both my hands and we do cheek kisses. This is something I have always loved about Chella. She is money. Sophisticated, smart, and wise to the ways of socializing.
It’s a life not many can relate to. But I can. Three years with Bric has taught me a lot about that kind of stuff.
Chella is so put together today. She’s always wearing tailored suits that show off her long legs. And her hair is always pulled back into some sort of fashionable bun or braid.