“No! Ugh! Just…no! We’ve been friends for eight years. I’m not trading that for some kind of bootycall situation that can’t end well for either of us. Besides, I know all the sordid little things he thinks about women. I’ve seen him go through girl after girl—like they’re disposable. I mean, the weirdest thing about him is that he’s actually a great friend—if you ignore all that other stuff. The whole reason we got drunk in the first place was because he was trying to lift me up after what happened.”
“You can still be friends,” Louise says. “That’s why they call them fuck ‘buddies.’”
I shake my head. “Honestly, I think even ‘fuck buddy’ is too big of a commitment for Owen. This was a one time deal. I’m not opening myself up to another relationship disaster.”
Louise nods sympathetically, and when I look at her I can see how much of a shame she thinks it is.
I smile at the silliness of it and break the sad vibe by saying, “I’m hungry again.”
Louise breaks into a grin. “Me too. Those donuts were just an appetizer. They were totally miniature!”
“Oh yeah. Practically bite-sized,” I agree. “And I’ve wanted tacos since you mentioned them.”
“Fine by me,” Louise says, as she stands up off the car. I turn to go to the passenger side but Louise stops me, looking into my eyes for a moment before asking sincerely, “Can I ask one more thing?”
“Sure.”
Like a good actress, Louise allows a dramatic pause to build up the tension before her question.
“If you didn’t work together, didn’t have to sit next to him all day, and if you weren’t dealing with this breakup, and the job thing right now. And if he was…I don’t know, more into the idea of a relationship. Would you date him then? Would you give him a shot? If he was down?”
I look at the ground, brush my hair behind my ear, and then sigh long and deep as if I have to think about the answer, even though it seems immediately obvious, as loud and clear as a siren in my mind.
“Yeah,” I say, looking back up at Louise. “Yeah, I think I would. We have a lot of fun together, and he’s a really brilliant writer. And he’s…” I think about the way he brings me coffee in the mornings, the concern on his face after my breakup with Carl, the number of times he’s dialed an Uber for me after an over-margarita’d company party or business lunch. “He’s sweet. I’ve known him for forever and I can honestly say he’s always been there for me.”
Louise cocks an eyebrow. “Not to mention hot? And amazing in bed?”
“I mean, that doesn’t hurt.”
After another soap-opera pause Louise says, “Maybe you shouldn’t let him go so easily then.”
“Believe me, sis, letting him go isn’t easy at all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t for the best.”
7
Owen
I turn up to the office late on Monday, though I’ve got a cappuccino and a cinnamon latte for Margo to show for it. It’ll be the first time seeing her since she was lying naked on my bed with flushed skin and my handprints on her ass.
I’ve been thinking about her all weekend, and I’m still not sure how things are gonna go from here. On Sunday I lifted weights with Manny and listened to him talk about the chicks he met on Saturday night when I stayed home, feigning interest when all I really wanted to do was check in with Margo. After the gym I went home and ran around my neighborhood until there wasn’t a muscle in my body that didn’t ache, until I was too tired to lift a TV remote, but my mind didn’t stop until I flicked through her online pictures and gave my body the satisfaction it craved. Even then I lapsed and texted her, old instincts and the safety of a smartphone screen taking over and making me flirt with her in the messages.
Whatever. I’m just gonna give her her coffee, a smile, a little small talk, and get on with it. It’s not like I don’t have enough work to take my mind off things, and besides, I’ve dealt with way worse. You don’t fuck around as much as I have without learning to deal with a little drama. So a single one-night stand with an old friend should be a piece of cake—especially when that friend is someone as awesome as Margo.
And in the end, that’s what this is all about; it’s why this is so difficult, and why it matters so much that we move on. Margo’s a friend, a fucking great one. I could probably deal with the other stuff. Fucking a co-worker, not fucking somebody you want so bad, any number of other minor inconveniences—but what I can’t deal with is the idea that I might lose Margo as somebody I can just fucking talk to.
That’s what I’m going with, anyway. Besides, this thing was likely just a post-breakup rebound for her. A temporary lapse in good judgment. I’m completely cool with that.
The office is already jumping when the elevator doors open and I step outside. I move swiftly through the clustered desks and rushing employees, holding the coffees aloft while I swing my hips through the gaps like a Brazilian soccer player.
“Owen!”
I turn around toward the voice, coming from a desk I just passed.
“Hey Tom. No time—I just got in.”
“Melissa needs to see you her office, stat,” Tom says, shooting me a sympathetic expression. “Hope you’re not in deep shit, dude.”
I groan internally.
“Got it,” I reply, continuing on.
At least I’ll have something to talk about with Margo, I think, already speculating on what this meeting with my boss could be about. The vlog, probably. The one I fucked up by sending only a few minutes’ worth of material for. I was supposed to make another vlog sample with the architect date on Saturday, but ended up with nothing to show for it. And now I have to talk my way out of that failure and into another promise I might not be able to keep. I told Melissa I could date any day of the week. I told her I could produce as much content as she wanted out of a date, even a boring one. Especially a boring one. But here I am on Monday, empty handed and with no excuses.
When I get to my desk to drop off my things first, I find something else to speculate about: Margo’s not there. Her computer’s off, and there’s no handbag under the table. I put her coffee on the desk, frowning with confusion. Unlike me, Margo’s always here on time.
I catch the eyes of Sofia, who sits on the other side of our section, and she pulls off her headphones.
“Hey Sofia, do you know where Margo is?”
“Sorry, no idea. I just got in myself,” she shrugs, before putting her headphones back on.
I take a long draw of tongue-burning cappuccino and decide to make for Melissa’s office—one mystery at a time.
She’s got the blinds down over her office windows, so when I get there I knock quickly and wait for her to call me in. When she does I open the door, step inside, and try not to express how staggered I am.
Margo’s there. Sitting in the couch area of Melissa’s office, with the boss herself in the leather seat like a psychiatrist.
“Owen, nice to see you made it in today,” Melissa says, with a killer-shark smile. “Take a seat.”
I glance at Margo quickly, and she manages to fire a quick ‘I’m-as-confused-as-you’ shrug at me while Melissa’s turned away.