I gave her a look. “Let me guess. Zero?”
She nodded. “Yup. That is exactly right. But I am, in fact, almost done with this list of recommendations for my group of Upper East mommies on their training and diet for the next few weeks before the New York City marathon.” Jill was making headway as a young actress, but she still took on jobs on the side as a running coach. She operated a few running clinics and clubs, especially for men and women who wanted to tackle marathons for the first time, as well as 5Ks and 10Ks. “If I’m going to finally finish this book-length email, I’m going to need a beer. But we have none in this apartment, and it should be considered a crime to be beer-less.”
“Then you should make sure no one carts you away to the pen, Jill.”
I stretched my arm to the coffee table, grabbed Jill’s wallet and tossed it to her. She caught it in one hand, placed her laptop on the couch, and went in search of the nearest six-pack at ten o’clock at night.
I wandered into the kitchen and reached for an apple inside the three-tiered, silver-looking wire basket that hung by the side of my kitchen sink. I needed to throw the crappy contraption out. But it reminded me of my parents. They had one of those baskets too, towering with fruit – apples, oranges, nectarines, lemons that threatened to spill out – in our home in Connecticut. I washed the apple and then headed into the living room. I sat on the window sill and took a bite.
This probably sounded crazy but my parents really are those people. As in those people you can’t believe still love each other madly after all those years. They’ve been together for thirty years and my mom still makes breakfast for him every morning. She’ll set the table with the same green and white checked plates, and the same matching cloth napkins that we’ve had since I was in high school. Then he’ll come downstairs, give her a kiss on the cheek, and they’ll have breakfast together. He’ll do the dishes and clean up and they’ll walk to the store holding hands. When the workday ends, they’ll return home and repeat the same routine for dinner, with him taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn as she cooks. After dinner, she’ll reach for a bar of dark chocolate from the kitchen cupboard, breaking off a section. He’ll have bought either Scharffenberger or some fabulous Belgian chocolate bar. “I never want you to run out of chocolate,” I overheard him whisper to her once after he’d picked some up from the grocery store.
It was almost enough to make you gag, if it weren’t totally 100 percent legitimate.
So when my mom admitted earlier tonight on the phone that the online daily deal had bombed, my heart withered a bit for them. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Well, you know, you’ll just have to keep me stocked in chocolate, my Katerina.”
“I will. I promise. Even though I know it won’t come to that.”
I took another bite of the apple, as I raised the shades halfway to look out onto Twenty-Second Street. A cab pulled up outside the building. A slim man emerged. He had a strong jawline and a regal, Yul Brynner-esque bald head. A woman with a pixie cut stepped out next. She laughed at something he said. Then he reached for her waist and pulled her close, because he simply had to kiss her right then and there. Soon, they walked into the building, holding hands.
I wanted to do that with Bryan. I wanted to walk down the street with him. To kiss him in public. To share a car back to his place, my place, any place. But then, I’d also take what I could get, so when my phone finally rang, I pounced on it.
“Hello?”
“Hey. It’s Bryan.”
My heart leapt. I was the girl in high school, waiting for the quarterback to call. Fine, I’d never dated a football player, and I didn’t even care for most sports. But I bet the zing I felt was precisely the same.
“Hey. What are you up to?”
“Talking to you.”
I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Now we really sounded like teenagers again.
“Same to you,” I said, as I placed the half-eaten apple on the coffee table.
“What’d you do tonight?”
I gave him the rundown, then asked the same of him.
“Work, work, and more work. I heard back from the city of Paris on the padlocks. They said they’re trying to make some arrangements for a deal, so that’s good. But the best part is this amazingly brilliant MBA student I’m working with may have saved the day for us.”
I bounced on my toes. “Really? Did Geeking Out come through?”
“They’re putting a competitive bid together tonight. I should have it first thing in the morning, but they said they could meet the timeline.”
“Damn. I rock.”
“You totally and completely rock.”
“So where are you right now?” I asked as I walked down the hall to my bedroom. I didn’t know when Jill would return with her beer, but I didn’t want to be interrupted.
“My apartment. Finally. Car just dropped me off.”
“So calling me was the first thing you did when you got home? Nice.”
“I walked in two minutes ago.”
“I don’t even know where you live.” I shut the door to my bedroom and lay down on my bed. The one luxury I afforded myself was the bedding. A shimmery purple duvet covered the bed, with pillows in rich shades of red and dark blue.
“Sixtieth and Park.”
I wanted to whistle in admiration. I pictured the block perfectly, seeing it on a rain-soaked night, the quiet street glistening, lined with beautiful brick brownstones. He probably lived in one of those buildings. Double doors, four stories, hardwood floors, white-paned windows that opened on the kind of street that romantic comedy heroines strolled down, holding hands with their lovers.