Gabe
The lights overlooking the city twinkled. At least, the lights in the distance twinkled. Closer up, in buildings across the street, solid sheets of light blinked on or off. A man in the apartment building across the way sat down on his sofa and leaned over his coffee table. He faced a blue light emanating from the wall. I could only see the shadow of his shape, but for some reason I was drawn to him sitting alone, forking what was most likely a microwave dinner into his mouth.
My buzzer rang, sharp and high-pitched. I checked the time. Just a little after seven. I wasn’t expecting anyone. After working out in the building gym, I’d spent the day in the apartment. I’d meant to unpack. Search for a new assistant. I accomplished nothing.
The buzzer continued. Buzz. Buzz.
Fuck.
I strode into the kitchen and pressed the intercom. “Yes.”
“Mr. Chesterton. Ms. Caroline Anderson is here to see you.”
I pressed my forehead against the wall. “Send her up.”
The dull ache behind my eyes intensified, and I squeezed the bridge of my nose, seeking relief. The heavy mechanical sound of the elevator door opening sounded, and I dropped my hand to my waist. Caroline stepped into the entryway. She wore bright red heels and a charcoal gray trench coat that fell above her knees. It was Saturday night, so it fit that she’d be dressed to go out. But stopping by unannounced wasn’t exactly a New York thing to do.
I stood, legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed, waiting for her to travel down the hall. She looked up at the ceiling and along the walls, then smiled widely when she finally stared straight ahead and noticed me.
“Gabe. You haven’t changed a thing.”
“What’re you doing here?”
“Can’t I stop by to check on a friend? One who just returned?”
I stood, arms crossed, and waited.
“Reed said you didn’t want to go out tonight. So, I stopped by to drag you out.”
“Not in the mood.”
“Come on now. I have reservations at three different restaurants. You can take your pick. Then there’s a new club—”
“Caroline, you should’ve called. I’m not in the mood.” I’d considered Reed’s invite, but I had no desire to sit through a lengthy meal and make small talk. I’d grown bored of the club scene years ago, and I really wasn’t in the mood to dance.
“Since when do you not go out?”
“I haven’t gone clubbing in years.”
“Well, you don’t have to go. At least come out for dinner. What are you going to do? Stay in?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What’s with the jogging pants?”
“They’re soft. Comfortable.”
She took off down the hall, toward my bedroom. Every click of heel against the marble floor echoed in the expansive room. My head throbbed.
I sat down on my sofa, kicked my socked feet up on the coffee table, and waited.
She returned with one of my ironed shirts on a hanger and a pair of black jeans.
“Change into these. I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“I’m not going. You shouldn’t have stopped by.”
“If you really want to stay in, I can do that too.” Her bottom lip protruded, and she scooted next to me on the sofa. She attempted her puppy dog eyes, a look that back in college worked for her, but now she’d either overused it or it didn’t work on a woman her age.
I rested my head on the back of the sofa and closed my eyes, wishing her gone. The slight touch of fingers trailing up my thigh snapped my patience. With one quick move, I grabbed her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“If you want to stay in—”
“Caroline, what is going on? Your father seemed to think something was up with us, too. There’s nothing between us. As you are well aware.”
Her spine straightened, and she placed her hands in her lap. “I had to make my dad think we were dating. Otherwise, he would have never taken you on.”
“You do realize I don’t need a firm? Right? I’ve done well. I can go out on my own. You didn’t need to lie for me.”
“But don’t you miss your old life? You loved it. I saw it.”
“I did. You’re right. But I’m not desperate for it. Not like I thought I would be. Now that I’m back here, it’s not…I’m not sure I’m going to accept your dad’s offer.”
“But why? What will you do?”
“I’m weighing options. I’ll still invest. My portfolio alone is a full-time job. But I’m toying with ideas. Ethical investing practices. Maybe Tate’s rubbed off on me some, but I’ve had some ideas about—”
“Does this have to do with the homeless woman you saw?”
“What?”
“Your mom told me. She mentioned you might be interested in learning more about area charities. She thought I might have some suggestions.”
“No. It doesn’t have anything to do with…you spoke to my mom?”
“Yes. We’re close. Our families are close.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose once more, again wishing Caroline would leave.
“Are you hung up on that girl? Is that why you’re rethinking everything?”
“What exactly am I rethinking?”
“Everything you ever wanted. You wanted to be a partner in an investment firm. Remember? A yacht, a driver, penthouse in Manhattan, two kids and a place in the Hamptons. Have you forgotten?”
I vaguely remembered an afternoon in Caroline’s bed, throwing out things we wanted one day, sometime after graduation. And in truth, I’d ticked off quite a number of those things. Had the penthouse, owned a place in Aspen. The Hamptons scene hadn’t appealed as much as I thought it would.
“Gabe? What’s going on?”
“Nothing. But you better get going. Don’t want to miss your reservations.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand. I looked up that girl. Poppy Smith.” Her name pulled me to attention. “She doesn’t even have a college degree. You know she’d never fit in here. Not in this world. Not in our world. Your family, your mother—”
“I hope you’re wrong. I like to think my mother has an open mind and a good heart. And I don’t care about anyone else you may be referring to. I don’t care. But for the record, I think Poppy can fit in anywhere. Yes, she has a different background. Than us. We had everything handed to us. Tutors if we needed them. Expectations set before us. Poppy didn’t have anyone coaching her, pushing her. But she pushed herself. And she’s doing well. As a matter of fact, she’s doing better than some of our Ivy league classmates, if your benchmark for success is revenue.”
“Gabe, please.”
“Seriously. She’s doing well. She’s kicking it. She’s made more money than you have as a designer.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I used to handle my mom’s design business books, and I know that you’re an employee, and I have a good idea of what a design firm can afford to pay employees. My guess is you’re living off a trust fund or your parents are pitching in to cover your expenses. And you’re what, thirty-three? Well, Poppy is twenty-five. So, when you come in here acting superior because of your college degree, you may want to re-think the foundation for your sense of superiority.”
She stood, visibly exhaling, hands plastered to the front of her coat.
“Have you thought about your future at all? I mean, five and ten years from now? Twenty years from now? Christmases and Thanksgivings. Have you thought about what those are going to look like?”
“Caroline, it’s late. You should go.”
She made it all the way to the entrance of the hall before the harsh clicks of her heels stopped. “I always thought you and I would end up back together. I thought you just needed to play the field a bit.” Her voice cracked.
“I never meant to give you that impression.” For me, we’d been over for years. And most of the time, I wasn’t certain I liked her. But guilt kicked at me. I couldn’t be certain I never led her on. Before she turned to the elevator, the light reflected on what I thought might be a tear. Fuck.
I returned to the sofa and found my phone.
Caroline might need a friend.
Within seconds, the phone rang.
“What’s going on?” Reed sounded concerned. Genuinely concerned.
“She’s leaving here now. I think she needs someone to go to dinner. I’m not up for it.”
“So, let me get this straight. You’re calling me. If I ask her out, you’re not going to deck me?”
I stretched back and smiled. “No. I think the two of you might be good together. Something tells me you both want the same things.”