Dear Molly, I recently went through an experience—well, a series of experiences that were pretty traumatic. But they were pretty exciting, too. The problem is, I’m not sure what to do now that they’re over. And I’m not sure how to separate my feelings about what happened from my feelings about the people I met during them and vice versa. Truthfully, I’m worried that the feelings might go away now that the experience is over. Or maybe I’m more worried that they won’t. What’s the best way to clear my head and figure out what comes next? Signed, Still Spinning
Cassady raised her glass in the air. “If I may quote Dorothy Parker, ‘Three be the things I shall never attain, envy, content, and sufficient champagne,’” she proclaimed, charging our glasses with more bubbly.
It was Sunday, just after noon, and Tricia, Cassady, and I were having brunch at Sarabeth’s on the Upper West Side. The restaurant is decorated like an old country inn and that, combined with the eons you spend in line waiting to get in, really makes you feel like you’ve gotten away from the city for a moment. It wasn’t so much that I wanted to be far away, I just wanted to be distracted for a while, get a little emotional distance at least.
Tricia had wanted to round up all of our friends and
have a big party to celebrate my “capture” of Gretchen, but it was too soon and I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to celebrate anyway. I felt immense satisfaction, but no joy. The whole thing was far more tragic than I had ever imagined it would be when I first stumbled over Teddy. As exhilarating as it was, it had been exhausting, too. So a champagne brunch with my two best friends seemed the perfect way to mark the day. The day after, to be precise.
“What a week,” Cassady sighed.
“Thank God it’s over,” I admitted. “My therapist is in for a big surprise tomorrow.”
“You’re going to write such an amazing article,” Tricia enthused.
I nodded slowly. I was looking forward to writing the article, but I was also looking forward to having more champagne and not thinking about anything else for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a voice said, and we all turned in surprise to find Kyle standing beside us. He was carrying a plain white-handled shopping bag that I found intriguing and incongruous.
I hadn’t seen much of him after he burst into Will and Gretchen’s apartment the day before. He’d had work to do and I’d had to give a statement and it all got very crazy and not very pleasant as the reality of it all settled in, so I went home and took my belated Vicodin, turned the bell off on the phone, and shut the world out as long as possible. Since Cassady and Tricia both have keys, that wasn’t as long as it might have been. But I hadn’t seen Kyle again until now.
“How’d you find us?” Cassady asked.
He shook his head. “No more trade secrets. Not until the next case.”
“The next case?” Tricia asked, looking at me.
“He doesn’t mean it,” I told her and turned back to Kyle. “Are you just dropping by?”
He lifted the shopping bag slightly. “I have something for you.”
“Join us,” I suggested, gesturing to our empty fourth chair.
“I can’t stay,” he said with a guarded look, and I realized I knew very little about him—what his obligations might be, who else was in his life other than his fish, any of it. This had not been the best-thought-out relationship, if in fact it was even a relationship. He gestured for me to come with him. I glanced at Tricia and Cassady, who were glaring at me to get up and go with him quickly. Guess I was the only one in this foursome who was nervous about what had happened between Kyle and me.
“Excuse us a minute,” he said to Tricia and Cassady as he walked me away from them. He led me to a little corner by the pastry case, shielding me with his body from all the people going back and forth.
“How are you today?” he asked.
“Still a little lightheaded.”
“The shoulder?”
“It hurts.”
“Will for a while.” He nodded as though he’d answered some question of his own. “A lot’s happened this week. It’s going to take some sorting out.”
I knew he was talking about us as much as he was about the case. “Everything happened so fast.”
“Maybe too fast?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You should take some time and see if it’s something you really want to get into, or whether once was enough.”
“Maybe it’s something we could talk through.”
“Absolutely.”
There was a pause, but it wasn’t nearly as awkward as I would have thought. I did need to take a step back, clear my head, figure out what I was doing. And he got major points for seeing that, even if—especially if—he was feeling the same way.
“I wanted to bring you these,” he said after a moment and handed me the shopping bag. I reached in and took out a shoebox. I opened the shoebox and nestled inside were a brand-new pair of Jimmy Choo Cats, the shoes I’d been wearing when I found Teddy. I tried not to think of how painful a purchase they were on a detective’s salary.
“Kyle, I don’t know what to say.”
“We have to keep your other shoes until the trial and it didn’t seem fair to deprive you. And I don’t think the blood’s going to come out, anyway,” he explained. “If you do want to get together and talk, that’d give you an excuse to wear these.”
I gently put the lid back on the box. “I’d like that.”
“You have my number.”
“I know it by heart.”
“Then I’ll talk to you.” He leaned in and we kissed, the most tender and tentative kiss of our whole crazed, accelerated, ridiculous, wonderful relationship. So far. Would there be more? I wasn’t sure. But since I was looking at a guy who knew when to be quiet, when to be forceful, and when to buy a girl a new pair of shoes, I was going to give it serious thought.
“Tell your friends I said good-bye,” he said and walked
away. I stood there, holding the shoebox, so he’d have something to see when he turned around and looked back at the door. He waved, I waved, and then I went back to drink champagne with my two best friends and revel in having made my mark—at least on Manhattan.