THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY night Quentin was sniffing at a container of questionably old Chinese food when someone knocked on his door. He chucked the food into the trash on his way past and tugged his door open.
“Hey, Quent—Mamma mia.” Cat was standing on the other side of the door in tight jeans and a shirt roughly the size of a handkerchief. Her brown hair was wild around her shoulders the way it had been the night of the party at his house. Her big brown eyes were popping with some sort of magical makeup trick and Quentin couldn’t help but notice that she was looking him up and down.
“What?” he asked, looking down at himself, checking for spills of some kind.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans and a T-shirt before,” she said, her face melting into an expression he wasn’t sure how to interpret. “You’re always in your work clothes.”
“Saturday,” he said by way of explanation.
“Yes. Exactly,” she replied, a smile splitting her face. “It is Saturday. Which is exactly why I’m knocking on your door right now.”
“What’s up?”
“Well, you know Clare from two floors down?”
He didn’t but she didn’t seem to register the shake of his head. She barreled on.
“She and I were gonna head out to the Jarhouse tonight to see that storytelling show they do there, but she just bailed and I’m already all dolled up.”
Dancing eyebrows accompanied her big smile and he just stared back at her until it dawned on him. “Oh. Are you asking me to go with you?”
“I don’t wanna walk by myself. I’ll buy you a drink if you play my bodyguard on the walk there?”
He inwardly sighed. He should have known better than to think, even for a second, that she was asking him on a date. He was the “cute” guy who still kept toys in his bedroom. Not exactly date material. But he didn’t blame her for wanting someone to walk her to the bar. They lived in a slightly skeevy part of the Gowanus neighborhood of Brooklyn. Half a mile over and you were in ritzy Park Slope. But in this area, the blocks were long and dark at night; most of the buildings were warehouses, not residences. The Jarhouse was the place to be on a Saturday night, but walking there alone could definitely be nerve-racking.
“Sure, lemme just grab my wallet.”
He was back from his room in a second and glancing over at her as he locked his apartment door. He couldn’t help but meet her smile with one of his own. She was one of those people whose smile you felt all the way down to your toes.
“So,” Quentin said as they started the few-block walk to the venue, “what’ve you been doing on your summer break?”
“Let’s see... I’ve been to the beach a bunch already. I’m also trying to catch up on all the movies I missed over the school year. And I’ve been brunching pretty hard.”
He laughed. “You make it sound like a contact sport.”
“The way I brunch? It kind of is. I’m like ‘pitcher of mimosas before I start flipping tables!’”
“I hope you’re not drinking those pitchers all by yourself.”
She laughed. “No. Trust me, I’m a lightweight. I don’t really drink that much at all. I’ve been told I’m kind of a party all on my own.”
He could definitely understand why someone would say that to her. She sort of sparkled under the circles of the streetlights they passed, the orange light catching on the curves of her dark hair, the rise of her cheekbones, the white flash of her teeth. She skipped along to keep up with his long strides, and as she’d attached her keys to her belt loop with a carabiner, each step she took jingled.
“You do sort of have a one-man-band thing going on,” he told her, hiding his smile and tucking his hands into his pockets.
She laughed and nudged his side with a pointy elbow. “I’m deciding to take that as a compliment.”
“Good.”
When they got to the Jarhouse, she scampered forward and grabbed the door before he could.
“After you,” he said, stepping back so that she’d go in first.
“No, no,” she insisted. “You performed your bodyguarding duties admirably—at least allow me to hold the door for you.”
He reached over her head and grabbed the door. “My mom would kick my ass if I didn’t hold the door for you.”
“It’s nice to be out with a gentleman.” She grinned up at him and ducked inside.
He was grateful for the dimly lit bar because he was pretty sure he was blushing again as he followed Cat inside. Music played over the sound system and people were milling around and ordering drinks in the front room. In the back room, they would be charged a cover for the storytelling show that would start in half an hour or so.
“Let’s get a drink!”
“You want to grab seats for the show?” Quentin asked, speaking at the same time as Cat.
“Oh.” She leaned back to catch his eye. “Are you staying for the show? I thought you were just staying for one drink.”
He reached up and flattened his hair down with the palm of his hand. “Um, I thought I would stay. If I’m invited, I mean.”
She jumped forward and squeezed his arm above the elbow. “You’re invited!” she said immediately. “I’m so stoked you want to stay! I just figured that I was disrupting your Saturday night.” Squinting her eyes, she cocked her head to one side and brought her hands to her hips. “I kind of get the feeling sometimes that I annoy you or something, so I didn’t want to assume that you were gonna spend the whole evening with me.”
Instead of standing there, gaping like a dope, he nodded toward the bar and led her through the crowd. With the same kind of magical serendipity that had won Quentin $1,650 in Atlantic City, two people vacated their bar stools right as they approached the bar. Quentin and Cat plunked into the seats and the bartender waved at them from the other side of the bar, saying she’d be over in a second.
“What do you mean you think you annoy me?”
She shrugged and gave him a much smaller smile than usual. “I thought we’d gotten along so well that night we first hung out, at the party at your house. I had such a good time that I was pretty sure we were gonna end up being really good friends. But then I got the feeling that you were avoiding me. We never really hung out again even though I sort of tried to make it happen.”
He thought guiltily of the times she’d offered to walk him to the train or caught up to him in the lobby for a quick chat. He’d dodged her almost every time.
“I know I can be a lot for some people,” she continued, but he jumped right in to stop her.
“You’re not a lot,” he insisted. He’d been standoffish on purpose, to protect himself from thinking she was even cuter than he already did. But he could see now that it had sent the wrong signals. He didn’t want her to disparage herself. “You’re...just the right amount.”
He twisted his face at how awkward that sounded, barely resisting the urge to face palm.
But she laughed delightedly and nudged him with that pointy elbow again. “Thanks. You certainly have a way with compliments.”
“Can I help you?” The bartender leaned her elbows on the bar, flipping her long braided hair back over her shoulder. Suddenly she bent toward Quentin, squinting her eyes. “Wait...”
“Sylvie?” Quentin exclaimed. He hadn’t recognized her from afar, but now he realized that he was staring at a woman he’d gone to elementary school with. She’d moved in early high school and he hadn’t seen her for probably ten years.
“Quentin? Wow!” Sylvie grinned and leaned over the bar to pull him into a hug.
As Quentin hugged her back, he looked over her shoulder and saw three different men scowling at him over their drinks. When he released Sylvie and sat back on his stool, he realized that she’d become a very attractive woman in the years since they’d last seen one another. He remembered her as having been awkwardly tall, with a really bad short haircut and lots of dark eye makeup that was always smudging. But the Sylvie of today had gracefully aged into her height, her body rounding into curves and her natural beauty needing no embellishments.
“It’s been so long,” he said, and then winced when he was needled by an elbow he was becoming very familiar with. “Oh. Sylvie, this is my neighbor Cat. Cat, this is my friend Sylvie. We grew up together in Sleepy Hollow.”
“Old friends!” Cat exclaimed happily, looking back and forth between the two of them. “That’s so cool. I’m...not really in touch with anyone I grew up with, except for my sisters.”
Sylvie gave Quentin a chagrined smile. “I wouldn’t exactly say we were friends.”
It was true. Quentin would never have said it aloud to her, but for some reason he and Sylvie had never quite clicked. She’d always been nervous and quiet around him. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say next, when Sylvie cut him off.
“I always had way too big of a crush on Quentin to be his friend.”
His mouth clapped closed with a hollow thunk. He stared at Sylvie. “Oh. I—Really?”
He wasn’t sure why but something about his delivery made both women laugh.
“Really,” she said with a smile. She drummed her hands on the bar top. “All right, what can I get you guys?”
They ordered and Sylvie brought their drinks with a wink before moving off to help other customers.
“Wow,” Cat said after a second. Quentin could feel her eyes on the side of his face.
“What?” he asked, turning toward her as he sipped his beer.
“I think she short-circuited you.”
“I mean...” Quentin said as he flattened his hair yet again. He searched for something to say. Something witty. Something un-dorky.
He came up with absolutely nothing and that made Cat laugh even more. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you they had a crush on you before?” she asked.
“Um. No.”
Cat’s big brown eyes widened in surprise. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”
Again, Quentin was struck dumb. This really wasn’t his night for elocution.
“Ooh!” Cat said, tugging at his elbow. “I think the show is starting. We can come back afterward so you can get lover girl’s digits.”
There was too much there to respond to, so Quentin just let himself get tugged along into the back room of the bar.
Two hours later he and Cat were walking home side by side. They’d stopped by the bar to say goodbye on their way out and now Sylvie’s phone number tingled Quentin’s fingertips where he touched the napkin in his pocket. But it wasn’t Sylvie he was thinking about as they crossed a bridge over the Gowanus Canal, the water an inky, noxious stripe below them. It was the woman walking beside him that drew his thoughts.
Cat reminded him of clementines in the height of their season. The brightest, zingiest fruit he could think of. He didn’t want to simplify her down into just her positive attributes. Of course she was—like all people—a complicated amalgamation of hidden puzzle pieces and gardens of melancholia, he was sure of it. But her general vibe was phosphorescent, tart, addictive, a little overwhelming.
He wanted more.
His stomach sank as he realized how much more he wanted. Exactly what he’d been worried about happening had. His crush was more than just a lit match. It had matured into glowing coals simmering in the pit of his gut, sucking the oxygen out of the air, waiting for him to fan it into flame. It wouldn’t take much more for him to be a certified goner.
“So, you gonna ask her out?” Cat asked.
Quentin’s heart skipped because he’d been thinking of just that: how to ask Cat out. But Cat wasn’t talking about herself; she was talking about Sylvie.
“I’m...not sure.”
“Why not? She was gorge. And obviously into you.”
He laughed. “You really think she was into me? She talked about her crush in the past tense.”
Cat pursed her lips and ducked her chin, her eyes telling him he was a naive fool. “Are you kidding me? That woman practically suffocated you with her cleavage and then told you she’d always had a crush on you in front of me. That’s girl-speak for ‘come and get it, daddy-o.’” Cat mimed twirling a long cat tail behind her back, tipping an imaginary top hat.
Once again, he was laughing. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to be, but I think you’re confusing my life with, like, an old-timey cartoon or something.”
She laughed too. “I’m just sayin’, I think you’re missing an opportunity there.”
“Actually...” Quentin said as he slowed his pace so that he could steal a few extra moments with her. His heart beat hollowly in his chest, like a stone clanging in an old tin pail. “It’s not her that I’m thinking about asking—”
“Ohmygawd,” Cat squeaked, grabbing Quentin’s arm and jumping halfway behind him. “It’s him!”
They’d just rounded the corner toward their building and standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance was Jared, talking to someone through the open window of a cab. A moment later, beautiful blonde Lara unfolded herself from the cab, an overnight bag over one shoulder.
Quentin groaned. Jared had sworn on his—still-living—mother’s grave that the thing with Lara last weekend had been a one-off. That they weren’t getting back together. Yet, here she was, obviously about to spend the night again.
“I can’t believe this,” Quentin muttered, grunting when Cat bodily hustled him back behind the side of their building so that they could peek around and spy on Jared.
“Who is that chick?” Cat said, peering around the corner at the couple.
“Jared’s ex. Or maybe Jared’s current. It’s hard to keep track with Jared and Lara. They’re pretty messy.”
“Dang!” Cat stood up straight and snapped her fingers. “I’m always behind the eight ball with this guy.”
His heart somewhere in the general vicinity of his socks, Quentin stepped back and surveyed her. “You’re really into him, huh?”
Cat shrugged. “He’s stupid hot. And kind of funny. We run into one another around the building every once in a while.”
“So.” Quentin cleared his throat. “Why not ask him out?”
“I’m too chicken,” Cat answered in a tone that indicated the answer should have been obvious. She turned to Quentin and his stomach dropped further at the bummed expression on her face. “And now he apparently has a girlfriend again.”
“Or not.” Looking up, Quentin watched in amazement as Jared leaned down and reopened the cab door, one hand on Lara’s lower back.
“Oh, my gosh!” Cat squeaked. “He’s sending her home!”
Never in his life did Quentin think that he’d actually be conflicted about the banishment of Lara.
They both watched in silence as Lara whirled on Jared, fire in her eyes. She said something that neither of them could quite make out, but the venom in her tone was unmistakable. As cold as ice, she reached forward and plucked Jared’s phone from his hand. Quentin’s jaw dropped as he watched Lara pitch the phone to the pavement and then bring the heel of her Louboutin down on the screen. A smirk on her face, she whipped back around and slid into the cab.
Quentin and Cat shrank into the shadows as her cab drove off down the street.
“Holy smokes,” Cat muttered. “That was crazy.”
They both peeked back around the corner, but Jared had disappeared into the building.
“That’s nothing when it comes to Lara. A few years ago, she slashed all the tires of his car only to find out that it wasn’t his car.”
“What?”
“Yeah. And the kicker was that she couldn’t afford to buy the owner new tires so Jared paid.”
“Wow. Either he’s a total pushover or he’s really sweet.”
Quentin kept his mouth shut.
“How long have they been together?” Cat asked.
“On and off since high school. We’ve all known each other since grade school.” They started a slow stroll toward the building.
“I’m detecting in your tone that you really don’t like her.”
Quentin sighed. “As you can see, she’s kind of a... difficult person. But I wouldn’t really have a problem with her if I didn’t have to live with Jared. It’s just too much Lara in my life.”
“What do you mean have to live with Jared?” Cat asked as he held open the door for their building for her. She scampered forward and pressed the elevator button.
“He’s my cousin, did you know that?”
“Oh!” She brightened immediately, like someone had flicked on a lamp inside her. “I didn’t know! That’s cool.”
“Yeah. We were really close growing up.” He rolled back on his heels after they stepped onto the elevator, debating how much to divulge. “It’s kind of a long story, but I lived with him and his mom, my aunt Sarah, in middle school and high school. So, when Jared and I moved to the city for school, it was kind of a given that he and I would be roommates. He’s been in and out of work for a few years so my place is a really reliable situation for him and... Yeah. I can’t exactly tell him that his girlfriend can’t come over, you know?”
“Wow.”
“Anyways, things are better—calmer—when he and Lara are on the outs.”
She was quiet as they walked down the hall together, his shoulder brushing up against her hair. When they got to their opposing doors, Cat turned slowly to look up at him and he knew what she was going to ask before she even said a word.
He could see it in her big, lovely eyes.
“You think if they’re really broken up, there’s any way you could introduce me and him? I mean, we’ve already met, but is there a way that you could get us to hang out together or something?”
Shit.
This was, literally, exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. But there she was, looking up at him with those maple-syrup eyes swimming with hope, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he just couldn’t say no.
“Ah. Sure. Maybe. Yeah. I guess I could do that. But I can’t promise to make it romantic or anything. Jared isn’t exactly a romantic guy.”
Once again, she brightened like a lamp had flicked on. And then she was up on her toes, one hand on his arm and her lips at his cheek. “Oh, man, Quentin, you’re the absolute best. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
She dropped back down and threw her hands in the air, letting out a little squeak of delight.
He laughed a little, even though there was a pit in his gut that seemed to be getting wider and wider with each passing second.
“Maybe sometime this week?” she asked. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. I could just come over and hang out when he’ll be there too?”
“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ll come knock on your door.”
She unlocked her door and then backed up into her apartment, her solemn eyes on his and one finger twirling into a point. “Seriously, Quentin. The best.”
And then her door closed and he was alone in the hallway.