SEVEN

For the first time in months, I actually shave my legs, blow out my hair and put on makeup. It feels weird. I look weird. Well, not weird, per se. I kind of look amazing—like the old me. Just a little thinner; my eyes are a little sadder. But not as sad as they were before. Somehow it feels like things are getting better. Part of me doesn’t want them too, because if they do—if I allow things to get better—I might forget him.

But I have to admit that there’s a bigger part of me now that does want things to get better. I want to feel good again. Happy. Carefree.

It crosses my mind for the hundredth time that maybe I should join one of those 9-11 support groups. I know I’m not the only one who lost someone that day. Kyle was one of thousands…

My stomach clenches and I look in the mirror again to see worried eyes and a furrowed brow. This isn’t what I should be thinking about tonight. I have a non-date to go on, and if I’m being honest, I’m really excited about it.

The usual stab of guilt accosts my stomach, but I push it away. I have to if I have any hope of emerging from this despair. Kyle wouldn’t want me to be unhappy. I know that. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

The doorbell rings faintly from downstairs and it immediately sets the butterflies to flapping in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s just Brandon. Nerdy Brandon from high school. And it’s not a date.

I grab my new purse—another NY&Co purchase that Mom insisted I have—and head out my bedroom door. Brandon is standing in the foyer with Mom and Dad, and I’m halfway down the stairs when he notices me. I’m not gonna lie. The way he looks at me—the way his breath seems to catch in his throat—makes me feel good for the first time in a very long time. It makes me feel proud that I pulled myself together enough to get dressed and gussied up for this party. It makes me happy that I finally said yes to something that scares the shit out of me.

“Hey,” he breathes as I descend the last half of the staircase.

I give him a half smile. “Hey.”

Mom and Dad seem a little stunned too. Mom just stands there with a goofy smile and watery eyes; Dad’s peering at me as if I’m an enigma. It’s worthy of a laugh, but I hold back. I would rather pretend that there’s nothing new or unusual going on here.

Brandon seems to snap out of his trance finally, and claps his hands together. “You ready to do this?”

I shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He turns to Dad. “I’ll have her home at a descent hour, sir.”

Mom throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, Brandon. We’re all adults here. Keep her out as late as you want.”

She says that, but I know she and Dad won’t go to sleep until they hear me come home.

“I’ll call if it’s gonna be past midnight, Mom.”

She grabs me and pulls me into a suffocating hug. As uncomfortable as it is, I’m happy she’s happy.

“Goodnight, you two,” Dad says. “Have fun!”

And the next thing I know I’m on the front stoop with Brandon, alone, and it feels way more like a date than it’s supposed to. But I can’t back out now. I can’t go back in there and destroy my parents’ hopes that their little girl is finally moving on.

Deep breath. I can do this.

We walk silently through the chilly air to the car and he opens the door for me. I don’t get in. I just stare at him, and he must see how uncomfortable his actions make me, because he shuts the door again.

“Sorry,” he says, raising his hands in surrender as he walks to the other side of the car. “Once a southern boy…”

I snort. “You’re hardly the typical southern boy,” I say, opening my own door and sliding into the passenger seat. “You drive a Prius, for God’s sake.”

He starts the ignition, but you’d never know, it’s so quiet.

“I was one of the first to have one in the US.” He grins proudly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“I had no idea you were such a car enthusiast.”

“I’m not.” He pulls out of the driveway and heads out of the neighborhood toward the main road. “I’m just enthusiastic about this car. Her name is Nelly.”

“Original,” I tease.

“What would you have named her?”

I shrug. “Priscilla?”

He scrunches his nose. “She would hate that.”

I can’t help but laugh. “And how do you know that? Am I to believe you have conversations with your car?”

“Of course I do!” He seems affronted that I would even ask such a question, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes when he turns to smile at me.

My stomach flips. I hate that his smile is able to disarm me. I don’t want to be disarmed. I want to remember…

“So, where is this party?” I ask, desperate to change the subject and put an end to what I’m terrified might be flirting.

“We’ve rented out the party room at Ippolito’s.”

A suburban staple around here. I haven’t eaten there in ages, but I can taste their sauce on my tongue. The big, yeasty rolls drenched in garlic and olive oil. The salad covered in Gorgonzola cheese and a tangy vinaigrette. I took Kyle there once when we’d come to visit my parents. He’d accused it of being heavy and way too obvious (whatever that meant), but he’d scarfed his meal down, nonetheless.

I turn my face to look out the window. “Sounds good,” I say, trying to shove my memories to the back of mind. “How’s Caroline?”

“Caroline is…Caroline,” he says. “Hey, thanks again for helping me out with her. I don’t know if I’ve really thanked you properly.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We don’t know if it’s gonna work.”

He chuckles. “Good point.” He goes silent as he turns into the parking lot of the restaurant. Once he’s pulled into a parking space, he turns to me. His hazel eyes are so intense, and the setting so intimate, I have to turn away. “Listen, I know this won’t be an easy night for you.”

I fiddle with a button on my pea coat. “Don’t worry about me,” I say, trying to shrug it off. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of this.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.” His voice is so soft, so understanding. I know he understands. He’s been through this too. But I’m not ready to rely on him for comfort. I might never be. And I certainly don’t want to be. “But listen, if you feel uncomfortable at any time, or—”

I fake a smile and force myself to look at him. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“But you’ll tell me if you’re not?” I don’t answer him, so he goes on. “I know how this goes, Jess. You might feel fine right now, but these things can sneak up on us.” He sighs and sits back in his seat, his eyes straight ahead out the window.

“Are you okay?” I ask, and my smile is turning softer, more genuine. He seems troubled all of a sudden, and I want to help.

“It doesn’t go away, you know?” His cheek pulls in, and I know he’s biting down inside. “I know you want it to, but it won’t.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I do want it to go away. All the hurt, the sadness, the emptiness. I’m still praying that one day I’ll wake up and it will have magically disappeared.

He shakes his head after a long moment and gives a little laugh. “God, I’m so sorry. This night is supposed to be fun, and here I am getting all moody and existential on you.”

“It’s okay,” I return. “I’m always moody and existential these days. It’s nothing new.”

He’s about to say something else when a woman leans down next to his window and taps on the glass. She’s got flowing red hair that’s blowing in the wintry wind, and she’s holding her bright red coat together in front of her chest. When she smiles and waves, Brandon’s eyes light up and he beams right back at her. Then he opens the door and gets out of the car. He’s expecting me to do the same, but part of me is bummed he’s not coming around to get me. As a matter of fact, he seems to have forgotten all about me as he gives the redhead a big hug and an air kiss near her cheek.

I come around the front of the car, and they’re already deep in conversation about something that happened at the office earlier that day.

“Oh, Carly,” he says, looking at me as if he’s just remembered he brought me along. “This is Jessica. Jessica, Carly. She’s my assistant.” He puts an arm at Carly’s back. “I would seriously be lost without her.”

I’m tempted to mention that for someone so integral to his place in this world, he’s yet to mention her to me. But wouldn’t that make me sound like a psycho girlfriend? Which I’m definitely not. His girlfriend or psycho. So I keep my mouth shut and stick out my hand.

Carly shakes it as she asks, “And how do you two know each other?”

I could be reading into it, but I swear I detect a bit of an edge to her voice.

“Who, Jess here?” Brandon says, and I’m tempted to look around to see if there’s anyone else Carly could be talking about. “We go way back. Grew up in the same neighborhood, went to high school together.”

“Oh, how nice,” Carly says. “I wonder why I’ve never heard of you.”

“Oh, well, you know her parents, Bill and Jane Brooks. Jess, however, went off to New York to attend NYU right after high school.” He looks at me, sobering a bit, clearly wondering how much detail he should give about my move back to the south.

“I’m back now, though,” I say, attempting to be vague.

Carly gives a little snort. “Couldn’t hack it in the big city, huh?”

It’s possible she’s just trying to be funny—in a not-funny-at-all kind of way, of course—but it still stings, and my defensive hackles go up.

“Actually, my fiancé was killed in the World Trade Centers on 9/11,” I say before I can stop the words from leaving my mouth. Carly’s doe eyes go even rounder than they were to begin with. I feel Brandon staring at me, and I’m sure his expression is aghast, but I refuse to break eye contact with Carly I-Can’t-Live-Without-Her Redhead. “So, yes. You’re right. It became a little difficult to hack it.” Then I turn to Brandon. “You know what, I need to use the restroom. I’ll find you in the restaurant. Nice meeting you, Carly.”

And then I run inside, leaving them in my proverbial dust. The hostess greets me but I ignore her as I race past the bar toward the bathroom. The tears are going to come at any moment. I need to get to a stall before they do. I can hardly catch my breath. And all I can think is how big of a mistake this was.

I escape into a stall and slam the door before leaning my back against it. The tears come. I don’t try to stop them, even though it’s going to make my mascara run. I don’t have anyone to impress anyway. And I’m pretty sure I’m never leaving this bathroom tonight—not until it’s time to go.

The main door to the bathroom creaks a moment later, and heels click across the tile.

“Jessica?”

Shit. It’s Carly. The last person I want to talk to right now.

“I know you’re in here,” she presses. “I see your shoes underneath the door.”

Damn it. I sniffle but I don’t answer.

A second later, the door rattles as she leans against it on the other side. She lets out a long breath.

“I’m really sorry I said that,” she says, and she truly does sound remorseful. “I-I didn’t mean anything, I just…”

I let the silence linger for a moment before I say, “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” And truly she couldn’t have. “I’m sorry for how I reacted. I…” I take a deep breath. “This is my first time out in public since it happened. Unless you count the shopping trip with my mom yesterday, which I don’t.”

Her laugh is tinkling and lighthearted. It makes me long for a time when I felt that way.

“I wouldn’t count shopping trips with my mom, either. Those can be harrowing.” There’s another beat of silence. “Do you think you could come out now?”

I turn around and unhook the lock as her heels click away from the door. When I come out she’s leaning against the counter, a sheepish expression on her perfect, doll-like face. No wonder Brandon forgot all about me when she came on the scene.

“You okay?” she asks, and her concern seems genuine.

I nod and walk toward the counter. I’m facing the mirror, and she’s facing away, like we’re in one of those über modern love seats. I look like Hell. My mascara has run black streaks down my cheeks. Eyeliner is smudged. And the skin around my eyes is puffy and red. Just looking at my reflection makes my chest flutter with a fresh set of tears.

“Hey,” Carly says, her tone gentle, like she’s soothing a baby. “We can fix it. Here.” She reaches into her tiny purse and somehow procures a sizeable compact that contains concealer, blush, two eye shadow colors, and the tiniest tube of mascara I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’ll fix you, but you have to promise not to cry again. Deal?”

I laugh. I feel like a toddler. “Deal,” I say, my voice thick.

A few minutes later, she turns me toward the mirror. It’s a miracle. She’s a miracle. And now I understand why Brandon probably can’t live without her.

“So…what’s up with you and Brandon?” I ask before I can stop the words from spilling idiotically from my mouth. I wish I could take them back. Rewind the clock a mere five seconds.

Carly snorts. “Me and Brandon?” She laughs even harder. “You’re kidding, right? You know I’m his assistant. That would be unethical. Not to mention, he’s way too young for me.”

I blink up at the stunning redhead. She can’t be more than twenty-two, tops. Brandon is close to that. Unless she has some weird thing about only dating men who are old enough to be her father, I can’t imagine why she would think he’s too old for her.

“How old are you?” I blurt out, and then realizing how rude that sounds, I add, “Never mind. Forget I asked. That was horrible of me to ask.”

“Jessica,” Carly says, putting an end to my blabbering. “Relax. I’m not one of those uptight women who refuse to share their age. I’ll be thirty next month.”

My jaw hits the floor. I mean, it’s not like thirty is old or anything, but I just can’t believe she’s thirty.

“Brandon is like a little brother to me,” she says as she swipes coral-colored lipstick across her lips. “Well, except that he’s my boss.”

“That’s an awfully complicated relationship.”

Carly shrugs. “But it works. You ready to go out there now?”

I’m not. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be, so there’s no point delaying the inevitable.

“Sure,” I say, and then Carly loops her arm through mine and leads us out of the bathroom.

When we reach the party room, everyone is still milling about, drinks in hand. God, I haven’t had a drink in months. I could totally use one right about now.

As if on cue, Brandon saunters over to us, two glasses of red wine in hand. He’s smiling, and his hazel eyes never leave mine.

“I’m glad you came out,” he says as he hands the wine to me.

“Well, you have Carly to thank.”

Carly grabs the other glass of wine from him and gives us both a wry smile. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she says as she walks away.

I’m a little nervous all of a sudden. And not just because I’m at a party for the first time in ages. It’s Brandon. Or maybe the realization that the possibility of him being with another woman had the power to make me jealous. But how can that be when my heart still belongs to Kyle?

“You okay?” he asks, moving to stand beside me.

I look down at my shoes. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m not usually that…high maintenance.”

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

I shake my head, feeling really stupid. “No, it’s not your fault. I just…It’s—”

“Been a long time. I know.” He smiles sideways at me. “Well, I’m all yours now. I promise not to leave your side all night.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I say with a little laugh. “I’m a big girl. I need to start acting like one.”

“In that case…” He holds out his elbow for me to latch on to. I’m reluctant. I haven’t had contact with many people, let alone a guy, in a long time. It feels strange, because he’s not Kyle. Yet I really want to take his arm. “Let me introduce you to my colleagues.”

After what I’m sure is the longest pause ever in the history of the world, I take his arm, and it’s not nearly as weird as I thought it would be. It’s comforting, actually.

We make our way around the room, pausing at each little cluster of employees, and Brandon quickly makes the introductions every time. I nod and smile, but choose not to say much. I’m too fascinated by Dorky Brandon and how easy he is in this environment, like he was born to mingle. He’s not in any way the same kid I knew in high school. The one who either had his nose in a book or was hanging from a hook in the girls’ bathroom, the victim of an Ultimate Wedgie.

A giggle bubbles up, and despite my best effort to tamp it down, he notices.

“Something funny?” he asks as we make our way to the dining table to get our plates for the buffet.

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head.

“You are such a liar. What were you thinking about?”

His hazel eyes are dancing with mirth, but I’m afraid if I tell him the reason for my own mirth, he’ll get upset about the reminder of his high school torture.

“Nothing,” I say, more emphatically this time. “I swear. I’m just…having a good time, that’s all.”

He smiles. “Good.” He flicks his head in the direction of the food. “Ready to eat?”

It’s several hours and several glasses of wine later before we finally say goodbye to his office crew and head back to the Prius. It’s gotten really cold. The kind of cold that penetrates every layer of clothing you’re wearing and goes right down to your bones. I shouldn’t be that cold. I lived in New York for two years. But I suppose the body adjusts to wherever it’s living, and now I’m frigid.

Brandon opens the door for me and then rushes to the other side. He hops in and quickly starts the ignition. Cold air blasts from the vents, and we sit there, waiting, rubbing our hands together and shivering. It takes a few minutes, but finally the heat kicks in and we both relax a bit.

“Oh, thank God,” I say, and I realize it’s the first time either of us has spoken since we left the restaurant.

“I was worried we’d die out here of hypothermia.”

“You know the restaurant is still open, right?” I say, my voice deadpan. “I hope you’d head back in there before your toes turned black and fell off.”

When he gives me a playful smile, my heart lifts. I feel effervescent tonight. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it was the lively company. Maybe it’s…

The twisting in my gut returns.

“Well, I’m glad we didn’t have to worry about any of that,” he continues, and I struggle to remember what we were talking about. “Did you have fun tonight?”

I nod, looking straight ahead out the window as we leave the parking lot and head onto the deserted road.

“I really did,” I say, still surprised about that fact. “And listen, thanks for being so…cool.”

We come to a stoplight and he pops the collar on his coat with a little shrug. “Well, I am a pretty cool guy.”

I laugh as the light turns green and we speed along to the next one.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me what you were laughing about earlier?”

Oh, God. I wince. “You really want to know?”

“Spill it.”

I take a deep breath. “I was remembering a time in high school—”

“Oh, boy. Here we go,” he says, but I can tell he’s laughing already.

“The time I found you in the girls’ bathroom.”

I don’t need to say anymore. He’s half laughing, half wincing. “I was hoping you had forgotten about that.”

“Forgotten?” I blurt out. “How could I forget finding you strung up by your underwear?”

We’re both laughing now. The mood in the car is light, fun. Something I haven’t felt in a very long time.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not completely scarred by the experience,” I say once I’ve caught my breath.

He shrugs again. “If anything, stuff like that made me even more determined. Built character, you know?”

“That’s a great way of looking at things.”

“It was either that or throw myself off a bridge. I’m happy with my choice.”

We fall silent again, and I’m glad to realize there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. As a matter of fact, I feel completely comfortable with him. If I didn’t, I never would have agreed to come out with him tonight.

When we pull into my driveway a few minutes later, Brandon turns off the ignition, and all of a sudden it feels like a date again. Like he wants to sit in the car and make out before walking me to the door. I have no idea if that’s true, but I start to panic nonetheless.

“You don’t have to turn the car off,” I say quickly, gathering my purse from off the floor. “You’ll freeze.”

“I was gonna walk you to your door.”

I shake my head. “Not a date, remember?” I pull the lever on the door, but his hand on my arm stops me from jumping out of the car.

I stare at his hand and then finally look up to meet his eyes. Even in the darkness, I can see how tender, how understanding, his expression is. It makes my heart race, and my body does all kinds of other things I don’t want it to do. He’s not Kyle.

“Walking you to the door hardly makes it a date,” he finally says.

The cold air gusts in from my half-open door, snapping me out of my trance. I remove his hand from my arm and give him a wide, if not forced, smile. “Thanks again for a great evening. Tell Caroline I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon.”

And then I bolt from the car and toward my house, leaving him no opportunity to be chivalrous.