Usually, when I get together with one of my friends—if I have time to get together with a friend—it’s business that distracts me. There’s never a moment there isn’t something to do. Someone is always waiting, the emails never stop. There are fires and problems everywhere and every day.
I know I shouldn’t let my work life get in the way of relationships, but if I don’t do it, no one else will. And more importantly, everything I’ve spent years working my ass off for could unravel.
My friend Brian, with short brownish red hair and a five o'clock shadow, sits across from me at a sports bar that rides the line between upscale and pretentious. The TVs boast the football game and I know Brian has a couple hundred riding on it.
On the next run, when Brian settles into our booth with his hand curled around his beer and his eyes focused on the play, I take out my phone. I tap the screen and scroll through the emails that have come through. But I’m also checking for something else.
Any messages from Maddie.
She hasn’t sent one, but I have half a message typed out.
No pressure, but I was thinking…
It’s a ridiculous way to start a text. I delete it and try again.
The apartment building is nice, but there are other places we could go, if you were interested in…
That’s a smooth way to ask a woman out. By reminding her that other places exist. I delete it all again with frustration that Brian picks up on. His gaze drops to my phone and then back to the flat screen TV. I’m sure he assumes it’s just business. Heat scorches the back of my neck. In a way, that’s what it is. But I want more.
I clear my throat and take a swig of my beer.
I want to ask her out. That’s the whole point of writing and rewriting the text. I just don’t know how, given the way things started between us.
I’m willing to accept responsibility for that. I just don’t know how to fucking fix it.
“Always the emails, right?” Brian smiles at me, his eyes crinkling. He’s the same way. We keep tabs on our money at all hours of the day. “They never stop.”
I swipe into my email app just so I’m not a total liar. “Yeah. That’s how it goes.” He must sense something off because his eyes narrow, and even though the next play starts, he doesn’t give the TV his attention.
“What’s new with you?”
“More acquisitions,” I tell him, that burning feeling at the back of my neck comes back at the thought of my most recent acquisition. “Getting into stocks and hedge funds as well.”
“Sounds boring,” he states and then takes a large gulp of beer.
I laugh at that—can’t help it. Brian works on Wall Street, like he always planned to. He came from money, but not the kind the two of us are making now. He always wanted to get to that next level, and Brian’s done it without leaving a single thing behind, unlike me.
I guess I haven’t left Brian behind, which is saying something. We’ve been friends since grade school. His parents are proud of him. They’ve said they’re proud of me, too, and they’ve always been kind, but I don’t see them as family.
Brian and I watch the game until a commercial break comes on. He orders chips and salsa, then looks at me across the table.
“You should come to the Berkshires with us this winter,” he suggests.
I’ve been there before. They have a nice place, but it’s a little too family-oriented for my liking. It makes sense for Brian to want to go, though. He’s married, and before too long, they’ll only want places that are family-oriented.
I tend to my drink and ignore how that makes me feel cold.
Not the Berkshires in the winter, but Brian and his wife—all my friends and their wives—becoming families, with me on the outside.
I’ve never wanted a family or a replacement family. Not since my parents died. Families are a limited-time thing. They always fall apart and it fucking hurts when they do.
The waitress comes back and puts the chips and salsa between us. Brian dips a chip into the salsa and looks at me, eyebrows raised.
“We’ll see,” I hedge.
Brian scoffs. “What else are you going to do? Sit in your fancy penthouse alone?”
I’ve never thought much about being alone in my penthouse on Christmas. It’s another day. There’s nowhere to go on Christmas, and the more my friends pair off, the less I feel welcome going to their places on holidays. Who wants a lonely third wheel on Christmas morning? I won’t be someone’s burden.
Thoughts of what Maddie will do this winter come to mind and I find myself curious.
My life hasn’t been empty. It’s been full of goals to meet and money to make and projects to close. Then Maddie came into it, and now I can’t see anything but how empty all of it is. A great big penthouse. Me on my phone. Snow falling outside. Christmas, and no one to open presents in the light of the tree.
I glance back at my phone and think about texting her.
I could…offer to tend to her needs. Take care of her. If she wants.
I still don’t know how to say it though. How to present the offer in an acceptable manner. Especially given it will be in writing.
Half of what I want to say should never be written in black and white.
Even if I want her in my penthouse on Christmas. Fuck I could just imagine unwrapping her lingerie as if she’s my personal gift.
I glance down at the black text and my thumb taps aimlessly.
I don’t want to sound like I’m offering money for her company, or anything of that manner. Like I’m paying her for companionship.
Although if money is what she would want, I’d give it to her. A Pretty Woman-esque arrangement.
“What’s going on with you?” Brian asks, his tone careful. “You’re quiet.”
I watch the game on the TV, purposely not looking at my phone, and try to figure out what the hell to tell my oldest friend in the world. If I told him it was nothing and to drop it, Brian probably would. But then I’d be exactly where I was when I came into this bar.
“I’m thinking about asking a woman out.” I blurt it out without looking at him.
Brian lets out a low whistle. “Look at you. This girl must really be something for you to keep checking your phone like that and looking like a nervous school kid.”
Normally, I’d deny the hell out of it. I always check my phone. That’s not new. And if I look nervous, that’s because I have other things to be nervous about.
But this is Brian and he’s asking, and for once it seems important to tell the truth. Because I am all too aware I need help. Afterall, he landed a wife. He has to know something about this arena that I don’t.
“It’s just…someone. I met under odd circumstances.”
“What kind of—”
“Don’t ask about the circumstances.” I cut him off, a little harsher than intended and hold his gaze a moment too long.
“Okay?” He raises his eyebrows. “And you want to ask her on a date?”
“I would like to, yes. And maybe more. I don’t know.”
“More?”
Frustration gets the best of me as I run my hand through my hair. “I’m telling you, it’s ridiculous. I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“I’m not asking about the circumstances,” Brian says after a minute. “But…is that what’s making it tough for you to ask her out?”
“Yeah. You could say that.”
“Maybe you just have to forget about the circumstances, then.”
I can’t. A huff of a sarcastic laugh leaves me. There’s no way in hell I could forget what happened…it’s burned into my memory.
“Things can always change.” Brian eats another chip with salsa. He pushes the basket toward me. “I think it’s best if you take matters into your own hands. Just let her know what you want. It’s like an offer,” he suggests and motions with his hand as if I should know how to make an offer.
It takes great effort to breathe evenly and consider a response other than I’ve done that. I literally took Maddie into my own hands, and now there’s always going to be some kind of tension between us.
“And if I already have…made an offer, that is? If it’s too late to change the way she sees me?”
I don’t even know how she sees me. All this is based on my own assumptions and the unwanted anxious emotions I can’t seem to shake off.
“What kind of an offer?” he questions, and I shake my head once. He readjusts in his seat. “You made an ass out of yourself or something?”
“Don’t ask.”
“You’re not giving me much here,” he mutters, and then a foul is made on the screen and the corner of the bar erupts with outrage that distracts us both for a moment.
It settles quickly enough.
He finally says, “Just talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen?”
That I lose her, obviously. The chance to have her fill this emptiness that’s been glaringly apparent slips through my fingers.
When the chips are gone and the game is over, I haven't decided what to send in a text. All I've decided is to wait until the next time rent is due.