Inside, Diego is standing in the living room, looking around as if he’s afraid to touch anything.
“So that went well,” I say sarcastically, shutting the door behind me.
“Are all your friends that feisty?” he asks.
“Forgive Blair, it’s my fault. I totally blindsided her with”—I wiggle a finger between us—“this. Told her you were moving in only an hour ago.”
“Smooth.”
“Well,” I snap. “Buying a boyfriend wasn’t on my Christmas shopping list until a few days ago.” That came out too harsh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that this whole situation is stressful for me, too. Can we pretend my best friend just told you mi casa es tu casa and move on?”
“Sure.”
“Great. This is a spare set of keys.” I grab it from the cabinet in the hall and hand it to him. “So you can come and go as you like. The blue is for the main door downstairs, and the big one opens this door here. The others, you won’t need.”
“Got it.” Diego stashes the keys away in his jeans pocket.
Gosh, this is super awkward. Well, what did I expect? I don’t know this guy, we’ve got nothing in common, and the situation per se is less than relaxing.
“So,” I say, trying to loosen up the atmosphere. “What would you do if this was a regular night at home?”
“Probably play on the Xbox with my roommate.”
“Sorry, no Xbox here, only that.” I gesture to the small TV in the living room. “How about an old-fashioned chat?”
“Okay. You want to start scripting our relationship?”
“Nah, it’s late, and I’ve no energy left. No creative juices flowing right now. Why don’t we cover the basics for tonight? Where we’re from, what our families are like, stuff like that.”
“Yeah, great.”
“You want a glass of wine?”
I need a drink. I’m definitely too nervous around this guy, and the feeling has to go quickly if my charade is to be believed by anyone.
“Yes, please.” Diego nods and goes to settle on the couch.
“Red or white?”
“Whatever is fine.”
I pick a bottle of red, grab two glasses, a corkscrew, and join him on the couch—sitting on the opposite, farthest end of it. I start maneuvering the corkscrew, damaging the cork more than I should in the process, when Diego says, “Here, let me.”
I hand over the bottle and, in a couple of quick moves, Diego has the cork removed and undamaged. He pours two generous glasses.
“You’re pretty handy with a bottle,” I comment.
“Well, modeling and acting only pay for a small part of the bills. I’m a part-time server at a steakhouse downtown.”
“When you’re not busy being a Santa impersonator.”
“Hey, I need all the money I can get. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Yeah, right. We might need to get comfortable with each other, but I have to remember this is still an employer-employee kind of relationship.
“Is it going to be a problem for the restaurant—you not showing for a whole week over Christmas break?”
“Nah. I only work there three nights a week, and I’ve asked my roommate to cover for me. Screech could use the extra money, too, and the owner doesn’t care as long as someone shows up to do the job.”
“You guys call each other weird names. He called you ‘Dunk’ over the phone.”
“Those are our gaming avatars.”
“Oh, cool. Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t mess with your work schedule.”
“On the contrary.” He flips Blair’s business card between his fingers. “Is your friend’s magazine legit?”
“Pretty new, but legit. Just a few months ago they did a fashion shoot with Saskia Landon.”
Diego low whistles. “Then I’d better stay on your friend’s good side.”
“Blair is very friendly, usually. Earlier, she was just being overprotective. It’s nothing personal.”
“So, you two have been friends long?”
“Forever.” I sip the wine, and its warm taste helps me ease into the conversation. “We grew up across the street from each other in Old Saybrook, a tiny coastal town a hundred miles north of here.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Small town.” I shrug and take another sip of wine. “You from around here, too?”
“No, I’m originally from Chicago. My family still lives there.”
“Is your family big?”
“Yep. I have three brothers, one older and two younger. And too many uncles, aunts, and cousins on both my dad and my mom’s side to count. I guess that’s what happens when an Irish man marries an Italian woman.”
Oh, so that explains his uncommon name, the Mediterranean colorings of his skin and hair, and the fact that he speaks Italian paired with the Irish surname, green eyes, and freckles.
“What do your brothers do?”
“Johnathan, the older, is a cop, just been promoted to detective. Greg, the other middle child, is a fireman. And the baby, Adam, is a cop, too, but he’s trying out for the FBI next year.”
“Whoa, sounds like a committed public-service bunch.”
“Well, my dad’s been a cop for forty years…” He grimaces. “I’m the only one not to have followed in his footsteps, more or less.”
“Do they give you a hard time about it?”
“Used to. I can’t even remember how many sermons I had to hear about how acting wasn’t a sound career choice. Now, I think they just feel sorry for me.” Diego looks away in the distance. “My dream was easier to sell ten years ago. But after so many years without a breakthrough, they must wonder what I’m still doing in this city working as a server, and what my plan is.”
“So, you’re a member of the sibling-to-be-pitied club, huh?”
He frowns. “Why? Your parents aren’t happy with your career?”
“Unfortunately, it has more to do with the lack of a diamond ring on my finger at the late age of thirty, and my inability to supply chubby grandkids.”
“Oooooh, I know the drill,” Diego sympathizes. “Two of my brothers are already married, and both have kids.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you had a big family.”
“Nope.”
“You’ll have to write me a family tree so I can learn their names.”
“Why? It’s not like you’ll ever meet them.”
“No, but my mom or sister could ask questions.” Knowing them, they certainly will. “It’d be weird if I knew nothing about your family, at least the basics.” I grab a pad and a pencil from the coffee table and hand them to him. “Just put down your mom, dad, brothers, and their spouses and kids’ names.”
Diego sets his almost-empty wine glass on the table and takes the notepad.
“Refill?” I ask, as he writes down the O’Donnell genealogy.
“Yes, please.”
I top up his glass and wait for him to be done before asking my next question. “Why New York? Wouldn’t LA have been the more obvious choice for an aspiring actor?”
Diego sighs. “Call me a romantic, but my heart is in the theater. Nothing can top performing in front of a live audience. The adrenaline of walking onto a stage, knowing you have to deliver every single time, and that if you make a mistake, there won’t be a second take. It’s priceless.”
“So, what’s your favorite show?”
“Ever, or recently?”
“Let’s keep it recent.”
“Then Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.”
“Oh, I read the book—script, whatever—but it was a bit of a letdown.”
“Of course, because it wasn’t supposed to be experienced that way. You need to buy a ticket and go see the actual show. It’ll blow your mind, I promise.”
“Really? I don’t know… I grew up reading Harry Potter… Do you remember the excitement when a new book was about to come out, and the desperation when you finished it and knew there’d be at least another two years to wait before the next one?”
“Yeah, it was the best and the worst.”
“It’s my favorite series ever, and I’ve read it so many times I think I’ve consumed the books beyond repair… so when The Cursed Child came out I was over the moon, but then I read it and… meh!”
Diego nods understandingly. “Nothing will ever top a new Harry Potter book, I agree. But if you approach The Cursed Child as a play and not a book, it’s so much better. You won’t regret watching it.”
I smile. “Okay, maybe I’ll try it…”
Diego’s enthusiasm when he speaks about Broadway is contagious. This guy is turning out like nothing I would’ve expected from just looking at his picture. I thought he was going to be one of those vain, self-absorbed male models who pay more attention to their skin products than I do. But he’s no egomaniac.
“What about you?” Diego asks. “Have you always wanted to work at an advertising agency?”
“I studied marketing and visual design in college, but I ended up in my line of work more by chance. I met my former boss at a recruiting event, and he gave an inspiring speech on what they did at KCU, on how they fostered new talent, and how a college graduate would thrive at their agency. So, I guess I chose a mentor more than a profession. And it worked out pretty well. I love what I do and the people I do it with, so…”
Diego grins. “Now you’re only missing that diamond ring on your finger, and to pop out the standard two point five chubby babies before you turn forty.”
I laugh. “Nailed it.”
I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the fact that we’ve been talking for a while, but I’m getting more relaxed around him. Same as if there was a regular person on the couch next to me, instead of an impossibly sexy hunk from another planet.
We chat a little more and finish the wine before I realize how late it is.
“Sorry,” I say, getting up. My head is dizzier than I’d like. “I have an early morning tomorrow. You?”
“I switched my shifts at the restaurant to lunch, so I’ll be free in the evenings.”
“Perfect. Well, you have your keys, and the Wi-Fi password is on the back of the box.” I point at the modem sitting next to the TV. “The fridge is stocked if you want to eat something; just beware of Blair’s vegetarian crap.”
“I will.” Diego smiles and gets up. And I watch, astonished, as he gathers both our glasses and the bottle and rinses the former in the sink after throwing the latter in the recycle bin. Good looking, down to earth, and with perfect manners. Impressive!
“Mind if I use the bathroom first?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s your house.”
Feeling again awkward, I wave. “Good night, then.”
“Night.”
When I come out of the bathroom, Diego is in Blair’s room, out of sight. I slip into my room, change into my PJs and, feeling a bit silly, I lock the door.
***
The next morning, my phone starts ringing the moment I resurface above ground from the subway station closest to work.
I lodge my earbuds in place and pick up.
“Are you alive?” Blair demands, as I begin the short walk to my office building. “Where are you?”
“I answered the phone; that should be a good indication I’m still breathing,” I say, stopping at a red traffic light and wrapping the collar of my coat tighter around my neck. “I’m walking to the office. You?”
“Me, too. Sorry, I’ve just been so worried all night.”
The light turns green and I cross the street. “No need to be; Diego is a perfectly nice guy.”
“Nice or not, Richard agrees with me: you were reckless to invite a total stranger into our house.”
“You told him?” I almost stop in the middle of the road, but the Manhattan pedestrian crowd prompts me forward.
“Of course I did. How else was I supposed to explain my late night pick up request?”
“Saying you wanted to spend time with him?”
“Oh, please, I’d just left him, he would’ve known something was up. He also said he wants to meet this guy before we drive home with him.”
“Oh my gosh,” I sigh, exasperated, as I open the door of my favorite Starbucks. “Richard is just as paranoid as you are.”
“No, we’re both responsible adults.”
“Hold on a second…” I say, then mouth, “The usual,” to the barista, switch my phone to the Starbucks app to pay, and go wait in line for my order. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Responsible Adults, you can both relax…”
“Yeah, why?”
“Diego’s entire family is in law enforcement. He’s hardly serial killer material.”
“Mmm, hello? Have you seen Dexter?”
“Dexter only zapped the bad guys, so I should be safe anyway, no?”
“Unless one of his serial killer buddies decides to take it out on the girlfriend.”
“Fake girlfriend, and, Blair, life isn’t a TV show. But if Richard really wants to meet Diego, tell your boyfriend to come to the casting on Tuesday. But please also tell him to be subtle and not to interrogate Diego, deal?”
“Oh, great, I wasn’t sure he’d come.”
“Why? Because you took his fingerprints? It’s a good opportunity for him. He’s a professional; why wouldn’t he come?”
“I don’t know… He could be busy planning his next murder?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“No, nooo. I was just kidding. So, how did your first night go? What did you guys do?”
“Skinny mocha vanilla latte for Nikki,” a barista shouts.
I shove the phone back into my coat pocket and grab the coffee, gladly wrapping my hands around the warm paper cup, before returning to the freezing temperatures of a New York morning in December.
“We opened a bottle of wine and chatted, you know, to cover the basics: family, education, career…”
“And how was it?”
“Pretty cozy; he’s an easy guy to talk to. I mean, for someone that looks so, mmm…”
Blair supplies the definition for me, “Freaking hot?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not getting too cozy, are you? He’s there only because you’re paying him.”
“I’m aware, thank you. I was just saying that I expected a narcissistic showoff, and instead, he’s rather easy going, funny, even… But don’t worry, he’s not my type at all.”
“Yeah, about that… I was wondering why you picked someone so… not you. Isn’t your family going to get suspicious?”
I stop a few steps away from my building’s main entrance. “You want the ugly truth? The one I could tell only my best friend without being judged?”
“Yeah-ah…”
“He’s Julia’s type,” I confess. “For once, I want her to be jealous of me, even if it’s just for a second and it’s all fake. Am I too pathetic?”
“No, you’re not, and I don’t have any siblings to compete with, so I’m really not an expert on the subject of sisterly envy. I can’t even begin to think what I’d do if my imaginary sister was marrying Richard, so…”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved she’s in my corner no matter what crazy ideas get into my head. “Listen, I’m at the office, I gotta go.”
“Yeah, I’m almost there, too. Okay, I’ll talk to you soon, and please send regular texts to let me know you’re alive.”
I roll my eyes but smile. “I will.”
***
I haven’t been seated at my desk five minutes before my cell phone goes off again. It’s Julia. Ugh, majorly not in the mood for another wedding planning rant. I let the call go unanswered. Three seconds later, my internal line rings, signaling Melanie is calling me.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I have your sister on line two.”
I could tell Melanie to make an excuse for me—that I’m in a meeting, or not at the office—but I know Julia. If she’s decided we have to talk now, she’ll just pester me until I surrender and answer. Compared to my sister, my mom is a restrained serial caller.
I sigh. “All right, put the call through.” Melanie hangs up. I wait for the external line’s button to flash and push it. “Hello?”
“Mom says I can’t have your room.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I reply. “And, yes, Mom would be correct.”
“But Nikki, I’m bringing my fiancé home for the holidays. We can’t stay in my room. Yours is bigger.”
“Our rooms are exactly the same.”
“Okay, but I can’t make Paul sleep in my castle princess bed.”
“I’m sorry about that, but when given the chance to choose a bed, you should’ve picked something more practical.”
“I was eight.”
“And I was ten. Didn’t stop me from ordering a perfectly sensible queen bed.”
Truth is, my only guiding principle at the time was to do the exact opposite of what Julia did. So, when she opted for a fairy tale bunk bed—pink, complete with turrets, crenellations, and tulle drapes—I went for the most serious, adult-looking bed I found at the shop.
“But Paul won’t fit…”
“Then ask Mom to get rid of the princess bed and buy a replacement.”
“But I love that bed.”
“Well, sorry… You’ll have to pick: either Paul sleeps in the princess bed, or the bed goes.”
I take a little smudge of satisfaction in knowing Julia is not going to have exactly everything she wants.
“But why can’t you switch?”
“Because my boyfriend won’t fit in the princess bed any better.”
“Oh, so you really have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Since when? I thought Mom misunderstood.”
Sure, because it would be so impossible for me to have a boyfriend. No matter that it sort of is impossible. The fact that Julia would just assume… Grrrrrrr. I bite the receiver before I continue.
“A few months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Who is this guy?”
“Jules, I’m just more private with my life than you, and right now I’m at the office, working. I don’t have time to gossip.”
“Work, work, work. You always have to work. I’ve been trying your private phone for an hour this morning, and it was always busy.”
“I was talking to someone else.”
“Who, your boyfriend?”
“No, Blair.”
“Oh, the sister you wish you’d had.”
I stare at the ceiling, trying to keep calm. It’s definitely too early for one of Julia’s dramatic scenes. “Why are you throwing a tantrum?” I ask.
“Because you’re dating someone and didn’t even think of telling me. I had to learn it from Mom!” she whines. “How long has Blair known him? It’s like I don’t exist for you.”
Julia and I have never been close, and since she’s been dating Paul, the distance has increased. I love her, she’s my sister, and if she needed a kidney I’d give it to her without a moment’s hesitation. But we’re so different, and with her dating the guy I love… It’s just hard.
“I’m sorry, Jules, but until recently I wasn’t sure the relationship was that serious, or even worth mentioning.”
“But why didn’t you tell me the other day?”
“That was your moment, your big announcement… I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“So who is this guy? When am I going to meet him?”
“At Christmas like the rest of the family.”
“Why? We’re both in the city; can’t we meet up earlier?”
“I’m sorry, but no. I’m super busy until the agency closes, and Diego is super busy, too.”
“Diego… Mmm, cool name. What does he look like?”
“Julia.” I use my best older sister tone. “I don’t have time to chat, but I’m sure you’re going to like him.” Maybe a bit too much, an evil little voice adds inside my head. “I really have to go now.”
“You’re a buzz kill.”
“Love you, too. Bye.” I hang up and lean back in my chair, massaging my temples.
Another twelve days to C-Day and I’m already about to explode. I just hope this mastermind plan of mine won’t epically backfire on me.