Growing Up

Sophie

I’ve been on a lot of dud dates in my day. I’ve had guys take me out, only concerned with their anatomy and not with forming a connection. There have been a select few who made it through an entire evening without letting me get a word in because they were too self-absorbed to stop speaking about themselves. I’ve even experienced a couple of painfully shy guys who just blushed and stammered over their words. Throw in the rest, who viewed me as a career move instead of a person, and that’s the history of my dating life.

Conversation with Boyd was effortless and comfortable. We didn’t talk much about work, and mostly touched on childhood antics with our siblings and university escapades. I talked about funny stories with Ashlyn and Celeste, and how opposite they are—minus their united front when it comes to my job.

But once we sat down for dinner, things went sideways. Boyd all but shut down and did little more than give short answers to my questions. What bothers me is that I don’t know why. Is it because I paid and he got bent out of shape about it? If that’s the case, good riddance to him. I’m not interested in dating an insecure man-child who takes issue with a woman being independent and striving for a world of equal opportunity.

It’s been three days since we parted ways at Casa Mesa, though, and the lack of an answer is eating away at me. I need a man’s perspective to tell me where this went wrong.

I ask Andy to hold my calls, then dial Caleb’s number, knowing he has Tuesday mornings off.

“How did you know I was just going to call you?” he answers.

“Twin intuition. My ears were burning.”

He laughs, which is muffled by rustling on his end.

“Caleb McNamara, are you still in bed? At 10:40?”

“I got home late. Not all of us operate on banker’s hours.”

That sounds intriguing. I dig for some details on his late evening, but he brushes me off and claims it was just “work stuff.” In an effort to encourage him to spill his guts to me, I offer a tidbit of my own complicated life. “You know the barista?”

“Yes.” There’s a note of amusement in my brother’s voice. “Don’t tell me. You went on a date with him and he got you to pay, then he called to say he was in a tough spot and needed you to loan him two grand so he can get his car fixed.”

I scoff at that assumption. “That happened once. The other time the guy’s dog was sick and you know I have a soft spot for animals.”

“Soph.”

“I know, I know. No, that’s not what happened. I mean, we went on a date and I paid, but now I haven’t heard from him at all. He doesn’t have his own car, though.”

“Sounds like another deadbeat.”

“But he’s not. Remember that gala I asked you to go to?”

“Yeah.” Caleb grunts like he’s finally getting out of bed and taking a good stretch.

“He was there, and they presented him with the Medal for Academic Excellence. He’s finishing his MBA/JD and Dad was champing at the bit to have him come work for us.”

“So, is this guy using you for a job? If he’s not a deadbeat, why did you have to pay?”

“This is the twenty-first century, thank you. I paid because I asked him out.” I don’t want to get into the details of why I insisted on paying. That’s beside the point. I explain the events that transpired between the gala and our date, hoping Caleb can make sense of it.

Instead, he only focuses on the vitriol I received from our father. “Geeze, Soph. Why do you put up with that?”

“One of us has to!” I snap, annoyed he’s missing the point of this conversation.

“That’s not fair. Don’t put your decisions on me. I made the best choice for me and there’s nothing stopping you from doing the same, except this undeserved sense of loyalty. Like you’ve been controlled by a narcissist your entire life and can’t see a way out.”

Everyone thinks I stay because I can’t see it, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m well aware of how toxic the work environment is in this building, which is why I’m determined to fix it. It’s a lot harder to fix things when you’re on the outside looking in.

“Right now, I just need you to support me in my choice, even if you don’t agree. I constantly have people chirping in my ear that I need to quit and find a new job, but I need you to trust that I’m doing what I think is best. Not just for me.”

Caleb blows out a long sigh. “I do. You know I’ll always have your back. That’s why it makes me so angry when I hear how he treats you. It has nothing to do with him being your boss; it’s because he’s your father.”

A small part of me misses the days when Caleb and I were ushered around from cross-country track meets, to violin and piano practice, to weekends at our grandparents because our parents were going away on a business trip. I miss the years of learning to ride bikes with our Grandpa Fred because our dad was too busy to teach us. I miss the days of having a glimmer of hope that things would be different as an adult. Because now I’m here, and it’s not easy at all. Life was less complicated when Henry was too busy to remember we existed.

I click out of an email from a client who is having a sale at her designer purse boutique and roll my eyes. I literally arrange your shipments, Adeline. No way am I paying your ridiculous markups. “Just tell me what to do about Boyd.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Soph. If you want answers, just talk to the guy.”

“Ugh. What good is having to share a womb with someone if they can’t just miraculously solve your problems later in life?”

“I’m not sure that’s a thing. As much as I wish I could, I can’t… and it’s only a problem if you make it one. Would you rather I call to talk to hi—”

“No.”

Caleb chuckles. “I thought so. Doesn’t sound like it went too well when he talked to Dad, but kudos to him for standing up to the old jerk.”

Andy pokes his head in the door, gesturing wildly in some kind of interpretive dance I can’t figure out.

“Sorry. I have to go. Andy is… malfunctioning. Let’s make plans for your next day off, okay?”

Caleb snorts a “ha!” and we both know a day off is not in his immediate future. “Sure thing. Let me know how things go with the barista, okay? Maybe you can bring him into the restaurant for a date.”

I return my own “ha!” and assure Caleb I’ll send him an update, then end our call. “What is it, Andy?”

“Boyd is down at security. He asked if you have a minute.” Andy is beaming at me, but schools his expression when I glare back. “Or I can tell him to get lost. Your call.”

“You can let him in. But please, if you appreciate your job at all, don’t be weird.”

“I make no promises,” he retorts as he leaves with an exaggerated sway of his hips, demonstrating the salsa lessons he claims to be taking.

My mind races for the several moments it takes until there’s a knock at my door. Boyd flashes a tentative smile—if you can call the straight line his lips form a smile—as he squeezes inside. “He is a very… enthusiastic assistant.”

“That’s one word for it.” I return his almost smile, waving for him to come in.

He only steps inside a few feet, then stops. “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

That sounds like a precursor for a pre-emptive breakup. The start of an “It’s not you, it’s me” speech. I wait patiently for the “but…” It doesn’t come.

“Do you like Mexican food?”

My eyebrows collapse together as I study Boyd, trying to get a read on where this is going. I doubt he’s asking me out for Mexican food at 11am. “Sure. Who doesn’t?”

“What about street food… not like food off the street, but food trucks? Barbeque?”

Now I’m even more confused. “Yeah. All of the above. As long as it’s cooked, I like it. Don’t get me started on how much I hate sushi.”

“As much as you hate pumpkin spice?” He stares straight ahead, still not changing expressions.

I restrain my giggle, recalling my comments when he suggested that as a drink. “More.”

“Wow, okay. Noted.” He takes a step forward, reaching down to the back of a chair to lean on. “What about French food?”

“Well, my brother studied in French culinary schools for several years. I went over to visit on every school break and spent a full summer in Paris. So I guess you could say I’m familiar with it. Is it my preference? Not necessarily.”

I’m not sure what my answer satisfied for Boyd, but he finally takes a seat.

“Can we try again?” He looks at me expectantly. “I guess what I’m asking is, will you go out with me?”

His choice of words is intentional. He’s gone through law school. Words matter, and he’s asking the same thing I did. Since he’s here now, obviously he wasn’t put off by my insistence on paying and planning our last attempt. Maybe it was just a terrible plan. The only fair thing to do is hand over control for a night and see what happens.

“Okay.”