“It’s just too complicated,” I say. “There’s avec and Bell and New Jersey and the city, and, well, maybe he thinks those are things we can work through, but how could we? He’s never going to move here, and he shouldn’t have to when he’s got Bell to think of.”
Sadie slides to the edge of her seat. “Are you telling me you and my brother have talked about these things?”
“Well, not at length—”
“And he thinks it could work?”
“I suppose. He came with me to look for a new apartment, and we talked about the future some. But that was before things were . . . over.”
Sadie’s mouth falls open. “I don’t believe it. Andrew never talks about anyone in the future tense. Not since . . . never mind.”
My cheeks redden. My urge is to downplay what I said—maybe I exaggerated. I didn’t, though. We really had an amazing weekend up until I spoiled it. “Since Shana?” I ask.
Sadie widens her eyes. “You know about Shana?”
“Yes,” I say. “A fair amount, actually.”
She blinks a few times, looking around my office as she seems to collect her thoughts. I can’t seem to read her shock. Is she upset? Happy? “So why’s it over?” she asks.
“I don’t have to tell you how screwed up I am after Reggie. You already know. Andrew and I ran into him while we were together, and it reminded me of everything I’d been through this year. Andrew got the brunt of it. Just for being there.”
“But he didn’t leave,” she states.
“No, but is that the kind of woman you want with your brother? One who’s too emotionally scarred to operate with any normalcy?”
Understandably, she stays quiet.
I sigh. “I care about him, but maybe I was too rash thinking I could get involved with someone so different from me. He has tattoos and a motorcycle and his garage. And I—I’m probably too stuffy for him. We just don’t click, you know?”
“But do you click?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “Like when you’re together?”
My face heats. There’s only one possible answer to that question. “Yes.”
“That’s not enough, though,” she says.
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. I hesitate. “Bell.” Just her name says it all. “Out of everything, she’s the most important thing to consider. I mean, what if we try this, and down the line, it’s time to move in together, but I won’t go to Jersey and he won’t come here. Then what? We’ve put her through all that for nothing. Just to have another parental figure ripped out of her life.”
Sadie laces her hands in her lap, unusually quiet.
“You understand, don’t you?” I ask. “Would you have gone out with Nathan if he’d been your complete opposite in every way?”
“Probably not.”
“Thank you,” I say. “If you could just explain that to your brother. I’m not sure how he’ll take it. He seems to think we have a shot.”
“Okay,” she says. “I will.”
I realize then I was bracing myself for resistance, though I’m not sure why. All along I’ve suspected she wouldn’t want us together. But she hasn’t actually spent time around us while we weren’t hiding our relationship. She doesn’t realize how good we are even though we aren’t supposed to be. “You’ll convince him for me?” I ask.
“I see your points.” She taps a finger on the arm of her chair. “You’re all wrong for each other. What are you going to do—go to Jersey?”
“Exactly,” I say, but for whatever reason, her agreeing with me has weakened my resolve, and the word comes out wavering. “I mean, some people commute, I know. But back and forth, that’s an extra two hours I don’t have.”
“I totally get it. That was one of my concerns moving to Brooklyn. I’ve gotten used to a slightly longer commute. It can be nice to have some extra time to relax to and from work. But that’s not the point.”
“No,” I agree, “that isn’t the point.”
“You are so not the mom type,” she continues. “You’d have to take Bell to gymnastics, probably even her competitions as she gets older. And help her with homework or girl problems that Andrew won’t understand, like her first crush or how to use a tampon. Stuff I thought I would do.” She nods, as if she’s adding more to the list in her head. “You might have to do, like, bake sales for her school. Then again, Andrew is a really good baker, so maybe not.”
In just a few seconds, I’ve been forced out of my office and into some alternate reality. The shift in topic is so quick, I’m suddenly in a kitchen in New Jersey, Bell’s schoolbooks spread out on the kitchen table as Andrew makes cookies. The kitchen is warm—why? From the oven? Or the people?
It’s so not my life. It doesn’t sound like a bad life . . . it just isn’t mine. Couldn’t be mine. Could it? Can I see myself at that table, helping Bell with homework, sneaking glances at big, strong, tattooed Andrew as he bakes?
“Right,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.
“Andrew needs someone who can make him happy.” She watches me closely, as if waiting for me to say something. “Someone that makes him smile and laugh. Other than Bell.”
“I agree,” I say. “I mean, he does when we’re together, smile, and laugh, but I can tell it’s not how he is all the time.”
She thins her lips, nodding. “He’s got a tough exterior—it’s hard to break through. That was why I was surprised he told you about Shana.”
I shift in my seat. “Yes, well. We didn’t mean for the conversation to go that way, but it did.”
“So, what’re your plans tonight?” she asks.
My fantasy fizzes and fades. The warmth recedes with it. There’s work to be done. There’s always work to be done, no matter if we’re busy or not. Normally, I don’t think too hard about that, but now, the thought depresses me. “Nothing,” I say. “I’ll probably stay here.”
“Nathan wants to try this new restaurant in Meatpacking.” She shrugs. “I’m not really into Indian right now, but he’s been bending over backward to make sure I’m comfortable.”
“That’s, um, sweet,” I say.
She nods. “I know you don’t really like him, but he’s been amazing.”
“It’s possible that I . . .” It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong. I start again. “It’s possible I don’t know the full story. According to Andrew.”
She smiles a little. “You don’t. But you don’t really have to like Nate,” she says. “It’s not like you ever spend time together. You’re just my boss.”
It’s a bit harsh for Sadie, who’s generally pretty even-keeled, not one to make a scene or go out of her way to make her opinion known. Maybe that’s why it stings a little. I had almost been part of their unit, the three of them, but that’s gone now. Sadie knows it too, yet by the smug look on her face, it’s as if she’s rubbing it in.
In fact, this whole conversation, she’s been putting ideas in my head, like Andrew as a sexy baker, and then tearing them down.
Of course. Sadie knows me well. She understands that pushing Andrew on me would’ve scared me off. I narrow my eyes. “Sadie?”
She stands quickly. “I should get back to work.”
I gasp. “You’re using reverse psychology on me.”
“Do you honestly think I’m that calculating?”
“Yes.”
She laughs. “All right, fine. Yes, I tricked you, but my intentions are good, Amelia. Andrew’s held everyone at arm’s length so long. If he smiles and laughs with you, if he opens up to you—that’s rare. Don’t take that away from him, and by him, I mean me, because I want my brother to have what Nathan and I do.”
I may be surprised by her approval, but she looks completely at
ease about it. “What about everything else?” I ask. “All the reasons not to?”
“I can tell that you like him. And that he likes you. It makes no sense and it’s a miracle. Don’t throw that away.” She absentmindedly touches her growing belly. “I love Bell with all my heart, but you have my approval. Even if it doesn’t work out, I think it’s really important for her to see her dad happy right now.”
Me, make Andrew happy? But I do, don’t I? It’s been a while since I’ve done that for anyone. Reggie had to find someone else for it. Andrew isn’t Reggie, though. I know that deep down. Andrew’s more important to me than I’ve allowed myself to believe. Maybe Bell too.
Is that enough reason to put us all at risk of getting hurt? Since day one, I’ve tried to protect us from the long-term. We could be together for a night. For three nights. Hell, if I had a month left to live, I’d enjoy him every day of it and as much as possible. Does that really mean anything, though?
As soon as the question forms in my mind, I know the answer. It actually does mean something.
Maybe it means a lot.
TWENTY-FIVE
ANDREW
There’s still an hour until butts out, and even though I rarely partake like the chimneys I work with, today, I come up from a tricky engine feeling particularly agitated. I’ve been at it all morning. I’ve tried everything I can think of to get it to work. All the guys have taken a look. The only option left is to call in Burt. Burt knows everything there is to know about automobiles, and that’s why his hourly rates are astronomical. I end up eating the cost since it’s not the customers’ problem I can’t do my job.
I wipe my hands on a rag and throw it at the car. “Fucking piece-of-shit lemon,” I say. “Someone get me a cigarette.”
“Only got one left,” Pico answers, closest to me.
“So? I gave you a job when you were homeless and had never seen the inside of a car.”
“I lived with my mom,” he says defensively. “And I’d worked at Bob’s Motors for months before you finally hired me.”
“Whatever. If someone doesn’t put a cigarette in my hand in five seconds, it’ll be butts out permanently. Don’t fucking test me right now.”