“Okay, whoa. Back up a step.” She leans forward, her hazel eyes gleaming with the intensity of a shark smelling blood. “When and how did this happen?”
Grinning, I tell her the whole story, beginning with the mix-up in identity. “So yeah,” I conclude, “I have a date tonight.”
“With Marcus the hedge fund manager,” she says incredulously. “Who pretty much stalked you to your apartment and sent you cat food. And gave you sex dreams.”
“Yep.” My grin widens. “The one and only.”
Kendall and I rarely get to see each other during the weekdays, but I have this Thursday off, so I decided to come up to Manhattan to grab coffee with her.
I had to see her reaction in person.
She doesn’t disappoint. “Emma!” My name comes out on a high-pitched squeal. “Holy shit, I’m so proud of you! Bagging Mr. Hedge Fund!”
The other customers in the café look our way, but I’m too excited to feel embarrassed. Ever since Marcus’s text, I’ve been trying to come off this strange high, but I can’t. I’m so hyper I barely slept last night, but I don’t feel the least bit tired.
I have a date with Marcus.
“Do you know what his fund is called, or how big it is?” Kendall asks, bringing me out of a feverish day dream that involves Marcus’s hands and other body parts. “Or what his last name is? In general, have you looked him up? Do you know if he’s married, single, or divorced?”
“No and no,” I say, fighting the urge to blush at Kendall’s innocent mention of “big.” “I’ll ask all this tonight. I’m sure he’s not married, though. This Emmeline sounded like a blind date, and he wouldn’t be doing that if he already had someone.”
“Oh, please.” Kendall snorts into her coffee. “Don’t be naive. Men do all sorts of things for pussy. Besides, you’ve just met the guy. For all you know, he could be a serial adulterer.”
“True, but I don’t think so.” I could be totally off base, but Marcus didn’t come across as someone who would cheat—not once he was in a committed relationship, at least. For a moment, I wonder what happened that day with Emmeline, but then I dismiss the thought.
If he’d clicked with her, I doubt he would’ve asked me out.
“All right,” Kendall says, flicking her long dark hair back over her shoulder. “Just remember: do your due diligence, because men are dogs. Or if the feline analogy works better for you, tomcats. You’ve always dated schmucks who couldn’t get two women if they tried, so you don’t have a lot of experience with this—”
“Gee, thanks. Glad to hear you have such a high opinion of my charms.”
Kendall has the grace to look embarrassed. “Look, I’m not saying you’re not attractive—you just tend to gravitate toward guys who don’t make you feel threatened in any way.”
“What?” This conversation has definitely taken a turn for the weird.
Kendall sighs. “Emma… Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just not a risk taker, okay? You like to play it safe, to have everything be comfortable and routine. That’s why you’re still in Brooklyn instead of sunny Florida, why you’re working at that little bookstore instead of trying for something better, and why you hide behind your cats and your ratty clothes and your books—and men who are the way you perceive yourself, instead of the way you really are.”
“Wait, what?” There’s so much bizarre psychobabble there that I don’t know what to tackle first. I can’t believe Kendall has these opinions of me. “You yourself said that I’ve turned into a cat lady, so how exactly am I misperceiving myself? And I am so a risk taker—I freelance, remember?” My voice rises with indignation. “As to why I haven’t moved to Florida with my grandparents, you know full well that the majority of the publishing industry is here, and if I want a career in it—”
“But you don’t.” Kendall gives me a steady look. “A career in publishing might’ve been your goal once, but you’ve told me yourself that the industry landscape is shifting, and the big publishers aren’t what they used to be. That’s why you’re able to get all those freelance editing jobs—which, by the way, is something you’ve been content to do halfheartedly on the side instead of trying to make a real go of it.” She crosses her arms. “Face it, Emma: You’re in Brooklyn working at your very first job because you don’t like change.”
“That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is.” She uncrosses her arms and picks up her coffee cup. “That’s why you wear your clothes until they literally fall apart on you, and why you only date guys who stand no chance with another girl as pretty as you. As to the cat lady thing, I just said that because you’ve been neglecting yourself, and I wanted you to do something about it—which you clearly did.”