The False Flat

CHAPTER 18

LIFE REALIZATION #9: EVERYONE SHOULD OWN A GOLDFISH. JUST. IN. CASE.

True to her word, Deanna made me pie as soon as I got back to Nashville on Saturday night. I told her that Houston was spreading rumors about me, but I couldn’t tell her the ultimate reason the Fletchers had decided not to sign with me. Because what if she thought of me differently? I was dating the man I’d cheated with, and it didn’t seem to matter that I’d been unaware of his marital status or why I’d made the decision to be with him. And how could I explain that? From the outside, it looked awful. I couldn’t risk her looking at me the way the Fletchers had.

So I kept it all to myself, feeling isolated and unsure of what to do next. The thing was, the more I connected with others, the more I wanted to connect. So, four days after my return, when I was banging my head on my desk at the office, still reeling from the loss of what I’d thought had been a sure thing and feeling paralyzed with indecision, I called Deanna to ask her to lunch.

“I’d really, really love to, Pen, but I’m swamped.” Deanna’s voice was heavy with apology as she turned me down.

“My produce order just came in, and the stinkin’ arugula was soggy in the middle! I’m prepping for a fancy fiftieth anniversary party tomorrow, which means a mad dash to Costco ... right now. And we just got a bachelorette party order, also for this weekend. But I would’ve had to say no anyway because Grant and I had plans to meet at that horrible little meat ’n’ three he’s always going to. He’s the only almost-forty-year-old I know who willingly eats at the same place the nursing home field-trips to. Which reminds me, I need to call him! He’s probably almost there by now. Ugh, I’m such a horrible sister and friend.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear to exhale the sharp sting of regret. “You are neither. It’s not a big deal on my end.” It kind of was a big deal. I’d initiated a nonbusiness, recreational activity. Her refusal, while logical, felt like a kick when I was down.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. And we need to discuss that event to get you clients. In Nashville. Erin’s idea was perfect.”

Erin had decided I needed to use my WeWork office contacts, coupled with the networking site, to throw a party. She was picturing a concert, arranged by the husband-and-wife country music team, and sample massages from Piper to draw people in. She’d written a long email about it, likely because she felt sorry for me. Deanna loved the idea and swatted my second thoughts away like gnats. I really wanted to believe something like that would work, but I couldn’t get excited over it because nothing had panned out so far.

“We’re gonna do this. I’d love to chat about it now, but I really should call Grant.”

“Of course. We’ll catch up soon.” I worked the disappointment out of my words and spun in my chair. My knee hit soundly into the side of my desk, but I barely noticed because—Deanna might not be able to meet Grant for lunch, but I could.

My lower lip throbbed with the force of my bite.

Should I?

The last time I’d done something like this, I’d ended up in the hos ... won’t think about that.

Without thinking about anything, I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. The term “meat ’n’ three” had come up in conversation several times before I finally realized what they were talking about, but now, I knew the place Deanna was referring to.

I kept my head down in the lobby so I wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Handsy Piper. In my woe-is-me funk, I’d had one burst of business effort. I’d set up a meeting with Piper to discuss her personal finances the second week of June because it was the first time she’d had a gap in her schedule. Apparently she was good at her job and in high demand. Though I didn’t plan on ever personally finding out.

A glimpse at my reflection in the glass door to the restaurant made me pause and ask myself what I would tell Grant if he was in there.

He was my friend, wasn’t he? It wasn’t like I was trying to date him or anything. We were friends. He had Elaine; I had Chad, whom I l ... l ... liked a great deal.

This is innocent.I ripped the door open as if I owned the place.

Grant sat alone at a table in the center of the room, the sleeves of his blue collared shirt rolled up on his forearms. I lost my nerve, making a beeline to the stream of people getting food, as far from Grant as I could get without stepping into the ladies’ room.

When it was my turn to order, I pointed, aiming for the fried chicken breast behind the glass, but when the man in a white apron slopped some brownish meat dripping with gelatinous blobs of gravy onto my tray, I didn’t say anything. Though I did make sure I clearly pronounced my other choices so I wouldn’t end up with the alien greens.

What did it say about Grant that this was his favorite place to eat? I scooted my tray off the line and headed for a table, forcing myself not to look at him. It was like his body was giving off heat from across the room.

I slid into one of the red booths that lined the walls, my heart racing under my ribs.

I was repeatedly picking at a dent in the Formica tabletop when a familiar male voice said, “Penelope? What a coincidence.”

If by “coincidence” you mean planned, noncommittal stalking ...

“Grant?” I questioned, as if I was as surprised as he was. I flipped my flat-ironed hair back nervously, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on my awkwardness.

“This is great. Deanna had to cancel on me. Some salad emergency. Mind if I join you?”

I gestured to the other side of the booth, then tucked my hand under my thigh because I was shaking, which didn’t make sense, except that it did because I’d opened up to him. That was it, the reason for my awkwardness. He knew something about me that other people didn’t, which made him a slightly different kind of friend.

I was still working this out in my head as he said, “I’ll go grab my tray.”

As he walked away, I took a deep breath and turned him into the number ten with a charming monocle. I thought I was growing out of the number thing, but my shaking hands and spastic stomach suggested I might be better off talking to an integer.

If the number ten wanted to think this was a chance meeting, what was the harm in letting him do so?

“Completely naked?” I leaned forward, engrossed in the conversation.

“Completely naked.”

My back hit into the taut seat cushions as I raised my eyebrows at Grant. “What did you say?”

“What could I say?” He let his shoulders rise and fall. “I stood there for several seconds, hoping I was having some sort of episode. Then, when they invited me in like everything was normal, I turned around to find the cameras.” He forked a piece of baked fish and chewed. Halfway through the bite, he opened one side of his mouth and said, “No cameras.”

“You went in?”

“‘Shock’ is all the explanation I have. They seemed completely normal the first time we met to discuss their project. Delightful couple.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know what I said the whole time I was there.” He put his hands to his face. “At least the woman put a shirt on after their workout.”

“Workout? What kind of workout could they possibly ...”

“Naked yoga.” He shrugged again. “Very freeing, I suppose.”

I laughed, a little too loud, but it felt good. It felt good to be with Grant. A friend. The conversation was happening without effort, and sometime in the past several minutes, the numeral armor I’d mentally cloaked him in had faded.

“Who thinks it’s normal, or even slightly okay, to meet your architect in the nude?”

He stroked his mustache. “They were young and in incredible shape. Who knows, maybe if I’d ever looked that good, I’d have done the same thing.” He winked, and I did not picture what was under his clothes, but during the rides, his bikewear had highlighted promising features.

I shoved a ginormous bite of macaroni into my mouth. “Well, that tops any story I’ve got.”

He smoothed his napkin over his lap, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched me talk through my pasta. “I have a feeling almost any story you tell me will be more interesting than my naked client one.”

I swallowed the bite before it was thoroughly chewed. “How can you be sure?”

“Because you’re the one telling it.”

I was the queen of pretense, so why couldn’t I keep the flush out of my cheeks?

“Grant, don’t be cheesy.”

“Am I being cheesy?”

I nodded. “I’m actually not that interesting. Before moving here, the most exciting decision in my life was which bicycle I was going to purchase.”

With his elbows propped on the table, he replied, “Fascinating.”

I rolled my eyes. “So how’s Deanna’s B and B going, and are we getting dessert or what?”

“Oh, we’re having dessert.” His napkin slapped the table as he jumped up. “Stay right there. Then I’ll tell you how great my plans are going.”

He jogged to the line, and as I watched him from our table, a warm, fuzzy feeling settled in my chest. I decided it was the kind of affection and admiration a starved dog would have for the first person who gave her a hot meal. Right now, the rest of my life wasn’t charming, so my perspective was skewed.

These warm feelings toward Grant would pass, and we’d settle into a normal friendship. Until then, I’d pretend this was a normal friendship ... with a number ten ... wearing a monocle. Great ... I was diagnosable. But he wasn’t always a ten, only when I needed him to be.

He returned with two cups filled with some sort of yellow cream with a frothy, white topping.

I sniffed the one he placed in front of me. “What is this?”

“Taste it. And you should see Deanna’s place. They’ve got it stripped down, and she’s a beauty, like I suspected. But I do have one problem. I’m adamant on keeping this a secret. Deanna loves surprises, but I don’t know what goes in a B and B. I can find that out easily enough, but what goes in her B and B? And how trustworthy do you think Mere and Keyondra are? If I ask them questions, you think they’ll keep my secret?”

I loved that he was asking me these questions. “Am I the only one who knows?”

“The one and only.”

Tehehehe.

Get a grip!

“You haven’t said anything, have you?”

I shook my head. Our secret. If I kept his secret, maybe he’d keep mine, the fact that I was a mental case.

“I don’t really know Mere and Keyondra well enough.”

“Eh. I’ll probably have to tell them. Mere handles the finances. I think she’s the only one who could convince D that she can’t afford a place, which she can, but I don’t want her going out and buying something else.”

I nodded and picked up my spoon as he pointed to the corner of the room. “Do you see that couple over there?”

“The man in the blue shirtsleeves and the woman in the flowered dress?”

He nodded. “Fred and Doris. Excellent names, right?”

“Uhh . . .”

His jaw dropped, like he couldn’t believe I didn’t get it. “Fred and Doris ... biking terms.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I ride, but barely? I’m not like you guys. Anything more than yoga pants, a tee, and a helmet were foreign to me until recently.”

“You’re proving my point.”

“What point?”

He sighed.

“Are you actually irritated with me because I don’t know who Fred and Delores are?”

“Doris. And no. That would be irrational.”

“Which you are never.”

“Of course not.” His mustache twitched. “A Fred is basically an amateur rider. Doris is the female version of that. You’re a Doris.”

“You’re a Doris,” I countered, shoving my spoon into the wiggly banana pudding.

“I mean—”

“This is amazing,” I interrupted him. “I’m listening; I promise. But this is seriously the best banana pudding I’ve ever had. Right up there with snickerdoodles and chocolate chip cookies, my faves.”

“It’s why I come here. It’s like a tiny cabana boy’s massaging my taste buds.”

“That’s your metaphor? A tiny human in your mouth?”

“You got something against cabana boys?”

“I just—never mind. Have you tried the other desserts?”

“When something’s this good, why would I need anything else?”

A flush worked its way down my body. He was talking about pudding, but my ridiculous mind was traveling elsewhere.

“I guess that’s fair.” I turned back to the couple while scraping the bottom of my container, the contents of which I’d already devoured. “So, before I rudely interrupted you about this very fine dessert, what were you going to tell me about ... Fred and Doris?”

His forehead crinkled with delight. “Worth the interruption. But to address another possible one, I’ve seen you eyeing my dessert.” He lifted the clear glass container toward me. “Want a bite?”

I put a hand to my chest and leaned back in an act of manufactured indignation and ignored the vibration of a text in my pocket. I was taking too long of a lunch, but who was going to notice? It wasn’t like the boss was going to care. She was a flake whose talents were wasted because she didn’t know how to pull people in.

My spoon dove into his custard like an Olympian. “Tell me about Fred and Doris.”

“Every time I come here, they’re here. Same spot, same positions at the table. And they’re always having an animated discussion, as if no one else is in the room. I think they’re half the reason I come here, aside from the pudding of course. They remind me of my parents.”

We stared at the couple, and I wondered about Grant and Deanna’s parents. Deanna referred to them in the past tense, but neither sibling had elaborated.

As the elderly man leaned over the table toward his wife, she reciprocated. Their faces were only inches apart, their conversation intense and steady. There was also a lightness about it that came with familiarity, a bond between two people who knew each other better than anyone else in the world.

“I wish I knew what they were saying.” I shifted. “You know what’s odd?”

“Tell me what’s odd.”

“Usually older couples settle into a companionable silence, don’t they?”

He nodded. “You understand my fascination. They’ve been together for a hundred years, but those two are chatting it up like they’ve only just discovered they’re both marine biologists who specialize in microscopic phytoplankton.”

My eyelashes flapped. “Microscopic what?”

“Phytoplankton. Autotrophic single-celled microorganisms and the basis of marine ecosystems.”

“Are you still speaking English?”

“How about ‘tiny important water creatures that larger things eat.’ Better?”

I considered. “Mildly insulting, but better.”

Laughter rolled alongside his words. “I’m interested in that sort of thing. Forgive me.”

“Sounds like a snoozefest. Interesting! I mean interesting! Sounds interesting.”

He kicked me under the table.

“Ow!”

I threw my plastic spoon at Grant’s face, but he ducked in time.

“They’re going to kick us out of here,” he said.

“They’ll kick you out of here. I’ll plead self-defense and then sit in the window, eating the complimentary banana pudding I’ll receive for everything I’ve been through.”

“Is that so?”

My nod was exaggerated.

“I’ll simply convince them that I barely tapped your leg and then win them over with my good looks and outrageous wit.”

“You plan to develop an outrageous wit between now and then, huh?”

He pushed back into his seat as if he’d been shot. “I’ll have you know I have a sizable wit.”

This time my nod was placating. “You’re right. Sizable. Like microscopic phytoplankton.”

His snort drew the eyes of several diners.

He pulled the napkin from his lap and dabbed at his eyes. “Enough.”

“I wasn’t the one who started it.”

“And from the sound of things, you won’t be the one to end it.” He stood and then reached out for my hand. “Shall we?”

I removed the napkin from my own lap and placed my hand in his, trying not to read anything into the literal spark that was jumping between our hands.

At the door, I glanced back at Fred and Doris. The couple had shoved their empty plates aside and were going back and forth as steadily as they had been thirty minutes before.

A pang of longing shot through me. I couldn’t picture Chad and me doing that.

“Where did you park?” Grant asked, shaking me back onto the sidewalk and out of Doris and Fred’s marital anomaly.

I pointed to the parking garage.

“I’ll walk you,” he said, and we moved away from the restaurant to my car. “This was fun. I’m glad Deanna’s spinach was ruined.”

“It was arugula, and that’s a horrible thing to wish on your sister.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Arugula, spinach, watercress, I’m glad you picked today, and I’m glad Deanna couldn’t make it.”

I wanted to rip the wings off the butterflies in my stomach. I was glad, too, but now, I needed to get away from him because I’d glanced at his lips and felt something happen in my lower regions.

“I ... I need to go. My ... goldfish is hungry.”

In one seamless movement, I got into my car and closed the door before Grant could wonder how I’d known it was arugula instead of spinach or before he realized I didn’t actually have a goldfish.