Chapter 9 #2
She makes a face. Not an offended face, but one that looks like it’s considering a proposal.
“Not yet,” she says. “But I know it’s coming.
He talks about our future constantly. Marriage, the whole thing.
He’s basically desperate for it. It’s very sweet.
” She tilts her head. “But then in the same breath he’s talking about going back to Spain for a job!
Which would mean he’s away for months. Right when I need him present for all the planning,” She exhales, the exhale of a project manager whose contractor has gone off-grid. “Men,” she adds, as a conclusion.
I absorb this. I nod. There is something in the spinning of this story— the man who talks about marriage constantly, who is also obliviously planning an extended absence during the wedding planning— that I can’t quite square with the Rodrigo I met yesterday.
But then again, I’ve been wrong about people before.
I have been wrong about people in ways that have cost me considerably.
“What about you?” Alana asks, and the way she asks it is direct and gentle at once, the way a person asks who actually wants to know. “You mentioned your boyfriend Tony?—”
“Tyler,” I correct her.
“Sure whatever, like, Tyler. You mentioned him yesterday. How long have you been together?”
The words pour out of me because my heart has been breaking lately, and— in an effort not to overwhelm people close to me, like Melissa— I’ve been trying to keep the whole picture to myself.
But I tell her everything. I keep the facts about work vague— I keep up the lie and say only that I’m head negotiator and it looks like I’m not getting promoted— but I tell her I don’t feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be in life.
I tell her about the dishes. About Tyler’s video games. About how I’ve never been more lonely.
“It’s not that he’s cruel,” I say, which is the truest and most frustrating thing. “He’s not. He’s kind. He’s just— kind in the way that?—”
“Prioritizes him?” Alana laughs. She taps my arm. “Honey, like, he’s just playing the game. You don’t even have your piece on the board.”
What game? I want to ask. What board?
“It’s okay,” Alana says, nodding at me. She has been listening with her full face, and her expression has gone very still and quiet. “I see you,” she says.
That’s all. Just that. And I didn’t know how much I needed to be seen until she said it.
I look at my coffee mug. My eyes do the thing they do.
“Don’t you dare,” Alana says, with a warning look that is also warm.
“I’m not,” I say. “I have allergies.”
Then, her eyes start watering, and for some reason we’re both tearing up. And then, in the same breath, we both start laughing at how ridiculous we are.
“You are so funny,” Alana says, which is something people tell me sometimes, but usually in the way they tell a child they’re funny.
“Okay,” she says, and sits up a little straighter, like she’s made a decision.
“I want to ask you something, and I want you to know there’s absolutely no pressure.
I mean it. It’s so far off that it’s basically hypothetical right now. ”
I wait.
“When the wedding eventually does happen,” she says, “Will you think about being my maid of honor?”
I do the math: we’ve known each other for less than forty-eight hours.
I don’t say this out loud because I don’t want to be rude, but— why would a woman this glamorous, this together, not have any better options?
Maybe this is the universe telling me that no one has it totally together. I should embrace it…. right?
“It would only be if we’re still close by then,” she says.
“Obviously. And if you want to. No pressure whatsoever. I just—” she looks at me, perfectly direct— “I travel so much that I don’t have many friends because I’m not usually in one place long enough to meet anyone.
But now I’ve put roots down in Chicago and– I don’t meet amazing people that often, and Melissa speaks so highly of you.
I feel like we get each other. I just think…
I’d want my maid of honor to be someone like you. ”
For a moment, the image of Rodrigo in a suit, getting married, flashes across my eyes, but I push it away. He’s not mine. It’s weird I can’t stop thinking about him. Be normal, Billie, I tell myself.
“Okay,” I say. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
She raises her coffee mug. I raise mine. We toast over hashbrowns.
Just then, the waiter brings our check. He leaves just as Alana grabs it.
“It’s on me!”
“But you paid for yoga—” I object.
“Oh, hush, you have to let me pay,” Alana says, then gets to investigating the charges. “Oh my gosh, like, he charged us for three coffees and we only got two.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
She takes the receipt to the counter and waits for the server, but while she’s waiting, starts chatting with a man sitting on a stool.
He’s in his late thirties— broad— and, judging by his empty plate, he’s been here awhile.
Alana touches his arm, and says something.
I can’t hear them because I’m too far away.
The man laughs. So does Alana. The man looks charmed.
Then Alana’s hand shifts from his arm to his forearm, and she holds it there— not gently, in the way you touch someone’s arm at a party. Rougher than that. Her fingers wrap, and something in the angle of her grip looks deadly. He’s nodding. He’s nodding vigorously. Wow, now he’s nodding… a lot.
She hands him the paper receipt and comes back, beaming.
“That nice man paid for our check,” she smiles at me. I look back at the man, who’s already got his credit card out.
“He… did?” I ask, stumped. “Why?”
“I recognized him from work. He knows my boss,” Alana says, shrugging.
“Plus, I can be pretty charming when I want to be. Stick with me, Billie,” Alana winks at me.
“You’ll learn how to get what you want. A little flirting never hurt anyone.
And if that doesn’t work…” she leans in like she’s about to tell me a secret.
“You can always threaten to have him tossed into the river, right?!” Alana cackles at her joke, and I can’t help but laugh along with her.
“Seriously though,” Alana says, her voice lowering.
“I can teach you this stuff. You need to learn how to grab life by the balls. You’d be unstoppable.
You might even get that promotion you want from negotiator to something…
bigger.” She waves her hand vaguely in the air.
Hot, sticky guilt runs through my veins.
I can’t believe I lied to Alana when I first met her— and now, I’m sort of trapped in the story that I’m a negotiator.
I hope Melissa doesn’t tell her I’m really just an assistant before I get the chance to set things right.
I should tell her the truth right now, but we’ve had such a good time, and I’m enjoying the way my new friend sees me— as someone successful, and worth knowing.
Oh, Billie, this is so lame. I promise myself I’ll tell Alana the truth some day.
Preferably soon. Before she finds out from Melissa and I’m caught in the lie.
As we pack up, I think about what it would feel like to be a woman who walks into a room and takes what she needs without apologizing for needing it. Someone like Alana.
Maybe this friendship is going to be good for me.