1. 2
My jaw drops. “Amy Marie, you are not cyber-stalking this man.”
“Oh, come on,” she objects. “What if he’s a serial killer?”
“It’s not like this is Sloane. I doubt I’m going to see him again in the city.”
She clicks her tongue. “You never know. What’s he look like?”
“Dark, slicked-back hair, big, brown eyes, clean shaven, tall, handsome, fills out a suit well.”
Her eyes light up. “Sounds delicious.”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
Amy points a finger at me. “Okay, what is that?”
“What is what?” I point back.
“The disappointment I’m picking up in your voice.” Her eagle eye doesn’t miss. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nick’s … nice. I’m sure he’s perfectly datable if I ever see him again.”
“Perfectly datable? Where’s the heat? The passion? A hot man bought you and four other people in the office coffee, and not cheap coffee, I might add—good coffee. If it happened to me, I would have jumped him right there, witnesses be damned.”
“How are you still single?” I divert my eyes.
Having a best friend who’s known me for years means I don’t have to say anything—she’ll say what I’m thinking for me.
She narrows her eyes. “It’s him , isn’t it? He’s not Jase?”
I meet her question with silence, confirming her suspicion. It’s not that there wasn’t heat with Nick, but it was brief, a fluke, a …
“Kate, what’s it gonna take to get over that asshole? He broke your heart, what, six years ago? You’ve got to move on.”
“I am moving on.” And it’s not that simple …
“Cheap one-night stands do not count.”
I shoot her a look, but I know she’s right. Jase isn’t knocking down my door, but I’d be a fool if I ever let someone get that close to me again. I take another sip of water and change the subject. “By the way, did I tell you what the guy from last night said this morning?”
She lifts her coffee and taps the lid. “I wanna have your babies?”
I wince. “Close?” I say with one eye closed. “First, he called me babe, and you know how much that makes me want to hurl.”
She nods, ever the supportive friend.
“Then, he asked if he could see me again and, I quote, ‘tonight.’” I make air quotes with my fingers.
Amy fumbles with her cup. “He asked what? Whatever happened to one-night stands being cool, casual, this-is-no-big-deal kind of people?”
“Thank you!”
“What’d you say?”
“I think I said, ‘We’ll see.’ I don’t know, I kind of pushed him out in his boxers and left.”
Amy half-claps. “Atta girl, we don’t need guys like that getting ideas … with Jase still tying up your mind.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you I’m working on it.”
“Yeah, yeah. All I’m saying is if you see Nick again, you should go for it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Okay. If I ever bump into him again, I’ll consider letting him buy me a drink.”
“And dinner. Okay … meeting notes.”
Our conversation shifts toward headlines, deadlines, and how extra Lucy was during the morning meeting.
After the shop talk, Amy jumps up. “I’ve got to run to another meeting, but I’ll be over for The Bachelorette tonight.”
“Perfect. I have plenty of wine and frozen pizza.”
She scrunches her nose and, on our way out of her office, says, “We’ll spring for the good stuff.”
To Amy, the “good stuff” is Dominos. A city full of pizza options, and she’ll order Dominos.
“For the millionth time …” I lower my voice on my way to my cubicle, “… you can get Dominos anywhere. If we’re ordering, let’s try a big ol’ oozing slice from Nina’s. Please?” I all but beg. “One time?”
“We’ll see,” she sings, then in a serious tone, “Nice buzzword, but no oozing . That’s too much—even for me.”
“Move.” Lucy sprints down the hallway in her black stilettos, glasses never moving off her face, bun standing firm.
“Where do you think she’s going … and how does she make it look graceful in heels?”
Amy shakes her head. “Lucy never has a single run in her stockings, did you notice?”
I laugh. “Now wouldn’t that be a great blog topic?”
“Sure would, but you better get me the ‘New Year, New You’ article first.”
My smile falls. “How’s tomorrow?” I’m half-joking.
“Five o’clock, today.” Amy counters.
I look down at my half-bitten nails. “Yeah, I’ve got some plans at five …”
“If you’ve got time to think about oozing pizza …” She grimaces. “You’ve got time for a five-hundred-word article I know for a fact is on your to-do list, Kate Dailey.”
Touché. “One New Year’s piece headed your way.”
Ten minutes to five, I Slack the New Year, New You: Letter from the Editor article Amy’s way with a note asking for feedback. I glance at my reflection in the hall mirror and release an audible phew: my long, auburn hair has managed to stay straight in its pony, my black eye makeup hasn’t run too much, and my skirt spent the entire day covering my underwear instead of tucked in it. Miracles do happen. I plug my earbuds in and draft my latest blog post on the way to the subway.
Have you ever had one of those days?
You know the ones, where you need to put on pantyhose, hosiery, stockings … it doesn’t matter what you call them: hell sticks. Ask any woman. They suck. Sure, they may “look nice” … for, maybe, five whole minutes. Then, they become the bane of a woman’s existence. If you’ve ever watched The Princess Diaries —particularly, the scene in which Princess Mia is in the back of the limo, rolling around trying to get the damn things on, cursing, screaming, and unable to sit still—well, the image you have in your head is exactly why … There is no “good” way to put on a pair of stockings.
I’m home in record time, even after a stop at Bone Appetit for Hyla. The key turns in the door, and I hear her collar jingle. She runs over to greet me as soon as I step into the all-white space.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I say, leaning down to scratch her tan ears. She rolls over for belly rubs, and I can’t deny her fluffy self all the pets. “I’m sorry about this morning, babes, but I got you the good treats to make up for it.”
Hyla sniffs the Bone Appetit bag and stretches. She hops when I grab her leash and let her out.
We’re no sooner back inside with Hyla’s crunchies poured and my bed sheets changed when Mama calls, right on time for our weekly chat.
“Hey, Mama, how are you?”
“Hey, sweetie, I’m miserable as usual; thanks for asking.”
A Pop-ism. It brings a smile to my face thinking of the sweet man my grandfather is and how his ‘catchphrase’ that never suits his personality has become a thing in our family. Even for his daughter-in-law.
“What’re you writing for the blog this week?” Mama’s question brings me back to reality.
“The trouble with stockings.” I put my phone on speaker while I plop the comforter back on the bed.
“Oh, Lordy, that’s gonna be a good one.” Occasionally, my mama’s Southern accent comes out strong. “How’s my sweet grand-dog?”
I glance over at Hyla, who’s finished her dinner and passed out in her dog bed, a smile on her face. “She’s good, off to dreamland.”
My mama audibly sighs. “So cute. Send me pictures when we hang up.” She is almost as obsessed with my dog as I am.
“Will do. How’s everything there?”
“Everything’s fine, sweetie. Just grabbing some groceries for dinner, and—oh joy, there’s Matilda. I should go before she harasses you, too. Love you, sweetie. Can’t wait to read the newest blog.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
She hangs up and I quickly take a photo of a sleeping doggo to send to Mama, as requested, and wish her luck escaping the town gossip as quickly and painlessly as she can.
She replies with two emojis: heart eyes and praying hands, just as Amy rushes in the door with Chinese food and a large bottle of white wine. “I’m early, I know, but I’ll get some glasses poured while you work on your blog.”
I rush to the kitchen to help Amy with the bags she’s holding. “I thought we were throwing in a frozen pizza, or, you know ‘getting the good stuff.’ I also know I told you I had wine.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but there’s a new place down the block, and it smelled amazing, so I just got us another option. You know, in case you decide you don’t want to die from plastic pizza … and the wine was right there, easy peasy.”
I audibly sigh. We’ve had this discussion many times. “It’s not plastic. It’s amazing, and you know it.”
“It’s no Dominos.”
“Now who’s talking about plastic pizza?”
Amy gasps and looks around the space as if she’s addressing a crowd, “Kate Elizabeth Dailey—you take that back. The Pizza Gods can hear you; don’t make them mad.”
I lift my hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’m about halfway through this post, so go ahead and get started, and I’ll join you when I’m done.”
“You got it, sister.”
Amy knows her way around my tiny apartment. She moves around my cabinets, grabbing a plate, a napkin, and chopsticks, and selects a variety of food in the boxes and cartons she brought over. She brings everything over to the couch and places it on the coffee table before going back to pour some wine for each of us.
Hyla wakes up and walks toward the coffee table, but Amy’s quick and slides right into the spot, grabs her plate, and sits with her legs underneath her on my twenty-dollar, thrift store couch. Hey, if it ain’t broke …
She waves a chopstick at Hyla and says, “Not today, doggo. You know I like you, but there’s no way I like you enough to give you my Mushu pork.”
As if on cue, Hyla tilts her head to the side, looking impossibly cuter.
Amy just snorts and looks at me. “Are you seeing this shit?”
I nod. “Oh, I see it. She’s a master manipulator, especially when there’s food involved.”
Amy shifts her plate to her left hand and attention to my weekly blog. “Are you going with the stockings post?”
“Sure am.”
She takes a bite and tries to speak while she is chewing. “Love it.”
My stomach growls, and I close my laptop. My hunger overtakes my willingness to finish the post. I’ll get back to it later. I walk the three steps from the sectional to the kitchen counter, helping myself to some General Tso’s chicken.
She follows me into the kitchen to top off her wine. “Is the Nick you met Nick Scott by chance?”
I turn to try and grab a water glass. “Oh my God, yes, that’s it! How’d you know?”
Amy blinks innocently. “Told you I’d find him.”
I exhale. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
She nearly jumps on the couch from a few steps away. Pulling out her phone, she clears her throat. “Okay, let’s see. He’s a lawyer, doing well for himself. A lot of connections on LinkedIn. Grew up in Jersey, moved here for work, no recent relationships, so no crazy exes you should worry about.”
My mouth falls open. “You found all that on a first name and a vague description?”
Her smile widens, proud of herself. “Yep. I’ll do anything for my bestie … especially when Jase is still haunting you after all these years. You need a good guy to take your mind off him, if you know what I mean.”
I roll my eyes. “I told you I’m working on that.”
“Yeah, yeah, all I’m saying is if you see Nick again ...”
I take a big chug of my Moscato and raise my eyebrows at her. “Yes, okay,” I cave. “I’ll give it a try. If I ever see him again.”
“That’s all I ask.” She puts her feet up on the coffee table and turns on The Bachelorette , “Now, let’s see how Hannah does in picking her match this week.”
“Hopefully, better than me.”
“Hopefully, better than all of us.”