9. Dustin
Dustin
It's really nice to see you again? Am I stupid? She's mortified—rightly so, but so am I. She didn't need rescuing. She's a grown woman. I briefly entertain the thought that maybe the reason I came over had more to do with wanting to see her than rescue her. Shaking my head, I shoot that thought down and bury it six feet deep. No way.
So then, why am I still hanging around here? Sleeping on the floor was a god-awful decision. The lacy throw pillow did not have good neck support. And the hardwood floors have my back in knots. I really, really should not have come here. But at the same time, it is nice to see her when she's not actively trying to piss me off.
It's been such a long time. And her green wavy hair is so much more her than the natural sandy-brown. I knew back in the day she was meant for greater things than small-town Michigan. Hell, so am I. That's why I moved to Chicago and only look back every few months to touch base with Mom and Dad. But seeing her like this, living on her own in New York City?
It's what she's meant for. And god, it fits her. Regrettably, that's a hell of a turn-on.
"Well, I better get goin'," I announce, slapping my knees. Better to leave on my own terms before I make another not-mistake. Like she said, it wasn't a mistake, it was getting tension out of our systems . And tension is starting to build up in mine.
"That's probably for the best," she says with a nod. "And sorry for… telling Janine about our, uh, meeting. It won't happen again. I just had to get it off my chest, you know?"
"I do," I reply, trying very hard not to think about her chest. "I haven't told anyone—shit. Uh, Alicia knows, though."
"WHAT?" Brooke shrieks and claps a hand over her mouth. "What? Oh my god, how?"
"I don't know! She just… does! She told me to keep my pants on; I told her I would; she said oh Dusty, you didn't , and I told her nothing happened!"
"Christ," Brooke grunts. "I hope to god she can keep a secret."
"Me, too," I mumble. I'm not entirely sure why something like unease snakes around in my guts. Would it be terrible if we did it aga—Nope. Nope, that line of thought is getting chopped into a million pieces and buried right next to my other embarrassing thoughts .
Before I can say anything to make the situation worse, I give Brooke a polite nod, slide on my coat, and sweep myself out the door. Janine's building has a simple layout, and I can find my way to the street without much cursing. As soon as I open the door, a blast of wintery January wind slaps me in the face. Maybe embarrassing myself would have been a paltry price to pay to stay warm.
Luckily, the subway entrance is only a few blocks away, and I can be back in the corporate bed within… forty-five minutes. I stifle a groan and lumber off to the train.
One incredibly comfy nap later, my neck no longer feels like it's made of soldered steel. Out of habit, I pick up my phone and scroll through my notifications. Alicia sent a few photos of Orion and Nova. It looks like they made the trek to the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago. Orion looks absolutely ecstatic with his hand shoved into the touch tank. Nova looks… less enthused. Her skeptical little face forces a laugh from me, along with how her hands are bunched into her coat pockets.
I've missed a few emails as well, but what else is new? Nothing seems urgent and it can all wait until Monday. I'm about to click the screen off and queue up some horrendous TV to fill the time, but a new text comes in with a gentle vibration.
Brooke
I'm sorry again. Please don't ruin my professional life.
I smile.
Wouldn't dream of it. I'm sorry too. Will you get home safe and sound?
Yep. What are you doing this weekend?
Decompressing from the week. You?
Same. Thanks again, Dustin. I owe you one.
She owes me one. I'm sure she didn't mean it in any type of way, but my mind jumps straight to all of the things I've been missing since my last hookup. Renee—my last girlfriend—and I called it quits a little over a year ago. I haven't been a celibate monk, but nothing has lasted more than a few dates.
Maybe that's why I'm so hung up on Brooke. It's just the amount of time since I've had something real and the fact that she starred in every single one of my fantasies in high school. And college, who am I kidding? All throughout college. Even after she sent me that fucking Dear John letter.
Let me tell you, there's nothing sadder than your dorm roommate walking in on you cry-jerking to your ex's photo. Even worse when they don't let you forget it. It was a long two years before graduation.
I shake off the unpleasant memory. I'm just touch-starved, that's all. Nothing to do with Brooke and our past. She's got her own life. I have mine. It's all very normal. Exceedingly normal.
Though she does owe me one….
Oh my god, stop it. I huff out a grunt and force myself out of bed. I need to get Orion that souvenir or I'll never hear the end of it. Maybe I'll just… avoid Janine's shop. This is Manhattan—there are bound to be more kitschy bullshit shops than I can wave a stick at.
Opening the built-in armoire, I find my best wool pants and long-sleeved shirt. Wool socks, crisp blue button-down shirt, and top it all off with my black winter coat. I'm going out on the town, and no sub-freezing temperatures can stop me. It's not even as bad as Chicago winter. Heading for the door, I shove my keys in my pocket and leave all lonely thoughts of Brooke far behind.
Man, this building is ritzy. There's even a doorman. He offers me a polite smile and I nod back, heading into the gray wintery day, honing in on the next closest tourist shop. Janine's is the closest, but if there's even a chance I could run into her? No, thank you. I point myself in the direction of Times Square, which I think might be a mistake, but we'll see.
The fastest way is to hop back on the subway, but I think I want to walk. I want to see the city with tourist's eyes. Snap a few pictures for Orion. Unfortunately, my noble mission ends at the first subway entrance (two blocks down from the apartment) because the wind is absolutely screaming. I think my ears might freeze and fall off.
Winter's chill loosens its hold as I descend the grimy stairway. My last visit to the city was in the dead of summer, and the scent of stale urine nearly knocked me off my feet. It's still there today but muted. I shove my earbuds in and wait on the platform beside a group of silently stoic women. None of them look up from their phones as I approach.
That's what I love about this city. No one cares about you. I mean, that sounds bad, but hear me out. Someone screaming bloody murder for no reason on the train? Ignored. Someone singing their heart out on the street corner? Ignored. Someone ranting about doomsday prophecies? Ignored. You can be anyone—anything—and no one will look at you with judgmental eyes. Sure, they're judging—but they keep that shit to themselves.
It's marvelous.
And I get to put that practice to the test on the train because the instant I find an open seat, a group of teenagers start twirling around on the handrail poles. I fix a scowl on my face and focus on my cell phone, scrolling through social media. Maybe I can find Brooke with her new last name?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I've already typed Brooke Dunne into the search bar and… there she is. It doesn't seem active, though. Her last post was over two years ago. Her happy smiling face mushed up against some guy—I guess he's her ex-husband?—and her hair is dark brown. It's not her natural color, but also not the vibrant green that compliments her eyes.
Curiosity takes its hold on me, and I tap his name. Calvin Dunne. His page is much more active and completely public. There are photos of him and some raven-haired lady doing all the seasonal activities you could think of. The pair of them smile blandly at a pumpkin patch. They clink mugs of cocoa together, snowflakes resting on their matching knitted hats. Each of the captions references that they're getting out and about before the birth.
Oh, she's pregnant. Scrolling back a few months on his timeline, I find the pregnancy announcement and nearly choke on the laugh that bubbles from my throat. The woman—Katrina—holds up three pregnancy tests and exposes her flat stomach with the words 'BUN IN THE OVEN' written across it in pink marker. She couldn't be further on the spectrum from Brooke. Where Brooke is soft and curvaceous, Katrina is all hard edges and toned muscle.
Not that there's anything wrong with that. It just seems like ol' Calvin jumped into the deep end and found himself someone who would never remind him of Brooke. As I study the pair, I can see why he and Brooke didn't work out. He looks like every other suburbanite in the country. Scrolling a bit further, I snort out another laugh as he celebrates the purchase of a brand-new Tesla. Of course, he has a Tesla.
Brooke is too good for this guy. She's got spark; she's got fire; she's got personality. I wish him and Katrina the best, obviously, but Brooke would never be happy in this cookie-cutter life.
Jesus, I'm a mess. I need to get her off of my mind. The subway announcement lets me know we're arriving at my stop. I quickly hop up and exit the train as soon as the doors open. Ascending the stairs, I grit my teeth and brace myself for the sub-freezing winds that surely await me.
And god, do they await me. Freezing rain feels like shards of glass against my cheeks. Even though the weather is objectively horrendous, Times Square is a madhouse . Starry-eyed shoppers fill the streets alongside religious nutcase protestors. I roll my eyes at their hateful slogans and duck into the closest tourist shop.
A bored-looking teenager barely acknowledges me as I sift through keychains and tee shirts. I wince at the price of an 'I heart NY' tee shirt—$34.99—but I know it'll make Orion happy. I snag a box of NYC-themed building blocks for Nova as well before the highway robbery of this godforsaken store cleans me out.
The kid barely looks at me as he rings me up. I scope out the rest of the little shop. It's pretty quiet. Weirdly quiet, especially for Times Square.
"You know, you might consider some snacks in here." I smile at the kid.
"What?"
"Just sayin'. Might drum up business. You know, like locally baked treats?"
"Uh, sure. Here's your change." He drops the cash and coins into my hand and turns back to his phone.
Jesus, I'm stupid.