Chapter 6 #2
Eventually, my vibrant sexual feelings faded into muted platonic ones, like a polaroid left in the sun.
An easy friendship followed. I set him up with Ally, and they settled down north of the lake while I lived a tame, Pacific Northwest version of Sex and the City, dating programmers in puffer vests instead of stockbrokers in suits. Craft beer instead of cosmopolitans.
But then Ally got sick. I moved nearby to help. And when she passed, Casey and I spent more time together than either one of us had intended. Platonic time. Best friend time. Completely above board, ethical, squeaky-clean time, during which I did the most idiotic thing and fell for him.
I thought I was alone in my feelings, but now I’m not so sure. Things have been changing between us. A deeper look. A longer hug. He’s testing the waters—or at least he was, until Helena arrived.
“Whoever this woman is must be pretty special,” Sarah says next to me now, and I’m surprised to see the game has ended.
We shuffle off the bleachers and both watch as Casey jogs over, Marvel franchise handsome with his corded arms flexing in the afternoon sun.
“A man like that doesn’t fall for just anybody. ”
“You didn’t sit with me,” Casey says, pretending to be hurt as he wraps me in a hug. Sarah gives me a look, but says nothing as she turns to find her own softball star.
“There wasn’t any room,” I laugh, “unless you wanted me sitting on your lap.” My face reddens. Oops. That wasn’t supposed to sound like that.
“Good.” He smiles. “You aren’t mad at me. Last night was so awkward.”
“It was fine,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I handled it badly. I was so wrapped up in how the girls would react, I didn’t consider your feelings.”
An alarm trips inside of me. “My feelings?”
“About me dating again. It wasn’t a secret. I just didn’t want to say anything until I was confident things were going well.” Casey’s eyes shine with excitement. “Lauren, something big happened last night.”
Tell me about it.
“I called you like a million times, but you must have had your ringer off.”
My ringer. My sweater. My skirt. My judgment. Lots of things were off, Casey.
“Maya dragged me to a UFC fight in the city. I didn’t get home until late.” I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind my ears. Come on, pheromones. Do your job. Make him see me as a viable sexual partner.
“Oh, good,” he says brightly. “You deserve a night out. A million of them. Because when I couldn’t get ahold of you, it hit me—”
That I’m an actual real live woman with lips you should be kissing?
“—how much I rely on you. For everything. Here I had this huge decision to make, and I was totally frozen until I could speak with you. And that isn’t fair. Helena made me realize that you have your own life to live, and I can’t lean on you as much as I do.”
Wait, Helena made him realize what?
“Back up,” I say. “What is this big decision you need to make? Maybe I can help you with it now.”
“That’s the best part. I went ahead and made it.” Casey puts his hands on the outsides of my arms, as if bracing me for wonderful news. “The girls and I are going to Los Angeles for the summer. With Helena.”
The wind knocks out of me like after a hard fall. I force myself to breathe, but it’s all for show. No oxygen is getting through. “Oh.”
“She was tapped as first chair for a trial against DreamWorks,” he continues, “and the war room is in LA. Trial prep starts now, and they’re on the carousel for a trial date first week of June, so we just thought, why not?
I can work remotely. The girls will be out of school, and you know how they complain when I try to stick them in day camp.
What better way to give them some much needed vitamin D than a summer in California? ”
Tears burn the rims of my eyes. I blink them away. “But you and Helena have only been seeing each other for a few weeks, right? Don’t you think it’s all a bit soon?”
“All the more reason for us to go with her,” he says in a placating tone. “Being apart all summer when things are just starting to gel between us would be detrimental to what we’re trying to build here.”
They’re building something? Other than photogenic Margherita pizzas?
“Where will you stay?” I ask.
“The firm rented out a home in Hancock Park, so she’ll be near the courthouse. It’s that style you love with all the terra-cotta tile and arched doorways—what is it? Spanish style.”
My shoulders tense. What is he talking about?
I’ve never said I like Spanish style homes.
They’re too swoopy. Too Dr. Seuss-y. The arched doorways are too low, and the tiny windows are too high, a recipe for claustrophobia.
I’m certain he knows this about me. I’m certain we had an in-joke about me ducking under rounded doorways at our local tapas restaurant.
What I like is French colonial. Calming symmetry.
Multiple windows. High doorways. How had he forgotten?
“What do the girls think?” I say, realizing it’s past time for me to speak. That’s how conversations work, Lauren. He speaks, saying something that breaks your heart. You make calming noises, so he doesn’t notice.
I’m out of my depth, my face wanting to crumple with tears, my mind boiling with reasons he needs to stay. He must stay.
“Emma is talking nonstop about Disneyland, and Zoe pushed back at first, as expected.”
As she should. Atta girl, Zoe.
“But Helena found a dreamy softball camp at Pepperdine right on the beach, so she’s warmed up to the idea. Now she’s as excited as the rest of us.”
We stand there, Casey’s face full of anticipation for my reaction, mine covered in the neutral mask I’ve manufactured. My approval is important to him; it always has been. But how can I give it to him for this?
“I know you’re blindsided,” he says. “But please … say you’re happy for me?”
Pain fills my throat. My arms feel full of lead when I bring him into a hug. “I’m happy for you.”
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you go without a fight.