Chapter Nine
Coffee? Rachel texted later that week.
It was Wednesday and she knew I often left work a little early for kickboxing, and the Fourth was tomorrow. She knew I’d be free. K. Our place, 4:30?
That was all I could muster to write back. I hadn’t been transparent with Rachel how off-the-rails this entire Mackenzie Miller situation had gone. The push-pull, the flirting and hurting in equal measure. The kiss, and his painful admission. I didn’t know why it wounded me so much. It wasn’t like I was looking for happily-ever-after for me…or my dream man. He didn’t exist.
Rachel hadn’t asked, likely thinking I’d listened to her and let the futile project go. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when I walked into our favorite coffee shop and found her sitting at a table of people, including two women and one man. I’d bet anything the man was single and this was a setup. Rachel waved and I glared before ordering a soy latte. With my beverage in hand, I made my way to the table.
“Hi.” Rachel stood while speaking. She was too chipper and anxious for my mood.
“Amber, you remember Frankie?” I nodded at Rachel’s friend from the ad agency where she worked. “And this is Amber’s partner, Robin. And their good friend, Oli.”
It took all of my being not to roll my eyes. Oli, a funky hipster, was the last person I needed.
I knew my friend meant well, but I wasn’t in the mood. “Nice to meet you,” I said to the newcomers before turning to my phone.
“We are starting the holiday off early with a barbeque later on Oli’s deck. Want to come?” Rachel flicked her hair and winked at me.
Oli was cute, with sandy blond hair, long around his ears. He probably was a graphic designer and a musician on the side. I noted a small tattoo on his pointer finger, a quarter note, and knew my suspicions must be correct.
“Oh, shoot,” I faux exclaimed, staring at my phone, pretending to get a text. “A client left something at the store. I need to go retrieve it before they head off for the holiday.”
Rachel eyed me suspiciously and asked, “Talk later? Or maybe see you at the barbeque?”
“Sure. I gotta go. I mean, I’ll text you in a little. I don’t think I can do the cookout. Bye, Amber. And Robin and Oli.” My voice cracked in the middle, and I gave a halfhearted wave to make up for it and hurried out, no intention of following up with Rachel until the morning. As I knew, she could be pushy with her agenda but I loved her. Mostly.
Not wanting to waste my beverage, I took a walk on the High Line and settled in a rhythm of mindlessly sipping and overthinking until it was time for kickboxing. As I rushed into the studio, signed in and changed, I felt bad for the rest of the class with all the anger running through me; I was ready to kick through a wall.
And that was before I walked into the room and saw Mack standing there in his dumb black athletic shorts and gray T-shirt, chatting up Roy. Well, he did look so handsome, and that angered me even more.
It wasn’t like me to make a scene, but I couldn’t help the loud growl and punch that emanated from me. The problem was my fist landed right in Mack’s gut and he was now doubled over, threatening to puke by the sound of it, and I had definitely caused a to-do.
“Fuck, did you have to wound me?” Mack spoke through gritted teeth as I paced in front of him, waiting to see if he was okay.
“Apparently,” I answered. “You deserved it, and now you’re invading my space, my place where I find serenity. Why?”
We moved to the side of the room, without touching, a fissure of electricity running between us.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sick of hearing that from you, and I was the one who walked out, I’ll remind you.”
“It was because of me.” He finally stood and leaned against the wall.
I noted Roy started class without us. “You kissed me.” I said that part softly, making sure no one heard me.
“No offense, Miss Priss, but this is New York. People kiss and have a good time, if you know what I mean, without it leading to marriage or blows. But not you. I couldn’t keep it up without making sure you knew how I felt. And I was right. You ducked for cover before running.”
“‘Miss Priss’? You’re seriously going to call me names? All because I’m not one of those people who gives my kisses out for free.” I murmured the statement, but it was the truth.
He nodded. “I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a few weeks. It’s not my style.”
“How sad. You’re what? Forty-five?”
He nodded again, making me worried he couldn’t speak. “Forty-six.”
“You deserve more than you think, Mack. I’m not saying with me, but your grandmother wanted that for you. I’m sorry about your mom. You got the shitty end of the deal.”
“Did you just curse?”
Shaking my head, I said, “I’m going to join class before I kick you.”
For reasons unknown to me, Mack followed me and participated too, holding the bag for my kicks. “I’d rather do this than be on the receiving end of one of those,” he joked.
As sweat lined the nape of my neck, I didn’t feel any better. There was no resolution. I didn’t know any more about Rosie. But in the process, I felt myself falling for this man. A man who didn’t believe in love or commitment or romance or really anything… He’d made it clear.
This very man interrupted my thoughts. “Want to do dinner?”
“Why?” I couldn’t help the terse tone rolling off my tongue. “You confuse me.” I was honest.
“You confuse me right back, if I’m being brutally honest,” he said back.
“No dinner. Not tonight.”
“Maybe another night?” he half stated, partially asked. He knew I was wavering, and that sucked.
I had to work on not being so readable, so I didn’t answer Mack on his sort-of question. Walking toward the shower, I was still mad at myself. Of course I’d agree to another night because I was a goner when it came to feelings.
Which was how I ended up accepting a dinner invite less than forty-eight hours later.
I’d been coming out of the organic fruit market when my phone rang. It was a private number, and being a fool, I said, “Hello?”
“Hey,” he said back, his voice gruff and hoarse.
My feet came to a dead stop on the sidewalk. “Mack?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
I slid over toward the store’s window so I didn’t get trampled by busy New Yorkers.
“What are you up to?”
“Buying some fruit.” I sounded like an idiot.
“Oh, yeah? Making a smoothie?”
I finally got my mojo back. “What do you need, Mack?”
“I was calling to see if you were free for dinner. Maybe a walk and dinner? A show? Whatever you feel up to…”
I tilted my head back, allowing the sun to shine on me, maybe warm my chilled heart. I’d spent the Fourth of July sulking and decided to not allow my mood to ruin the weekend. “Whatever? What are you talking about? You made your point. You don’t do sentiment or long-term emotions. All I wanted was your help with my Paps. You can’t even do that.”
“I’m trying to make it up to you.”
“Make what up?”
“I don’t know. Can we just do dinner?”
“Why didn’t Corey call?” I started to walk toward home. I had to allow some of the anger, want, need, and confusion to move out of my body.
“Because this is personal.”
“But you blocked your number,” I blurted out.
He laughed on the line, the rumble touching my nerves and flickering down my spine. “My number is always blocked. If it means you’ll say yes, I’ll give you my digits. You already know my address.”
“Oh, that’s an easy one to find. It’s online. I even know how much you paid for your penthouse in Hudson Yards.”
“Figures.”
I countered his sarcasm with a question. “Do you cook?”
“Me?”
“Yes…” I was taking long strides, making my way home, fast and furious. Even though my brain said to slow my roll, my heart pumped a steady beat, wanting me to have dinner with Mackenzie Miller. And I needed to shower, change, and pluck my eyebrows before doing so. “You,” I finished my thought. “You said your grandma was all about cooking. Do you cook?”
“No. Sadly, no, I do not cook. She would be disappointed in me.”
“Okay, so let’s cook. You want to have dinner? We can make it.” Honestly, I had no idea what I was suggesting, but the fear of being dumped at a restaurant again—by Mack—loomed large.
“Ooookay, we’ll cook. And the groceries?”
“Why don’t you come up to my end of the island, and we can shop and then prep at my place.”
“Are you inviting me over, Frances?”
“I guess I am…against my better judgment.” Luckily, my small touch of sarcasm returned. “I’d hurry up and ask for my address before I change my mind.”
“That’s okay, I found it. Right here, on the internet.”
“Touché. See you later?”
“Sure,” he said and hung up before we could nail down a time.
I assumed he’d be over around five or six, giving me time to ready myself and my place. Heading back to the Upper East Side condo, my anxiety was hitting all-time highs. What if he didn’t like my apartment? Or me? Oh wait—he didn’t like me. He was doing me a favor, I reminded myself.
I was fluffing the pillows on the couch, still wearing my street clothes—jean shorts and white blouse with the sleeves rolled up and the bottom tied in a knot on the side—when the doorman called up.
What the heck? Looking at the clock, I noted it was a few minutes before four.
Opening my door, I said, “You’re here.”
“I was out when I called so I figured why not come over.”
“We said dinner…are we having the early bird?”
He crossed the threshold, taking in my apartment.
I took him in—jeans, white T-shirt, sneakers, wide smile—he was unrecognizable from his typical staunch suit and firm smile.
“Nice place. I didn’t take you for a UES lady with all the boxing and running off at the mouth. Little stiff up here for you?”
Ignoring me, he roamed the open living space, stopping to look out the window next to my treadmill, his elbow leaning on the side rail. “You use this?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, I like it, when it’s dark or cold.”
“You take the classes or just run?”
“Classes. If you don’t get credit or a blue dot, does it even count?”
“Didn’t take you for a Pelo-junkie, but noted.”
I noted he knew what a Peloton-obsessed person was.
“I like it here.” He seemed to switch gears. “Feels like a good space. Homier than mine.”
“Older,” I corrected.
“That too. But less severe. Rounded edges and crown molding.”
“Would you like some water? A beer? I think I have a few.” I didn’t want to examine my apartment; it was where I lived, but it didn’t hold warm memories.
I turned toward the kitchen area, and when I was sure he wasn’t looking I licked my lips, checking to see if I still had lipstick on.
I did.
“I’m up for a drink. You have a bottle of wine?” he said behind me.
Standing in front of the fridge, I thought this could not be weirder. The man had told me less than a week ago he didn’t do commitments, relationships, or anything of the sort. Now he was here, unannounced, seemingly wanting to hang out. If I thought about it too much, I’d get a migraine.
“This your Paps?”
Turning, I saw him holding the picture I loved, but hated to share. “Yeah, right before he got sick.”
“You look so happy here.” His finger traced my face.
I nodded. “He wasn’t,” I blurted.
“Hmmm, a story there. Maybe open the wine first. Then, you can dive in…to both. The wine and the juicy tale.”
“Did you want to go get groceries instead?” Sweat pooled under my arms. I opened the freezer pretending to look for something, cooling off. Checking my supply of ice cream and thinking it would be needed later.
“Why don’t you tell me what we need, and I can send for it…then we can relax with the wine.”
“No, you can do something like regular people,” I pushed. “Not all of us send out for whatever we please.”
Opening a bottle of white wine, I poured a healthy amount into a glass and looked at Mack. He nodded, and I gave it to him. It was part familiarity I didn’t understand, and half weird as hell.
“Cheers,” he said, making himself comfortable on the sofa.
“It’s kind of weird you being here. Stalking me, I might add.”
He chuckled and crossed his ankle over his thigh.
I found myself sitting on one of the kitchen stools across from him.
“The picture. Time to tell me.”
“I was married.” I said it fast, ripping the Band-Aid off. My close friends knew about my past, and well, I didn’t welcome new people into my world very often. I guessed I’d brought Mack into my life unknowingly. “It didn’t work out, end of story. No happy ending, like my Paps. Maybe it’s the family curse. That was from my engagement dinner. I was so happy because I believed I was getting my fairy tale despite everyone saying it wasn’t possible. My Paps for sure knew otherwise. He pretended to be excited for me, but I knew he wasn’t. It was a bittersweet night. I was making one man happy and the other was miserable inside.”
Mack nodded but didn’t interject an opinion or pity.
“I got this apartment in the settlement,” I somehow felt compelled to add. “So, you’re right, it’s not entirely me, personality wise. And also correct in that I couldn’t afford it on my salary—originally.”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You thought it,” I interrupted. “It was a parting gift following the worst few months of my life.”
Again, he didn’t condemn. “What happened?” He spoke like he actually cared, his tone soft, deep, but compassionate as he asked me about the darkest time in my life.
“Why do you want to know?”
He took a slug of his wine. “I told you my mom named me after a soap opera star. I mean, what nice Jewish boy is named Mackenzie? None. Maybe it was on purpose, I don’t know. What I do know is I’ve not shared that tidbit with anyone. Why I picked you, I don’t know. There are a lot of things when it comes to you, Frances, that I don’t get.”
After gulping some wine, I spoke softly. The words came out of me as if he was a trusted friend. “He didn’t want kids. We didn’t discuss much more than that. We were young, having fun, and he was making a lot of money. We both grew up on Long Island, and we were living the good life in the city. If I’m being honest, I thought one day he’d change his mind. Everything took a very dramatic turn when I ended up accidentally pregnant. The minute he found out, he left. Walked right out that door and filed for divorce.”
I swallowed and looked up to find Mack on the stool next to me, his palm burning my bare thigh.
“I did what I could. Cried, tried to reason with him. But there was none of that. He was immovable on this issue. What’s crazy is we grew up with one another, and I don’t know how I never believed him when he said it.”
Mack spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We signed an early settlement agreement based on him taking care of the baby up front with a lump sum, but not being personally involved. The apartment would go to me. He’d made a huge hit on a startup, and he’d bought it outright.”
“I’m glad you were taken care of.”
His gaze roamed the room, looking for evidence of a child. With his brow furrowed, I could see the confusion in his mind.
“I lost the baby. Twenty-five weeks. After my sister helped me deliver a stillborn, my Paps made sure I still got everything out of the settlement, including part of the lump sum, even though I didn’t have a child with him anymore.”
I felt the tears fall before I could stop them from flowing.
“Frances.” My name was a whisper on his tongue.
“It’s okay. I’m okay now. I was working so hard, trying to prove myself in my job, and so stressed over being a single mom. I don’t think I provided a very good home base for her. She rejected this life, and I’m at peace with it.”
He gathered me tight and held me. The soulless man who didn’t do commitments—that was who I poured my heart out to. Shows you, I never learned my lesson. Always trying to change people.
“No one deserves a happy ending more than you.”
“This is my ending. All I need to do is figure out what happened with Rosie and my Paps, and that’s it.”
He shook his head and took a sip of my wine before tilting the glass to me. “Then let’s drink to doing that.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of his sudden change in demeanor. I’d dropped a bomb in the middle of a war zone, and he was changing course. Maybe he was being sweet and diverting my attention. Or perhaps it was too much for him to deal with…
I assumed the latter when he suggested we go get the provisions and toast to our grandparents’ story. All of a sudden, Mack Miller was compliant and congratulatory—it was confounding, yet I liked it.