30. Will
Chapter thirty
Will
Mia has resigned herself to the idea that she will be running the resorts, but when I try to encourage her to think about how she wants to do that, the panic that she knows nothing about how to run a resort floats to the surface.
In some ways, I know her panic is deflection; hell, I’m deflecting too. I’m spending a whole lot of time and energy focusing on all sorts of silly things to try to help me think about anything other than the fact that Mia isn’t mine. Maybe if we can just have a regular night, things will go back to normal. Luckily, I have had plenty of practice over the years pushing down these feelings of want, and focusing on her, instead, which is coming in handy right now. And today, I desperately want to help her feel better about her choice.
I’ve brought a takeout curry to Mia’s place, and while we eat, Mia fills me in on her conversation with her boss, and her parents.
We finish eating, and after a few moments of silence, I say, “Alright, we need to crack into this. This is new to you, but I do this for my job. I can help brainstorm some stuff with you, if it’s helpful. I don’t want to overstep, and I know you’ll figure this out yourself, but if you want a hand, I’m happy to help.”
Mia’s shoulders sag and she sits back in the chair at her kitchen table, the tiny frown lines between her eyebrows smooth for a moment. I give myself a tiny moment of celebration, knowing I caused that relief.
“It feels like so much to ask. It’s your job, and you’re a contractor, and it’s literally…”
“I’m doing it because you’re my person, Limpet.” I butt in softly, before she can reel off unlimited excuses. “Anyway. Have you spoken to Clo? She’s been uncharacteristically quiet.”
If I know Mia—and I do—she won’t commit to anything before she has the time to think it through, weighing up the pros and cons and probably consulting with a professional.
“Not really. We had lunch a couple of weeks ago, but other than quiz, I haven’t seen her much.” She gets up, waves away my offer to help stack the dishwasher, then we move to the living room. “Okay. If it’s a genuine offer, and you’re not feeling pressured or whatever, I’d love your help on a plan.” She studies me. “But only if it’s a genuine offer.”
“Let’s get into it, then. What I do with all my clients is something called a ‘day one, year one plan’. You’re a planner, you’ll love this.” I write ‘day one’, ‘week one’, ‘month one’ and ‘year one’ on the top of four pieces of paper.
Together, we set goals for her, and I help her work through what ‘good’ looks like for each of those goals. I’m surprised to see that she’s neither paralyzed when making decisions, like she often is in her personal life, nor confident and focused like I sometimes see when she’s taken impromptu work calls. Instead, she’s in a strange hybrid place, where she’ll make decisions, but second guess herself. I see a change in her by the time she’s done—her seeing that she has my full confidence seems to help her to set loftier goals, and by the end, she’s even able to laugh as we talk through some of the choices she needs to make.
As we’re working through her plan, it dawns on me that while her running the resorts will be a big change for her, it will be a big change for me too—Mia, a person who has a good, but normal job becoming Mia, a person running a multi-national company is a strange thing to watch your best friend do overnight.
The worries I have about what would happen if we manage to make a relationship work spark up in me again. How will it work, with her traveling? What will it feel like, building a life with a person with the insane amounts of power and privilege that come with being that rich? Maybe that isn’t even something I need to worry about. Maybe she’ll never want me. And her being this rich—well, she gets the pick of anyone , doesn’t she?
“I just don’t see how I’m going to do this by myself,” Mia says as she flings herself onto the living room rug, her year one goals completed.
“What about Abigail? She was helping you out with the interviews, right?
“Abigail?” Mia ponders as she twists her back. I wonder what she would do if I just straddled her, pressed my hips into hers.
“She’s good at organizing stuff. And she already knows about the resorts, so that’s one less conversation. You guys seemed to get along,” I say, ticking each point off on my fingers. I lay back on the couch, hoping to get less of a full-on view of Mia.
“We do get along, at least.”
God Mia looks hot from this angle. She’s wearing yoga pants, and a loose t-shirt, with some sort of soft bralette situation underneath which does nothing to hide the curve of her breasts. A sliver of her pale stomach shows as she lifts her hands above her head, back arched. I’m wearing what I call my ‘lounge clothes’. We’d firmly established this as the norm for years now. If I’m hanging out at her place after work, I always pack a pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt to change into. I get jealous sitting around in uncomfortable jeans or work pants while Mia always looks so comfortable and cozy. Besides, there’s something so domestic and intimate about both wearing ‘house clothes’ together. I love it. It lets me pretend for just a moment that she’s mine; that I won’t be leaving and going home to my flat alone.
I nod. “So why not see if you can contract her for a bit?” I watch her mull it over, practically seeing the gears in that beautiful head of hers churning as she thinks through every possibility.
“You’re really good at your job, you know?” she says, crawling toward me (god, does she have any idea what that does to a man?), then adjusting so she’s leaning against the couch next to me. She stretches her legs out in front of her, bending to hold her toes, pulling herself into a stretch.
“I mean, that is why I’ve had to close my books. We’re full, baby!” I raise my eyebrow and give her a cocky grin. Immediately, I wonder whether it’s too much.
“Oh, I just remembered—I meant to bring this up earlier. Last week, Abigail suggested I take everyone on a little Christmas holiday. I was stressing about not having told the others that I’m going to be working at the resorts, and I feel like things have been weird with the group lately.”
“So, what, rent a little place, and hang out for the weekend?” I couldn’t help but let my mind drift back to the last time we’d stayed in the same place. I’m glad things feel more normal between her and I again, at least.
“Basically, yeah.”
I glance over at Mia. “How do you do that?”
“You can’t reach your toes?” She flexes her toes, then wraps her hands over her feet, all the way around to her heels. “Don’t you and Matt go to the gym like six days a week?”
“Four, and I can tell you, we never touch our toes at the gym.” I reach down, fingertips reaching to mid-calf.
“Just reach further?” She suggests as she watches me wiggle both my fingers and toes and get no closer. “Is it easier if you stand up? Maybe gravity helps?”
I clamber to my feet with an old man groan, and am horrified to see her jump up, then bend in half, hands flat on the floor.
“Okay, gravity, do your thing.” I reach down, getting further than before but still not within striking distance of my toes. My back spasms, then pops without warning. I jerk upright, rolling my shoulders. “Fuck me, is my back supposed to click like that?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “Sometimes it does, it’s just your spine decompressing or something.”
My brow furrows. I am not convinced.
“Maybe try bending your knees, and you can practice every day?” she suggests.
We keep stretching for a few more minutes then collapse back on to the floor. Well, I collapse; she keeps stretching. I roll my head sideways to look at her. “I love doing this stuff with you, Limpet.” I lean back and close my eyes, reaching blindly for her hand. I grab it and squeeze. She squeezes me back and doesn’t let go. “There’s no one else I’d rather be spending my evenings with.” I hope she knows I mean as more than friends.
Her voice is quiet. “Me too.”