Chapter Thirty-Two
“Guess what three months of shitty real estate cases just got me,” Charlie announced Monday morning as he strolled into the office, proudly waving a small envelope.
“Courtside seats to the Knicks,” I guessed without looking up from the billing tracker. I had completely forgotten to track my time the day before and was now trying to reconstruct billable hours from emails.
“Think bigger, DeFiore.”
He pulled out two tickets and slid them across the desk.
“Orchestra seats to The Nutcracker. This Saturday. And not just any Nutcracker—the OG Lincoln Center one.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Just so I’m clear: You are saying that The Nutcracker is cooler than—”
“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I’m from Boston. We live and die for the Celtics. Larry Bird, not Patrick Ewing.”
“Oh, right.”
He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head.
“So . . . you free this Saturday?”
I looked down at the ticket. “Why would you waste a completely baller night on me?”
“Friends don’t let friends talk about themselves that way.”
“I’m serious. Annabelle’s not free?”
He gave me a look. “I haven’t gone out with Annabelle in almost a month. Not since the date with that girl you set me up with.”
“Margaret.”
“Not since the date with Margaret.”
“So Annabelle’s shelf life was forty-eight hours and . . . two dates?”
“Why aren’t you jumping on this? Have you even seen The Nutcracker before?”
“What about Margaret?”
He shook his head.
I inspected the tickets. “Orchestra seats, wow. This is fancy. I heard women wear gowns.”
“I’m sure we can find you something.”
“Between now and Saturday? I don’t know.”
“Come on, Sam. I’m starting to feel like you just don’t want to go.”
“I’d love to go. But maybe take a beat and think if there’s anyone else you’d rather go with besides your officemate.”
“Nope. And after we’re done classing it up, we can meet my sister and her friends at Scallywag’s in Midtown for some Guinness and tater tots.”
“Your sister’s going to be in town this weekend? You don’t think she’d want the ticket?”
“They’re all coming down to play indoor golf at Five Iron. They do it every few months. They always end up at Scallywag’s because it’s close to her friend’s apartment. They’ll probably be blacked out by the time we meet up, but it’ll still be a good time.”
His persistence felt genuine. I was aware of how easy it was to spend time with Charlie. But I wasn’t ready for another relationship, and he wasn’t someone I could treat casually.
He tapped his fingers on the desk. “So?”
He looked so hopeful and earnest, I almost felt guilty.
“Okay, if you insist. And no, I’ve never seen it.”
He looked pleased. “You’ll love it. And in the interest of full disclosure, my ex is going to be at the bar. She’s still in my sister’s group of friends.”
“Which ex?”
“Kristen, my college girlfriend. We broke up right after she started law school.”
“Are you guys still in touch?”
He shook his head. “I was pretty beat up about it for a while. We actually haven’t talked in years.”
“How come you broke up?”
He rubbed his jaw. “She slept with a guy from her 1L section. Like, the first week of law school.”
“Ugh. Not cool.”
He nodded. “I think she does employment law for a local firm somewhere on Newbury Street.” He paused. “Honestly, it was for the best. I couldn’t see myself staying in Boston.”
“Is she dating anyone now?”
“No idea. I don’t ask Perry for updates.”
“Perry is your sister?”
He grinned. “You’ll like her. She’s two years younger than me but way more mature. She got engaged last year.”
I held back the unsolicited opinion that being engaged doesn’t necessarily equate to maturity.
I texted Caroline asking if she knew the appropriate attire for The Nutcracker. She responded immediately to book an appointment with Rent the Runway on Fifteenth Street.
I stopped by on my way home later that evening, hoping they could fit me in.
A tall, stylish brunette walked over with an iPad in hand.
I told her I needed a last-minute dress for The Nutcracker and wasn’t sure where to start.
She disappeared and came back with four dresses.
When I tried on the last dress, we both knew I’d found the one: a deep-red floor-length sleeveless dress with an open back and a high neckline.
As I waited for the stylist to process the gown rental, I texted Charlie.
Crisis averted. Found a dress. I’m going to look insane at that pub.
He responded immediately.
They’ll all be too drunk to notice. Actually, no. They’ll be just drunk enough to think They’re underdressed.
“All I can say is that is a dress,” Charlie said as I climbed gingerly out of the Uber Black I’d ordered for the occasion.
I hadn’t been this accessorized since my wedding.
The gown was slightly too long. I was wearing the tallest heels I had, my three-and-a-quarter-inch black suede pumps I’d gotten on sale at Bloomingdale’s in SoHo.
I had dug out a pair of vintage clip-ons I’d gotten years ago from an estate sale.
I wasn’t used to wearing earrings, and I’d only worn the heels once before.
“You have five minutes to show me I’m not the most overdressed person here.”
“I already went inside to use the restroom. You’re the least dressy in the two- to eight-year-old demographic.”
“Humiliating.”
I hiked the gown as we approached the steps up to the David H. Koch Theater. Charlie extended his arm.
“Do I look that unsteady?”
He shook his head. “You just look like a woman who is supposed to be escorted up these stairs. Is that sexist?”
I laughed. “Probably. But if I trip and rip this dress, I have to buy it.”
“You rented it?”
“It was Caroline’s idea.”
He reextended his left arm. I took it lightly and pulled the dress up with my other hand.
The orchestra seats were from a real-estate partner whose wife decided she’d rather go to a fashion designer’s holiday party.
“My mom took us to The Nutcracker at the Boston Ballet every year when we were kids,” he whispered as we walked through the lobby.
“You can tell me what happens then. I don’t like surprises.”
“No way. The suspense is the best part.”
We ordered two glasses of champagne, and I sipped it slowly as we watched New York’s elite bribing dolled-up children to pose for pictures.
“I don’t think I ever realized this, but The Nutcracker is actually not the place to be if you don’t have kids,” Charlie marveled as he handed a third iPhone back to a parent asking for a family photo.
I chuckled. “I still say this would be an incredible date night if you wanted to impress someone.”
“So you’re not impressed.”
The bells chimed as the lights flickered.
We found our seats in the third row of the middle orchestra. There wasn’t a child in sight, but we were surrounded by much older couples.
“Think you can make it to intermission?” he asked.
I noticed Charlie’s eyes were glassy.
“Are you—high?”
He patted his pocket. “Edible. Want one?”
I shook my head. “I can’t mix champagne and edibles.”
All I’d eaten since lunch was a protein bar. The warmth of the theater was making me feel sleepy. I sighed and relaxed into the chair. A few minutes later, I looked down and felt Charlie’s knee pressed against mine.
I didn’t move. We were used to spending hours a day sitting a few feet apart in our office, but we’d never sat this close. I looked at him from the corner of my eye to see if he noticed. I wasn’t sure if it would be more awkward to move away or just pretend like I wasn’t paralyzed by the sensation.
The stage moved in and out of focus. I studied his left hand resting on top of his knee, suddenly feeling the urge to move my right hand closer to his.
I replayed Connor’s self-satisfied words about When Harry Met Sally.
I was tipsy and he was high. It felt like the room was getting hotter.
My knee burned.
I sat completely still and reminded myself our friendship was more important than whatever tricks my body was playing on me. As soon as the curtain went down for intermission, I jumped up.
He stood up and shot me an amused look. “You kicking off an early standing ovation?”
I tried to think of something clever to say, but I was shaky. I really wished I had eaten something.
I turned toward the aisle before he could see how flushed my face was and excused myself to the ladies’ room.
The hallway leading to the restroom was lined with mirrors.
I kept checking my reflection to see if I looked as manic as I felt, but all I saw was a dolled-up version of myself in a long red dress.
Had I just hallucinated that entire first act?
I wondered if the last forty-five minutes had been anywhere close to the same experience for him.
I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face. I climbed the stairs up to the lobby, almost tripping twice, wondering if I should make up an excuse to leave. If I made it through the next act, my pragmatic approach to our friendship was going to be crushed.
He was waiting by the door to our section. He handed me a granola bar. “Snagged this for you,” he said with a huge grin.
I was sure I’d imagined everything.
“Shall we? The second half is the best part,” he said with so much conviction, it made me laugh.
It seemed like he was intentionally angled away from me for the rest of the ballet.
Even without the physical distraction, I could barely pay attention.
My body was there, but my mind was a million miles away, trying to regain the pragmatism about our relationship that had been decimated by his physical proximity.
I tucked my clutch and the program under my right arm and mimicked a sincere ovation.
“Want to grab a slice of pizza before we meet up with Perry and her friends?” he whispered.
I nodded. I needed food and fresh air.
We walked a block south of Lincoln Center and hailed a cab going down Broadway. I watched him turn on his iPhone and realized he’d turned it off during the performance, rather than just switch to silent like everyone else. I had no idea why, but something about that made me smile.