2. Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Peyton
M y phone rings, but I’m deep into my data, so I send the call to voicemail. When the gods of biostatistics have one in their grasp, one doesn’t try to wriggle out. Even if the data is on the defecation patterns of primates in captivity.
Two seconds later, a text blips in from my best friend, Ashima.
Peyton pick up! 911!
This is followed by repeat ringing. Ugh—she has played the 911 card. If I don’t answer, then I’ll be sent into passive-aggressive purgatory.
“Hey—”
“The ring is missing! I need your help.” Ashima’s voice blares from my cell phone at an ear-piercing level.
I pull the phone away from my ear and lower the volume. “What ring? What’s going on?”
“How many rings are there?” She sighs. “You’re distracted. You’re on your computer, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say because she’s unlikely to agree that a deep-dive analysis on chimp poop is a good reason for distraction. I turn off my monitor. “My monitor’s not even on.”
“Okay. Good. Because I’m majorly freaking out. Remember how I found an engagement ring when I was cleaning up last week and how I told you I was pretty sure Nick was going to propose in a couple of weeks? Well, now the ring is gone.”
“I remember.” And I do, despite marriage and long-term relationships being of no interest to me. But I could tell this was very big news for Ashima, so I paid attention to all the details, including that Nick had booked reservations for no reason to some fancy restaurant. “But I don’t see the concern. Surely there’s a logical explanation, such as Nick finding a better hiding spot or something along those lines.”
“It’s the or something that I’m worried about. Max moving in has put a damper on Nick’s and my romance. Sort of like we went from being newlyweds straight to being an old snippy couple with a surly teenager. I’m afraid that Nick thinks this is our future, and he doesn’t want any part of it. And it doesn’t help that Max is constantly bashing being in a relationship. I don’t want to lose Nick.”
I lean back in my chair to mull over her conclusion. My gaze beelines for my favorite staring spot, a circular indent high on the wall, which I’m sure is from a poorly plastered hole to cover what had been an anchor for shelving. This is one of several hints that this tiny office used to be a supply closet. “You’re overreacting. Something else is going on. Maybe he lost it?”
She groans. “Why would you say that? You’re adding to my list of worries? And what if he did lose the ring—would this be a sign that we aren’t meant to be?”
The calmness of my data calls to me. If I defuse Ashima, I can return to my happy place. “Forget I said that. He didn’t lose it. I’m positive he moved it someplace else, to a less obvious hiding spot. Didn’t you say you found it when putting away his underwear? Isn’t that the first place thieves check for jewelry?”
“What are you trying to do to me? Now it’s stolen?” A thump punctuates her question as though she’s knocked her phone against something. I imagine her facedown at her desk. It’s a couple of minutes past three, so she wasted no time from getting her students on the bus to calling me.
“Deep breaths. That’s not—”
“If you’re suggesting it was stolen to make me feel better, then it didn’t work. Let’s face it—the man has cold feet.”
“Let’s slow down here.” There’s a grinding noise in the background of the call. “What’s that sound?” I ask.
“Electric pencil sharpener. Last night he told me some weird story about how he really had his heart set on checking out this particular restaurant, but his boss is a foodie and is in the know that the chef is on vacation, so now he wants to wait to go there when the head chef is back.” The grinding sound pauses and then starts back up. “Nick honestly thinks a regular McDonald’s cheeseburger is excellent because the tiny, chopped onions add just the right touch. There’s no way he cares about some head chef. This all points to him thinking he should end things.”
“That’s not true.” My own voice rises, and the poor ventilation of the room is increasingly obvious. I’m glad I’m alone in my teeny two-person office, because Ashima’s franticness is rubbing off on me. “If he’s gone through the steps of securing a ring, then he’s highly likely to propose. Though if I were you, I might take this time to reflect on whether this is truly what I want. With everything you’ve told me about Max, are you sure you want to marry Nick and have to deal with Max for the rest of your life? What if the fruit didn’t fall too far from the tree, so to speak?”
“Oh, I get your point. But like it’d be two pieces of fruit, Max and Nick, and it would mean their parents are secretly this awful, twisted tree, because in person they’re really such sweethearts.” She takes a deep breath. “No, no, Nick’s family is wonderful. Somewhere deep inside of Max is a hurt little boy. If I help him heal his inner child, then he’ll return to the good apple that he is.”
“Let’s hope so. Well, I think it’s safe to conclude that Nick’s found a better hiding spot. Don’t you?” I rub my finger over the power icon of my monitor. She’s walking herself back around to this side of sanity, which will allow for more flexibility in how much I respond. No, must resist, must keep the monitor off.
“Let’s say this is true. Then it means Nick’s pushed pause on proposal plans, so he secured the ring in a good long-term hiding spot. And why would he do that? Because Max is killing the romance, that’s why. Nick and I need more alone time. I need Max outta the picture. Please help me get rid of him.”
“What are we talking about here? Taking him out to the woods or something? I know a lot about insects…” I refrain from finishing the sentence. I don’t think it’s socially acceptable to brag about knowing which insects to obtain to take care of a decomposing body.
Ashima chuckles. “Hold on to that for option B. Option A is to get him a rebound so he’ll stop moping around over his ex, and then he’ll want more space for those intimate moments. And voilà! He’ll move out. Plus, I think if Nick sees how happy Max is, Nick will get over his cold feet. Problem is, Max barely leaves the condo. Someone needs to drag him out, which is where you come in.”
“There’s no way I’m going on a date with Max. I’m more willing to help with option B than any option involving me dating this dude.”
“Not a date. He refuses to go out with Nick and me. He doesn’t want to be the third wheel, so I need to make it like it’s a group outing. Just join us for drinks. There’s this total meat market of a bar that I want to take Max to. I’m hoping getting him out releases the old partier Max and he’ll rebound right out of Nick’s apartment.”
“And you’re truly not trying to set Max and me up?”
“I pinky promise, cross-my-heart, and swear to die. I don’t think he’s your type, though to be honest, I’m not sure what your type is. You never seem to give anyone a real shot.”
“Hey—”
“You know it’s true.”
Ashima barrels on, so I’m not given time to assess whether there’s any validity to her statement. “Anyway, I want less Max in my life, so having him date one of my besties wouldn’t actually help my cause. In fact, it would be the opposite of what I want. That would make him part of my inner circle. No, thank you!”
“And yet you’re planning to organize all these events where you’re guaranteed to be spending more time with him.”
“That’s a temporary price. Come on, let’s fix up Max. This will be our little project together. It’ll be fun.”
I wish my holding cell of an office had a window. I push my hair behind my ears. “As enticing as that sounds, I doubt he’ll be interested in hanging out with a stranger.” Nick and Max are from Atlanta, so I’m sure he has friends he could hang out with.
“But he’s taking no initiative, and I’m not patient enough to go at his pace. He needs a little push. Come on, you were giving me a hard time last weekend because I was busy. This is a win for everyone. You need something to do. Max needs to get a life. I need Max out of my life. Win-win-win!”
“Three wins. That’s hard to turn down.” Though my voice is thick with sarcasm, she has a point that my weekends have been lacking human interaction. I hate wasting effort by investing in people I’m likely to soon forget when I leave at the end of the summer. If Ashima and Nick get married, I may very well bump into Max here or there when visiting Ashima, which means this might even be a good use of my time.
Then my coworker and officemate, Harris, comes in. Our shared office is so small we have to be careful not to bang chair backs when we push backward, so there’s no hiding this is a social call, and I’d rather not provide anything for him to snark about. After three weeks of working together, I’ve already discovered Harris has a bad habit of pointing out others’ shortcomings.
“I have to go. I have a meeting. Let’s table this discussion for later. But I’m interested in your perspective. You’ve raised interesting points.”
“Oh, really!” Ashima’s voice shoots up an octave. “Great. Let’s discuss on a walk after you get off work?”
My corporate babble is backfiring, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. “Yes, that’s a good plan. Let’s put this issue to rest as soon as possible.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at five o’clock by the gate.”
“Perfect. Talk to you then. Byeeee.” As I drag out the last word, I ready my finger over the disconnect button. When she makes a “b” sound, I hit it.
“Big plans, huh, Peyton?” Harris asks.
“That was a work call.”
“Right.” He leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his stomach. “It’s fine. No judgment here. It’s good that you’re getting out, not spending another night home alone.”
His jab shouldn’t come as a surprise, but my defenses come up. “Like you have such an amazing social life after having been here all of a few weeks.”
“My entire weekend is booked up.”
“Good for you.” I can’t believe he’s one-upping me on social plans.
Why is everything a competition with him? Perhaps he has small gonads, which makes him feel inadequate, hence the need to establish his dominance within the postdoctoral intern group. The intern group of two people. Our time together will be short—establishing a pecking order is a waste of time, and ultimately counterproductive. Neither of us is guaranteed a spot at the end of the internship. Our fates are not tied—success for one does not equal failure for the other.
“You gotta hit the apps. Make things happen.” He drums his fingers on his diaphragm. “Summer’s too short. Gotta go get it. I have three dates this weekend.”
“That’s sooo impressive.”
I stop myself from continuing and spin around to my computer. I must not engage. Anyway, the argument would be pointless since the hard thing with online dating isn’t getting a first date, it’s finding someone with whom you share enough interest for a second. I focus on my unread emails to escape from any further conversation, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“How’s your shitty assignment going?” Since he’s learned that I’ve been tasked with monitoring a chimpanzee troop for constipation, he’s been a steady supply of bathroom humor.
“Ha-ha, so mature making poop jokes.”
“Not making a joke. Just wondering if you’ve gotten to the bottom of it. I’m sure all that research has you wiped out.”
I slip on my headphones. This is going to be a long three months sharing an office with too-cool Harris and dealing with matchmaker Ashima.
Strewn across the trunk of my car are the sweat-dried clothes from boot camp class, spread out to avoid them turning into a musty ball. I predictably forgot them there, but this is a happy accident as now I don’t have to wear my work clothes while walking with Ashima.
They pass the sniff test, smelling mostly like the toasted inside of a car, so I climb into the backseat with my clothes to avoid going through the security rigmarole to use a bathroom in my office building. Once changed, I run out to the meeting point where a trail going into the adjacent nature preserve passes by the research center.
Ashima approaches from the opposite direction from where I expected her. Even drenched in sweat, she looks better than I do. An edge of her bright yellow sports bra is visible under her spring green tank, both of which match the colorful splashes in her knee-length leggings.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
She wipes at the sweat along her brow. “About an hour ago. Needed to run to clear my head.”
“Perfect. We can keep this to a walk, as promised. I was afraid you were going to make me run in this heat.”
“We’ll see.” She rubs her hands together. “Hey, thanks for meeting me.”
“It’s hard to get out of it when we’re meeting in front of my building.”
“Exactly.” She points to my shirt. “Didn’t you wear that at boot camp?”
“Maybe.” I head down the narrow trail entrance, hopping over rocks and roots.
When the trail widens, Ashima catches up. “While running, I brainstormed some ideas on fixing up Max, and one thing is to clean him up. But now I’m second-guessing part of my plan.” She glances at my outfit to make it clear that it’s my help she’s second-guessing.
“Hey, watch it. This isn’t my preferred choice. It’s all I had when you called up last minute needing an emergency walk.”
“Fine. Fine. Sorry.” She throws up her arms. “I’m just feeling edgy from the ring disappearing and from living with Max for too long. The run did clear one thing up for me, though. I’m absolutely, positively, one hundred percent sure now that fixing up Max will solve everything. He was way more into his ex than I realized. I think he thought she was the one. He needs help to get back out there.”
The one. What a ridiculous notion. Coupling is about propagating the species. Having to find exactly the right mate would be biologically disastrous. The human species never would have survived if such a requirement as “the one” existed. “Funny, because everything you said has made me one hundred percent sure that you should talk to Nick. Why go through all the effort of finding Max a mate when there’s a more logical solution? Tell Nick it’s time for Max to move out,” I huff out as I struggle to keep up. The trail flattens and Ashima’s strides lengthen. Even in the heavily shaded forest, the air is still oppressively thick.
“I can’t. When Max asked if he could stay with us while looking for a new place, I didn’t mind. It’s what family’s for.”
We reach a paved road and come to a stop. The road makes a meandering loop through the nature preserve and currently is busy with other people exercising. I point my thumbs in opposite directions. “Which way?”
“This way.” She points downhill, which concerns me. With the wide smooth pavement, she’ll be picking up the pace to her fastest walk possible, which means a jog-walk hybrid for me.
“Fine, but let’s slow it down a tad.”
“Okay,” she says before dashing in front of an approaching family to the other side of the road.
I let the family pass and then jog to catch up.
“Where was I?” she asks. “Oh right, Nick. So I went on and on about how bad I felt for Max and that I was excited to get to know Nick’s family better. And all of that is true, but I also thought it would be a week or two, not seven or eight and counting.”
Ashima presses her hands to her face in dismay of her current position. “Nick gushed about how much he loves me and how wonderful it is that I’m so caring and that I’m so family oriented. Blah, blah, blah. After those glowing remarks, I can’t turn around and kick his brother out.”
“Like you said, the expectation was a week or two. The term on your statement has expired. Nick’s probably thinking the same thing—when the hell is Max going to leave?”
“I don’t think so. But it doesn’t matter. I can get Max out of the apartment on my own. Then Nick and I can return to how things were. Living together has been so awesome. I loved our lazy weekend mornings when it was just the two of us.” She jumps and spins as she says this.
I stare at her feet, which seem incapable of staying planted in one place. “You have lazy weekend mornings?”
“I wake up before him to work out, then I make breakfast, and we have our lazy morning.”
Yes, this is the Ashima I know. I wish I had half her energy. Both of us barrel ahead, ignoring the narrow suspension walking bridge as we pass it. If I were walking by myself, I’d stand in the middle to experience the sea-leg sensation, but Ashima is all business at the moment. The bridge will be there for another day.
She squeezes my hand as we power forward. “Once Nick and I pick back up where we left off, he can move ahead with his proposal.”
“You should propose to Nick. Then you wouldn’t be worried anymore. Problem solved.”
“That’s something you could do, but I’d never be brave enough.”
“Sure you are. And it’s not something I could do, because I’m never getting married.”
“Oh, of course, your commitment phobia.”
“It’s not a phobia. I merely don’t force myself to subscribe to societal practices that I view as outdated and impractical.” I punctuate my statement with a firm head nod. That’s enough about me. “You didn’t drag me here to talk about my dating life. Continue about Max.”
The road passes by the sandy beach of a creek below. On the other side is an abandoned tower that used to house a generator for the manor hidden at the top of the hill. Two guys stand on the beach, fishing in the small creek. The water seems too shallow to make it worthwhile, but I’m interested in learning the health of this inner-city creek and am curious about the ecology of the preserve.
“Let’s go ask them if anything is actually biting,” I say.
Ashima rolls her eyes at the suggestion and powers forward. “Continuing about Max. He’s really let himself go. He’s not maintaining his beard at all. His hair looks like crap because he hardly ever brushes it. I don’t know the last time he did laundry, because he’s starting to stink and it looks like he’s just rewearing the same things.” She glances pointedly at my outfit. “And worse, he’s also not cleaning up after himself around the apartment. I need to get him out of his funk, so he’ll actually want to take care of himself and move on.”
“If you won’t talk to Nick, then why not go directly to the source of your problem and ask Max to move out?”
“I hinted that he must be tired of having us around all the time. He said he’s always had roommates—that he prefers living with people. Also, he didn’t say it, but I can tell he’s depressed.” And unfortunately, Ashima has stumbled on a convincing point that something should be done.
“Getting him out and interacting would likely help with depression,” I admit with some reluctance. Logic is on my side, and Ashima’s ideas are tangential to a solution at best, so I am miffed to be the one moving to seeing things her way. This is a reminder of all the stupid things she persuaded me to do in undergrad.
“See, I knew you’d get it. And this is where I need your expertise.”
“I didn’t study psychology.”
“In a way, you did—humans are primates, right? Who better to tame the beast within?”
“You’re just trying to butter me up.” And I hate that it’s somewhat working.
“No, it’s true. Having you come out with us helps in so many ways. Max won’t feel like the third wheel. You can push him to potential dating prospects. I can’t do it because he likes to give me a hard time and will resist out of sheer spite. And what else…the more the merrier. It’ll be like a big ole party for Max.”
“Okay. I can see some of this.”
“And then I’ll introduce him to my hairdresser, Michael. He spells it M-I-K-A-L—I think so that it looks more European, but it’s pronounced as plain old Michael—and even with all his hair product, he looks like a M-I-C-H-A-E-L to me.”
“His spelling is very phonetic,” I say.
“Which Max won’t know about and Mikal’s understated look will be perfect to lull Max in and then wham—he’s convinced Max to update his entire look. It’s like a bro thing. I think that will help. Don’t you?”
“Do males of our species usually talk about hair? Also, I’m not sure how meeting someone who cuts hair will convince Max that he wants to have his hair cut. If you were to introduce me to a gynecologist, I wouldn’t suddenly want a pap smear.”
“Trust me, it’ll work. But I still have one problem. I haven’t figured out how to get him to clean up around the place yet.”
“Sorry to be a broken record, but have you asked?”
Ashima doesn’t answer, so the answer is no. She drops behind me as a lone runner approaches—a male of a similar age. He’s shirtless, showing off his muscular build, and his facial features are arranged and proportioned in a manner that I find appealing. I smile widely at him and lift my hand in a flirtatious manner.
When I moved to Atlanta, I set a rule of no sexual relations since I need to concentrate on work. It’s only a summer, so this is a doable sacrifice. To compensate, I have increased my flirting to release tension. It’s amazing how fleeting expressions of sexual attraction can lift the spirits and remove the need to actually do anything more.
The runner slows as he passes, flashing me a broad smile. His attention stops me from my planned third flirtatious move—a wink. I don’t want the flirting to go all the way to conversation when a run-by dalliance is sufficient. Thankfully, he continues forward.
As I move to resume my place at Ashima’s side, I peek behind me to check out the runner’s backside. He has also turned to check out Ashima and me, and we’ve caught each other in action. This time he stops.
“Oh sorry, I was merely appreciating your physique,” I say. “I’m not interested in anything else.”
Uh is the only response he can come up with.
“You have a very nice body. Good job maintaining your proportions. Keep up the good work.” I give him a thumbs-up and turn back around.
As we walk away, Ashima grabs the end of her ponytail and uses it to cover her face. “I’m so embarrassed. What if we see him again? We should go hide in the woods for the next hour.” Some unruly strands stick to her cheek when she releases her hair. She slaps at her face to remove them. “Why were you checking him out so hard? And why did you say that?”
“What? Did you see him? He’s worthy of admiration.”
“Can we just have a normal walk?” She fans her face, which has flushed pink.
I look back at the runner to confirm that he merited my reaction and I catch a last glimpse as he rounds a bend, disappearing behind the foliage. Oh yes, those are very squeezable glutes.
“I’m insulted. There’s nothing wrong with a little flirting.” I increase the speed of our walk. “And I’d like to point out that I obtained results.”
She stops and studies me. The edges of her mouth quiver. It’s as if she’s fighting the urge to tell me that I’m right. I put a hand behind my ear, pushing it forward, waiting to hear those sweet words.
“You know what, never mind about helping me with my Max problem. I can handle this on my own.” She walks off along the trail.
“You’re unbelievable,” I scoff. “Are you insinuating that I’m going to ruin your highly thought-out, extremely scientific plans?”
“Maybe I am. And they are highly thought-out. I don’t need a PhD to get Max a date.” She wobbles her head at me. “And in this case, not having one might be to my advantage.”
“Oh, is that so? I’ll have you know that my studies are perfect for this. As you already said, people are hairless primates, giving me years of studying primate behavior from which I can pull.”
“What? Are you going to bribe him to do tasks for you with cut fruit?”
I ignore this dig at my graduate work. “Perhaps I will. They do say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And I’ve seen firsthand how food can increase cooperation in both capuchin monkeys and grad students.”
Ashima snuffles a dismissive laugh.
“This isn’t as ludicrous as you think.”
“Eh.” She bats at a vine dangling above the path.
“That’s poison oak.”
To my great satisfaction, she jumps to the opposite side of the trail. “Seriously! Oh, no. I should wash my hand, right? Like immediately!”
I give her a thin smile. “Kidding. That wasn’t poison oak. But I think I proved my point.”
She wipes her hand on her pant leg and then stares at it as though inspecting for some proof of contamination. “That I shouldn’t grab at random plants?”
“That I know things.”
“Fine. Yes, you do.” She looks behind us, studying the trail. “I do need help getting Max out of the house, so since you insist, we’ll tap into your wealth of knowledge. I’ll schedule a happy hour for the four of us.”
She squares off in front of me. The gauntlet has been thrown down. There’s no way my pride will let this challenge go unanswered—I must prove to her my methods work. And actually, I think they will. That male runner stopped, and despite Ashima’s protests, there’s nothing embarrassing about getting results.
I clasp my hands. “I look forward to happy hour.”
Ashima surprises me by pulling me into a hug, her overflowing enthusiasm the opposite of the begrudging acceptance I expected. “This will be so good!” She saunters forward on the trail, but then says over her shoulder, “But I want to let you in on a little secret. I know things too. Like how in my classroom that if I tell the kids they can’t do something, then suddenly that’s exactly what they really want to do.”
And she’s bested me. I slow clap. “Well done,” I admit without reservation. It doesn’t matter. She was going to talk me into this anyhow.