Chapter Six #3
I liked that Diane didn't know much about me and my family.
Usually the Whitley name preceded me. Most people had already made up their mind about me before we even met, women included.
More than once I'd had the impression that a woman had read every article available about my family history before we even went on a first date.
They knew where I'd lived growing up and where I’d gone to school.
It put me off completely. For whatever reason, they thought I was some fixer-upper they needed to put together.
Nothing was further from the truth.
DIANE
We sat down opposite each other at the dining room table and immediately dug in.
“This is delicious,” Gabe exclaimed, and I smiled. I loved when people complimented my food.
I took a mouthful, chewing slowly. “Yep, I nailed it. The sauce, the meat—I'm happy with it."
Gabe laughed. "You're analyzing it like a business proposal."
“Food is important to me. I want to get it right even if it's not what I do for a living.”
“Speaking of, do you ever want to go back to the hotel business, or do you prefer being a tour guide?"
“I actually love doing tours, but objectively speaking, working in the hotel has better pay, better opportunities. Career ladder and all that. Besides, I’d like to have a stable income. It would put my mind at ease, with Mom’s medication and all.”
Gabe stopped moving his spoon to his mouth and put it back down. "Your mom still needs help? Celia didn't say anything."
I shook my head. “It’s not like before. It's not an emergency situation, but her regular medicine is not cheap. Mom’s been a diabetic all her life. The dialysis and her prescriptions are very expensive, and unfortunately, insurance doesn’t cover that much.”
“I can help.”
"No, Gabe. You've done more than enough."
I couldn't believe he was offering help again. Chuck, my ex, had been very cagey with his money. Not that I ever asked him for help, but he certainly never offered.
"What happened?" Gabe asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You're frowning."
"Just wondering… why are you offering to help strangers?"
"The people who work for me aren't strangers."
"I was just thinking about my ex. He never helped, and I never asked him. When things were a bit rough, I needed him to cover a portion of my rent some months so that I could help Mom. He flat-out told me that he didn't have enough funds to pitch in. And then he bought a Harley. Obviously everyone is free to do whatever they want with their money, but why lie? I’m glad things are over between us.”
Reflecting on those times definitely made me sad. If two people truly loved each other, wouldn’t they be there to help no matter what? At least that’s what I’d always thought. Of course, the men in my life—my ex, my dad—never did that.
"You know, the more I hear about that ex of yours, the more I realize what a moron he is."
I laughed. "He is. There's no mistake about that. Back when we lived in Portland, I worked at the hotel full-time and supported him through grad school. Then he got this good-paying job here in Boston. When I didn’t find a marketing position in a hotel, he pressured me into finding something else.
He insisted we needed another income because he couldn't support me and pay the rent.”
“After you put him through fucking grad school?" Gabe asked through gritted teeth.
"Yeah! That was a red flag right there, but I overlooked it. Anyway, after a while, he was promoted and started looking down on me." I sighed. "God, I’m so happy it’s all over. Let’s not talk about him anymore."
“As you wish.”
After we finished the lasagna, I leaned back to relax in my chair when it suddenly dawned on me that this wasn't part of the deal. I could use the kitchen but not lounge in the living room for hours. I immediately straightened up, taking the plates.
"That's on me," Gabe said.
“All right, that means I can get out of your hair quicker."
“I don't mind if you want to stick around."
"I've still got a ton to do upstairs."
He pinned me with his gaze. It was so unnerving that I needed to do something with my hands, so I grabbed our empty glasses and took them to the kitchen, moving right in front of him.
The kitchen was a mess, which was no surprise, as I always left it in a state of disarray after cooking.
I typically only bothered to clean up after I’d eaten.
I started to open the dishwasher, but Gabe caught my wrist, and the contact was almost too much. I almost gasped but managed to pass it off as a hiccup.
"I insist." He said the words in a low voice, his tone brooking no argument.
The kitchen was small, and there were far too many opportunities to brush against each other if we both cleaned up at the same time, so I threw in the towel. I was very susceptible to his touch.
“All right, thanks. But just because I’ve got a ton to unpack. I always leave a disaster in the kitchen until after I eat, and you can’t always clean it up.”
"We'll work out a system, and things will become easier to navigate, roomie.”
“Neighbor,” I said on reflex. The distinction made me feel better.
He lifted one corner of his mouth, and though he didn't say anything back, I knew exactly what he was thinking.
The truth was, we were obviously not just neighbors.