His rage shattered with the compact. “I’m sorry,” he said, handing me back the useless powder puff. “I just don’t think you should cover up your freckles.”
Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, a result of both my embarrassment and the mourning for the designer makeup that cost three months’ allowance.
“They’re ugly.” I busied myself with retrieving the plastic casing and whatever makeup hadn’t turned to dust.
Christian just shoved his hands into his pockets, muttered something, and walked away. He left me to clean up his mess, still fuming. For days afterwards, he ate lunch alone and avoided me in the hallway between classes. I didn’t call to check on him. A week later, a replacement compact sat on the top shelf of my locker, a smiley face drawn on the box. I left a thank-you note in Christian’s locker and everything went back to normal. Just like that. We never spoke about the incident again.
As I watched Kendra lift Riley from his swing and adjust the sleeves of his jacket, I realized I never told her about that. It was a special memory, reserved for only me and Christian. The thought of him jarred me back to why we were here.
I decided to jump right in. “So, Kendra? Don’t you want to hear about this new girl?”
The walk home passed quickly as I detailed every tiny coincidence, every sign the universe had given that these two should be together. Kendra seemed equally amazed but, ever the skeptical one, she couldn’t stop poking holes in my plan. Mainly, that we would be rushing him to get past Marcy by introducing a new girl—or as she put it, “Hello? Rebound girlfriend?” Back at the Peterson’s house, Riley took his nap upstairs, while his mother stretched out on the couch and found the following problems with Savannah, and I quote:
“Christian doesn’t like blondes, does he?”
“What about that whole ‘opposites attract’ thing? I mean, look at Grant and me!”
“Won’t this complicate things for you at work?”
“What if Savannah is just some kind of photographer groupie? Aren’t the chicks at weddings always, like, salivating over him?”
And my personal favorite: “Do we really want to hang out with someone named
Savannah
? Ha! Think of their names together. Christian Savannah… sounds like some kind of missionary camp in Africa.”
Tired of the banter, I sighed, cradling my head in my hands. “Do you want to meet her for yourself? Maybe that would convince you.”
“No, no. I’m just playing devil’s advocate. Honestly, I trust your judgment in these matters. You
are
the more critical one.”
My head snapped up. “Not true.”
“When it comes to Christian’s girlfriends it is. You
hated
Marcy. And Tara. And Jeanine.”
“I did not hate any of them. I just want him to find someone good enough for him. So, I’m trying to do the work for him this time, find her myself.” I leaned back in the squishy, well-worn armchair and closed my eyes. “Look, it’s not like I’m arranging a marriage or anything.”
“You might be. He’s desperate to walk down that aisle. You know that.” Kendra yawned, stretching her arms above her head and her toes to the end of the couch. “I just want Christian to meet someone that isn’t a total weirdo.”
“And you can promise me that Savannah’s not a total weirdo?” She sat up on her elbows, regarding me with a well-practiced look of disbelief. I hesitated, a mistake when dealing with an incredulous Kendra. “I mean, how much can you really learn by
working
with someone, Tess? I work with Raoul and I know he has three baby mamas, child support bills bigger than my mortgage, and a gold tooth I’d like to punch right out of his face, but what do I
know
about him?”
“Doesn’t he play Scrabble every Friday?” I grinned at her, but she just scoffed at my bad joke. I didn’t want to admit it, but she had a point. Crazed women were really good at hiding their craze from one another. I’m sure Lorena Bobbit’s friends were stunned to hear she’d cut of her husband’s—ahem—
member
, thinking, “That Lorena just seemed so level-headed.” Then there was that crazy astronaut lady who drove cross-country in a diaper and a jealous rage—I’m sure the screening committee at NASA was not expecting that one. Could Savannah be a psycho girlfriend waiting to strike? I knew nothing of either her feelings on cleavers or adult diapers. If she did have a screw loose, how could I risk Christian’s safety like that?
“You know, it’s amazing that anyone dates these days,” I said after a moment. “You’re lucky you’re not out there in that mess anymore.”
“And YOU are?” Riley started to stir, so Kendra shut off the baby monitor, got up, and stretched. I thought I was off the hook until she turned, halfway up the stairs. “Speaking of, how are
your
prospects lately? Or are you only pimping out your coworkers for other people these days?”
I crossed my arms. “I think your son needs you.”
“Uh huh. But when I get back, no more deflecting,” Kendra skipped into Riley’s nursery, where I could hear her cooing Mommy-like greetings to her little boy. I loved listening to her talk to Riley, especially when she thought I couldn’t hear her. High school Kendra would’ve punched me in the face if I told her how enthusiastically she would one day extol the virtues of a poopy diaper.
In the meantime, I wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Grant was overtaking the kitchen table with his books, newspapers and laptop, a usual weekend occurrence at the Peterson household. He startled a bit at my sudden appearance.
“Hey there,” he smiled briefly, then continued speed-typing. “Big deadline Monday.”
“No worries.” Grant worked from home as a freelance writer, so he spent most days with Riley, working at night and on Kendra’s days off. I poured a glass of water from the Brita and slid into the kitchen chair across from him. “What’s the topic du jour?”
“Re-tiling your bathroom.” He sighed. “It’s for a home improvement magazine.”
“Do you know how to re-tile a bathroom?”
He held up a book,
Bathroom Renovations And You: A Beginner’s Guide.
“Call me Bob Vila.”
“Okay, Bob,” I patted him on the back. “You let me know when you want to freelance for Prime. I could use a person with impeccable grammar on my writing team.”
“Thanks, Tess, but I’ll leave the marketing jargon to the college kids.” He yawned, stretching his arms in front of him with his fingers interlaced. A few of his knuckles cracked. “Plus, investing’s not my area.”
“And home improvement is?”
He shrugged. “I can stand it and it pays the bills.”
I took a big gulp of water. “Grant,” I ventured on a whim. “How did you work up the guts to leave your job and start freelancing?”
“Well, I realized I could control a lot more of my life if I left the firm. The hours, the pay, the assignments. It was scary, and it was hard work, but it was worth it. Especially to be at home with the little man.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me. “Are you in the market? I didn’t know you wanted to write.”
“I don’t, not really. There’s a lot of marketing consultants out there who work freelance. I thought there might be some helpful carry-overs.”
“You’d be surprised,” he smiled, reaching for a stack of research papers. He flipped through, found the fact that he needed, and turned back to his keyboard. “I bet you’d do pretty well for yourself if you started consulting. A lot of firms are hiring outside talent now, you know.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “It’s fun to do little side projects like the Birch’s posters and stuff, but I don’t think I could make a career out of that. Who would hire me?”
“Around here? Plenty of people, I’m sure.”
I thought about this for a minute, turned it over in my mind. Working for myself would be freeing in one aspect, but I looked at my three friends, all working for themselves, and how much work they had to bring home with them. At least my work stayed at the office. Most of the time. “Well, it’s fine. I mean, I’m happy where I am. I just got promoted and all… my job’s good.”
“And the Oscar goes to,” he said grandly, looking up from the screen. “You know, I almost bought that. Everything okay there in Prime Hell?”
Laughing, I stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. “I’m just waiting for the latest and greatest to land on my desk, and I’m sure it will all be fine. I never like to stay in one position too long, right? Get back to work, you crazy writing fool. I’ll see you later. Tell Kendra I had to get going.”
“Tell me yourself,” Kendra said, standing in the kitchen doorway. Riley was propped on her hip, playing idly with a lock of his mother’s hair. “Running scared?”
I leaned in to give my godson a kiss. “No, I gotta get home. I’m pitching a new marketing outreach to my boss, so I need time to prepare.”
“All right, fine,” she scrunched up her nose. “I guess you’re off the hook for now, but once you get things in motion with Christian and his girl-to-be, we’re working on you. Riley, say goodbye to Auntie Tess.”
Riley smiled behind his blue pacifier and waved a frantic little hand at me. “Buh-bye, Anntess!” The pacifier tumbled to the floor and his face fell. “Uh oh.”
I agreed to babysit Riley in two weeks and then I was off, leaving the world’s most adorable family to the rest of their Sunday business. The sweatshirt I borrowed from Grant protected me from hypothermia during the journey home. I opened the door to my gorgeous apartment, grateful for the warmth but resentful of its emptiness. What would it be like to come home to someone? Maybe I just needed a dog. I had my new pal Finn, who I greeted stiffly, but the thought stuck with me like peanut butter on the roof of my mouth. I went to bed that night wondering if I’d been missing out on things more fulfilling than marketing copy and praying for the “latest and greatest” to distract me from my doubts.
****
My Monday morning was shaping up to be as manic as the Bangles once purported. For starters, I forgot to brush my teeth, locked myself out of my car—Kendra clicked the unlock button of my spare key into her cell phone and it totally worked—and accidentally called three of my interns by the wrong name. Honestly,
one
of them had to be named Fred. Why else would I get that name stuck in my head? Anyway, by ten, I was being punished for breathing by the world’s most slovenly boss.
Marty Bensen was having another one of his fits and this time, I was the target.
“Monroe,” he yelled across his office, without offering me a seat. I sat down anyway, just as he crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at me. I caught it in the air and smoothed it across my lap. “Did you approve this garbage? Who wrote that piece of shit?”
“I’ll speak to Jake,” I said evenly. Working my boss through his fits of rage was an art form, one that advanced me from intern to assistant in seven years. Sometimes it was completely demeaning, but I managed. After all, I wouldn’t work for him forever. Eventually, I’d get promoted out from underneath him or he’d drop dead from all the donuts he ate. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. I’ll handle it today.”
“Oh you’ll handle it, all right.” He stood up, sending a cascade of crumbs to the floor. His poorly gelled comb-over bobbed forward with every syllable. “Or I’ll have your ass.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Bensen,” I smiled at him, keeping my voice steady. “Jake’s new. He probably misunderstood how things work around here.”
“Unacceptable. I don’t want any more unedited garbage on my desk, understood?” He sniffed, sitting back down. The leather groaned beneath his weight and the wheels buckled. If he ever broke that chair in front of me, I don’t think I’d be able to stop laughing. “We’re paying you too much to roll in unprepared writers, sweetheart.”
I swallowed my anger. “I’ll speak to Jake right now, before I do another thing today.”
He surveyed me from head to toe with a cringe-worthy stare. “Very good.”
“It’s no problem, Mr. Bensen.”
“Now get going. Oh, and Monroe,” he called after me, already on my way out. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He winked at me, his usual dismissal. When I reached a spot out of his line of sight, I smoothed my pencil skirt, wiped away the sweat from my palms, and straightened my spine. Marty Bensen could say whatever he wanted, but I knew I was damn good at my job and didn’t deserve to be treated like a pretty piece of eye candy. Tomorrow, I resolved, I’d wear something dowdy to work. Something completely unappealing, just to see how he would treat me.
If only I owned something dowdy.
I sighed, took another second to collect myself. When I was ready, I marched straight to the marketing department cubicles to get my hands on Jake Tisdale, who would pay the price for my unpleasant Marty time. On the way, I invited Savannah to lunch, then wiped the smile from my face and gestured with one finger for Jake to follow me to my office. Like a well-trained puppy, he trotted along at my heels, effortlessly maintaining my heated clip down the hallway.
“Jake, sit,” I commanded, pointing one finger to the blue wing-backed chair in my office. I tossed the balled-up page into his hands. “Explain.”