Cheating on Myself (17 page)

She stopped talking while I paid. The Saks clerks always seemed so eager and nosey.

As we walked out, back into the skyway, she continued. “When he put his hand on mine during dessert, I didn’t really think it would lead to anything. Just a little innocent flirting. But we ended up staying at the restaurant most of the afternoon, and then suddenly it was happy hour, and we had a few drinks, and then his hand was on my thigh, and under my skirt. It all made me feel so good about myself. Chad was gone, but at least someone wanted me. Gray eyebrows and all.” She laughed, but it was that same hollow laugh that didn’t sound right at all.

We passed the sandwich place, and my stomach rumbled. I wanted lunch, but I knew Lily probably had a Lean Cuisine waiting for her back in the pantry.

“Can you ditch work for the rest of the afternoon? We can see a movie, or get some coffee, or just shop some more or something?” I knew the answer was no. For Lily, work was like an off-switch for everything else in her life. “I’ll let you approve my boots.”

“I can’t. Ironically, we have an advertising meeting.”

“With the guy?”

“Brad. No, he won’t be there.”

“Brad? You’re sleeping with a Brad and a Chad?” This was too good to ignore.

“I guess you owe me for all the banjo cracks?” She elbowed me as we walked through Macy’s, back to her office. I could feel palpable relief that I didn’t have to go into the office. I was really digging this new four-day workweek. It helped me forget how mundane the day-to-day at Centrex was. Lily stopped outside Caribou Coffee. “Do I have to tell Chad?”

“You owe him nothing,” I said, and believed it. Chad was an ass who put Lily last, no matter what else was on the list. She deserved way better than him, I’d thought so for years, but I also knew single life would not serve Lily well. She’d be crippled with self-loathing and loneliness if she knew she had an empty house to look forward to every night—and it wasn’t as if this Brad guy was going to leave his wife and kids to keep her company. “You don’t have to tell Chad, but you do need to end things with Brad. You already know that…”

“I do. It’s just, I really like him.”

“Because he’s off-limits,” I said, following as she started to walk toward the Centrex offices again. “You’re not allowed to fall in love with him. But the fact that you’re into someone else at all suggests there are some flaws in your relationship with Chad.”

“Yeah,” Lily pulled out her Blackberry as we passed the pizza place. “I know. I just don’t want to be alone, and it’s easy to stay with Chad. He’s never here, but he’s always there, you know?”

“Good God, Lil, that’s depressing.” I groaned. “You’re gorgeous, you have perfect, symmetrical breasts, and could drink any intern under the table. I think those are all qualities that make you a perfectly suitable mate… on top of the fact that you’re the kindest, most selfless person I know.”

She hugged me. “I love you, you know?” She squeezed tighter. “Maybe we should just vow to stick together? We’d be good partners.”

“I think not,” I laughed, just as we came up to Centrex security. “I’m not looking for a life partner, remember? I had that with Erik.”

Lily tsk-ed. “I am
so
not Erik. I am much more fun than Erik. Let’s not compare me and your ex again, okay?”

Still laughing, I said, “Done. It’ll never happen again.”

“Have a good date! Don’t forget to get the new boots. Not Aerosoles, right?”

“Not Aerosoles,” I promised, and then she was gone.

* * *

Hours later, as I stood on a Welcome Winter! float squeezed between Dancer and Prancer and their excrement handlers, all I could think was: Thank goodness I bought new winter boots. The edgy, turquoise cowboy boots I’d bought for my date that night went unworn. So did my new dress from Saks. Instead, I was wearing my winter boots, borrowed furry snow pants, a velvet dress ringed in green tinsel, and a big floppy hat.

When Joe had come to pick me up that night for our date, he sheepishly asked if I’d be up for a slight change in plans. “Those boots are unbelievably sexy,” he’d said. “But they may not have the heat you’re gonna need.”

The Dog Hounds had been called late that afternoon and asked to fill in for a local high school jazz band in that night’s Welcome Winter! Parade. Flanders High School’s jazz band had to back out because of an especially intense case of head lice that had hit the entire trumpet and trombone line the day before. The kids in the band weren’t allowed to wear their marching hats, and the band had to back out. Lucky enough, the parade people had thought of the Dog Hounds as they were searching for a replacement musical act to perform on the reindeer float.

The Welcome Winter! Parade was a huge deal with Minnesotans, sort of like Groundhog Day, I guess. The parade was always held a few weeks before Thanksgiving, either to celebrate the snow that had already fallen or to summon some to get here already, and it was a huge honor to be invited to participate. All the local news anchors hosted a float, and the mayor walked alongside the Butter Queen from that summer’s State Fair. High school marching bands from around the state were invited to participate, as well as popular Minnesota musical acts.

“Come along,” Joe had prodded, begging me to join him on the float. “We’ll have fun.”

“No, no,” I’d said, feeling certain. After all, Centrex people brought their families to the parade. Cat usually brought her girls to the parade. For all I knew, Erik could be with them on an Uncle date. I thought about all the people I might know who could see me up there, and shriveled down into my new boots from the anticipated embarrassment. “I’ll just meet you after, okay?”

“Please come,” he’d pleaded. “I know this is an unconventional first date. But I promise it’ll be fun.” He could see I wasn’t tempted. I was giving him my skeptical face, and on top of that, I could hear Anders chuckling in the living room. Besides, it was obvious from the cute floaty dress and fabulous boots that I wasn’t dressed for a parade. “You’d get to stand next to a reindeer.”

Looking at Joe’s adorable, puppy-dog face, all thoughts of embarrassment and ridiculousness and foolishness drifted away, and I realized maybe it
would
be fun. Why would I say no? Had I ever been in a parade? No. Not once. So why not start now? On a float with a band! It was kind of cool.

“Okay. But I need to change.” Now Anders was laughing heartily. One should not have a roommate at my age. It was far too annoying to have to listen to their years of judgment.

“Yes!” Joe jumped up into the air, and I recognized one of his band moves. “And yeah, you do need to change into something a little warmer. But I thought ahead, and I’ve got it taken care of already. My friend Mandy had something I could borrow for you.”

Mandy?
As if I wanted to hear about
Mandy
on our date. Whoever she was. Probably one of his many mommy-conquests. I’d tried to forget about his reputation, but it came flooding back at the mention of one woman’s name. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, and smiled instead of getting irritated. “Can’t I just wear my own warm clothes?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Do I have to wear anything embarrassing?”

“We have to get going—it might be better if I just show you when we get there.”

And that’s how I’d ended up first in the staging area, and eventually the reindeer float, at the Welcome Winter! Parade. I was wearing something that made me look like an elf in drag, or Mrs. Claus after a really, really wild night out. Also, I was having an amazing time. It was surprisingly fun to be on a musical float, and the Dog Hounds’ songs were really catchy. I found myself singing along more than a couple times.

I’d been assigned the simple job of swaying along to the music and ringing a set of bells that resembled a giant snowflake. Unofficially, I’d also taken on the responsibility of alerting the poop scoopers every time Dasher and Donner (or was it Dancer and Prancer? There were two generic looking live reindeer wearing little sweaters beside me) eliminated on the fake snow next to my feet. But I was warm, Joe and the other guys in the band were charming and funny, and I felt a little bit like a local celebrity because I was associated with them.

What would Erik think of this? I thought back to all the times we’d done anything out of character or a little silly or embarrassing or (God forbid) inappropriate, and could count them on one hand. There was the one time when, drunk off too much wine from a box his Grandma had had for who knows how long, we’d gone skinny-dipping in the nursing home pool. It had been much more tense than fun, since Erik insisted on holding his hands between his legs and shouting, “Jump, will you? Just get in!” the whole time I was doubled-over with laughter on the side of the pool.

Then there was the time we’d stolen a bag of oranges from a luggage cart outside a swanky hotel in Paris. They looked sweet and delicious, and Erik had just had his wallet stolen. He was crabby and frustrated, and we were both hungry, so I’d secretly snuck off and taken them from some obviously wealthy traveler to save his mood. I guess, in retrospect, that one was all me, but since we eaten them together, I considered it a joint effort.

The only other thing I could think of was the weekend after he’d quit his job at Centrex, before he’d started the new one, when we’d gone away for one night to a small B&B that was a few hours’ drive from our apartment. We’d had champagne and chicken cutlets and a wild rice pilaf, and then gone back to the room and tried a few positions from the sex book that had been left in the B&B’s bedside table. We picked the three that looked the least complicated, but even still Erik had been frustrated and embarrassed the whole time. Finally, we reverted to our usual position and finished things up quickly, neatly, and efficiently. Erik had been so sore in the morning, he swore off sex for two weeks. Not a lot of guys would stick by that vow, but he hadn’t had any issues with it.

Not that any of those things had anything to do with me standing next to a pile of reindeer dung on a winter parade float, but I felt so out-of-character that I couldn’t help but compare then to now. When the parade ended, and we said goodbye to Comet and Cupid (or was it Donner and Blitzen?), Joe and I shuffled away from the float in our matching furry pants and he asked, “Do you want to stop back at your place to change? You get to pick the rest of the date, since I commandeered the beginning.” He ruffled his hair, which was still poofed up into his Dog Hounds ’do. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to wear a stocking cap all night, or you’ll have to look at this. It takes a shower to make it flatten down again. So maybe we should save the fancy meal for next time? Do you like Mexican food?”

“Sure.” Erik and I had tried both of the new, talked-about Mexican restaurants a few times, and I hadn’t been impressed. But I was so hungry I’d eat almost anything. I glanced briefly at Joe’s outfit—overalls and a cowboy hat. Hmm.

“I’m just going to get out of these overalls,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, and I picked up a hint of the southern twang he used on stage.

“Okay. Where are you from, by the way?” We walked together toward a coffee shop just a block down from the parade route. Joe magically produced a pair of normal-looking jeans from under his overalls as we walked down the street. “I keep picking up a little hint of something southern…”

“That’s all for show,” he grinned. “We put on a little southern twang for shows, tell people we’re from Boulder for the rugged credibility, but it’s all lies. We like to shroud ourselves in an air of mystery. I’m from Detroit—which isn’t as exciting as Nashville or Boulder, sadly.”

He walked off in the direction of the coffee shop bathroom, while I stood in the door letting Journey flow through my head.
He was a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit.
I wasn’t opposed enough to the concept of fate (versus planning) to reject the idea that Joe
had
been waiting for me after my bus moment the previous weekend. He was the city boy Journey had been singing about, just for me!

As excited as I was by this new discovery, I swore I would not, could not, tell anyone about my Journey awakening. Especially not Joe. He would think I was a giant kook. Of course, I was wearing furry snow pants and a velvet dress, so I wasn’t entirely sure how much lower I could go.

When he returned from the rest room, I saw he was still wearing his checkered Dog Hounds shirt, but now his lean hips were wrapped inside an especially flattering pair of Levis. He’d put a brown stocking cap over his puffy curls and the whole look made me think of a rugged, Lands End model. I was suddenly tempted to buy a puffy vest and a pair of fleece-lined jeans and suggest we take a dog out hiking in the woods.

“Ready?” he asked with a big smile. Oh man, he was hot. I was on a date with a sexy lumberjack. I wanted to curl up in front of a fire with him.

“I’m just going to pull off these snow pants,” I said, while trying not to stare.

When I returned from the restroom wearing the jeans I’d worn under my costume, along with the velvet, tinsel-trimmed mini-dress, he said, “You’re still very sparkly. I appreciate your efforts to dress so fancy for our date. The tinsel looks particularly fine with your hair.”

I bowed, and we walked together out into the crowded streets toward Joe’s car.

“So, Stella, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I gave him a funny look. “When I grow up? I hate to say it, but I am grown up. I’m there.”

“You’re doing exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life?” he asked, pulling his parking ramp ticket out of the overalls now draped over his arm. “Doesn’t everyone have big plans? Hopes for the future?”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” I said, wondering if it was unusual that I’d only planned my life out through age thirty or so. “I had goals, but I completed most of them already.”

“What do you mean, ‘completed them?’ Like, you have a list hidden under your mattress?” He laughed, sounding smug again.

“Yep. I do.”

We were in the car now, and Joe turned his key to start the ignition. He didn’t drive anywhere, just sat there waiting for the heat to kick in while he stared at me. “You have an actual, physical list of life’s goals?” He was smirking again, and it pissed me off. What right did he have to make fun of my list?