“You know how they toss a bouquet at a wedding?” Vivi says thoughtfully. “They should toss the flowers off the caskets of people who leave behind a good spouse. All the single people can line up to grab it.”
This dark joking is why Vivi and I are friends. “Funerals would be so much more lively if we included a speed-dating round,” I agree. Then I take in the city, the restless traffic, the buildings sweeping endlessly above me. All these people and no one ever seems to meet anyone. How is that possible? “Honestly, I’m so pessimistic I think I should give up on dating entirely.”
And that is when I spot him: the auburn-haired man from two years ago, stepping out of our building across the street in another nice tweed suit.
“It’s that guy!” The words pop out of me. I haven’t seen him since he left the conference room on ‘Take Your Child to Work’ Day, but I’ve thought about him a few times since, wondering what his horrified expression was about.
“Which guy?” Vivi’s sharp eyes scan the area like she’s a bird of prey.
“The red-haired guy. I thought he left the company.”
Vivi’s gaze locks on him. “Oh yeah. Oliver something? I thought they moved him to the Toronto office, didn’t they? Maybe he’s back.”
“He was going to have a baby, right?”
“Ooooooh. Yeah.” Vivi’s voice is full of insider information. Trust her to have the dirt on everybody in an office of two hundred people. “I rememberthatstory.”
“There was a story?”
Vivi smiles, delighted, which means it must be very bad news indeed. “So you know Katy who works in the legal department?”
“Maybe by sight?”
“She and I were part of an infertility support group a few years back. So apparently, she knows that guy. Ollie, I think? And a couple of years ago, he was telling everyone that his wife was expecting a baby, and they had a shower at the office because Katy was also friends with the wife. But then…”
“Oh, no.” My heart hurts. “Not the baby.”
“No, the baby is fine. But the baby is not his. The baby was his brother’s. And then the wife left him for the brother.”
“Ouch.” I feel the story in my gut, watching the man as he lines up at the high-end food cart that sells espresso and fancy pressed sandwiches. “And Katy was sure about that, or was that a rumor?”
“She went to college with the wife. She was friends with them both before he got the job at Murano. But I think we can guess why he wanted out of New York for a while.”
I watch him for a moment. He still reminds me of a librarian, polite and thoughtful. It’s the way he’s dressed, but also the way he is listening to the cart owner intensely, his head tilted as the man tells some long, elaborate story. Vivi follows my gaze.
“Laura,” she says. “Are you staring?”
I pull my eyes away. “No. I’m done with dating. I told you.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “Well, I’m going to ask Katy about him, find out how heartbroken he is these days.”
“No, please. If he is single, then he won’t want a forty-one-year-old divorcée who is aging out of the possibility of more kids.”
“I have two words for you,” Vivi says. “Essential oils.”
I put my face in my hands. “Please never mention that date again.”
“Let me see if there’s a chance. Come on. I feel guilty about how much enjoyment I’ve gotten from your horrible love life. This is my chance to repay you.”
I watch him from across the street. He has moved aside to make room for the people in line behind him to order as he keeps talking to the cart owner. There is something about the scene that holds my attention: the way Oliver treats the cart owner like a real person, the way he moved out of the way so as not to hold up the line, the way he really seems to care about someone besides himself.
“Alright, fine,” I say. “But do not tell him I’m interested.”
Nick’s voiceon the phone is deep and warm. He sounds the way he always does: gravelly, apologetic, like I’m the only woman in the world for him. I probably am, too. Cheating was never the issue between us.
“Hey, Laura.” My heart speeds up, but I’m not sure whether it’s from lingering attraction or the anticipation of bad news.
“Hey.” I’m trying not to sound nervous or angry. He’s due in New York first thing Saturday morning, in three days, and I don’t want to start his visit with a fight. My house growing up was full of my mother screaming after men on their way out the door. It’s one reason I try to stay calm; I know the bitter harpy who lives just under my surface, and I refuse to let her out. “Did you find a place to stay yet?”
